What's the Fig Idea?

Examine the environment around you. What do you see? Lift an ear to your surroundings. What do you hear? Take a healthy whiff of the air. What do you smell? Almost every person will have a different answer for each question. However, every response has one characteristic in common. Let’s say you see the oak tree outside your window shedding leaves in the autumn air. Your initial reaction to that observation might be, “Ugh, more leaves to rake out of the yard.” Nevertheless, study the leaves a little closer. Now you might notice that the leaves add a beautiful shade of orange, yellow, and brown to the once dull, green grass. When we isolate objects and events aside from our immediate reactions, we feel a sort of charm or attraction to that focal point. Marcus Aurelius’ work Meditations provides readers with numerous relatable illustrations of this natural phenomenon.

Aurelius supplies one example of the charm of individual, natural occurrences through his model of baking bread. He states, “The loaf splits open here and there, and those very cracks, in one way a failure of the baker’s profession, somehow catch the eye and give particular stimulus to our appetite” (16). Aurelius gives a perfect paradigm of this incident by appealing to the appetitive desire that every human experiences. Even though we do not often bake bread, we are certainly familiar with other types of baking, such as those of cakes and brownies. Likewise, cracks in cakes and brownies are a symbol of a chef’s deficiency. However, the ever-so-subtle peak of the chocolate layers underneath the icing accompanied by the sugary, sweet smell seems enough to arouse even the most self-disciplined individual. Aurelius provides other representations of this phenomenon.

Aurelius presents another illustration of the pleasure of singular, incidental observations through his various examples of ripened fruits. He describes how figs “burst open at full maturity,” as well as how the ripened, decayed olives are considered beautiful (16). These instances accurately describe the phenomenon because they solicit the attention of our most trusted, yet least trustworthy, sense of perception, sight. If you know anything about figs, or if you have ever tried to grow them, you know the cracking of their shells is frustrating when the fruits are not ready. However, it gives you a glimpse into what the fully ripened fruits will resemble. Now your thoughts consist of fig newtons, fig pies, and fig muffins. Similarly, olives are best when they are fully ripened. You should pick olives in their last stage of growth when they are dark green or purple. They may not look as tasty as the bright greens of the growing olives, but they are sure to satisfy your taste buds. Set aside your initial reaction to the unsightly colors of the ripened olive or the unpleasant nature of the cracked fig and focus your attention on the particulars that lead to the positive outcome.

Through Aurelius’ examples of the bread, fig, and olive, the phenomenon of natural, isolated observations can be easily identified. Objects and events are not always what they initially appear to be. Another aspect of this phenomenon seems to say that you should always look for the positive rather than the negative in everything you see, hear, smell, or even touch. For instance, maybe you should not view this essay as another text to read. Try looking at it as a learning experience. Even if you do not agree with what I said, you are still familiarized with the concept and Aurelius’ examples. Try this approach in everything you do, and I promise your life will be more fulfilled.

The Conversation

By Gracie

Translated by Me

Introduction:

Peers of the Conversation

Gracie, who is the narrator.

Dr. Calebs.

Adrianne.

Tommy.

Maria.

Patty.

Bailey.

Dawson.

Cathlyn.

And others who were silent participants.

        The setting of the retold conversation is in the Great Books Honors room in the M.B. “Pop” Myers Fine Arts building on Faulkner University’s campus; and the entire conversation is narrated by Gracie the week after it actually took place to you.

The Initial Question

      I was walking back from chapel last week on my way to Great Books class, that I might gain some valuable knowledge; and also because I wanted to discuss Plato’s The Republic. At that moment, Cathlyn caught up to me and wittily inquires, “Are you mentally prepared for this class yet?” I replied, “I never am.” We reached the classroom and plopped down in our normal chairs. My peers strolled into the room one by one, all with a grim look on their face. Dr. Calebs briskly strides through the door and takes his seat at the table. He begins in his usual manner by discussing the syllabus, distributing the sheets containing our questions about the book, and he then asks, “So, what were your feelings on Plato’s Republic?” Dawson viciously proclaims, “I hate it!” The whole class chimes in unanimously with a general inclination towards his opinion. After everyone has announced their utter distaste for the book, Dr. Calebs turns the tables over to Bailey so she could make known her question. Bailey perplexingly queries, “Why do they conclude that the painter of the bed isn’t a creator of a bed?” She then flips to page 197 of The Republic and provides a brief summary of the section that essentially says that Socrates, the narrator of the book, poses the notion that the painter is not a maker of the bed, only an imitator. After her concluding statement, a brief silence crept through the room.

Response 1

      Patty breaks the silence and declares that the reason the painter is not the creator is because the painter does not make a bed, but only paints what a bed would look like. In order to legitimize her claim, she cites a phrase on page 197 that reads, “… we may fairly designate him as the imitator of that which the others make.” She affirms that this statement by Glaucon, the subject of Socrates’ questioning, adequately explains the idea that the artist only “imitates” the likeness of the painting and does not, in fact, “make” a real bed.

Dr. Calebs nods approvingly and indicates, “I think you are onto something.”

