Chapter 82.2: In Vino Veritas

I love finding inspiring stories about alcohol.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not in favor of inebriates running (or driving) rampant across America or the world, wreaking havoc on unsuspecting (or perhaps also drunken) neighbors, or destroying lives and families. But I'm all in favor of appropriate use of social elixirs to smooth out the rough edges of life.

Apparently, I'm not the only one and this idea is as old as civilization. In the New York Times the other day, an item was published in one of their blogs by a teacher whose students asked about the abundance of drinking in Homer's The Odyssey. Of course, Greeks weren't the only folks enjoying the fruit of the vine back then. It was common to drink alcoholic beverages, as the Times piece notes.

But Homer and others of his era also demonstrated that alcohol should be used in moderation — let me refine that: alcohol should be enjoyed, but used in moderation. Okay, maybe I'm editorializing a little about what Homer meant.

But I love the way the writer concluded his piece:

I wasn’t quite satisfied, and the question continued to bother me until, days later, I found a passage in “The Odyssey” that succinctly captures the complexity of the Greek attitude towards alcohol. Odysseus is speaking to a sympathetic swineherd, and though he is in disguise, the words have the unmistakable ring of honesty:


[I]t is the wine that leads me on, the wild wine
that sets the wisest man to sing at the top of his lungs,
laugh like a fool – it drives the man to dancing...it even
tempts him to blurt out stories better never told.

After two decades away from home, there must have been so much to say, so many bottled-up tales of friends lost and battles won. Somebody get the poor guy another round.

Chapter 78.9: Photosynthesis, Anyone?

School's back in session. Earlier this summer, Stanford University released a report that found young students fare better when learning complex concepts using "everyday English."

As a case in point, researchers noted that students learning about photosynthesis need to understand a little bit of Latin, a dash of French, and some Greek. The problem, the researchers said, is that students are getting new words and new ideas at the same time. That can be difficult for children. Ok, they may be right. They're certainly right that a child can learn about an apple before they knew how to say "apple."

But what's so wrong with teaching a kid something difficult? As long as you have multiple ways of getting the point across — reinforcing the concepts — then a good teacher should be able to get the lesson across. I think that what they're doing is pointing out the obvious: a child won't learn a complex concept without being able to relate to it at a certain level.

Perhaps I'm not understanding what's so revolutionary. I'll read it again.

Chapter 77.3: Honey, I'm Home!

Possibly the most significant "welcome home" moment in literary history has been given a pinpoint date. That is, if you believe in the scientists' interpretations of some possibly metaphoric allusions.

According to the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States, researchers have identified April 16, in 1178 BC as the day on which Odysseus returned home to win the archery competition as well as the heart of faithful Penelope — and then proceeded to murder the 109 suitors and the dozen frisky maids.

Feel free to comment with quibbles, for there are many possibilities. For example, was that moment one of "the most heralded events of Western literature" as the Times describes it? Are the scientists taking liberties with their interpretations? Was Plutarch right in believing that Homer (or whoever is the true author of this epic tale – if there is one) was describing an eclipse when he relates: "The Sun has been obliterated from the sky, and an unlucky darkness invades the world"?

I'm open to getting into a playful online discussion about this whole thing. I find it fascinating. I don't pretend to be an expert, but the idea of getting to the exact date of such a seminal moment in the history of Western literature strikes me as fairly exciting!