My Little Odyssey

Hello all,

I have spent the last few days in the UK for the Classical Association’s annual conference in Reading! It has been a pretty tremendous experience, all round. I was really looking forward to watching Doctor Who in my hotel room last night, but unfortunately the TV in my room died. Instead of moping about, I thought I would try to record some of my experiences and impressions of the place while they are still fresh in my mind; I tried to make the most of the trip, given the time and budget that I had.

People often express incredulity when they hear that I had not traveled to Europe before now. Surely EVERY Romanist has been to Rome, and every Philhellene has been to Athens? Alas, no. Australia is very remote from the rest of the globe, and for some of us trips down the road seem expensive, let alone journeys halfway around the world. I would not have been able to afford this journey if not for the generosity of the University of Queensland’s school of History, Philosophy, Religion and Classics, which funded my airfare and accommodation.

My first impression as my bus pulled into Reading station was that it was a nice, quaint town. The locals apologised profusely for the weather, at an unseasonable five degrees Celsius. Still, every day bar one has had blue skies, and that’s something for which to be thankful. Reading isn’t quite like the little villages we see on TV, but it’s hardly a sprawling metropolis like London—it has a lot of cute shops, quite a few pubs (actually, an alarmingly large number given how small the population is!), and a couple of nice eccentric historical sites. I had little money for my trip, so shopping wasn’t really an option.

Hell, I was counting every jangling penny I spent on food and bus fares. This is my first experience of visiting a country with an unfavourable exchange rate, so every pound I spend here empties the bank account of $1.50 back home. There’s something about travelling that makes you feel so aware of poverty. Our family’s finances are very precarious, since my scholarship is our primary source of income, and it doesn’t stretch very far when it has to support two adults and two toddlers. Please don’t misunderstand me, our situation is not as desperate as that of many others. We don’t have a mortgage, and thanks to Kelly’s amazing budgeting skills we have never been in debt at all. Still, there have been many occasions where we’ve had $10 to see us through a week. Sometimes I haven’t been able to afford to travel to campus, which is pretty miserable. My wife had been looking for work for a long time, but the employment situation in Queensland is pretty dismal, thanks to the austerity measures implemented by our state government. Kelly and I have been scrimming and saving every dollar I’ve earned through my extra work—teaching, museum, freelance stuff– to get me here. Every free tea and coffee has been a blessing. The breakfast buffet also provides lunch surreptitiously smuggled out in a napkin.

The first person I met in Reading was a beggar at the bus stop. I was jetlagged, exhausted light-headed. I’d spent the last two days awake. He was bedraggled, thin, shivering, and there was a real desperation in his eyes. He asked me for a handout. I hesitated, but I gave him a few coins, as I knew from bitter experience what it felt like to be starving. We hear news reports all the time about how dire the economic situation is over here, and all in all, I come from a rich country. I handed over a few gold coins, thinking that would be the end of it. But I was alarmed as he got angry seeing how much cash I had in my wallet.

‘Gimme that tenner! Give it to me, I can see you got a tenner! Come on mate, you’re loaded!’

I refused, and he got angry, shoving his face into mine. He started shouting, and I walked off. Fortunately, he didn’t follow. I only realised when I got back to my hotel room that I had given him 2 pound coins, not 1 pound as I’d thought. I’m used to Australian currency, where for whatever reason $2 coins are half the size of $1 coins, but here it’s the opposite. I felt kind of stupid, especially realising that there was a good chance I’d just given him money for drugs or alcohol. In a space of seconds, I had gone from feeling compassionate to feeling that I was being taken advantage of. When I told this story on Facebook, my friends assured me that most of England’s homeless are actually mostly decent people, and warned me to avoid putting myself in that situation again as I could have been mugged. This sort of thing doesn’t happen very often in Brisbane.

I decided to kill time before checking in to my hotel by hanging out in the local museum, and that cheered me up a lot. It was fascinating, and free. I was actually kind of surprised at the size of the space and collection, and I was impressed at how effectively they used the gallery—I thought they had struck a good balance between being a tourist spot, being a place where locals could bring their families for an afternoon out, and being an avenue for public education. I’ll admit that I bypassed some of the material from the modern period and went straight to the cabinets of ancient and medieval artefacts. There was an infinitesimally miniscule collection of Egyptian artefacts, and a lovely little collection of Cypriot and Apuleian pottery displayed on the ground floor.

“St. Lucia’s Bane”

O hai Hapy!

There was also an amusing little animation playing on a loop, which showed some of the figures on black and red-figure vases coming to life. I smiled, but little did I suspect the full significance of the animation until the next morning.

You can find the animations here…

I ambled up to the second floor, which was entirely dedicated to displaying a magnificent recreation of the Bayeux tapestry—a medieval French tapestry which narrates the Norman conquest of Britain through sequential art. It’s kind of like a comic book, only with less tights (but not much less) and more Latin. It felt nice to be able to read it by sight! The reconstruction was created in the late 19th century by a group of ladies in Reading. Perhaps this accounts for the covering-up of the squatting nude man in one panel, but I’m a little bemused that they didn’t think to do something about this.

I guess he’s just really, really excited to be fighting the Angles! Either that, or it’s the dog’s leg.

On level three, though, I was amazed by their permanent exhibition on the nearby archaeological site of Calleva Atrebatum, better known as Roman Silchester. There was a lot of love put into this display, and the signage displayed a deft knowledge of the Roman world. I had difficulty containing my excitement, much to the bemusement of the staff and bored-looking children looking over the display. Basically, my reaction was that of the Eleventh Doctor looking over objects from the Apollo missions.

“LOOK HOW COOL THIS STUFF IS!”

You don’t see this very often in Aussie museums.

About two millenia ago, a kid walked in the clay while it was still wet. For me, it’s a reminder that when we’re talking about ancient history, we are dealing with the lives of real people.

This Eagle was the inspiration behind Rosemary Sutcliff’s classic novel, ‘Eagle of the Ninth’

Anyway, it was at last time to check in, call home, and finally sleep. Kelly mentioned that she’d gotten a second interview for a job, and I did my best to be encouraging without getting our hopes up too high.

The next day was the formal opening of the conference, but it mostly consisted of welcomes and annual meetings which had nothing to do with me, and I was a bit out of it, so I decided to hold off attending for a day. Also, and very importantly, I was planning to catch up with my mate Chris, who was going to introduce me to his girlfriend, Joanna. Chris and I survived undergrad together, but we sort of went our separate ways in academia as he decided to pursue his dream of becoming a novelist via a Masters of creative writing. We still meet up once a month or so for coffee, but we hadn’t really hung out for a long time. We were both looking forward to spending time together, as he delivered a paper at the conference too. (Incidentally, it was excellent!) I hung out in the hotel room and did some thesis work (‘cos that’s how I roll!) and then headed into town to meet them for a meal and to do a spot of exploring. I was pleased but not remotely surprised to find that Joanna was charming and lovely, and in no time at all we were talking like old friends over steaming bowls of sensibly priced Chinese food. I almost literally jumped for joy when Chris told me that they are now engaged. Actually Chris said it was quite literal. I really couldn’t be more thrilled for them!

I woke up early the next morning and took a stroll around the suburbs. I don’t know why, but I always find walking around areas where people actually live is more interesting than going to tourist sites. I love finding people to talk to when I go travelling. I suppose that you get more of an idea of a place’s culture, rather than the glamorous face it wants to show the world. I thought it was really interesting to notice how different it was from my homeland—the houses usually adjoin, tiny little houses which we’d probably call flats, and often with three or four cars parked out the front. It gives you a good idea of how spread out we really are in Australia, doesn’t it? I was also amazed by the diversity on display—I saw Hindu shrines in windows, and Christian and Masonic symbols built into the very brickwork, all on one street. There’s a small church which has been converted into a block of units. I assume it’s been deconsecrated. I wandered over to the public soccer field, perfectly tended and manicured on public coin. My first thought was that this is a strange country, where tax dollars maintain the soccer fields like they’re holy ground while some people sleep without a roof over their heads.

Then I remembered Australia is no different, and checked my sanctimony.

Time to go to the conference! I attended some amazing papers concerning the work which some of the antiquities museums in the UK are doing. Here, I discovered that the animations I had seen in the Reading public museum were the result of a public engagement program spearheaded by the university of Reading’s Ure museum, where schoolkids were invited to observe the pots in the museum’s collection—really observe, and not merely look—and devise narratives from the scenes depicted, which they themselves storyboarded. Their storyboards were then sent to a local animator, who worked with the kids to create the scenes. It was, in a word, beautiful. It really got me thinking about the possible applications of similar projects at the RD. Milns Antiquities Museum, where I work. I think a lower-tech version with shadow-puppets might work brilliantly, on the budget we have. I also asked a question in that panel about the potential for opening a similar project for children who experience difficulties with literacy, and I was delighted to discover that such an idea is already in progress. I wonder if this might be a good way to engage with special schools at home. I also saw an excellent paper which mentioned some excellent public engagement programs at the University of Leeds, which offer an annual evening public festival known as ‘light the night.’ I told the speaker about a similar event our museum offers, the ‘carpe noctem’ series of evening events.

