J.G. Keely's Reviews > The Greek Way
The Greek Way
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In the late Victorian, an eighteen-year-old Edith Hamilton graduated from Bryn Mawr College. Enraptured by the spirit of Classical Antiquity, she did what any academic would and traveled to the center of Greek and Roman studies, Germany, to continue her education. She was the first woman to attend classes in these great European colleges, though she could not pursue a degree, instead she had to audit, watching lectures from s specially-built booth that screened her from the view of her classmates so they would not be scandalized by female intrusion.
She was not allowed to ask questions, but soon began to tire of the German method. The professors were always distant from the material, discussing in the greatest depth which verb cases Pindar used while never once acknowledging that he was a poet, or a human being.
It recalls one to the scene in Forester's 'Maurice' where a group of young students are reading aloud, translating as they go, on the topic of the glories of male love, while at every other paragraph, the professor instructs them to omit the 'unspeakable vice of the Greeks'. They must study and translate the text, but never once consider its content or meaning.
So Hamilton returned to the United States, and to her alma mater, where she became headmistress, continuing her studies and teaching the classics for the next twenty-six years. It was not until her early sixties that she wrote her first book, The Greek Way, which stands in opposition to the German style, seeking to understand and explicate the Greek mind.
This compilation of considerations, assembled at the end of a lengthy career, might be seen as a series of lectures on related topics, each chapter tackling a different author or concept, giving an introduction, facilitating understanding, and gradually, producing an overarching theory concerning the Greek mind and the Greek, himself.
It is a most unusually personal look at the Greeks, from someone who spent her life growing near to them, and it is entirely full of extraordinary theories and observations, all backed up by quotes from the great thinkers, not only of Greece, but of all ages. Hamilton seeks to connect us to Greece, to bridge the gap of time and thought and allow us to think of the Greeks as authors, artists, and people. She removes them from their pedestals and proffers them to us, though not without care, respect, and passion.
There is something of a worship for Greek thought and ways here, an attempt to convince us that, despite all we have achieved, we cannot equal or excel the Greeks. Hamilton by no means grudges us our growth, our change, our recognition of the importance of the individual, but implores us to learn something from the ways of old Greece.
Her encyclopedic use of quotations, her deferring to those who have, for all posterity, 'said it better' is charming, and also connects Greece to the thinkers and artists she inspired, inviting us to understand them by comparison. For any scholar of Nietzsche, as an example, it is easy to see how Hamilton plays with the many themes he drew from Greek thought, including the Apollonian/Dionysian split and the arete which defined both the best Greeks and his notion of 'Superman'.
I have always been partial to arete, myself; there is no reason we cannot all strive to be wise, sociable, fit, and knowledgeable in every field, from philosophy to history. The idea that the strong man can afford to be a dullard or the knowledgeable man a scatterbrained outcast is to accept that we should be less than we are.
Her comparison between Kant, who was as detached from the world as his theories, and Socrates, who developed his ideas while talking and laughing with friends, shows that a passion for the mind need not make one withdrawn or unpleasant. After all, Chekhov wrote at his desk at parties, taking characters and ideas from his guests, and has yet to be matched as a psychological realist.
I was also tickled that she used a passage from Tacitus in her definition of 'Tragedy' which I have used as a similar example since being taken by it. That chapter is the weakest in the book, at turns ingenious and unsure. Her observations remain insightful, but are not as polished or convincing as the rest of the book. She may be right in what she says, but her arguments are incomplete.
Hamilton would go on to write two more books, a similar volume on Rome and her 'Mythology', the definitive classroom text. Though she was, throughout her life, kept at arm's length from academia, and is still criticized for being insufficiently scholarly, this book is an achievement, insightful and wide-reaching.
Her conclusions may sometimes be grandiose, but never naively so. Her personalized, holistic style prefigures much of modern academia, and though it took some time, the world has, at last, caught up with her notion that there is nothing unspeakable about seeking a more personal relationship with our past.
She was not allowed to ask questions, but soon began to tire of the German method. The professors were always distant from the material, discussing in the greatest depth which verb cases Pindar used while never once acknowledging that he was a poet, or a human being.
