The Frogs by Aristophanes

Source of book: I own this.

Aristophanes is generally considered to be the central figure in ancient Greek comedy. He lived roughly from 446 to 386 BCE, his life overlapping significantly with Socrates and Plato, as well as the later years of fellow playwrights Sophocles and Euripides. In fact, the death of Euripides is a central part of the plot in The Frogs.

Greek comedy, particularly the “old style” comedy of Aristophanes, seems in many ways rather modern. Unlike the formal and more or less rigid tragedies, comedies utilized a number of techniques familiar to modern audiences. For example, the “fourth wall” is broken all the time. The audience is expected to interact with the action - and is made the butt of the jokes. While tragedies would tell of legendary figures of the past or myth, the comedies skewered contemporary figures, particularly politicians, although neither philosophers nor poets nor the gods themselves escaped the satire. Even the playwright himself would take a little teasing. 

The Theater of Dionysus in Athens, where The Frogs would have been performed. 

I have had two prior encounters with Aristophanes. Several years ago, I read Lysistrata, which is hilariously naughty, while making a solid argument against war. Before that, I had the opportunity to play Ralph Vaughan Williams’ overture written for a production of The Wasps. (I need to find a copy of that one, because it pokes fun at the court system and habitual litigators.) I wasn’t sure exactly which play I wanted to read, but since I actually had a copy of The Frogs, I chose to go with it.

Overture to The Wasps by Ralph Vaughan Williams

My translation is the 1902 version by Gilbert Murray.

The plot runs roughly thus: Dionysus is devastated by the recent death of Euripides, and decides to set out for Hades to retrieve him. In doing so, he would be following in the footsteps of Hercules. So, he dresses up in a ludicrous parody of Hercules, and seeks advice from that hero. Hercules can hardly speak because he is laughing so hard. Eventually, Dionysus and his servant Xanthias get directions and set off. They meet Charon, the boatman to the underworld, who rows Dionysus across. Xanthias has to walk around the lake carrying all their gear. (A good bit of the humor in the first part comes as a result of the interaction between master and servant. Xanthias is smarter and braver than his clueless master, so he gets many great zingers.)

After braving some monsters, they succeed in gaining entrance to Hades. However, Dionysus’ mission is complicated by the fact that both Euripides and his earlier rival Aeschylus wish to vie for the privilege of coming back from the dead.

So naturally, they have a “poet’s duel” of sorts. They do their best to insult each other while building up their own cases. In the end, Dionysus must make an impossible choice between the two.

There were many enjoyable moments in this play, starting right from the beginning, when Dionysus inquires about how to get to Hades.

Dionysus: ...What road will take us quickest down to Hades. -

And please, no great extremes of heat or cold.

Hercules: Will, which one had I better tell you first? -

Which now? - Ah, yes; suppose you got a boatman

To tug you, with a hawser - round your neck…

Dionysus: A chokey sort of journey, that.

Hercules: Well, then,

There is a short road, quick and smooth, the surface

Well pounded - in a mortar.

Dionysus: The hemlock way?

Hercules: Exactly.

Dionysus: Cold and bitter! Why, it freezes

All your shins numb.

Hercules: Do you mind one short and steep?

Dionysus: Not in the least...you know I’m no great walker.

Hercules: Then just stroll down to Ceramicus…

Dionysus: Well?

Hercules: Climb up the big tower…

Dionysus: Good; and then?

Hercules: Then watch

And see them start the torch-race down below;

Lean over till you hear the men say “Gp,”

And then go.

Dionysus: Where?

Hercules: Why, over.

Dionysus fails to be impressed with these helpful suggestions, however.

Later, with poor Xanthias struggling with his large load, they decide to try to find a porter. Conveniently, a funeral procession comes their way. And hey? Since the corpse is already going their way, why not see if he will help?

Dionysus: Here, sir - it’s you I’m addressing - the defunct;

Do you care to carry a few traps to Hades?

The Corpse: (sitting up)

How heavy?

Dionysus: What you see.

Corpse: You’ll pay two drachmas?

Dionysus: Oh, come, that’s rather much.

Corpse: Bearers, move on!

Dionysus: My good man, wait! See if we can’t arrange.

Corpse: Two drachmas down, or else don’t talk to me.

Dionysus: Nine obols?

Corpse: (lying down again) Strike me living if I will!

Since Dionysus is too cheap even to hire a corpse, Xanthias is stuck with the burden.

The frogs of the title appear as Charon and Dionysus row across the Styx, croaking their song to keep the rowing in time. Aristophanes transliterates their sound as “Co-äx, co-äx, co-äx, Brekekekex co-äx.” This sound is apparently really annoying, because Dionysus can’t take it, and starts singing along with them in an effort to shut them up.

