This is the third in a series of posts on family (and Sierra Nevada beers.) The rest of the posts can be found here.
Oedipus’s family was dysfunctional, to say the least. Oedipus’s parents tried to kill him as an infant. When he had grown to be a man, Oedipus killed his father (although unaware of their relationship) and married his mother (likewise unknowingly.) His sons/brothers waged war against each other, vying for their father/brother’s throne. They ultimately killed each other on the field of battle. Oedipus’s uncle/brother-in-law Creon eventually sentenced Oedipus’s daughter/sister Antigone (whose fiancé happened to be her cousin, Creon’s son) to death for performing burial rites for one of her slain brothers. Not a great family situation all around.
Despite this profoundly messed up home life, Antigone somehow learned to put family first. After Oedipus blinded himself, she personally led and waited on him throughout his exile. When her brothers quarreled between themselves over the throne, Antigone pleaded with Polynices to make peace with Eteocles. And, when the corpse of Polynices lay in the open as a feast for birds and wild dogs, Antigone she defied the law to give him a proper burial.
In the face of misfortune, war, and an unjust government, Antigone steadfastly maintained her familial allegiance, even in a family most notable its members’ crimes against each other. So even if your family is pretty awful, Antigone can be a role model.
Beer of the week: Sierraveza – This “easy-drinking lager” is in the style of a Mexican cerveza. It is quite carbonated, and pours clear gold with a bright, white head. The aroma is led by pale malts and has a slightly floral note. The beer is crisp, with just enough floral hops to leave a lingering bitterness. “Easy-drinking” indeed.
Reading of the week: Phoenissae by Seneca the Younger – Although Seneca is better known for his letters and works on stoic philosophy, he also wrote several tragedies. This partial retelling of the Oedipus myth begins with an eloquent speech by Antigone about her dedication to her father. The speech prompts Oedipus to ask how a sinner such as himself could have fathered such a dutiful daughter.
Question for the week: Do we, like the Greeks, consider patricide–and, consequently other crimes against family–to be worse than similar crimes against non-family members? Why or why not?
Around the world, the spread of Coronavirus disease 2019 (COVID-19) has caused remarkable disruptions to travel, sport, and society in general. Many people have been subjected to quarantines, but a great many more have been advised to work from home and otherwise keep their “social distance.” Whether the response has been unconscionably slow or dramatically overblown, time will tell. Those considerations are beyond my ken.
Whether you are in a full-on quarantine, are keeping your social distance, or are simply looking for something to do now that the NCAA basketball tournaments have been cancelled, I’ve got you covered. I have compiled The Authoritative Quarantine Reading List ™.
– It must be public domain and readily available online; quarantine means no trips to the library.
– It must deal with an epidemic; otherwise, it would just be a reading list.
– It must be long; if you are going to be cooped up for a fortnight, a short story or a single poem won’t chew up enough hours.
I Promessi Sposi by Alessandro Manzoni. Milan, 1629. The plague is about to hit, hard. Although the main plot of this novel is a love story, the book is full of historical details about the plague and society’s response to it. Indispensable quarantine reading.
The Decameron by Giovanni Boccaccio. Florence, 1348. The Black Death has all but depopulated the city, and ten men and women retreat to a country villa. To pass the time, they take turns telling stories on various topics. The tales are generally witty and urbane, and one can see how a small group in quarantine would find them very diverting.
A Journal of the Plague Year by Daniel Defoe. London, 1665. It is rumored that the plague resurfaced in the Middle East, or Turkey, or Cyprus. “It mattered not from whence it came; but all agreed it was come into Holland again.” And soon it would cross the Channel. It is not clear how much of Defoe’s account is fiction and how much is just compiled firsthand accounts.
History of the Peloponnesian War by Thucydides. Athens, 430 BC. As if being at war were not bad enough, Athens faces a devastating epidemic that throws their polity into tumult. Yet, a mere 15 years later, the Athenians and their allies sent an expedition of 10,000 men to Sicily. Imagine surviving a plague just to die of starvation in a make-shift POW camp in a rock quarry.