It recalls one to the scene in Forester's 'Maurice' where a group of young students are reading aloud, translating as they go, on the topic of the glories of male love, while at every other paragraph, the professor instructs them to omit the 'unspeakable vice of the Greeks'. They must study and translate the text, but never once consider its content or meaning.
So Hamilton returned to the United States, and to her alma mater, where she became headmistress, continuing her studies and teaching the classics for the next twenty-six years. It was not until her early sixties that she wrote her first book, The Greek Way, which stands in opposition to the German style, seeking to understand and explicate the Greek mind.
This compilation of considerations, assembled at the end of a lengthy career, might be seen as a series of lectures on related topics, each chapter tackling a different author or concept, giving an introduction, facilitating understanding, and gradually, producing an overarching theory concerning the Greek mind and the Greek, himself.
It is a most unusually personal look at the Greeks, from someone who spent her life growing near to them, and it is entirely full of extraordinary theories and observations, all backed up by quotes from the great thinkers, not only of Greece, but of all ages. Hamilton seeks to connect us to Greece, to bridge the gap of time and thought and allow us to think of the Greeks as authors, artists, and people. She removes them from their pedestals and proffers them to us, though not without care, respect, and passion.
There is something of a worship for Greek thought and ways here, an attempt to convince us that, despite all we have achieved, we cannot equal or excel the Greeks. Hamilton by no means grudges us our growth, our change, our recognition of the importance of the individual, but implores us to learn something from the ways of old Greece.
Her encyclopedic use of quotations, her deferring to those who have, for all posterity, 'said it better' is charming, and also connects Greece to the thinkers and artists she inspired, inviting us to understand them by comparison. For any scholar of Nietzsche, as an example, it is easy to see how Hamilton plays with the many themes he drew from Greek thought, including the Apollonian/Dionysian split and the arete which defined both the best Greeks and his notion of 'Superman'.
I have always been partial to arete, myself; there is no reason we cannot all strive to be wise, sociable, fit, and knowledgeable in every field, from philosophy to history. The idea that the strong man can afford to be a dullard or the knowledgeable man a scatterbrained outcast is to accept that we should be less than we are.
Her comparison between Kant, who was as detached from the world as his theories, and Socrates, who developed his ideas while talking and laughing with friends, shows that a passion for the mind need not make one withdrawn or unpleasant. After all, Chekhov wrote at his desk at parties, taking characters and ideas from his guests, and has yet to be matched as a psychological realist.
I was also tickled that she used a passage from Tacitus in her definition of 'Tragedy' which I have used as a similar example since being taken by it. That chapter is the weakest in the book, at turns ingenious and unsure. Her observations remain insightful, but are not as polished or convincing as the rest of the book. She may be right in what she says, but her arguments are incomplete.
Hamilton would go on to write two more books, a similar volume on Rome and her 'Mythology', the definitive classroom text. Though she was, throughout her life, kept at arm's length from academia, and is still criticized for being insufficiently scholarly, this book is an achievement, insightful and wide-reaching.
Her conclusions may sometimes be grandiose, but never naively so. Her personalized, holistic style prefigures much of modern academia, and though it took some time, the world has, at last, caught up with her notion that there is nothing unspeakable about seeking a more personal relationship with our past.
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Reading Progress
March 24, 2011
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Started Reading
March 24, 2011
– Shelved
March 24, 2011
– Shelved as:
greece
March 24, 2011
– Shelved as:
non-fiction
March 24, 2011
– Shelved as:
history
April 10, 2011
–
Finished Reading
April 19, 2011
– Shelved as:
reviewed
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"Yet retribution was now decreed against [Sejanus'] remaining children. They were taken to prison. The boy understood what lay ahead of him. But the girl uncomprehendingly repeated: 'What have I done? Where are you taking me? I will not do it again!' She could be punished with a beating, she said, like other children. Contemporary writers report that, because capital punishment of a virgin was unprecedented, she would be violated by the executioner, with the noose beside her. Then both were strangled, and their young bodies thrown onto the Germonian Steps."