Dionysus looks even more ridiculous later when, out of terror at a supposed monster that he makes Xanthias take on his costume and hides behind him. And then afterward:

Xanthias: You are the greatest coward I ever saw,

Of gods or humans!

Dionysus: I a coward? - I had

The presence of mind to ask you for a sponge.

Few had done more!

Xanthias: Could any one do less?

Dionysus: A coward would still be flat there, sniffing salts;

I rose, called for a sponge, and used the sponge.

Xanthias: That was brave, by Posidon!

Despite his fears, they both make it to the underworld, where Xanthias engages with Aecus, Pluto’s servant, in the age old tradition of servants everywhere: talking smack about their masters.

Aeacus: By Zeus, that’s what I call a gentleman!

That master of yours!

Xanthias: Gentleman? That he is!

There’s nothing in his head but wine and wenches!

Later, in explaining why Dionysus was chosen to judge the poetry contest, Aeacus says that “Goodness is scarce, you know,” then points to the audience, “The same as here!”

Then once the contest starts, the insults fly even thicker.

Aeschylus: I well might take objection to the place;

It’s no fair field for him and me.

Dionysus: Why not?

Aeschylus: Because my writings haven’t died with me,

As his have; so he’ll have them all to hand…

One of more interesting arguments made by the poets is over the purpose of drama. Aeschylus believes that it should be to make men better. But then he goes on to define this bettering in terms of martial honor. He wishes to make men glory in war, to hunger for gore and fighting and glory. And none of this “women in love” thing either. Euripides points out that while this will undoubtedly make Ares happy, Aphrodite might feel left out. It becomes an interesting argument about one vision of masculinity versus another vision of femininity. A bit more progressive too, than one might have supposed for something written 2400 years ago, as Aristophanes is clearly mocking “macho” Greek culture.

Another thing surprising to see in ancient literature was the use of a concept popular today. Anyone with any social life at all has heard the practice of making everything funnier by adding a phrase to the end. Such as “in bed” or “with a chain saw.” Yeah, everyone has heard this one.

Aeschylus does this to Euripides using an “oil can.”

Aeschylus: Just one oil-can.

You write them so that nothing comes amiss,

The bed-quilt, or the oil-can, or the clothes-bag.

All suit your tragic verse! Wait and I’ll prove it.

…

Euripides: “Aegyptus, so the tale is spread afar,

With fifty youths fled in a sea-borne car,

But, reaching Argos…”

Aeschylus: “...found his oil-can gone!”

And on it goes. No matter what lofty topic Euripides addresses, Aeschylus shows that an oil-can has gone missing.

In another part of the contest, a giant scale is produced, and the poets must put the weight of their words into the balance. So, soaring language is light, while death is heavy. A line about heavy objects trumps light ones. The banter among the poets, Dionysus, and Pluto is delightful.

The final contest requires them to give political advice to Athens. This is where Aristophanes took risks. While technically immune from a claim of libel for things said in a drama, he still ended up getting taken to court by a politician or two. From hints in later plays, it appears he had a pretty good record in court.

This was a fun play to read for all of these reasons. While Greek tragedies can be a bit challenging to get through due to the allusions and constant analysis of the action, the comedies seem remarkably fresh and accessible. (Not that I don’t love the tragedies too.) The Frogs isn’t a bad place to start.

If you want to read my thoughts on the two poetic protagonists:

Medea by Euripides

Agamemnon by Aeschylus

For more on legendary trips to the underworld:

Inferno by Dante

Grounded by Seth Stevenson

Source of book: Borrowed from the library.
Date originally posted on Facebook: February 7, 2011

I am slowly reposting my old reviews on the blog. This one is from the early days, before I felt free to write long posts. Hmm, not sure if that was bad or good. Anyway, this book was a fun and quick read. 

***

While the travelogue has been a part of the literary tradition at least since the days of the Roman Empire, it was Mark Twain that set the standard for the snarky American version. (As a bonus, we can discuss whether “snark” should derive from a portmanteau of “snide” and “remark” or from Lewis Carroll’s poem.) In any case, SethStevenson’s book is firmly in the Twain tradition, with a nod to Jules Verne's Around the World in Eighty Days.

Stevenson is a contributor to Slate.com, which is where I discovered him. He formerly wrote the “Ad Report Card”, a witty (and thoroughly snarky) deconstruction of current advertisements, primarily television ads.