My remarks caught the attention of the Ure Museum’s director, Amy, who invited me to come visit the museum to share ideas about the possible applications of the new technology of 3D scanning. I would not make it there until the next day, and I skived off a couple of papers to get there. It was absolutely worth it, though! I had an amazing conversation with Amy and the Ure museum’s education officer, and steadily we realised that our museums have very similar resources and aims—we hope to forge a closer relationship in future. It felt great to act as an ambassador for my museum, and I look forward to reporting it all to my bosses back home.

Anyway, I saw lots of papers, so many that it all wound up being a bit of a blur. I attended some excellent ones on teaching, and reports on what works and what doesn’t. I was particularly fascinated by one paper which advocated an experiential teaching method for the teaching of dead languages—I can’t say I would have thought of that. It felt wonderfully weird to attend papers which had practical applications, and were not as esoteric as the usual fare. My mind was buzzing with ideas, and I can’t wait to try them out in my own teaching practice.

I saw some great academic papers. I loved every second of the panel on narrative description in the Greek novel, amazed at a paper on the portrayal of Nero as the anti-Christ in late antiquity. The plenary lecture by Robin Osborne was, quite simply, breathtaking. The whole conference was like a revolving door of academic celebrities, and I felt simultaneously over-awed and ebullient to be among such high and mighty company. The CA isn’t like other Classics organisations. As a postgrad, I felt welcome, that this is simultaneously a learning opportunity and a chance to shine in our own right. I relished the opportunity to talk to European PhD students, to spend time among young people so full of optimism for their futures, more or less secure in the knowledge that they could and would walk out from their doctorates into academic jobs. Well… Maybe not in Greece, sadly. Still, it made a heck of a change from the latent anxiety so prevalent among early-career Classicists in Australasia. I feel I have made new friends even in the few days I’ve been here. I’ve also reconnected with old friends I haven’t seen in a long time, which is an experience I’ll always cherish.

And then, of course, there was the moment of truth, when I had to deliver my paper. I was a bit nervous. I delivered the paper, stumbled once or twice, but mercifully nobody seemed to notice. I made light of the fact that they had misprinted the title of the paper in the conference booklet, made as much eye contact as I dared. It was over before I knew it. Question time. Stunned silence. Oh dear. Make a feeble joke saying this means I’ve convinced everybody. Scattered laughs. Finally, an older professor whose name I sadly neglect to write down asks an intelligent and helpful question. Then gradually the questions start to flow. They’re not hostile, not attacking me for neglecting a vital aspect of the topic. They’re interested in my research, and they want to know more. Over the next couple of days, there are requests for me to e-mail copies of my powerpoint presentation, people asking if I have contacted Professor Such-and-Such of the University of Thingummy to let them know about my research, because they would find it really interesting.

I wonder why I was so bloody nervous.

I walk out from the conference with this music on my ipod, as I feel like I’ve just destroyed the Death Star using the power of the Force.

I visited some really interesting places while I was here. As part of the conference, I joined Chris and Joanna on an excursion to Roman Silchester, which was pretty astounding. I may make a post about the historical side of the site, but mostly I loved being on an actual Roman site, to see the wall of the town with sections torn away and recycled during the middle-ages. I loved being able to have an intelligent conversation with the archaeologist heading up the excavation about the interpretation of a small Third Century structure on the site which is suspiciously reminiscent of a Church, but probably isn’t one. There is a small medieval chapel on site; it really hit me to see the juxtaposition of pagan and Christian, as the church is possibly built upon the remains of an ancient Celtic temple, and incorporates the Roman wall as part of the outer perimeter. I loved having jammie dodgers and sipping tea with my friends in this ancient structure.

Chris and I! Photo courtesy of Joanna. It would seem that my beard is even redder in England.

We just don’t have buildings that old in Australia, and we likely never will, so long as we keep tearing them down before they have a chance to grow old. I overheard a couple of people sniff at the site, as it’s not as spectacular or as well-preserved as, say, Pompeii or Herculaneum. But standing in the remains of arena, I felt fortunate indeed. It was snowing, and there were more profuse apologies for the weather. I’ll admit, I was freezing, as I hadn’t dressed properly (that’s a learning curve, I think!), but I was so happy. This was so much more beautiful than the wet slush I’d seen in New Zealand. I’d never seen snowflakes properly, never been able to appreciate that each one is unique; holding one in my hand for a few seconds before it melted was precious, and I felt that something tiny and special had passed out of the world, never to be seen again. And it would never be appreciated by anybody but me.

My phone camera sucks, so you can’t see that it is snowing lightly.

Today I found the mouldering ruins of Reading’s original abbey, which are now sadly closed off. I considered jumping the high, spiked fence, then decided it wasn’t worth risking serious injury to read the Latin inscription *just* visible from the gate. Apparently Jane Austen went to school near this Abbey.

I wandered along the Blake River toward the Thames, found another little museum mostly dedicated to the river, showcasing things they’d dredged up. There was a fifth-century BC Greek Kylix. Your guess is as good as mine how it got there! There was also a 19th Century gypsy wagon behind glass, which was fascinating.

I made my way to the Oscar Wilde memorial walkway, which is situated at the prison where he was incarcerated for his sexuality. It was sad, but kind of beautiful at the same time.

Yes indeed.

There were a couple of blokes sitting quietly holding hands. I guess it makes sense that it would be a kind of pilgrimage destination for a lot of people. Once upon a time, the sight of two men openly expressing their love, even in a perfectly innocent way, would have revolted me. It doesn’t now. I’ve spent too much time among people, and had too many people question my own relationships on religious grounds to discriminate like I once did. It was a painful realisation that I was hurting others, but now I realise it I can try to make amends. I think it’s good to see how far we’ve come in our recognition that love exists in so many ways. I thought of my friends who are part of the queer community, or at least have loved ones who are. Actually, that’s pretty much everyone I know. I can only hope that we continue to move forward in our acceptance of change and difference. Maybe this means I’ve grown up? I don’t know; I hope so. If I can change, society can.

I gotta get me one of these!

I found a few people to chat with along the riverbank. I talked to a lovely old guy who travels around the country’s canals and rivers in a narrowboat. I also talked to another fellow about our work—he’s a soccer coach, but he took Latin in school. I was surprised at how much we had in common—turns out he’s an actively involved dad too, and his job mostly involves working with kids. He was worried about his eleven-year-old son, who is enjoying history at school but seems to struggle with source analysis. The guy asked me for advice from my museum work, because he wants his son to do well. It felt great to think I was helping to make a difference, however small.

Ah, children, family. My mind keeps turning homeward. I’ve only been away a few days, but I wish I were home. My children miss me, and I miss them. Noah, my oldest, has been asking where I am. Though I carry Kelly in my heart always, I want to hold her now. I want to go back to our little Narnia, to the family we’ve made, the family I was born into, the family I chose.

The best part of the trip was hearing that Kelly was accepted for that job. She is now the second in charge at a small department store. Our financial worries are over, now, and I suddenly feel like Christmas has come early. We’ll no longer have to worry if there will be enough to pay for groceries, if we’ll be able to pay rent. Money doesn’t buy happiness, but it alleviates a lot of burdens. I’m so glad that Kelly will be happier, being out in the world and making a living.

But I’ll never forget what I’ve seen and experienced here in England. This morning, I got into an unexpectedly wonderful conversation with a stranger. It all started when we were on the bus toward London, and we were swapping our stories. I asked where she was from, and she unexpectedly started shedding silent tears. She is from Bosnia, and is on her way to her war-torn home. We ended up having tea together, and sharing a packet of shortbread I’d bought to munch on in London. It felt much better to share food with someone than to eat it alone. She poured her heart out to me. I won’t share her story, as it’s not mine to share. But let’s just say I have never felt more… privileged to live in Australia. She’s an amazing person, fighting to better her life and change her country, to end the cycle of violence which has plagued the region for so long. We swapped e-mail addresses, and she hugged me goodbye. I feel like that one conversation with a near stranger has affected me deep in my bones. It certainly helped to put my problems in perspective.

Right now, I’m sitting in a Starbucks across the road from the British Museum. My planned pilgrimage to the museum, my own personal Mecca, has failed. Alas, I had not counted on the fact that my luggage would prevent my entry.