Tommy articulates, “But isn’t creating a bed technically ‘making’ a bed??”

Response 2

        Adrianne had been quietly contemplating her thoughts with a glazed expression in her eyes. In response to Tommy’s sub-question, she finally postulates, “Making a bed in this sense constitutes building an actual bed that can be used to sleep in. Painting a picture of a bed is only creating a likeness of the actual bed, so it is not a real bed.”

Dawson folds his arms on the table, and harmonizes with her assumption by asserting, “Hence, the painter is the imitator.”

Maria further elaborates, “The text on page 197 also states that the ‘true’ bed is the one that is made by God, and the other two beds, the carpenter’s and the painter’s, are imitations of the ‘true’ bed.”

In that brief moment of tranquility, Dr. Jacobs remarks, “We are still hitting on the answer, but we are not quite there yet.”

Conclusion

        Throughout the whole conversation I had been gathering facts and translating them onto paper in the form of a diagram to help me understand the concept. However, the diagram, like my thought process, was incomplete. What was I missing? I had no clue. The bell that marked the end of class chimed. Holy moly! Where had the time gone?? In our usual manner, the class drew silent. Meanwhile, as the chimes continued, I searched the text for an answer that would complete my chart. Alas, I discovered the missing piece! The answer was in plain sight on page 196. It reads, “… if any one were to say that the work of the maker of the bed … has real existence, he could hardly be supposed to be speaking the truth.” Let me detail my revelation in terms of diagram. There are three types of beds. These beds are God’s bed, the carpenter’s bed, and the painter’s bed. God’s bed is the true bed. The carpenter’s bed is one step from the true bed. The painter’s bed is two steps from the true bed. Therefore, both the carpenter and the painter possess imitations of the true bed, or variances of the truth. Essentially, on a truth spectrum, God’s bed is the truth and every step from the truth is closer to what is false. I felt relieved to know the truth.

But then I realized … my diagram is an illustration of the truth, so do I really know the truth?

A Case of Comparison

The judge bangs his gavel against the desk and yells, “Order in the court!” All eyes land on him. The jury look on obediently. The audience wait attentively for the trial to start. Meanwhile, the prosecution and defense ruminate to themselves. This scenario accurately reflects today’s stereotypical courtroom. Having said that, current courtrooms do not differ considerably from the earliest tribunals. That fact proves true in the playwright Aeschylus’ depiction of the primitive judiciary system in his play, The Eumenides. Aeschylus writes of a man by the name of Orestes who endures a trial for his crime of murdering his mother. Orestes’ trial distinctly resembles modern-day trials in various ways.

            One aspect of Orestes’ trial that reflects present-day trials resides in the concept of trial by jury. Athena, the goddess of justice who assumes the role of judge, appoints ten citizens to be “judges” from the “finest men of Athens” (498-503). These judges, like current judicial processions, essentially serve as jury members for the trial. Comparable to today, the individuals were selected from a pool of town citizens. Not only that, but they were the “finest” men. When citizens today are cited for jury duty, he or she is expected to arrive in court, but the person may or may not be selected. This owes reasoning to the fact that the judge and lawyers generally choose people based on what the attorneys would consider to be favorable or “fine” characteristics that would advance the prosecution or defense’s side of the case. Additionally, the number of citizens that Athena selected fall within the range of the 6-12 jurors that typically serve on juries today. More similarities exist between Orestes’ trial and modern trials.

            Another facet of Orestes’ case that displays correspondences to present-day court cases prevails in the notion of undisclosed voting. Athena commands “each man to cast his lot and judge the case, reverent to his oath” (724-725). In that situation, Athena asserts that each judge should vote according to what he believes while remaining loyal to his oath. In the same manner, modern jurors are expected to abide by an oath that substantially states that he or she will vote according to the facts without prejudice and not break his or her promise. Another characteristic that withholds similarities exposes itself in the anonymity of votes. When the judge reveals the verdict, in both Orestes’ trial and present-day trials, outsiders are unaware of each juror’s decision. This phenomenon subsists in order to preserve the delicate system of justice. It makes perfect sense that this system would appear in Athena’s court considering Athena is the goddess of justice. It also harmonizes with the purpose of today’s judiciary system, which is to preserve justice.

            My verdict is that Aeschylus presents an illustration of a trial that easily finds its place in our contemporary minds. We effortlessly picture the trial by jury and voting customs in the play that also exist in our society. I hereby dismiss him from all charges of incomprehensible setting and plot. Court (and essay) adjourned!

The Greek Elvis

            I grew up in a house very familiar with the name and image of Elvis Presley. My mom prides herself in a signed photograph of Elvis that resides, to my dismay, framed in our living room. She meticulously picked out the furniture to match the color scheme in the picture. Did I mention that the picture is a whopping five feet tall?? Crazy. I know. Upon discovering that the play I was about to read includes Elvis’ image on the cover, my curiosity understandably blossomed. The playwright Euripides composed the play, The Bacchae. The play’s plot references the Greek god, Dionysus, and his effort to spread his religion to the Greek city of Thebes, where his divinity remains adamantly rejected. While reading the text, it became very clear to me why Elvis’ face graces the cover page. Dionysus possesses many qualities that are similar to those of Elvis Presley.