That should keep you busy until this all blows over or we all die, whichever comes first. Stay safe. Cheers!
Beer of the week: Cerveza Cantina – Corona would have been too predictable. (Besides, I’ve already reviewed Corona Extra, Corona Light, and Corona Familiar. I thought about finding some Corona Premier, but paying $10 for ultra-light Mexican lager did not appeal to me.) Instead I went with a beer from El Salvador, a country under a national quarantine but (so far) zero confirmed COVID-19 cases. Cantina reminds me vividly of Cafri, Korea’s answer to Corona. It is crystal clear and refreshing. It is a bit too sticky, but not bad overall.
Reading of the week: The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe – As a short story, The Masque of the Red Death did not meet the criteria for The Authoritative Quarantine Reading List ™. But it is an excellent length for a reading of the week. The story shows the importance of “social distancing”. Throwing an elaborate ball in the middle of an epidemic was just a bad move. But you almost have to admire that dedication to partying. Literally half the population had recently died of a horrifying illness, and the prince said, “Screw it! Let’s rage!”
Question for the week: What would you put on your reading list if you were quarantined for two weeks?
This is the last in a series of four posts on Epicureanism (and South American beers.) The rest of the posts can be found here.
Step 4: τὸ δὲ δεινὸν εὐκαρτέρητον – What is Terrible is Easy to Endure
Epicurus writes that “[c]ontinuous pain does not last long in the flesh; on the contrary, pain, if extreme, is present a very short time, and even that degree of pain which barely outweighs pleasure in the flesh does not last for many days together. Illnesses of long duration even permit of an excess of pleasure over pain in the flesh.”
If, as Protagoras said, man is the measure of all things, then one man—Socrates—is the measure of all Greek philosophy. Would he agree with Epicurus’s statement about pain and endurance?
In Plato’s Phaedo, Socrates muses on the odd pleasure he experiences upon having his chains removed: “How singular is the thing called pleasure, and how curiously related to pain, which might be thought to be the opposite of it; for they are never present to a man at the same instant, and yet he who pursues either is generally compelled to take the other; their bodies are two, but they are joined by a single head.” This curious connection between pain and pleasure may lend weight to Epicurus’s point of view. One can endure almost anything because even truly awful pain must have its related pleasure.
In Xenophon’s Apology, however, Socrates identifies a sort of suffering that is chronic and worth dying to avoid. In the face of capital charges of impiety and corrupting the youth, Socrates decided to commit suicide by jury. He reasoned that it would be better to die while still at the peak of his mental powers than face the possibility of a protracted physical and psychological decline in old age. “If my years are prolonged, I know that the frailties of old age will inevitably be realized,—that my vision must be less perfect and my hearing less keen, that I shall be slower to learn and more forgetful of what I have learned.” Old age, to Socrates, was both terrible and impossible to endure—the exception that proves Epicurus’s rule.
Beer of the week: Latitud Cero° Concordia – This Helles-style lager comes from La Paz Cerveceria in Ecuador. It’s straw-colored, with a slight haze. The aroma is of light toast, caramel and grass. The body is more substantial than I’d have guessed, which results in an uncommonly long finish for such a light lager.
Question of the week: Is suicide acceptable in the face of protracted suffering?
Eva Brann, for those who are not familiar, is the former dean and currently a tutor at St. John’s College. I recently read a speech given by Ms. Brann about the “great books” education. In it, she reminds her audience that reading nothing but the classics is untenable and undesirable:
I am not, incidentally, for a reading regimen of exclusive greatness. It is too rich, like a diet of “white soup,” the cholesterol-laden concoction served in Jane Austen’s well-off houses at dinner parties. I am for reading a lot of stuff: adventure, mystery, travel, cookbooks, westerns (my favorites), historical fiction, fantasy, space and science-fiction—from fine to terrible. They are all supplements to life, experiences I could not possibly live through but would dearly like to have—vicariously.
