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"Lessons From Homer" OT Yet again But Mental heath and Cardio are related.

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17 May 2004
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  1. theglobeandmail.comtheglobeandmail.com
    LAC/20040515/A CHILLES15/TPComment/TopStories

    Lessons from Homer

    By IAN BROWN Saturday, May 15, 2004 - Page F3

    I was reading Homer's Iliad when the pictures from Abu
    Ghraib began to appear.

    It was an unusual experience. One moment I was swimming
    through 15,693 lines of hexametric verse -- long stretches
    of which-god-did-what-infantile-thing-to-whom, interrupted
    by splurts of eye-poking gore and knockout stanzas of
    shattering beauty about rage and revenge. The next I was
    trying to decipher a digital snapshot of -- well, what was
    that square of interlocking human flesh supposed to be? And
    why did Private Lynndie England and her lover, Specialist
    Charles Graner, keep grinning and doing the thumbs up in
    their house of horror?

    Homer can take three pages to describe someone changing his
    mind, but the Abu Ghraib tale was harder to follow,
    implicating someone different every day.

    With each shift, new, more upsetting pictures appeared. And
    not just upsetting: they were off-kilter, amateur and
    intimate, cold and accidental at the same time, the way old
    photographs of lynchings can be. Men in Ku Klux Klan-like
    hoods made from emptied sandbags. Men attached to wires and
    forced to stand on chairs -- but with their arms extended,
    like Jesus, a standard posture of torture. Sometimes the
    pictures (the 320th Military Police Battalion had been
    swapping them by computer for weeks) seemed like amateur
    pornography -- naked men bound in threes on the floor -- and
    sometimes they seemed like exceptionally stupid amateur
    pornography, such as the prisoner with a pair of women's
    underpants over his head. ("I know West Virginia," Bert
    Hall, a West Virginia-born professor at the Institute for
    the History and Philosophy of Science and Technology at the
    University of Toronto, told me one afternoon. "These kids
    are not sophisticated. They haven't been to the Marquis de
    Sade school of sadomasochism. It's all homemade."😉 There
    were an astonishing 1,800 images in all.

    As war atrocities -- next to, say, King David's habit of
    collecting the foreskins of his victims, or the 500
    innocents slaughtered at My Lai in 1968, or even compared
    with the Chechen trick of sniping at Russians from behind a
    wounded Russian prisoner strung up in a window -- the abuses
    at Abu Ghraib seemed relatively mild. But to Muslims, they
    meant dishonour of the worst kind. And as a final rebuttal
    to the United States' claim that it was in Iraq to protect
    the human rights of Iraqis, the pictures were a death blow.
    All over the United States, intellectuals of once-firm
    conviction, from Michael Ignatieff on the left to Andrew
    Sullivan on the right, were having meltdowns.

    I returned to the Iliad, where Homer was flashing his talent
    for describing war through intricate details of its physical
    cost -- "what metal does to flesh," someone once said.

    He was never content to have an arrow hit a soldier if the
    arrow could hit a soldier in the crotch. Coeranus, an
    Achaean, didn't just die: Hector speared him "under the jaw
    and ear, knocking teeth out, shattering roots and all and
    split his tongue in half." There is nothing depersonalized
    about Homeric combat: it's the 800 BC version of a
    videotaped beheading. Throats slashed and gurgling, clean-
    cut necks, smashed knees, sliced navels, crams of corpses,
    "screams of men and cries of triumph breaking in one breath,
    fighters killing, fighters killed, and the ground streamed
    blood" . . . Quentin Tarantino is Walt Disney by comparison.

    The plot centred on Hector, the prince of the ancient city
    of Troy, and his two great enemies: Agamemnon, the big boss
    of Greece, and Agamemnon's reluctant ally Achilles, Greece's
    most deadly soldier. Agamemnon was attacking Troy -- now,
    pay attention here -- to avenge his brother Menelaus, whose
    wife Helen (the face that launched a thousand ships) had
    flown the coop to Troy to be with her lover, Paris, Hector's
    brother -- really, it's more complicated than an episode of
    The O.C. Then Agamemnon commandeers Achilles' war loot (a
    hotty named Briseis) -- and this offends Achilles so much
    that he sulks off to his tent and refuses to fight, which in
    turn almost scuppers Agamemnon's campaign.

    Perhaps that seems farfetched. But the Bush Administration
    launched an
    unsanctioned "pre-emptive" invasion of Iraq. Anyone not on-
    side was cut
    out of the oil and rebuilding contracts. This so infuriated
    France and
    Germany they refused to send troops -- one reason the U.S.
    is in trouble
    today, and why Pfc. England had to lend a hand dehumanizing
    the inmates.

    Change a few details, it's almost the story of the Iliad,
    which has been around for nearly 3,000 years. Homer seems to
    have known what he was talking about.

    I went to see Troy, the new movie of the Iliad starring Brad
    Pitt as Achilles. I sat next to two teenaged boys eating
    fries. They wanted to see the movie "because it has all
    these, like wars," one of the boys told me. "And because
    it's about this unique moment in history." He had one of
    those flat, unemotional teenaged boy voices designed to hide
    the fact that teenaged boys are all emotion

    "Apparently it's based on some book," I said.