But I have visual evidence that I was there at least!

As was my faithful hat, with TARDIS pin.

Still, as I sip horrible coffee and shiftily pick at the sandwich I made at the buffet this morning, I can’t say I care that much. The experience of poverty, and hearing the horror story of civil war has sharpened my resolve to continue fighting poverty and inequity back home. Life is good in Australia, for most of us. It should be that way for everyone; I never want to see my land become what I’ve seen and heard of here. I have resolved to start volunteering at a homeless shelter, to provide more aid to our society’s most vulnerable members.

I can’t save the world, but I’ll do what I can.

The conference is over, and I have various German and Swiss academics’ email addresses scrawled in the margin of my conference booklet, and I’m ready for the final stretch toward home. I’ve only been here a few days, but I feel that my little adventure is a turning point in my life. It all brings to mind a poet favoured by one of my old teachers, UQ’s Emeritus Professor Bob Milns… ‘Ithaca’ by Constantinos Cavafy. I’ll leave it to James Bond to read it for me.

Vale for now,

Futurus

Incentives to Finish

I had my thesis review last Friday. Basically, it was the last round of assessment on my thesis before I submit. The thesis review is quite similar to the thesis defence in the US, or the viva in the UK. I gave an oral presentation, and submitted a thesis chapter and progress report for review by a panel of academics, and had an interview with said panel. The panel consists of my advisor and three other academics. I passed, and with flying colours: I can proceed with my candidature. It feels good to have that over and done with. That said, I still have a long way to go, and I have some difficulty accepting the fact that I am, in fact, on the last leg of the thesis. Don’t get me wrong, the bulk of the work is done. Yet I still have one chapter left to be written, and I want to rewrite my first chapter, and then I need to do the introduction and conclusion, followed by a really thorough edit of the whole thing. I have five months left before submission. All of this is quite doable. In the meantime, however, passing the milestone feels like a Pyrrhic victory. On this dreary Monday morning I find it hard to work up any kind of motivation to write a thing.

Bearing this in mind, I have decided to compose a list of things I am really looking forward to doing when I finish my thesis. Hopefully this will provide some kind of incentive to escape!

1. Socialising More

I have become a bit of a hermit over the last few years. That’s just how things are, alas, when you’re working on such a big extended project, and raising kids at the same time. Of course, I have made a lot of great friends at uni, who have enriched my life in all kinds of ways. Time among like-minded people is precious. I can hardly walk down the hall without seeing a friendly face, and every conference is like a reunion of old army buddies. I love spending time among co-workers at the museum, and I have forged some great connections with my students and teachers, many of which have gone beyond mentor-student relationships to genuine friendships. I’m pretty involved in the community at the University, which is lovely.

That said… I have also had to decline a lot of invitations to get-togethers, barbecues, and other social events with family and close friends from outside the university environment. Even when I attend, my thesis is still lurking at the back of my mind. Research isn’t like other jobs. You can’t just walk away from your desk on Friday and come back to it on Monday. It eats at you, keeps you awake at night, and fills your dreams. It makes you feel guilty when you’re not attending it. It becomes the top priority in your life, and sometimes that’s not fair on others.

I’m really sorry if I have let some friendships slide a little. Partly it is because I am busy with my thesis, even on weekends. Also, having babies puts a pretty serious crimp in anyone’s social life, at least for a while. But my kids are getting older now, and they can adjust to disruptions in their routine a bit better. Once the thesis is out of the way, spending time with friends should be a lot easier. I’m going to join my mates on hikes and go rock-climbing. Which is a pretty good segway to my next item on the list…

2. Getting Actual Exercise

Now, I’m in fairly good shape. I go for walks pretty frequently, and I have a more or less balanced diet, so my health is pretty good. However, I have always wanted to build up my muscle tone a bit. I’ve been very thin most of my life, and I’ve had enough of it. Partly, I want to have more energy and a greater degree of physical strength, but vanity and body-consciousness is also part of it. Stupid, I know, but I’m human too. I don’t want a superhero physique, but I’d like to be able to take my shirt off at the beach without feeling like a man-sized chicken wing in board shorts. The biggest things stopping me from joining a gym now are lack of time (especially as I have a lengthy commute to and from campus), and most importantly, lack of money. Actually, that kind of leads me to the next point.

3. A Steady Job

This is a tough one to write about. I have decided that for the time being, I’m not going for an academic career. My reasons are probably best left to a separate blog post, but for now let’s say that I’d really like a steady income. Certainly, I am grateful for the living stipend I receive through my scholarship, but when it is the main source of income for a family of four, it doesn’t go very far. I’ve been basically supplementing my income for the last few years by doing extra work on the side– teaching, museum work, the occasional bit of contract work, and I’m tired of just scraping by. (I am of course grateful for the work, and my life is better for the experience).

I know that money doesn’t buy happiness, but poverty certainly equals misery. I’ve been poor my whole life, and I don’t like it. I don’t want my kids to have to grow up in poverty. I’m certain I’ll be able to get a decent job of some description once I’m finished the thesis. I’ve got a wide range of skills, and good experience. I’d prefer to get something in the University environment if possible, but we’ll see what comes up. The idea of not having to choose between spending money on rent or food is a big enticement to finish, as is the idea of having a job which I don’t have to carry around in my mind twenty-four hours a day. I love the idea of an actual, routine job. Will I still feel the same when I’ve got one? Maybe. I can’t wait to find out.

4. Reading and Writing for Pleasure

Reading is part of who I am. Like a lot of educated people, I have been a voracious reader since childhood. I used to consume several novels per week. But over the years, my pace of reading for pleasure has slowed painfully. I have a massive backlog of books people have recommended or lent me. My mother is still indignant that I haven’t touched the Bryce Courtenay tome she bought me for Christmas three years ago. I still read novels, but I only seem to have time for three or four per year nowadays– snatching a few pages here and there between disseminating journal articles, translating Tertullian, and turning out thesis chapters just doesn’t feel the same as soaking up a whole book in a weekend, or sitting on the train lost in the author’s world. I definitely still enjoy the intellectual thrill I get from my research, but it doesn’t provide the same kind of consolation that a great novel does.

Likewise, writing is a part of who I am. I have been working on a couple of novels for a long, long time now. They have lain dormant for over a year. I feel like I have neglected them. I want to finish Wanderers of Troy and The Feast of Wolves, to be able to dedicate the mental and creative energy necessary to get them done. I put them aside because I realised that there is only so much space in my mind for one writing project at a time. The thesis takes priority. Meanwhile, new ideas for stories keep creeping into my mind, and then jostling for headspace. It’s getting crowded in there. I’d like to write a novel about King Arthur. I’d like to write a novel based on the Passion of SS. Perpetua and Felicitas. Wherever I look, I see new stories, and sometimes I catch myself writing outlines in my head.

But there is just no time, and I need to stay focused, or my thesis will die.

I feel stifled creatively if I can’t write something. Starting this blog was partly a means of staving off the resulting insanity, and it has been great. I find that having some kind of release for my thoughts here has helped the flow of my thesis. Since I wrote my first paragraph of this post, I already feel the drive to return to the thesis returning. But having a job which I don’t have to take home with me will mean that I can actually devote some effort to extended creative writing. Having time for my passion will be wonderful. I don’t even care about publishing. I just want to write.

5. Being a Better Husband and Daddy

People tell me I’m a great father. People tell me that they envy the relationship I share with Kelly, my wife. That’s because being a husband and being a Dad is what makes me tick. I’m not saying I think I’m insufficient in either of those departments. I am, and always will be a family man, like that horrible Fleetwood Mac song.

Warned you it was horrible!

But I still strive to improve, now, always, forever. I know that it is not the easiest thing for my marriage, sometimes, that I am always so distracted. I don’t know how many times I have stayed up working into the night while Kelly went to bed, or when I’ve had to tell my sons I can’t play with them because I am too busy. My family deserves me, all of me, as much as I can give them. And I make it work, but it so often feels like I’m being pulled in many directions at once. It is difficult, maintaining the balance between family and research. That’s just the nature of an academic career, I think. Someday, I won’t have to struggle to maintain that balance.

Someday.

In short, I want a normal life, to do normal things, like a normal person.  That day is coming, and some days it feels so close I can taste it. I honestly don’t care about having letters at the end of my name any more, or being able to call myself ‘Doctor.’ Titles don’t mean a thing in the real world. But jeez, I’ll have a thesis which I can pitch to academic publishers. If that’s not an incentive, I don’t know what is. In the meantime, I just need to slay this thesis-beastie.

I guess I had best get back to it, then.