This book recounts his circumnavigation of the globe using only surface transportation. Stevenson and his then girlfriend had in common a wanderlust, which lead them to quit their jobs and circle the globe with a purpose: avoid air travel at all costs. This is apparently harder than one would think.

This book is a quick and easy read. No small print, archaic language, or diary entries to slow it down. Humor abounds, as Stevenson is able to laugh at all of their misfortunes.

Stevenson and his girlfriend travel by freighter, cruise ship, ferry, train, bus, car, and bicycle. They cross every longitudinal line, and also the equator twice, covering in excess of 25,000 miles.

My favorite scenes: Traveling in a Russian train with a couple of Russian guys that fit all the stereotypes, including the huge bottle of vodka. Stevenson willing himself to the top of a hill on a bicycle in Vietnam. The ubiquitous Filipino cover band found anywhere in South Asia.

While this book will never become the classic at the level of Innocents Abroad, it makes a fun weekend read.

A Sense of Life by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Source of book: I own this.

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry is best known for his children’s book, The Little Prince. In yet another odd omission, I have never read this book. This, despite the fact that it is the most read and most translated book in the French language. In fact, if you eliminate religious books like the Bible and Koran (and Chairman Mao’s works, sold and distributed by force of law), it comes in third on the all time list for best selling books. Hmm, maybe I should read it.

 

Rather, my introduction to Saint-Exupéry was his novela Night Flight, which I read as a teen. Night Flight is a deeply sad book filled with the deadly beauty of the night and the atmosphere. In some ways, it could best be compared to poetry or even music.

Saint-Exupéry was a fascinating character. He made his fame in the arena of literature, with both prose and poetry, but he also was a notable aviator. He was one of the pioneers of international postal flights, during an era in which flying was hardly even minimally safe. After France fell to Nazi Germany, he managed to talk his way into a position as a reconnaissance pilot, despite being too old to meet the requirements and practically crippled from previous crashes and chronic gallstones. He disappeared during a flight in 1944. Wreckage of his plane was discovered at sea many years later, and confirmed finally in 2004. 

A Sense of Life is a collection of short works, all - except for the first - are non-fiction. (The first is a short story about a pilot and a flight.) My wife, who found this book for me at a library sale, thought it was funny that while reading this, I was also reading The Logic of Life by Tim Harford and The Sense of an Ending by Frank Kermode. This was, perhaps, the missing link. Perhaps I should have tried to make a full quadrilateral by reading Goodbye, Descartes: The End of Logic and the Search for a New Cosmology of the Mind by Keith Delvin. Actually, that book looks interesting too…

Here are some of the pieces that stood out. First is a report on a visit to Moscow in 1935. It’s hard for us now to remember how it was back then. Historical hindsight eventually brought to light Stalin’s purges, which left over a hundred million of his subjects dead. But back in 1935, there was still hope that communism was just another new economic theory which would prove or disprove its viability. There was still optimism that it may have good to show to the world. And really, in theory, it had some interesting ideas. The practice turned out to suck, of course. On the purely economic side, central planning failed to live up to its promises; but it was really the ease with which it melded with megalomania that led to the great slaughter. Stalin, Mao, Pol Pot, and others were eager to seize power and destroy enemies, real or imagined.

When Saint-Exupéry visited, however, all this was either well hidden, or in the future. And let’s be honest, Czarist Russia wasn’t exactly an ideal state either. Saint-Exupéry is always an interesting observer. He has an odd sense for the poetic, and an ability to seek out and observe, not the powerful, but the mundane. The everyday person, typically poor and just trying to hold on to a reasonable life, whether it is the ditch digger or the French ex-pat women surviving by teaching French.

This wasn’t Saint-Exupéry’s only reporting job in this book. He also wrote accounts of his visits to Barcelona and Madrid during the Spanish Civil War. These were doubly poignant to me since reading The Cypresses Believe In God by José María Gironella. I’ve already noted in my review of that book that it was one of the most terrifying novels I have ever read, because of its depiction of a world gone mad. Saint-Exupéry’s report from the front lines adds another layer to that drama, both confirming Gironella’s vision and expanding the human element on all sides of the conflict. He contrasts the way that modern warriors discount a few casualties in light of the whole population and his own view of the way war affects individuals. “We are men, not ants.”

As a general rule, Saint-Exupéry is against war. He genuinely hates the way it disrupts and the way that it turns decent men into killers. As he put it in his essay on peace and war, “for who would consent to risk death except for truth, justice, and love for his fellow man.”

That said, he also believed that it was just and necessary to stop Hitler, and did what he could, sacrificing his life in the only duties he was allowed. Perhaps one could say he put his money where his mouth wasn’t.