One might even make the argument that reading Twitter feeds has some value. Say what you will about social media, but you have to admit that people staring at their phones are at least reading. (Well, some of the time, anyway.)
Ms. Brann is not the first person to advocate reading widely in addition to reading the classics. It is no surprise, of course, that the very notion is practically one of the tenets of classical liberal education.
In Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s novel in verse, Aurora Leigh, the titular narrator describes her formal education under her aunt. It is a stifling mixture of pious theology, German, classical French “(Kept pure of Balzac and neologism)”, music, domestic arts, and “a dozen books on womanhood.” The “liberal education” of a lady is circumscribed to a few particular fields that would prepare her for a life of agreeing pleasantly with her husband when his conversation is not completely over her head.
On her own, however, Aurora engages in a private and personally guided course of study. She starts with the Greek of Theophrastus and the Latin of Aelian, but she eventually devours all manner of books. Bad books, good books, “some bad and good at once.” She reads moral books, genial books, merry books, melancholy books. She, like Ms. Brann, has a firm grounding in the classics, but is eager and able to see the value in all manner of writings.
Beer of the week: Semedorato Premium- In honor of the half-Italian protagonist of Aurora Leigh, this week’s beer is the 100% Italian Semedorato Premium. Semedorato is also brewed with 100% malt, rather than with adjunct grains. This lager is pretty much what I expect out of a Mediterranean beer. It is crystal clear and quite pale. The aroma is faint and slightly sweet. The flavor is understated, but pleasant. It is a very drinkable, if unremarkable beer.
Reading of the week: Aurora Leigh by Elizabeth Barrett Browning – This excerpt is from Book One of the nine-book poem. The orphaned title character has come to live in England with her aunt. Very much in spite of the aunt’s attempts to raise Aurora to be a proper lady, Aurora becomes obsessed with literature and decides that she wants to be an author.
Question for the week: Ms. Brann’s favorite “non-classics” are westerns. What is your favorite “non-classic” genre?
When Fanny Price’s cousins in Jane Austen’s Mansfield Park learned just how deficient her education had been, they were most unkind.
“Dear mama, only think, my cousin cannot put the map of Europe together—or my cousin cannot tell the principal rivers in Russia—or, she never heard of Asia Minor—or she does not know the difference between water-colours and crayons!—How strange!—Did you ever hear anything so stupid?”
When compared to their own education, Fanny’s was woefully inferior.
“I cannot remember the time when I did not know a great deal that she has not the least notion of yet. How long ago it is, aunt, since we used to repeat the chronological order of the kings of England, with the dates of their accession, and most of the principal events of their reigns.” “Yes,” added the other; “and of the Roman emperors as low as Severus; besides a great deal of the Heathen Mythology, and all the Metals, Semi-Metals, Planets, and distinguished philosophers.”
I would certainly have some trouble putting the map of Europe together. (Especially around the Balkans.) I also don’t know the principal rivers of Russia or the kings of England. Of the Roman emperors, I can only recount the first handful. But Fanny Price was only ten years old, and from a family of quite limited means; what’s my excuse? Indeed, there are a great many notable holes in my knowledge. Although I am somewhat embarrassed to admit these deficiencies, it is far better to admit them then to pretend that I have learned everything that I can or should. And so, I present a (quite incomplete) list of things that I do not know:
- How many yards are in a rod, furlong, or mile.
- The books of the Bible, in order.
- The constellations and their seasons.
- How to play a musical instrument.
- The number and names of the bones of the human body.
- The meaning of “transcendental”.
- The presidents of the United States, their vice presidents, and their first ladies.
- The difference between forfeiture and waiver.
- A second language (very much in spite of my formal education.)
- Virtually any modern philosophy.