Vale for now,

Futurus

Write Like a Roman: Your Thesis Introduction

Hello all,

Over the last several weeks I have been immersed in the world of Classical rhetoric. I’ve been reading the advice of Aristotle, Cicero, Quintilian and the anonymous author of Rhetorica Ad Herrenium on the construction of persuasive speech. Trust me, it’s not my usual choice of reading material, but it is extremely useful for my thesis. I’m analysing the early Christian author, Tertullian. I’m interested in his adherence to the principles of Classical rhetoric in his construction of the human embryo. To be honest, it’s a little dry– rhetoric simply is not as juicy a topic as, say, Hippocratic theories of sperm production (see my last post). Nonetheless, I feel that rhetoric is one of the many areas where the Classics demonstrate their usefulness to contemporary society, and to academia in particular. If there was one thing that the Greeks and the Romans were good at, it was persuasive argument. That’s a pretty integral component of all aspects of academic writing, no matter the discipline. Indeed, the very word ‘thesis’ comes from the Greek word θέσις, ‘something put forth.’ What can we learn from the ancients?

As I get down to the crunch time on my dissertation, I find myself subconsciously making plans for writing my thesis introduction. It’s a little way off yet, as I still have one chapter left to write. Nonetheless, it’s important to start thinking about it early. As we all know, a solid introduction is absolutely crucial to writing a pass-worthy thesis. Everything ties into this chapter. If your intro is weak, the thesis won’t hold together. Writing the introduction can be one of the most nerve-wracking parts of the thesis process. I certainly found it so on my previous dissertations. How to structure it? I’ve been looking over the dissertations of academics whose work I admire, trying to figure out the key to writing a good introduction. And then it hit me: perhaps I’d had the answer all along in Cicero and Quintilian.

The key to a good thesis introduction may just be to write it like a Roman. Oh, I don’t suggest that you should drape yourself with a sheet and call it a toga as you tap away at the keyboard. Though if you do, you’re officially my hero. And chances are that you don’t have a helpful Tiro dutifully transcribing your words on a tablet, of the wax or touchscreen variety. I’m suggesting that one could write the thesis introduction effectively by structuring it like that of a Latin speech. Different academic disciplines have different requirements, of course, so feel free to adapt and modify as needed. The Romans themselves certainly had no real qualms about mixing and matching the sections of their speeches, when it suited their rhetorical purposes.

A Latin forensic speech was divided into three parts, roughly analogous to the introduction, body, and conclusion of an essay. Or rather, how an undergrad’s essay should read, in the ideal world. The introduction consisted of two parts: first, there was the exordium, a preamble where an orator was expected to set his audience in a sympathetic frame of mind. It often featured an emotive plea to listeners’ senses of justice or ethics.

Now, I don’t think it’s a great idea to write a thesis emotively. At all. It’s not good academicese, and emotive language will straight away set alarm bells going off in the marker’s mind. Still, it is not uncommon for a thesis to open with some general observations or remarks which serve to let the reader ease into the thesis, rather than jumping into the argument. But keep it short and sweet, because the next part is a doozy. In the great scheme of things, the exordium is not the most important part: even for the Romans, it was not uncommon to either drop it altogether, or slot it in after offering more substantial arguments.

The next part, the narratio, was essential. It was in the narratio that the speaker narrated the circumstances from which their topic emerged, and gave some indication of their plans to deal with it. According to the anonymous rhetorical handbook Rhetorica Ad Herrenium, and confirmed by Cicero, the narratio chiefly consisted of a partitio, which explicated the main point of contention. It was here that the speech-writer stated the central thesis which he was trying to prove. In the partitio, the speaker was also expected to demarcate the points on which he agreed with his opponent from those with which he disagreed, and then summarise the content of his speech. Of course, Quintilian relabelled the partitio as the propositio, but we’ll leave that to one side.

This is where one explains the problem the thesis is tackling, and why it is necessary to do so. How did the problem come up? Moreover, one must review the current literature in one’s area, and explain how your method is similar, or different. You can explain where you think previous research is lacking, and explain why that has happened. What are you going to do to compensate for the existing problems in the literature? It’s important to write one’s lit review critically, I think, rather than it simply being a catalogue of your readings. The most effective lit review is narrative, tracing the development of theory over time, as well as applications of the research. Believe it or not, the art of story-telling is a powerful skill, with a wide range of applications.

Now is probably the time to state your thesis and provide a summary of the thesis content; some say the thesis statement should be earlier, and that is fine too. Either way, the introduction probably won’t be the first time the reader has encountered the thesis, since they’ll have read your abstract. It is also absolutely essential to summarise the body of the thesis effectively, in perspicuous language. It is going to be your reader’s guide to the remainder of your thesis. That’s why it’s usually a good idea to write it last, after you have formed your ideas… Otherwise, it’s really easy to wind up contradicting yourself.

Anyway, thinking about the thesis introduction in these terms has certainly helped me. I’m going in with a greater sense of confidence, knowing that in crafting my thesis, I’m engaging in an academic tradition which is literally thousands of years old. I hope it is helpful for you too.

If you’re looking for more advice on constructing your discussion chapter, I heartily recommend the thoughts of the Thesis Whisperer here:

http://thesiswhisperer.com/2012/01/23/how-do-i-start-my-discussion-chapter/

I may yet make more posts in future about the relevance of ancient rhetorical theory to today’s world.

Vale for now,

Futurus

Competing Theories of Spermatogenesis in Classical Greek Science

Hello everyone! This blogging thing has turned out to be a lot of fun! I really appreciate all the support I’ve gotten thus far– I’ve managed to scrape together almost 2000 hits and 27 followers in a matter of months!

You may have noticed that the posts have slowed down a bit lately. I think that with the amount of pressure I’m under at the moment, one post per month is about all I can handle for now. Anyway, I thought I would share a paper I wrote some time ago for a postgraduate seminar… The paper seemed to go down well, so I thought I’d call my mum to tell her the good news.

‘Oh, that’s nice,’ she said. ‘What was your talk about?’

‘Sperm.’

‘What?’

‘Greek sperm.’

A long, awkward silence ensued.

I do hope you enjoy the paper rather more than she did! It’s not really original research. but it is rather an obscure area. Therefore, it’s perfect for a blog post. Enjoy!

Classical Greek conceptualisations of embryology and generation exerted powerful influences over both the development of European medicine and our understanding of the functioning of the human body. Spermatogenesis, the production of sperm, was an issue that was fiercely debated amongst writers of the Hippocratic Corpus and Aristotle.  Between them, they presented three competing ideas of the generation of sperm. The first was the Encephalogenetic theory, which postulated that sperm is produced in the brain. The second was the Pangenetic theory, which claimed that sperm is the product of all bodily humours combined. Finally, Aristotle’s Haematogenous school of thought supported the theory that seed originates from blood. (edit: It has been brought to my attention that the word ‘school’ might give the impression that Greek medicine was better organised than it was in reality. I’m just using the word to indicate a particular way of thinking). Yet certain Hippocratic authors gave equal credence to multiple theories of spermatogenesis simultaneously, with no attempt to reconcile them. Conversely, Aristotle fiercely disparaged Hippocratic pangenetic theories. Due to medieval and Renaissance biologists’ reliance on Aristotle and Hippocrates, the conflict between the disparate spermatogenetic theories continued until advancements were made in the field of microbiology during the Nineteenth Century. Pangenesis, for example, influenced Charles Darwin’s understanding of genetic inheritance. My paper will examine the theories of spermatogenesis which were put forward by Fifth and Fourth Century authors who entered the debate, particularly those of Aristotle and the Hippocratic School.

Adherents of the Encephalogenetic theory hypothesised that sperm is produced in the brain and is transmitted to the loins via the cardiovascular system. This idea probably predated Hippocrates, as Diogenes Laertius recorded it as an argument of Pythagoras.[1] Yet the idea was adopted occasionally in the works of the Hippocratic Corpus. For instance, as part of his excursus on the health problems particular to the Skythians, the anonymous Hippocratic author of On Airs, Waters and Places suggested that male infertility and sexual impotence were common among Skythian horsemen, due to the Skythians’ reputed routine of bloodletting from the cranium to treat swelling caused by hard riding. He stated his opinion that this process destroys the production of seed: ‘For there are veins alongside the ears, the cutting of which results in infertility.’[2] Admittedly, the author did not here explicitly state that he credited Encephalogenetic precepts. However, his identification of a causal relationship between interrupting blood flow from the head and sexual dysfunction implies that he observed Encephalogenetic principles to some extent.