In that same essay on peace and war, written in 1938 in the aftermath of the Munich accords, wherein Czechoslovakia was given to Hitler in exchange for a very temporary peace, Saint-Exupéry gives one of the most interesting perspectives I have ever read. Winston Churchill himself refused to fault Neville Chamberlain for making a decision that looks questionable in retrospect. Saint-Exupéry captures the no-win dilemma.

We are living through deply anxious days, and if we are to relieve our anxiety we must diagnose its causes. We have elected to save the peace. To save the peace, we have had to do violence to friends. There is no question but that many of us were ready to risk our lives to meet the obligations of friendship. Such people now feel a kind of shame. Had they sacrificed the peace instead, they would have sacrificed man; they would have given their consent to the irreparable destruction of the cathedrals and libraries and laboratories of Europe; they would have given their consent to the annihilation of her traditions and the transformation of the world into a cloud of ashes. Why else have we wavered, now this way, now that? When we thought peace was threatened, we discovered the abomination of war. When we thought war had been averted, we tasted the odium of peace.

This is but a taste of Saint-Exupéry’s writing. I find his style highly enjoyable, whether he is writing of the thrills of flying (and his distaste for modern airplanes with instruments and such) or of his feeling that war has become a matter for accountants rather than humans. He, as a poet, has a deeply poetic streak, and it shows in his prose. It indeed takes a poet to discern that “Civil War is not a war, it is a disease.” Even in those moments that I disagree with his perspective, such as when he indulges in the idea that the past was inherently more romantic and moral, I love the way he writes it. His works, fiction or non-fiction, are worth seeking out.

My John Thompson Story

After my post on Douglas Phillips (and related follow-up post), I did get some significant interest in my story about John Thompson. My experience was quite brief, as will be seen. I’ll also note that the events occurred more than 15 years ago, when I was a law school student. The communications took place by e-mail, on computers that still used dial-up modems and ran Windows 3.1, if my memory serves. Add this to the fact that I was still living with my parents at the time, and using their computers, and that explains why the original communications have - as far as I know - long since disappeared. I will have to work from my own memory on this one.

John Thompson, for those who are not intimately familiar with the figures of the Christian Patriarchy movement, was a founder, along with Douglas Phillips, Scott Brown, and several other familiar names, of the Family Integrated Church movement, and also helped develop the most extreme version of the courtship/betrothal model also espoused by Jonathan Lindvall. I discussed that facet here. For more on the FIC movement, my friend and fellow blogger That Mom has written extensively about her own experiences with FIC affiliated churches on her blog.

***

So anyway, I was in the early stage of law school at the law school originally affiliated with Bill Gothard’s organization (but which has now largely severed ties). I was part of the very first class, so my fellow students and I were both Guinea pigs and celebrities of a sort within the greater ultraconservative home school community, apparently (although I didn’t realise it.) I had just recently met my wife and her family, but it would be over a year before I would ask her out.

One day, out of the blue, my father got a peculiar e-mail from a man named John Thompson. Now, I had never heard of Thompson, but he explained who he was in the e-mail. It appears that it had come to Thompson’s ears that I was not only a law student, but also a violinist. Since his daughters were (and are) talented musicians, this seemed to him to be a natural fit. He asked if my father would be interested in arranging a “courtship” between me and one of his daughters. He described her many virtues. Her housekeeping skills. The things that would make her an excellent wife. I remember the all-important phrase “quiet and submissive spirit” being used. The idea was that if the fathers decided we were suitable, we would begin the “courtship” process. I don’t know if my family quite understood at that time that this young lady and I would have been considered irrevocably engaged - betrothed - from that point onward, even though we had never met.

As I’ve mentioned, my family didn’t get particularly deep into the patriarchy and betrothal portions of the movement at all, so my father decided to forward the e-mail to all the rest of us.

If my memory is correct, before I even had a chance to read the e-mail, another family member, who does not wish that he or she be identified, had already responded.

This person wrote my dad back that it sounded as if Thompson was auctioning his prize milk cow.

When this person hit “reply all,” he or she did not realize that Thompson himself was on the response list.

Thompson’s reply to my father was terse, and it was clear that I was no longer considered a viable candidate for his daughter’s hand.

So, my shot at an arranged marriage died before I even had a chance to respond for myself.

Not that I would have even considered an arranged marriage, of course. The last thing I wanted in a life partner was someone whose father still controlled her like that, and I really don’t find “quiet and submissive spirits” to be much of a turn on. I’m more into the “rapier wit” sort, which is why I am married to my highly intelligent and decidedly irreverent wife. (She has failed to detect any god-like qualities in me, and yet loves and desires me anyway.)