Not only do I find the passage to be powerful, I have used it before as an example of how an author need not linger on the details of a scene in order to make it emotionally powerful. Hamilton uses it to illustrate her definition of a Tragedy, which can only befall someone capable of great depth of feeling. In her argument, Hamlet can be the subject of tragedy, but Polonius cannot, even if both experienced the same events.
I agree with you that the term 'tragic' is overused and misused, particularly in modern journalism. It is not a synonym for sad or unfortunate, and using it in such a way makes the term increasingly meaningless.
"And I have little but contempt for "academese" - prose so turgid and torturously qualified that no magazine editor and publisher would pay for it."
Well, I don't really feel that publishers or magazine editors are the best measure of good writing, as both have proven themselves willing to publish unskilled writers, as long as they think they will sell.
Contrarily, if you submitted many of the great works of literature to a publisher today, they would be rejected, as evidenced by this rather disheartening story. But then, that's not unusual, in literary history. The low quality of popular books has been a joke since before the Victorian, while the 'great works' are often only recognized years after the author's death.
I agree with you that stating things in a precise, stripped-down, elegant fashion is a worthy goal for any writer, but the prose of the average bestseller or magazine article, while often simplistic, is rarely precise, deliberate, or efficient. The author who writes in a simple way in order to be better understood should be revered, but the author who writes in a simple way because he is capable of nothing better deserves little praise.
I also want to say that I don't think writing in a simple, straightforward way is always the best solution for every text. Complex terms can be used to express complex ideas briefly, though only for an educated audience.
An author discussing a point in physics will be able to get his ideas across quickly by briefly mentioning sigma functions, the second law of thermodynamics, and Planck's Length. Anyone who understands such terms will follow him. If he had to completely explain each idea, as if to a layman, he would have to spend so much time discussing basic terms that he would hardly have time to get to the point of his paper.
In writing, we have to strike a balance between using specific, shorthand terms and explaining everything plainly. I have sometimes been called upon to explain my use of such terms, references, and ideas, and I don't mind explaining them, but placing all of that into my reviews in the first place would make most of my reviews more than double their current length.
So I have made the decision to write my reviews not for the lay person, but for people who have a general background in literary theory, history, psychology, &c. I'm not particularly worried about excluding the lay person, since, if they do not have the knowledge requisite to pursuing such a discussion at a higher level, I feel doubtful that such a discussion would prove fruitful.
I don't need insight on the Pete Rose Hall of Fame scandal from someone who doesn't know who Pete Rose is. If they do have enough interest to educate themselves on the subject, I don't mind discussing it, nor do I mind fielding questions, but in general, I tailor my writing to the sort of person I would most want to discuss the matter with.
" . . . if I were to pursue a post-grad degree I would first demand to see how a department's professors (or their TA's) are critiquing style."
The problem with this would seem to be: how do you judge whether or not their use of specific terms and complex ideas is warranted, or just empty words? I have read academic papers which would be inscrutable even to people with an interest in the field, and while many of them are just complicated babbling covering for a lack of ideas, others are brilliant.
In order to judge their value, you must first know a great deal about them. Think of the amount of knowledge and experience it would take to read a mathematical proof and determine whether it was a work of genius or simple nonsense.
A friend of mine attending Law School recently failed a paper and, when he went in, the professor told him it was due to 'run-on sentences' and 'passive voice'. My friend started trying to go through the paper with the professor, bringing up the finer points of copulas, subjects, direct objects, tense, and differences between the comma and semicolon and asking for clarification.
Eventually, he found out that his Law Professor thought that 'run-on sentence' meant a sentence that contained more than one idea, and that 'passive voice' was a quality of tone, not of grammatical structure.
My friend had the knowledge to judge whether the professor's critiques were apt (they weren't), but clearly, the man is used to using such terms improperly with students who don't know enough to second-guess him.
Of course, it being school, my friend simply rewrote the paper to the professor's mistaken standards and declined to butt heads with the confused man who controls his grade.
(I checked "copula" and still don't get what one is - could you send a copula examples?)
(that is if you don't resemble the usage!)
Yah, magazines. Not a good example. 98% are so specialized and general-reader-focused, that you are sadly correct about your "unskilled" comment.