On the other hand, followers of the humourist school of medicine often favoured the Pangenetic theory that sperm results from the combination of all bodily humours (black bile, yellow bile, phlegm and blood).[3] According to the work of the Hippocratic Corpus known today as The Seed, sperm is a type of foam produced by the subjection of bodily humours to heat and agitation.[4] Humourist writers reasoned that the combination of all four humours must be necessary for procreation since they considered each humour an essential component of a human being.[5]

Pangenetic theories regarding the formation and diffusion of sperm are most clearly articulated in The Seed. The author claimed that ‘The sperm of a man comes from all the liquid in the body.’[6] He went on to suggest that the most powerfully concentrated bodily humours are separated from those less potent and funnelled into the spinal column, ‘for there are passages that extend into it from the whole body.’[7] Once the four humours are combined in the spinal column, the fresh semen is then filtered to the kidneys. From there, it is transmitted via the testes and released through a special duct in the penis that, according to the author, is separate from the urinary tract.[8]

Though he did not accept the premise of Pangenesis, Aristotle catalogued in his treatise On the Generation of Animals four main arguments that prompted previous theorists to accept the Pangenetic understanding of spermatogenesis. Admittedly, using Aristotle as a source for Pangenetic theory is somewhat perilous, since he articulated Pangenetic theories specifically to debunk them. Yet the employment of Aristotle is necessary, as his work contains one of the few clear explanations of Pangenetic principles of genetic inheritance that has survived to the present day.

First, he noted Pangeneticists’ argument that the intensity of sexual pleasure that accompanies male ejaculation indicates all parts of the male body are involved in the production and release of semen. This was argued on the basis of a syllogism, that if the pleasure of orgasm came from less than the sum total of the body, it would not be so powerful.[9] Aristotle countered this syllogism with one of his own. He suggested that the orgasm that accompanies ejaculation in males would prove pangenesis only if male orgasm built gradually throughout intercourse; if sperm were drawn from the extremities of the body, he claimed it follows that orgasm ‘should occur not at the same time, but prior in some areas and afterward in other areas.’[10] Yet, as he wryly pointed out, male orgasm occurs only at the climax of intercourse. As far as Aristotle was concerned, the suddenness of the male orgasm and ejaculation implied that it was instead caused by ‘violent stimulation’ of the circulatory system.[11]

Secondly, Aristotle noted the Pangenetic contention that injuries are inherited, since damaged or abnormal parts of the body do not produce seed and ‘the part from which no semen comes does not get formed in the offspring.’[12] Aristotle demolished this argument by pointing out that deformities are not universally passed on from parent to child.[13] He did however, make the concession that ‘monstrosities’ arise in cases where deformities are congenital.[14]

Thirdly, he recorded the Pangenetic argument that children physically resemble their parents in many areas throughout the body, implying that sperm came from those areas.[15] Aristotle refused to credit physical resemblance as evidence for Pangenesis, commenting that certain parental characteristics appear in offspring which, as far as he could tell, cannot possibly arise from sperm.[16] He cited the examples of hair and nails being passed on to children. Being dead tissues, he considered hair and nails incapable of producing sperm, yet they are passed on from parent to child nonetheless.[17] Aristotle also attempted to present the acquisition by children of parents’ manners of walking and talking as evidence that Pangenesis was false, since behavioural patterns do not in themselves generate sperm yet are passed on regardless.[18] Aristotle also made the point that features of old age will manifest in offspring at the later stages of life even when they were not present in parents at the time of conception.[19] Furthermore, Aristotle pointed to the fact that children can resemble ancestors who played no direct part in their conception; thus, their physical characteristics are not predicated on sperm from their parents alone.[20]

Finally, Aristotle listed the Pangenetic precept that since all living beings are crafted from a whole, the same principle must therefore apply to individual parts of the body.[21] Thus as presented by Aristotle, the Pangenetic theory relied on a concept of preformation.[22] As far as he was concerned, Pangenetic theorists held that minuscule body parts exist in a dismembered state within sperm, which are then assembled into human form immediately upon implantation in the womb.[23]

Aristotle discredited this idea with the observation that limbs cannot live once they are detached from the whole.[24] Moreover if the parts are not dismembered, then semen (as the sum of all the parent’s body parts) would form a living creature in itself.[25] Therefore, if parents each contribute sperm that hold all the parts of the body in potentia, then people would be able to reproduce asexually.[26]   

On the other hand, it is worth considering that Aristotle’s account of Pangenetic belief regarding preformation does not entirely tally with the account of generation given in The Nature of the Child. This Hippocratic version is arguably more refined and more subtle than Aristotle would have his readers believe.[27] The Nature of the Child postulated that the parts of the body indeed exist within sperm, but in an undifferentiated state.[28] Rather than carrying a homunculus, The Nature of the Child suggested that seminal fluid contains raw material gathered from each part of the body. Only after conception might the parts begin to take shape from this amorphous mass, a process apparently initiated by respiration.[29]

Unlike the Encephalogenetic and Pangenetic theories, the Haematogenous school of thought, made popular by Aristotle’s Generation of Animals, held that the origin of sperm lies in blood.[30] It should be noted, however, that Aristotle was not the originator of this theory, for a simpler version of it is found in fragments of pre-Socratic philosophical works by Diogenes of Apollonia.[31] Since a version of the Haematogenous theory of spermatogenesis may be found in an earlier source, Aristotle was probably simply elaborating on a pre-existing notion through his teleological method.[32] Aristotle argued on the basis of his observation of various animal species that blood is formed from the ‘concoction’ or ‘ripening’ of foodstuffs in the belly.[33] Once liquefied by what Aristotle identified as ‘vital heat,’ the fluid undergoes further processing in the heart.[34] The Aristotelian theory held that a surplus of blood is produced by this process. In the cardiovascular system en route to its final site of excretion, this excess blood in turn is fermented into various practical fluids. Among these were sperm in men, as well as menstrual fluid and breast milk in women.[35]

While Aristotle was adamant in his insistence on Haematogenesis, the question of where sperm arises from prompted a great degree of uncertainty from some Hippocratic authors. This is suggested by their simultaneous inclusion of incompatible theories of spermatogenesis within their works. Von Staden suggests that this eventuated because the Hippocratic Corpus represents a transitional period in the history of Greek medicine, dealing with both long-held traditions and emerging understandings of the human body.[36] The tension between old and new theories of spermatogenesis is most evident in the Hippocratic work On Airs, Waters and Places, whose author included both the Encephalogenetic and Pangenetic theories side-by-side. As previously mentioned, Airs, Waters and Places suggested a causal relationship between the act of bloodletting from the head and sexual impotence, suggesting a strong degree of belief in the older Pythagorean tradition of the brain as the source of sperm.

Yet the author of Airs, Waters and Places had earlier made it clear that he supported the Pangenetic theory of spermatogenesis.[37] The Pangenetic aspects of Airs, Waters and Places are incorporated in the author’s discussion of the factors which he believed to cause ethnic diversity, particularly his lengthy tract on the peculiar characteristics of the tribe he identified as Makrokephaloi, or ‘Longheads.’ Here he quite explicitly stated that ‘seed issues from every region of the body, healthy seed from healthy parts, unhealthy seed from the unhealthy.’[38] He argued this on the basis that the Makrokephaloi apparently engaged in the ritual of fixing tight bandages around the soft skullcaps of their newborns, applying pressure around the pliable bone in order to elongate their heads permanently.[39] Through the process of pangenetic spermatogenesis he suggested that elongated skulls had become an inherited trait among Makrokephaloi as damaged seed from their skulls resulted in the same damage being projected onto their children.[40]

It should be noted that the author of Airs, Waters and Places made no attempt to reconcile the disparate Encephalogenetic and Pangenetic theories, but presented them both unabashedly.[41] This might be interpreted as evidence that the author was at a loss as to which spermatogenetic theory he should accept. Without anatomical knowledge of the reproductive system, either theory could have been true. In this situation, he perhaps was willing to hedge his bets by including both in his work.

Similarly, the Hippocratic writer of the The Seed attempted to deal with the disparity between the Encephalogenetic and Pangenetic theories by combining them. As previously mentioned, the author of The Seed adopted the Pangenetic stance that male sperm results from all bodily humours undergoing heat and movement.[42] However, the author also attempted to incorporate the Encephalogenetic ideation of the brain as a reproductive organ without going so far as to suggest that sperm is a direct product of the brain. Instead he believed that seminal fluid, having been produced throughout the body, is channelled upward via the vascular system to the cranium for filtration in the brain, which acts as a kind of spermic reservoir. According to The Seed semen, once filtered in the head, passes downward through the spinal column to the loins, there to be somehow released through sexual intercourse.[43] The precise mechanics of ejaculation were not described at all.

