Ad Navseam – Détails, épisodes et analyse

In the Athenian criminal justice system, the people are represented by two separate yet equally important groups: the police, who investigate crime (and who didn't exist) and the district attorneys (there were none of these either), who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories. Dun dun.

This week the guys take a close look, complete with dramatic reading of a cross-examination, at the rough-and-tumble world of late 5th century Athens and her notorious cutthroat law courts. On the menu is Against Eratosthenes, the most famous oration of Lysias, a resident alien (metic), who became wealthy as a hired gun speechwriter (logographer). Following the end of the Peloponnesian War, Sparta installed a brief and brutal aristocratic regime known as the Thirty Tyrants. These ruffians proceeded to murder many metics, including Lysias' brother Polemarchus (their father Kephalus makes a favorable cameo in Plato's Republic). Now, Lysias impeaches one of those tyrants, Eratosthenes, in a bid to get justice for his dead brother. Can he use his lean, unadorned style, and brilliant character portrayal (ethopoeia) to balance the scales?

Also: Celebrate Rome's birthday today! Use coupon code ROME2779 at latinperdiem.com for 20% off any Latin class.

This week the guys dip back into Marrou, where the author pivots like Yaxel Lendeborg to the Roman side of things. H.I. takes up the "Old Roman Education". Immediately we notice realities that put the lie to the loose notion that the Romans just took from the Greeks and changed the names. While, yes, eventually much of Roman education merges with the Hellenistic ideals explored earlier (and later) tome-wise, at its root, Roman education was fundamentally a different enterprise. Much more than the Greeks, the Roman centered their approach around tradition, the state, and the family. Mos maiorum reigned supreme. The “noble peasant” ideal (even if later on you lived in a high-rise next to the Colosseum and sipped cocktails with your Greek besties) is there at the beginning and never fully disappears. The chief lesson? Even if you show up with an army of Volsci ready to overthrow the state, you still gotta listen to your momma.

This week the guys take another stab at Aristophanes, this time with his Clouds. Will they rain in their criticisms? Will their jokes float lazily over your head? Haven’t the foggiest, but tune in anyway. The episode begins with a discussion of Aristophanic comedy and its genre-bending mix of the lofty and the scatological. Following translator Meineck, exactly how many different ingredients did Aristophanes put in this soup? Is there anything like it today? Or, maybe it's too “localized” to properly translate? Well, step on the gas, and see what the guys find. Maybe you, too, can study with Socrates and learn how to dodge those Christmas credit card bills that recently came calling by making Inferior Argument - whoever that is - stronger. But first, try on these Persian paraffin wax booties and let’s see how far you can jump. 

This week, Jeff and Dave get back to the Aeneid after a brief, Tarzanian hiatus. As the epic nears its end, we witness the intense and interesting interplay between Turnus and the titular hero. Aeneas seems quite secure in his fate, but still he begins the move from representing civilization to savagery. Turnus, on the other hand, ricochets between the poles of Hector and Achilles: sometimes cruel and bloodthirsty, other times sympathetic and winsome. What does Vergil really want us to think about these hulking war machines? Why does Lavinia blush? What's gotten into Amata? And most importantly, why won't Jeff mow his lawn? These questions and more we will seek to answer over the course of 70 tedious, grueling minutes. Still, you might just find this episode the bees' knees.

This week Jeff and Dave wander back into the lush, crowded undergrowth of Edgar Rice Burroughs' prose, guided by the inimitable Erling B. "Jack" Holstmark. Does the vine-swinging, croc-wrestling, ape-aping Tarzan really have anything to do with Odysseus? Hercules? Neither? Or does Dave's late Prof. have a case of academicitis, "seeing what's not there"? Come along with us as we finish up looking at the abiding influence of Animals, Hero, and Themes, the final chapter of Holtsmark's 1981 monograph. And remember, "We live in a world of illusion, where everything's peaches and cream. We all face a scarlet conclusion, but we spend our time in a dream." You're going to (jungle) love this episode! Just make sure that crate of papaya doesn't wait all night by your door.