    "Yeah," he said, "Helen of Troy. No, I haven't read it."

    It was a great movie. The sets were incredible, and I
    developed a warm spot for Hecuba, Hector's wife. Brad Pitt
    storms the beach at Troy and raids the temple of Apollo,
    where he slices the head off a golden statue of the god and
    then beds one of the virgin female priests.

    "Bad day for Apollo," the woman beside me said. "First Brad
    cuts his head off, then he screws his wife."

    From what I could tell, Brad had the shortest tunic in the
    picture. There were several views of Brad's backside (the
    ass that launched a thousand . . . supply your own joke
    here). Patroclus had a New York accent as thick as a calzone
    that brought to mind Tony Curtis ("Yonduh lies de castle of
    my fawduh"😉. But all in all, as I say, it was a hell of a
    movie. Of course, for $175-million, it ought to be.

    The action in the movie starts right away, with a snappy
    battle on the plain of Thessaly. But it isn't until nearly
    the end of The Iliad that Achilles finally fights Hector.
    Hector, after all, has unknowingly killed Patroclus,
    Achilles best friend, and Achilles, mad with grief, wants
    Hector dead. Right from the get-go, you know Achilles is
    going to slay Hector's butt, the same way you know a girl's
    going to have a crush on Brad Pitt before she has a crush on
    you: it's the injustice of the given.

    But the worst is to come. Hector, dying, begs Achilles to
    allow his body to be carried home. Instead, "bent on
    outrage, on shaming noble Hector" (Lynndie, are you
    listening?) Achilles commits an act unknown to that point
    in Greek literature, an act more shocking than any picture
    from Abu Ghraib -- the famous desecration of the lithe body
    of Hector.

    Piercing the tendons, ankle to heel behind both feet,

    he knotted straps of rawhide through them both,

    lashed them to his chariot. . .

    For 12 days, Achilles drags around Hector's corpse. "It's
    the passage that makes you see how important it is to us
    that our bodies stay intact," Adam Gopnik, the New Yorker
    writer, told me not long ago. (He'd been reading the Iliad
    too.) Homer was the first Western writer to make that
    observation. But he is describing indignities performed on a
    dead body, the repository of a soul that still deserves
    respect. Torture, on the other hand, is inflicted on living
    human beings, and isn't to be found anywhere in Homer.

    "I can't think of a single incident of torture in The Iliad,
    or the
    Odyssey," Bernard Knox told me. He should know: At 90, he is
    still a
    pre-eminent classicist, and his introduction to the new
    Robert Fagles
    translation of The Iliad is the best guide there is to the
    poem. Still,
    he sounded surprised to have made his torture discovery.
    "There's the
    Cyclops, of course, who eats people. But he's a monster.
    He's not human.
    There are examples of mass butchery in Roman history. But
    anything quite

    That isn't to say torture doesn't work. But torture must
    blunt the judgment of the torturer: How else can you explain
    the presence of Lynndie England and her cohorts in their own
    photographs? They claim they were ordered to pose, but the
    testimony of Specialist Jeremy Sivits -- to say nothing of
    the glee in their faces -- suggests otherwise. Did they not
    imagine the pictures would be seen? Did they not care?
    Surely the only way you could pose for such photographs is
    by refusing to imagine any perspective but your own -- not
    even that of your mother seeing you on the front page of the
    paper back home, say, or that of Pfc. England's child, as
    yet unborn, 10 years from now, seeing mom heeling a naked,
    dark-skinned man on a dog leash.

    Mind you, Hector's death is not the end of The Iliad. The
    end comes only after Hector's father, old King Priam (hence
    priapic: the man had 50 sons) begs Achilles for Hector's
    body. He asks Achilles to imagine his own dead father, and
    how the older man might have mourned Achilles had he been
    the one to die at Hector's hand -- to imagine a point of
    view other than his own, and thus to renounce his arrogance.
    They share a meal, talk into the night, and Achilles hands
    over Hector. In that moment Achilles becomes a human being
    -- fatally so, as it turns out. Robert Fagles calls it "one
    of the most beautiful things in all of literature."

    I read the passage one last time, and put the The Iliad
    down. Already the moral valence of the Abu Ghraib affair
    was reversing itself, as the al-Qaeda beheading of an
    American named Nicholas Berg darkened the Internet. The Abu
    Ghraib jailers were creepy, but America's enemies were
    judged creepier.

    I turned on the TV. There was Donald Rumsfeld, the chagrined
    but newly humanized Achilles of America, holding what looked
    like a town meeting -- in Iraq, of all places. He'd stopped
    reading the newspaper, he said, and was looking through a
    Civil War book about Ulysses S. Grant instead. Personally, I
    would have suggested The Iliad.

    Ian Brown, a senior feature writer with The Globe and Mail,
    writes an occasional column for Focus.

    bellglobemedia.cabellglobemedia.ca Copyright 2004 Bell Globemedia
    Publishing Inc. All Rights Reserved.