The attempt in The Seed to bring together the Encephalogenetic and Pangenetic tenets failed to produce a fully choate explanation of spermatogenesis and did not engender any form of consensus regarding the production of seed.[44] Although his attempt to synthesise the ideas was admirable in its ingenuity, the author’s approach was somewhat arbitrary. He made no attempt to explain the basis on which he selected aspects from each theory, seemingly looking only to form a coherent narrative of spermatogenesis. To some extent, the unique spermatogenetic theory proposed in The Seed may be seen as the synthesis of the opposing Encephalogenetic and Pangenetic viewpoints through the dialectic process. In the Greek philosophical tradition as in contemporary academia, the synthesis of ideas formed through the dialectical process ideally resulted in consensus. This did not occur in the case of The Seed. Though the author accomplished an explanation of spermatogenesis that held some degree of internal consistency, no other surviving work of antiquity repeated his view.

Interestingly, neither the Hippocratic Corpus nor Aristotle attributed the gonads any active role in the creation of seed; rather as far as they were concerned the testicles serve a purely ancillary function in spermatogenesis.[45] The Hippocratic author of The Seed came closest to assigning the testes an active role in sperm production, identifying the destruction of the ‘spermic passage’ through the testicles as a reason for eunuchs’ impotence.[46] Yet he did not directly state that the testes themselves are the source of sperm. Rather, he argued that they serve a mechanical role in intercourse. As he said,

Eunuchs are unable to have intercourse for this reason: that the passage of the seed itself is destroyed, for there is a passage through the testicles. Also, there are compact, slender sinews running from the penis to the testicles, which constrict to hoist up and let down the penis. And these in surgery are cut, and it is by this that eunuchs begin to be impotent. On the other hand, the spermic passage of those (whose testicles) are wiped out becomes obstructed, for the testes are petrified; and the ligaments, having become hardened and dull by the petrification, are no longer able to constrict and loosen. (Hippoc. Sem. 2.)

On the other hand, Aristotle went so far as to liken the testes to loom weights.[47] To explain Aristotle’s metaphor, he believed that testes serve to extend the passage of sperm within the veins. Rendering the journey of the seed more tortuous before its eventual ejaculation would, he reasoned, give the seminal residue more time to concoct and thereby render it stronger and more effective in bringing life to an embryo.[48] As far as Aristotle was concerned, this process would also bring the benefits of curbing premature ejaculation and moderating excessive sexual passion.[49]

Spermatogenesis was a matter that provoked great speculation and debate between Aristotle and the Hippocratic writers, as shown by their competing theories of Encephalogenesis, Pangenesis and Haematogenesis. This lack of harmony regarding spermatogenesis would affect later Greco-Roman authors such as Herophilus, Soranus, Tertullian, Galen and Vindicianus. Indeed, the concept of preformationism would continue to impact on understandings of generation even with the published identification of spermatozoa under a microscope by the Dutch microscopist and haberdasher Antonie van Leeuwenhoek in 1677 AD.[50] Crucially, the Pangenetic concept of spermatogenesis would underpin Charles Darwin’s understanding of genetic inheritance.[51] Pangenesis would not be conclusively disproven until 1871, through experimentation on rabbits by Darwin’s relative Francis Galton.[52]

Bibliography

Ancient Sources

Aristotle (ed. H.J. Drossaart Lulofs). 1965. Aristotelis De Generatione Animalium, Clarendon Press: Oxford.

Aristophanes of Byzantium (ed. A. Nauck and W.J. Slater). 1986. Aristophanis Byzantii Fragmenta, Walter de Gryter: NY and Berlin.

Diogenes Laertius, (ed. H.S. Long).1964. Diogenis Laertii Vitae Philosophorum, Clarendon Press: Oxford.

Hippocratic Corpus (ed. E. Littre). 1839-1861. De Aera, Aquis, Locis, in Oeuvres Complètes d’Hippocrate, J.B. Bailliere: Paris.

Hippocratic Corpus (ed. E. Littre). 1839-1861. De Morbo Sacro, in Oeuvres Complètes d’Hippocrate, J.B. Bailliere: Paris.

Hippocratic Corpus (ed. E. Littre). 1839-1861. De Natura Pueri, in Oeuvres Complètes d’Hippocrate, J.B. Bailliere: Paris.

Hippocratic Corpus (ed. E. Littre). 1839-1861. De Semine, De Natura Pueri, De Morbis IV, in Oeuvres Complètes d’Hippocrate, J.B. Bailliere: Paris.

Modern Sources

Balm, D. and Gotthelf, A. 1992. Aristotle’s De Partibus Animalium I and De Generatione Animalium I: With Passages from II-1.3, New York: Oxford University Press.

Boylan, M. 1984. ‘Galenic and Hippocratic Challenges to Aristotle’s Conception Theory,’ Journal of the History of Biology 17: 83-112.

Bulmer, M.G. 2003. Francis Galton: Pioneer of Heredity and Biometry, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press.

Cilliers, L. 2004. ‘Vindicianus’ Gynaecia and Theories on Generation and Embryology from the Babylonians up to Graeco-Roman Times’, in H.F.J. Horstmanshoff and M. Stol eds., Magic and Rationality in Ancient Near Eastern and Graeco-Roman Medicine, Boston: Brill Academic Publishers, 343-367.

Darwin, C. 1868. The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication, 2 Vols. London: John Murray.

Dean-Jones, L. 1994.  Women’s Bodies in Classical Greek Science, Oxford: Clarendon.

Dobell, C. 1932.  Antony van Leeuwenhoek and His “Little Animals,” New York: Russell and Russell.

Mayr, E. 1982. The Growth of Biological Thought: Diversity, Evolution, and Inheritance, Cambridge, Mass, Belknap Press.

Von Staden, H. 1989. Herophilus: The Art of Medicine in Early Alexandria, Cambridge, NY, New Rochelle, Melbourne and Sydney: Cambridge University Press.

---

[1] Diog. Laert. 8.28.

[2] Hippoc. Aer. 22.

[3] Mayr 1982: 636.

[4] Hippoc. Sem. 1.

[5] Hippoc. Sem. 3.

[6] Hippoc. Sem. 1.

[7] Hippoc. Sem. 1.

[8] Hippoc. Sem. 1.

[9] Arist. Gen. an. 721b15-20.

[10] Arist. Gen. an. 723b33-724a5.

[11] Arist. Gen. an. 723b34.

[12] Arist. Gen. an. 721b20-22. This is a reflection of Hippoc. Morb. Sacr. 5, which argues that predisposition toward sickliness may be carried over generationally because sickly seed propagates sickness in a child.

[13] Arist. Gen. an. 724a.5-10.

[14] Arist. Gen. an. 769 b.25-30.

[15] Arist. Gen. an. 721b22-23.

[16] Arist. Gen. an. 722a4-5.

[17] Arist. Gen. an. 722a5-10.

[18] Arist. Gen. an. 722a5-10.

[19] Arist. Gen. an. 722a5-10.

[20] Arist. Gen. an. 722a5-10.

[21] Arist. Gen. an. 721b25-30.

[22] Boylan 1984: 90.

[23] Arist. Gen. an. 722b7-30.

[24] Arist. Gen. an. 722b 4-5.

[25] Arist. Gen. an. 722b22-24.

[26] Arist. Gen. an. 722b13-14.

[27] Dean-Jones 1994: 163.

[28] Hippoc. Nat. puer. 7.

[29] Hippoc. Nat. puer. 7.

[30] Arist. Gen an. 726b10.

[31] Ar. Byz. 64B6DK. This surviving fragment of Third Century commentator Aristophanes of Byzantium’s epitome of Aristotle’s History of Animals gives a tantalising indication that the idea of Haematogenesis originated with Diogenes of Apollonia.

[32] Von Staden 1989: 290.

[33] Arist. Gen. an. 726b1-5.

[34] Arist. Gen. an. 726b 10-13.

[35] Arist. Gen. an. 776b 25-30; Cilliers 2004: 352.

[36] Von Staden 1989: 290.

[37] Hippoc. Aer. 14.

[38] Hippoc. Aer. 14.

[39] Hippoc. Aer. 14.

[40] Hippoc. Aer. 14.

[41] Von Staden 1989: 290.

[42] Hippoc. Sem. 1.

[43] Hippoc. Sem. 1.

[44] Von Staden 1989: 290.

[45] Von Staden 1989: 290.

[46] Hippoc. Sem. 2.

[47] Arist. Gen. an. 717a35-38.

[48] Arist. Gen. an. 717a29-31.

[49] Arist. Gen. an. 717a29-31.

[50] Dobell 1958: 104.

[51] Darwin 1868: 357.

[52] Bulmer 2003: 116-118.

The Curious Case of the Christian Classicist

So we all survived the 2012 apocalypse, right? Hands up if you didn’t. My theory is that the various prophecies were misinterpreted, and actually referred to the destruction of Nibiru. Maybe.