- Virtually any Asian or Arabic philosophy.
- And, of course, there are a great many things that I do not know that I do not know.
Much as Dr. Watson was shocked to learn that Sherlock Holmes was ignorant of the heliocentric theory of the solar system, I imagine that my own ignorance on certain subjects must surely surprise others. I will, I hope, remedy at least a few of these deficiencies in time. If nothing else, I have at least one advantage over Fanny Price’s cousins: I know that I have not reached the end of my education.
“If you are ever so forward and clever yourselves, you should always be modest; for, much as you know already, there is a great deal more for you to learn.”“Yes, I know there is, till I am seventeen.”
Beer of the week: Sarajevsko Premium – Although I could not positively point it out on a map, Sarajevo is the origin of this Euro lager. The brewery is creatively named Sarajevska Pivara. The beer is very pale, and just a little cloudy. The aroma is like that of most Czech lagers that I’ve had, a bit hoppy and a bit malty. I am always surprised how different European beers taste and smell when compared to similar American beers. Sarajevsko is a fine beer, but could be better. More hops would help, for one thing. And it has a slightly sticky mouthfeel rather than a good, crisp finish.
Reading of the week: Mansfield Park by Jane Austen – Without giving too much away, Fanny Price ultimately gets the better of her unkind cousins. And as much as this scene demonstrates Fanny’s rusticities and awkwardness, it shows the thoughtlessness and vanity of her cousins and aunt even more.
Question for the week: What do you not know, even though you know that you should?
This is the forty-fifth in a series on The Harvard Classics; the rest of the posts are available here. Volume XLV: Sacred Writings 2
It is the time of the year when we celebrate the birth of a god in human form who would later overcome death. The god-man’s was a virgin birth, foretold by angels and prophets. The birth occurred en route to his earthly parent’s familial home. I refer, of course, to the birth of Siddhartha Gautama, Buddha. Or Jesus Christ. Or both.
Aside from the similarities alluded to above, there is a great deal in common between Christianity and Buddhism. But is that because they share a common source, one religion influenced the other, or mere coincidence?
One of the core beliefs of the Baha’i faith is that all of the world’s major religions, including Christianity and Buddhism, were divinely inspired for their specific places and times. Consequently, the similarities between these religions are no mere coincidence. Each religion is revealed and shares in the universal and essential points. Those issues upon which the religions differ are simply minor details to adapt the one true religion to various times and places.
The Baha’i point of view, of course, has never amounted to a majority, let alone a consensus. Generally, it appears that similarities between Christianity and Buddhism are mere coincidences for the most part, and generally more superficial than they may seem. In fact, the term “parallelomania” was coined specifically to give a name to authors taking such apparent similarities between religions too far.
Still, it is certainly worth considering what leads disparate people to arrive at similar religious tenants. “In their later developments Buddhist and Christian ceremonies show an extraordinary resemblance due in my opinion chiefly to convergence,” wrote Sir Charles Eliot, a British diplomat to the Far East. (Not to be confused with Dr. Charles Eliot, president of Harvard and editor of the Harvard Classics.) “[T]hough I do not entirely exclude mutual influence.”
Perhaps, rather than some direct or indirect interaction between Christians and Buddhists, that “mutual influence” is some deeply embedded aspect of the human psyche. Something about Christmas (and Buddha’s Birthday, and countless other religious beliefs and observances) strikes a chord within us all.
Beer of the week: Chang Classic – Aside from China, Thailand has the largest Buddhist population in the world. This Thai lager has some nice herbal hops in the aroma. It pours a clear, pale gold, with lots of big bubbles that fade fast. The flavor is a bit sweet, dominated by adjunct grain. It could do with a bit more hops, but it is a light and refreshing beer.
Reading of the week: The Birth of Buddha – This story is translated from the Jātaka tales. These stories describe some of Buddha’s many births, in both human and animal form.
Question for the week: Is there some important aspect shared by all religion?