I forget that my reading tastes are not included in that 98%.
I currently take these:
New Yorker
Economist
Reason
National Review
Weekly Standard
Rolling Stone
The Absolute Sound
The 3 political rags have limited distribution - all well under 100,000.
You are most likely familar with The Economist (a general "newspaper" their term) - which circulates somewhere between 600k and 1-million. I would confidently recommend for you the book, and possibly film, reviews from all the other three.
(I'm curious about your own regular 'snacks' - my term for the glossies)
Anyway, without regard to the political slant, all of these have excellent writing - Rolling Stone included.
As a hard science (non-fiction) guy, Asimov is the shining beacon of popular science. His fiction mostly falls short of brilliance, but his style is so easy, that I forgive his failings (and, to be honest have forgotten most of them - having finished with his fiction by age 15). I've had much more exposure (of late) to his non-fiction.
Not only is the Asmovian style a model of ease and clarity, Asimov himself was somewhat omnivorous - having written guides to Shakepeare and The Bible. His focus on these were primarily historical and cultural - giving context to the events in both bodies of work - and wiesly avoiding the crowed fields of literary and theological criticism/commentary.
Finally, I'll say that around 1978/79 he published an autobiography - 700 large format pages - 300,000-400,000 words. His life was not that interesting, but he made it so. I finished the book in short order - along with the strenuous demands of a top engineering school.
"The peacock was eaten by the general."
where 'was eaten' is passive and formed with a copula. The active version of the sentence would be:
"The general ate the peacock."
"(I'm curious about your own regular 'snacks' - my term for the glossies)"
I tend to use internet aggregators--sites where users submit interesting articles they have found. So I end up reading articles from publications all and sundry instead of any particular sources.
I haven't read much Asimov, I don't remember his prose being impressive, but it's certainly not bad.
Cool.
Can you send links to some worthwhile ones?
If you ever get a hankering for a succinct review of chemistry (inorganic), physics, astronomy, and other "hard" sciences - treated elegantly with a historical orientation - try Volume One of
The Intelligent Man's Guide To Science
Quite inexpensive on Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/intelligent-man...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Inte...
The Intelligent Man's Guide To Science
was revised several times - the latest is thought to be the best:
Asimov's New Guide to Science
http://www.amazon.com/Asimovs-Guide-S...
Used in hardcover for $4.37 delivered.
It's certainly a big part of why I read books from many times and cultures, so I can see what remains the same about man, despite centuries of change--as well as what about man can change over one generation, even if it was once thought universal.
The translator of a copy of The Critique of Pure Reason claims this is a myth; Kant liked to go out with friends and play cards. At the least, he was not withdrawn, (although he might have been unpleasant?)
The quick google search 'kant social life' turns up his wiki article:
"Common myths about Kant's personal mannerisms are listed, explained, and refuted in Goldthwait's introduction to his translation of Observations on the Feeling of the Beautiful and Sublime.[25] It is often held that Kant lived a very strict and disciplined life, leading to an oft-repeated story that neighbors would set their clocks by his daily walks. He never married, but seemed to have a rewarding social life — he was a popular teacher and a modestly successful author even before starting on his major philosophical works."
The translator of a copy of The Critique of Pure Reason claims this is a myth; Kant liked to go out with friends and play cards. At the..."
I hazily remember reading somewhere that Kant would read to his friends after eating in order to promote his and their digestion. I'll take it this is precisely the kind of myth your referring to?
Please revisit the passage from Tacitus.
I note that the vast majority of times (over 90% by my estimate)the word "tragic" is used in print and on radio and TV is with its devalued meaning - as a synonym for "unfortunate".
Death by car crash is called "tragic".
Scholarly writing.
While I respect scholarship, I have no regard for such presented so obscurely that the educated non-specialist will have trouble penetrating the material.
And I have little but contempt for "academese" - prose so turgid and torturously qualified that no magazine editor and publisher would pay for it.
(If Asimov can write clearly and accessibly, so can an "academic")
I have often thought that if I were to pursue a post-grad degree I would first demand to see how a department's professors (or their TA's) are critiquing style. Why pay to have clear prose made opaque?