The guys are back, and this time they are taking a break from the Aeneid series to focus on the appearance of classical themes and inspiration in an unexpected place: the 20th century pulp fiction novels of Tarzan. Aided by the brilliant monograph of Dave's late grad school professor, Dr. Erling B. "Jack" Holtsmark, we examine such questions as, What standards should popular literature be held to? What makes for good diction and characterization? Is Tarzan in the mold of Achilles? Along the way we look at some structures of Greek and Latin style, including polarities, chiasmus, and parallels. If you enjoyed the Tarzan books or movies as a kid, this is a vine time to renew your interest as we burroughs deep into the jungle of Tarzaniana.

In this episode, Jeff and Dave finish off their tour through and analysis of the penultimate book of Vergil's masterpiece. Here we have the jazz-solo moment, the aristeia of the great warrior princess Camilla. She flies across the battlefield at breakneck speed, cutting down in her path every Trojan stooge who dares stand in her way – until she meets "Arruns the Dispatcher", ironically named after an Etruscan prince. But this fast-paced, high-octane action vignette raises some complex questions, the very kind academics love to dilate upon: how come Camilla never encounters Aeneas himself? Why is the erstwhile hero Turnus so passive throught this part of the story, not providing the kind of leadership expected of a protagonist? And most importantly, has anyone used double-blind, controlled studies to determine the real benefits and side effects of daily consumption of horse milk on female Volscian infants? Tune in.

Remember way back when the Trojans were “eating their tables”? Well, in Book 11 their tables seem to be turning. Seems like just yesterday Aeneas was raging as Rambo and Turnus was carrying himself with Hector-like respectability. Sed ecce!—Aeneas is handing out truces like sticks of Big Red and actually validating hurt Latin feelings, while Turnus’ allies are turning against him and blaming him for the whole mess. Even old Diomedes is once bitten, twice shy, telling the Latins there is no way he’s tangling with Venus or her son ever again. So that’s it? It’s over? Not quite—Turnus has a couple of aces up his sleeve, including a spear-swift, water-walking, grain-skipping warrior maiden who is juuuuuust over the horizon.

This week there’s more gore in store for shor as Aeneas gets his rage on and goes full Achilles.  The carnage reaches such a fever pitch that it raises a number of sticky questions: Is Aeneas just a puppet of Fate? If so, can we hold him culpable for the horrible things he perpetrates on the battlefield?  When does embossing your baldric with mythic scenes stop being a flex and start being a “bit much”? Keep your head down, dodge those flying body parts, and see if you can tell who’s who as Aeneas meets his possible doppelganger between spear chuckings. You know what they say—double your alter ego symbolic foreshadowing stand-ins, double your fun.

Check out Jeff's new "Peregrinatio" series (Google Earth Archaeological Virtual Tours):

Ancient Dodona (the Oracle of Zeus)

Ancient Epidauros (the healing sanctuary of Asklepios)

This week Jeff and Dave are back at the Aeneid, wading into some deep waters murky and redolent with the unfulfilled wishes of Jupiter. As full-scale war erupts on the Latian plain, Venus and Juno bring their high-pitched quarrel to the king of Olympus, whose own hands, it turns out, are tied by the Parcae. As the Fates roll around in their El Camino, cutting short the threads of numerous heroes Sarpedon-like, men are dying on the field of battle like a scene straight out of the Iliad. But it's not just questions of fate, of popsicle sticks, glue, and Fort Ticonderoga that occupy our sally into divine destiny. Along the way there is also room for Vergil's frowzy digression on Ascanius' lustral locks. What is he, a trichologist? Perhaps our poet was himself glabrous, and that explains his odd obsession with the young Iulus' quiffs and frisettes? We comb through the evidence, attempting to answer this, and more.