Speaking of the lovely Amanda, soon after we met, but before we were dating, my family told her the story. I told her that when I heard of the proposal, I thought of a certain song. I grabbed a guitar, and sang to my future wife the first song I would sing her. She told me later it won her heart.

It Ain’t Me Babe

(Written by Bob Dylan, but performed in my favorite version by the Turtles, who omit the third verse.)

Go ’way from my window

Leave at your own chosen speed

I’m not the one you want, babe

I’m not the one you need

You say you’re lookin’ for someone

Never weak but always strong

To protect you an’ defend you

Whether you are right or wrong

Someone to open each and every door

But it ain’t me, babe

No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe

It ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe

Go lightly from the ledge, babe

Go lightly on the ground

I’m not the one you want, babe

I will only let you down

You say you’re lookin’ for someone

Who will promise never to part

Someone to close his eyes for you

Someone to close his heart

Someone who will die for you an’ more

But it ain’t me, babe

No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe

It ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe

Go melt back into the night, babe

Everything inside is made of stone

There’s nothing in here moving

An’ anyway I’m not alone

You say you’re lookin' for someone

Who’ll pick you up each time you fall

To gather flowers constantly

An’ to come each time you call

A lover for your life an’ nothing more

But it ain’t me, babe

No, no, no, it ain’t me, babe

It ain’t me you’re lookin’ for, babe

 

I know, really romantic. But it worked. Amanda told me that she figured she would never marry, after her experience in Lindvall’s group. If marriage was just about housework, babies, goats, and serving men, she would far rather remain single. By playing her this song, I signaled to her that I did not view marriage as that rigid hierarchy with rigid roles. It took a while before I went ahead and asked her out, but that was, I believe, the point at which she allowed herself to hope.

Postscript on John Thompson:

I have never met John Thompson or any of his daughters. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t pick him out of a lineup. I later found out, though, that my future father-in-law had met him and his daughters at some homeschool conference. He suggested my response should have been, “but how does she look?” (This might be where my wife got her tongue…)

If you want to read more on Thompson’s views on marriage and “courtship,” here is a good place to start. You can follow the links to Thompson’s own writings.

I must admit, I have been curious about what eventually happened to the Thompson girls and their father. Obviously, I never broke his daughter’s heart. I would assume he made the inquiry without telling her anything. Had my father agreed (snort! - it always would have been my choice - our family wasn’t like that), presumably she would have been told that a young man was interested, and she would have had one shot (without meeting me) to say yay or nay. After that, the courtship would have been for practical purposes unbreakable.

I did feel sorry for her, whichever daughter she was (I don’t remember - the oldest would make most sense based on the timing), being trapped in that family.

So, it came as no surprise at all to discover that there was a big blowup in the Thompson family a few years later.

(Some of this information I discovered by accident while researching my Patriarchy and White Supremacy post. The rest was filled in after That Mom re-posted my Doug Phillips article, by people who had stayed in that loop.)

The oldest daughter (the wife that got away?) apparently did marry someone approved by her dad through the “courtship” process. The next two daughters were not so compliant, both eloping against their parents’ wishes. I am completely unsurprised at this, of course. I would be more surprised to see entire families within the movement without at least one child who decided to cut ties with his or her parents and leave forever.

The middle child in this case became an atheist, and remains estranged from her family. Her professional website is here. She is quite talented, and it is good to see that her skills didn’t just get buried so she could serve an approved man. She also, apparently, does a show entitled “From Virgin to Vixen in One Night.”

(This title cracks me up! It encapsulates the whole “courtship” fantasy in seven words. The girl is to go from ZERO emotional entanglement - and limited knowledge of sex if any - before marriage, to the vixen of the man’s dreams, capable of preventing him from even thinking about other women - or she has failed. But no pressure…

There are clips of the show on youtube, and it is pretty witty. Fun use of show tunes.)

Here is the final twist of irony: when Thompson’s daughter rebelled eloped escaped, he himself became a pariah. See, one of the qualifications for leadership the Partriarchists take very seriously is that one’s adult children be “Believers.” Thompson was really close with Phillips before this, and they often lectured together. But afterward, not so much. In fact, Thompson was shunned by Phillips, and was essentially excommunicated from the Vision Forum fold. And lost his place in on the “A List” as a lecturer.

And now, um, Phillips finds himself in a bit of a sticky wicket. You know, not having children who escaped, but sexually abusing a young woman while continuing to lecture.

And yes, it appears that at the exact time that he was essentially ex-communicating Thompson, he was doing a young girl. If I were Thompson, I would be pissed.

Just saying.