           Dionysus’ persona easily falls under Casanova, not unlike his suave counterpart Elvis. When Pentheus, the king of Thebes, hears about Dionysus, Pentheus exclaims, “These women of ours have left their homes / and run away to the mountains … / … Dionysus, whoever that is; they’re dancing for him” (217-220)! The women abandoned their city and men in pursuit of Dionysus, and they seemed to be amusing Dionysus with dance too. One can imagine that the men were not overly thrilled with making their own dinner. This sounds all too familiar to what occurred with the women who were struck by Elvis’ charm. When Elvis performed, women would flock from their homes to dance in the concert crowd in utter admiration for Elvis. Comparatively, the men were not too enthused with these events. The similarities between Dionysus and Elvis do not stop there.

           Dionysus’ dance style edges on unnatural, comparable with the atypical dance moves of Elvis. There are many instances within the play where the women of Dionysus are described as being frenzied in a peculiar type of dance. One example from the text illustrating one of the women dancing states, “She strains, she races, whirls and prances / on meadows by rivers, delighting / in the absence of men …” (873-875). This kind of dancing was unlike any dancing that the city of Thebes had witnessed. The men even regarded the dancing as provocative and inappropriate, but the women were enthralled with it. Likewise, Elvis brought a new dance to the scene. His dance moves were characterized by moving his hips. In the mid-1900s, placing your dancing emphasis on your hips was considered wildly improper, especially by the men. However, as you may know, the ladies were highly obsessed.

           Clearly, Dionysus exhibits many characteristics comparable to Elvis Presley. The fact that they are both notorious for exuberant women and unique dances are only a few of their similarities. At the conclusion of the play, I found that I had a crystal-clear picture of Dionysus’ character. Just picture the Greek Elvis. Switch Elvis’ classic white, star-studded jumpsuit for a white, belted toga, and there you have it! I wonder if I painted a picture of a Greek Elvis if my mom would frame it and put it in the dining room? I figure she would as long as it is five feet tall and matches the table set. I will get back to you on that one.

Bromantic Tragedy

            The idea of a romantic tragedy is very prevalent in the world of literature and cinema. Whether the work is Romeo and Juliet or Titanic, we have all heard of a romantic tragedy at least once in our life. A romantic tragedy that you may or may not have heard of is that of Nisus and Euryalus in Virgil’s epic poem, The Aeneid. The romantic involvement of Nisus and Euryalus is a debated topic, partly because the majority of readers is convinced that Nisus and Euryalus simply had a passionate bromance. However, it is evident to me that Nisus and Euryalus were, indeed, lovers.

            Nisus demonstrates his love for Euryalus by cheating so Euryalus can win the foot race. Referencing Nisus’ act of affection, the text says, “But he won’t forget Euryalus, / his great love, never, up from the slime he struggles, / flings himself in Salius’ path to send him spinning, /…as Euryalus flashes past, thanks to his friend / he takes the lead…” (164). It is a known fact that when we love another, we want the other person to succeed in all that he or she does. Also, love tends to blind us, and it is in that state when we tend to act immorally or irrationally. It was certainly immoral for Nisus to trip Salius in order for Euryalus to succeed; notwithstanding, the reader understands that he did it out of love. On the basis of those truths, Nisus and Euryalus are clearly very infatuated with each other.

            Nisus continues to expose the love that he shares with Euryalus when Nisus risks his life for Euryalus. In a desperate attempt to save Euryalus, Nisus leaps out of safety and says to the Rutulians, “The crime’s all mine, he never dared, / …All he did was love his unlucky friend too well” (280). When we deeply love someone, we want to do everything in our power to keep our significant other safe. Also, Nisus states that Euryalus’ only default was loving Nisus too well. This level of affection is too powerful to be replicated in anything other than a romantic relationship. The proof of their profound adoration for each other does not disappear there.

            To top the great romantic tale off, Nisus succumbs to a blind rage of fury after Euryalus dies and ends up at death’s door himself. Nevertheless, his death was not in vain. Nisus “in the still of death / found peace at last” (281). The reader can conclude that Nisus found more contentment in dying with Euryalus by his side than living life without him. There is an old truism that says something along the lines of how the hardest part of losing a loved one is not their departure but learning to live without them. It seems that Nisus could not take that realization. This piece of evidence serves as the greatest validation of Nisus’ and Euryalus’ romantic involvement because the unfortunate ending is analogous to a classic romantic tragedy.

          Cheating. Risks. Death. These words are considerably reminiscent of a trailer to a romantic movie or a synopsis to a romantic novel, but they are actually just a boiled-down summary of the narrative of Nisus and Euryalus. With that observation, it is blatant that Virgil depicted Nisus and Euryalus as lovers. The question that might cross your mind now is not whether Nisus and Euryalus were romantically involved. Rather, how is there even a valid claim that Nisus and Euryalus were not? With all that said, I think that Virgil should be credited with a new literary genre. We shall call it the… BROMANTIC TRAGEDY.