Anyway, since very few of us were transmogrified into three-headed yaks or somesuch on the 21st, the 25th inevitably happened, and with it came the usual flood of discussion among my friends concerning the place of Christians in contemporary Western society. This kind of brought some thoughts I’ve been having about my own faith into sharper focus. For you see, I am a Christian. But I am also a Classicist. There. I’ve outed myself.

I have encountered remarkably few people in academia who practise a religion of any sort. I guess it comes with the territory– let’s face it, at most Australian universities, orthodox religion is a dirty word. I get a mix of reactions when I disclose my religion to others. Some are amazed, some are aghast, some are dismissive, some are simply uncomfortable. Some are disgusted. I can understand that. Many of the things my fellow Christians say and do leave me disgusted too. Tell people you’re a Christian, and they’ll often automatically assume you’re a spiteful, hateful, anti-intellectual bigot. Many will think you’re a Bible-bashing simpleton. There are many Christians who are all these things, so I get why people might think that. But… I’m not. At least, I try not to be. For me, the first obligation of being a good Christian is that of a good human being: to be ethically beneficent.

Anti-Christian sentiment seems to be particularly strong in the fields of Classics and Ancient History. I suppose that this occurs for a few reasons. Our field is based heavily upon archaeology, which rarely if ever supports Biblical narratives, Genesis least of all. Moreover, the field of Classics is heavily based upon the criticism of ancient texts. In pursuit of historical truth, we go out specifically looking for inconsistencies, errors and discontinuities in our primary sources. The Bible is riddled with inconsistencies as an historical text. A lot of us interested in the history of religion can see how much Christianity has borrowed from religions of Antiquity in terms of its theology and institutions. Knowing the human origins of these things makes it difficult to uphold them as divinely inspired. But most of all, I think Classicists often despise Christianity because Late Antiquity, the period in which Christianity became the state cult of the Roman Empire, was a step backwards in so many different ways. (Incidentally, I think Christianity itself was only partly to blame, despite what Gibbon will tell you). Moreover, Christians actively engaged in the persecution of… well, so many people, actually. But in particular, Christian Proselytism and religious extremism harmed Jews, Pagans, and fellow Christians. That’s right, folks, nobody was better at persecuting Christians than Christians. If you don’t believe me, look into the way Arianism was dealt with.

These things are all true. I would be foolish to deny them. Also, it would be dangerous and irresponsible to deny the role that religion continues to play in human conflict, and in the suppression of minorities today. As a community, we have a lot to answer for, and answer we should. I cannot claim personal responsibility for what the entire Christian community does, or has done, but I can take responsibility for my own actions and the way they impact upon others.

You would think that my training as a Classicist would deter me from my faith. I will confess, the Christian Classicist has a difficult path to tread, not least of which because we face ridicule by our peers, and often by fellow Christians. We also have to reconcile our faith with our ability to reason. That is not by any means impossible. If anything, I hope that my training as a Classicist has aided me as a Christian.

It has given me a sufficient grounding in history to realise that a lot of what the Bible says is specific to its times and places. Believe it or not, that helps a great deal, as it is a stretch to imagine how, say, some of the laws in Deuteronomy are meant to apply to us.

The skills of textual analysis have helped me to understand that the Bible is not actually one book, but a collection of a lot of different books, each by an individual author with an individual message. I don’t think that means they’re worth any less. If anything, I can relate to the texts more, knowing that they come from ordinary people like you and me. That removes any need to ‘retcon’ the inconsistencies. Also, I feel considerably less anxiety about having to prove the Bible right when scientific and historical data clearly contradict it. I no longer see the Bible as a book of scientific truth, but as a repository of spiritual truth from a wide variety of authors.

My knowledge of Greek has helped me quite a bit. Even as a Christian, I did not start studying the NT in earnest until I tackled it from a linguistic perspective. Looking at the works which comprise the New Testament in their original tongue helps me to get into the mindset of the ancient author and reader. Also, it has taught me to distrust the words ‘literal translation.’

My historical knowledge of Late Antiquity has allowed me to see the good Christians have done in that era, as well as the bad. I don’t think anybody would disagree that banning the gladiatorial games was a positive move. I actually find this affirmative for my faith– it allows us to see that our moral choices are in our hands, which empowers us to make decisions for the benefit of the human race. Christianity has been a positive influence over the development of Western society in many different areas.

But more than anything, I guess that being a Classicist has taught me to appreciate the value of other ways of thinking, outside the square of Christian thought. It has exposed me to other religions, cultures, philosophies, languages and ways of life. It has taught me to empathise with others better, to see the good wrought by non-Christian religions and societies. Seriously, if it weren’t for Islamic preservation of Galenic medicine, we probably would be still using leeches. If it were not for the Enlightenment, you would not be sitting in front of a computer. In short, it has helped me to relate better to people of the world and see that they can make a positive contribution to the human race, even if they are not Christian. The world is a tapestry, with many different threads.

Some would say that my Classicism has had an adverse effect upon my faith, that it has made me more worldly. Perhaps– but the fact is, as Christians, we are in the world but not of it. Being in the world means we need to coexist with our neighbours… And love them, actually. In a sense, I believe that having a greater understanding of how the world works is a step toward the love and understanding of Christ. Being able to walk around in another person’s shoes helps us to respect, love, show compassion, and forgive.

These ideals are not exclusive to Christianity. Realising this has once again helped me to relate to others. It means I can encourage people to study the teachings of Christ upon a humanist ethical basis. My decision to avoid trying to convert people has not stopped me from encouraging others to study the Bible, and the Gospels especially. If people express an interest in reading the New Testament, I am pleased. If they find personal salvation, I am even more pleased. But I will not force it upon them. I believe that if people accept Christ, that acceptance must come voluntarily  and not because some Christian is trying to force them. I no longer believe that it is my duty to convert people. And you know what? It has helped me a lot in my relations with others. People don’t like being told what to think or believe. Go figure!

These are just the thoughts of a Christian layperson, who is still figuring out how to navigate the world and do what he can to make it a better place.

Until next time,

Futurus

Medieval Penitentials on Childbirth and Abortion

Reblogged from Things Medieval:

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Once again, I find myself apologising for a long posting hiatus. Whoops. I promise the radio silence over the past three months hasn't been in vain... I've spent the time outlining a PhD thesis, writing a tiny bit of a chapter, reading everything I could wrap my brain around, and learning loads of cool things to share with you.

Such as some interesting papers at the…

Read more… 374 more words

I'm glad to see I'm not the only one looking at attitudes toward unborn children prior to the early modern period!

Guest Post! Jeroen Wijnendaele on “King Arthur: Facts, Fiction and Film”

The Arthurian legend, now with more historicism. And photoshopped breasts.

Greetings, everyone! I’m sorry that it has been a little while since my last post– my time at the moment is divided between crunching out a chapter and preparing to celebrate the birth of the unconquered sun, I mean, son. However, I recently discovered this wonderful little piece by my good friend Jeroen, who graciously allowed me to share it with you. Thanks, Jeroen! Medieval literature is one of my hobbies– that’s the kind of nerd I am. In this paper, Jeroen considers the historicity of  Antoine Fuqua’s 2004 film, King Arthur. The film is one of my favourites, though I will always be fond of John Boorman’s Excalibur, which is chock-full of shiny tin suits and actors who shout EVERY SINGLE LINE!

There just aren’t enough shiny things in this movie! Better give Merlin some bling.

Jeroen is a PhD student at University College, Cork. Jeroen and I first met at the ASCS conference in Melbourne earlier this year. We quickly hit it off, meeting at several conferences throughout the year. I had the particular honour of being on a panel with him at the ‘Land and Sea’ conference for the Australian Early Medieval Association, where we each spoke on piracy in Late Antiquity. I look forward to his forthcoming book, Romeinen en Barbaren. De ondergang van het Romeinse Rijk in het Westen. (Romans and Barbarians. The Decline of the Roman Empire in the West). I shall now leave you in his capable hands!

(Paper for the Texts, Cultures & Communication workshop: “Culture and Communication”, University College Cork, 25.03.10)

This is not the first King Arthur movie and it definitely won’t be the last. Arthur is probably the best-known figure of medieval legends. Even if you do not know the background, you will at least have heard of his mighty sword Excalibur, the Knights of the Round Table or Camelot. Wonderful characters, such as the wizard Merlin, queen Guinevere or sir Lancelot.

If you are not familiar with this movie then what you are about to see might come as a big surprise, if not outright shock. There is no trace of monsters or magic. Arthur is not a feudal king but a Roman officer. And his “knights” are not gallant noblemen, but steppe warriors hailing from the Ukraine. In case you’re wondering, no the writer of this script did not digest the wrong kind of mushrooms. Instead he deliberately chose to follow a story that is more faithful to history than any Arthur movie Hollywood ever produced.