    --
    Zone 5 In South Jersey USA Shade Consider all sorts of
    music at xpn.orgxpn.org "No Progress without contraries"
    William Blake.

  2. William Wagner <[email hidden]> wrote in message news:<[email hidden]>...

    Quoted message said:

    theglobeandmail.comTPStor
    y/LAC/20040515/A CHILLES15/TPComment/TopStories


    Snip

    Quoted message said:

    "I can't think of a single incident of torture in The
    Iliad, or the Odyssey," Bernard Knox told me.

    "Mars had to suffer when Otus and Ephialtes, children of
    Aloeus, bound him in cruel bonds, so that he lay thirteen
    months imprisoned in a vessel of bronze. Mars would have
    then perished had not fair Eeriboea, stepmother to the sons
    of Aloeus, told Mercury, who stole him away when he was
    already well-nigh worn out by the severity of his bondage."

  3. More

    The Springs of Fate By MAUREEN DOWD

    Published: May 16, 2004 Of The New York times

    Oblivious of the consequences, the impetuous black sheep of
    a ruling family starts a war triggered by a personal grudge.

    The father, a respected veteran of his own wars, suppresses
    his unease and graciously supports his son, even though it
    will end up destroying his legacy and the world order he
    envisioned.

    The ferocious battle in the far-off sands spirals out of
    control, with many brave soldiers killed, with symbols of
    divinity damaged, with graphic scenes showing physical
    abuse of the conquered, and with devastatingly
    surreptitious guerrilla tactics.

    Aside from dishing up a gilded Brad Pitt with a leather
    miniskirt and a Heathrow duty-free accent as he tosses
    about ancient insults, such as calling someone a "sack of
    wine," "Troy" also dishes up some gilded lessons on the
    Aeschylating cost of imperial ambitions and personal
    vendettas.

    The Greek warriors question their sovereign's reasons for
    war, knowing that he has taken an incendiary pretext
    (Paris' stealing Helen from Sparta) to provide emotional
    acceleration to his real reasons ‹ to settle old scores and
    forge an empire through war.

    When Mars rushes into Achilles' soul in his battle
    with Hector, as Alexander Pope wrote in his
    translation of Homer's "Iliad," "the springs of fate
    snap every lock tight."

    But Barbara Tuchman, in her book "The March of Folly: From
    Troy to Vietnam," observes that while the Trojans reject
    advice to keep that dagnab nag, as Rummy might put it, out
    of the walled city, "the feasible alternative ‹ that of
    destroying the Horse ‹ is always open."

    Cassandra and others warned them. (The always ignored
    Cassandra is left out of the movie, but she must have
    sensed that was coming.)

    "Notwithstanding the frequent references in the epic to the
    fall of Troy being ordained, it was not fate but free
    choice that took the Horse within the walls," Ms. Tuchman
    writes. " `Fate' as a character in legend represents the
    fulfillment of man's expectation of himself."

    A State Department official noted last week that if any of
    the Bush hawks had read Ms. Tuchman's dissection of war
    follies, her warning about leaders who get an "addiction to
    the counterproductive," they might have been less rash.

    "The folly" in Vietnam, she writes, "consisted not in
    pursuit of a goal in ignorance of the obstacles but in
    persistence in the pursuit despite accumulating evidence
    that the goal was unattainable, and the effect
    disproportionate to the American interest and eventually
    damaging to American society, reputation and disposable
    power in the world."

    The Bush team, working on divine right, doesn't bother
    checking human precedent.

    The president and secretary of defense boast about not
    reading newspapers, presumably because they don't want any
    contrary opinion or fact to shake their faith in the
    essential excellence of their policies.

    It's astonishing the amount of stuff these guys don't
    bother to read, preferring to filter their information
    through their ideology. They certainly didn't read enough
    Iraqi history. They delayed looking at photos and reports
    on Americans abusing Iraqi prisoners. Paul Wolfowitz
    clearly wasn't bothering to read updated casualty reports.

    The deputy defense secretary got cuffed around at a Senate
    hearing on Thursday when he admitted that he had first read
    a document that morning detailing questionable rules of
    engagement for confronting Iraqi prisoners.

    As Ms. Tuchman notes, wooden heads are as dangerous as
    wooden horses: "Wooden-headedness, the source of self-
    deception, is a factor that plays a remarkably large role
    in government. It consists in assessing a situation in
    terms of preconceived fixed notions while ignoring or
    rejecting any contrary signs."

    President Bush's Achilles' heel is his fear of wimpiness,
    and [censored] Cheney and Rummy played on that, making him think
    he had to go to war once the war machine was revved up, or
    he would lose face and no longer be "The Man."

    Maybe the president and vice president will catch "Troy" on
    their planes as they jet around to fund-raisers. But the
    antiwar message will probably be lost, except on the
    official who is both a snubbed Cassandra and a sulking
    Achilles, Colin Powell. "Wooden-headedness," Ms. Tuchman
    said, "is also the refusal to benefit from experience."

    E-mail: [email hidden]

    --
    Zone 5 In South Jersey USA Shade Consider all sorts of
    music at xpn.orgxpn.org "No Progress without contraries"
    William Blake.

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