A couple of reservations have to be made of course. Epic Movies, especially modern ones, are always an exercise in translation when it comes down to bringing canonical stories to the big screen. They have to sell and their producers will always have to walk a fine line between veracity and entertainment. Points of detail, some bigger than others, will be sacrificed or twisted in order to create a more organic viewing. Hopefully. This King Arthur film from 2004 is no exception, but it does a remarkably better job than other well-known epic films such as ‘Troy’ or ‘300’.

The film claims to present a historically accurate version of the Arthurian legends, supposedly inspired by new archaeological findings. Yet there is no consensus among modern scholars that there even was a historical Arthur. So how could this film even make a claim to historic accuracy?

There is not one single canonical Arthur story, instead we have several based on folklore, poems and sheer literary invention. The mainstream version of the legend – one can even say myth – goes back to the works of the 12th century writers Geoffrey of Monmouth and Chrétien de Troyes. They would sow the seeds of the genre of Arthurian romance that became a significant strand in Medieval Literature. They contain the fantasy elements of his birth at Tintagel and final rest in Avalon, the quest for the Holy Grail and his battle against Mordred.

These works were not created out of the blue, of course, and seem to have found inspiration in a couple of historical works who mention a British leader, organizing local defenses against the Saxons during the late fifth century AD. The oldest work to provide this background is De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae or “On the ruin and conquest of Britain”. It is a Latin sermon, written somewhere in the sixth century by a Britton cleric called Gildas. It is one of the most important sources for the history of Britain in the 5th and 6th centuries. In fact, it is the only insular source for this period written by a contemporary of the people and the events it described. Without it, we would know virtually nothing.

I quote (slightly abbreviated to spare you a headache): “The poor remnants of our nation, …, being strengthened by God, … , took arms under the conduct of Ambrosius Aurelianus, a modest man, who of all the Roman nation was then alone in the confusion of this troubled period by chance left alive. … After this, sometimes our countrymen, sometimes the enemy, won the field, until the year of the siege of Bathon Hill, when took place also the last almost, though not the least slaughter of our cruel foes, which was forty-four years and one month after the landing of the Saxons.”

It is this version of events that the creators of the movie chose to model their King Arthur story after, using what little information there is left about fifth century post-Imperial Britain. To understand this source fragment and the historic events used in the movie we need to take a brief look at the Later Roman Empire.

During the crisis of the third century AD the Empire nearly collapsed. In the fifty years between 235 and 285 Roman armies suffered repeated defeats against Persia and Germanic confederations. Several of the provinces separated themselves and civil wars created and destroyed dozens of emperors. It took a series of grim soldier emperors, hailing from the Balkans, to repulse the invaders, crush the usurpers and restore order and unity. The Later Roman empire, as it was reformed by the emperors Diocletian (284-305) and Constantine I (306-337), would transform into something very different compared to what you might know about the Early Empire from series such as ‘I, Claudius’ or films like ‘Gladiator’.

The crisis had taught Diocletian that one emperor could seldom counter all the Empire’s domestic and foreign problems. Throughout the fourth and fifthy century colleague emperors would govern West and East from capitals close to the boarders, such as Trier, Milan or Constantinople. Rome was no longer the center of the world. The army was substantially expanded with at least a 100.000 men and the economy thoroughly reformed so the military could be financed. The Emperors were no longer hiding behind a Republican facade, but instead received a Divine aura and were surrounded by an Absolutist Court Culture in order to distance themselves from mere mortals.

I shall not go further into details about this, but I would like to mention three elements that are important to understand the movie: Pelagianism, the Imperial abandonment of Britain and the Sarmatians.

Throughout the fourth century the Roman Empire became a Christian Empire. Constantine was the chief instigator of this evolution through his tolerance of Christianity and support to the Church. His successors would continue this policy and at the same time issue legislation that slowly but steadily restricted the pagan cults, until Christianity became the exclusive state religion.

This was everything but a smooth process and it is very important to keep in mind that Christianity and the Church were not monolithic entities. Debates over doctrinal issues raged throughout this period and frequently resulted in dissenting opinions being declared heretical. One such heresy was Pelagianism. In the early years of the fifth century, Pelagius, who is reported to have been hailing from Britain, challenged the conventional Christians to take responsibility for their souls. He believed that the soul was free to choose good as easily as evil. Only corruption of society and force of habit held it back, while baptism could be the dramatic break to begin a new and perfect life.

This was the exact opposite of St Augustine’s outlook, which saw the fate of human souls as predestined. Only God’s Grace could bring salvation. Eventually Pelagianism was declared a heresy by papal and imperal degree in 418 and became persecuted. At that date, however, Britain had already slipped out of Imperial control and became a safe haven for Pelagianists. In 429 the Bishop Germanus of Auxerre was sent to investigate this and bring the British flock back together.

The Imperial loss of Britain is tightly connected with events on the continent. At the start of the fifth century part of the British field army had been withdrawn to Italy, since the Imperial government needed all its resources to block a Gothic invasion. The same had been done with the army of the Rhine. As a result, boarder defenses were minimal when in 406 barbarian war bands such as the Vandals, Alans and Sueves crossed the Rhine, causing havoc in Gaul.

At the same time, Italy was confronted with Alaric’s Visigothic army. In this general confusion the British army revolted, proclaimed its own Emperor and crossed the channel to restore order in Gaul. In the chaos that ensued the following years, Rome was sacked by the Goths, the other barbarian groups spread to Spain and the British challenger to the Imperial throne was defeated and executed. The Imperial government slowly started to regain control, reunited the armies of Britain, Gaul and Italy and managed to settle the barbarian armies in Gaul and Spain.

In two decades, however, it had lost almost half of its manpower and all of its provinces, save North Africa, had been wrecked with destruction. In 410 the emperor Honorius wrote a famous letter to the Britons saying that they would have to look to their own defenses. The Imperial field armies would not return. Britain had been the most remote outpost of the Western Empire and had its own share of problems. In the north pressure was building up from tribes known as the Picts. From the West it suffered raids from the Irish (how different things were then!). To counter these threats the local councils called upon Saxon mercenaries from across the North Sea. This initiative would backfire in their face, since more and more Saxons came over and started settling down in the eastern part of the country.

The Romano-British population put up a stiff resistance, however, and it would take more than a century before the Saxon kingdoms became dominant. We even know one British warlord, Riothamus, who crossed the Channel in the late 460s with thousands of warriors to assist the Imperial government against the Visigoths in Gaul. Riothamus might be the inspiration for the French connection in the King Arthur story, since he was reported to have settled down in the Burgundian town of Avallon.

A Sarmatian Cataphract! Try saying that when you’re drunk.

Finally, I would like to take look at the Sarmatians. The Sarmatians were a people of ancient Iranian origin. By the fifth century BC they had settled down north of the Danube and the Black Sea. The Sarmatians clashed with the Romans on several occasions. During the reign of Marcus Aurelius, towards the end of the second Century AD, they suffered a severe defeat and he settled more than 5000 of them in Britain. We possess a document, called the Notitia Dignitatum, which lists all civil and military offices at the start of the fifth century. One of the chapters provides a list with 23 prefects in charge of Sarmatian tribesmen at 17 locations in Italy and six in Gaul, implying that these were barbarian prisoners settled on Roman land with an obligation to provide recruits for the army.

The Roman Army had a long tradition of enlisting foreign units from across the Imperial boarders, since it had obvious advantages. Barbarian recruits helped strengthen army numbers and at the same time depleted tribal resources. Certain barbarian tribes had strong martial traditions and sometimes possessed unique skills that made them formidable warriors. The Greek geographer Pausanias, for instance, noted that the Sarmatians were skilled in fighting with lassos on horseback. They were famous for their mailed heavy cavalry, as can be seen on an inscription from modern Rostov, and it is for this reason that they found service in the Roman army as Cataphracti. As a warrior force, they were not to be underestimated. Even as late as 374 AD, the historiographer Ammianus Marcellinus reported Sarmatians nearly destroying two legions.

That being said, the 2004 King Arthur film contains a historical background that passes the ‘accuracy test’ fairly well. The story is a piece of fiction, but as with all good historical fiction, it draws heavily on historical facts. Of course there are a several instances where the producers take a more liberal approach, as in the case of certain dates, weapons and armour. Yet in the end I tend to agree with Arthurian scholar Linda Malcor who said: “These film-makers did a better job than most could have done when it comes to giving us something else besides knights in tin foil and damsels in chiffon. They deserve a lot of praise for the effort that they made.”