by Wallace Garneau, America Outloud: A lean education system would eliminate structures whose primary function is to manage belief rather than produce knowledge. This starts with the Department of Education. The Department of Education must be eliminated. People will say this is a radical idea, but we did not even have a Department of Education until 1980, […]

Welcome back to our weekly behind-the-scenes glimpse at what’s getting our team talking. Tell us what you’ve been reading at info@reasonstobecheerful.world and we just might feature it here. Gone forever When the difference between winning gold and going home empty-handed can come down to nanoseconds, it’s no wonder sports teams invest time and money finding ways to boost their performance. But, reports Grist in an article shared by Interim Editorial Director Tess Riley, it turns out that fluorinated ski waxes, or “fluoros” — one of the major tools in the kits of downhill and cross-country skiers and snowboarders — contain PFAS (aka per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances), which are notorious for their harmful effects on human health and the environment. Following a ban on the use of these “forever chemicals” in 2023, the Milan Cortina Games will be the first Olympics without them. Tess says: The environmental impacts of events like the Olympics are huge, and fluorinated ski waxes are just one aspect of that. But am I pleased that there are going to be fewer forever chemicals polluting pristine landscapes thanks to the fluoros ban? Absolutely. Tackling the ‘motherhood penalty’ For women around the world, motherhood comes with career costs, writes Alexandra Killewald, Professor of Sociology at the University of Michigan, in an article in The Conversation shared by Contributing Editor Michaela Haas. With that in mind, Killewald and Danish sociologist Therese Christensen set out to determine whether government programs that provide financial support to parents can offset the “motherhood penalty” in earnings, looking specifically at Denmark, which has one of the world’s strongest safety nets. Their findings show that while government benefits do not fully offset earnings losses for Danish moms, they help. A lot. This, Killewald says, provides an example to other countries of “what’s possible when governments make financially supporting parents a high priority.” Michaela says: Having grown up in Europe, I was incredulous when I moved to the U.S. and realized there’s no paid parental leave here. This study shows that parental leave protections and generous child care benefit everyone. What else we’re reading Meet the Women Protecting India’s Snow Leopards — shared by Contributing Editor Michaela Haas from BBC News A Startup Discovered a Hidden Source of Abundant, Clean Energy — and Did It in an Unusual Way — shared by Interim Editorial Director Tess Riley from CNN  How Denmark Is Inviting Visitors to Rediscover Analogue Play — shared by Contributing Editor Geetanjali Krishna from Positive News  Indian Teacher Who Created Hundreds of Learning Centers Wins $1 Million Global Teacher Prize — shared by Contributing Editor Michaela Haas from AP News  Homes on Wheels Are Filling a Big Gap in Portland — shared by Interim Editorial Director Tess Riley from Next City In other news… “I recently ate a pig that’s alive and well at a sanctuary in upstate New York.” So begins a recent Grist article about the future of meat production, and what a captivating opening line it is. Those of you who’ve been reading our What We’re Reading column for a while will know by now that over at Reasons to be Cheerful we’re big fans of Grist (indeed, another of their stories made it into one of our top slots above this week). So, for no other reason than to share a bit of love for a fellow news organization that’s doing cool stuff, today we’re giving Grist and their journalism a shoutout. The post What We’re Reading: Eliminating ‘Forever Chemicals’ at the Olympics appeared first on Reasons to be Cheerful.

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  The story of Medea traditionally begins with her betrayal of her father, family, and homeland to help Jason capture the Golden Fleece, and ends with the murder of their children after Jason abandons her for another woman. Over the centuries, writers, artists, and philosophers have turned to Medea as a symbol through which to explore powerful themes such as motherhood and monstrosity, exile and otherness, female anger and rage, and the boundaries between passion and reason. A contradictory and complex character, Medea’s story continues to both provoke and disturb.   Hesiod’s Theogony   Architrave with sculpted metope showing sun god Helios in a quadriga; from the temple of Athena at Troy, ca. 300-280 BCE. Source: Altes Museum, Berlin   The first surviving reference to Medea appears in Hesiod’s Theogony, a poem estimated to have been composed between 730-700 BCE, that traces the genealogies of the Greek Gods. Hesiod claims that Helios, the sun God, produced two children with the Oceanid Perseis (otherwise known as Parse, Persea, or Perseide): first Circe, the famous nymph and enchantress that turned Odysseus’s men into pigs, and then Aeëtes who would go on to become the ruler of Aea and the protector of the famous Golden Fleece. Hesiod claims that Aeëtes fathered Medea with Idyia, the daughter of the titan Oceanus.   Hesiod provides no detailed narrative of Medea’s life, merely describing her as “godlike Medea,” who married Jason after he completed the trials set out for him by her father, and bore him a son. Despite its lack of detail, his account traces a very prestigious and storied origin for Medea, emphasizing the divinity of her parentage and establishing her as an otherworldly and powerful figure in Greek myth.   The Argonautica of Apollonius of Rhodes Scenes from the Story of the Argonauts, by Biagio d’Antonio, between 1472 and 1516. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   The most extant and complete narrative of Medea and Jason in ancient Greek sources comes from the epic poem the Argonautica, written by Apollonius of Rhodes in the 3rd century BCE. The poem begins by describing a prophetic warning to Pelias, king of the city of Iolcus, in Thessaly and uncle of the mythological hero Jason, that his downfall will come at the hands of a man with only one sandal. Jason arrives in Iolcus, having lost his sandal in a stream, and on learning this, Pelias decides to send him on what he believes to be an impossible mission. He tells Jason that he must go to Colchis and bring back the Golden Fleece, a divine symbol of authority and kingship, and return it to him. Jason agrees and sets sail upon the Argo (a ship that lends its name to his famous crew, the Argonauts) to complete the task.   After a long and treacherous journey, Jason eventually arrives in Colchis. Aeëtes, Medea’s father and protector of the fleece, says he will give it to Jason if he completes a series of challenging tasks. Knowing the tasks to be nearly unbeatable, Hera and Athena, his supporters, decide to enlist the help of Aphrodite to ensure Jason’s success. Aphrodite encourages her son Eros to fire an arrow at Medea and make her fall madly in love with Jason so that she will assist him in outwitting her father.   Medea’s Despair Jason and Medea, by John William Waterhouse, 1907. Source: Wikimedia Commons   From the moment we are introduced to Medea, she is in near constant turmoil. She battles with the choice she must make between her family and homeland, and her overpowering passion for Jason. Apollonius describes her continually being beset by “shame and hateful fear.” She spends a sleepless night considering her options. She is horrified by the idea of betraying her father, but equally cannot bear to see Jason fail in his task. She sees no hope and no solution for her position, wishing that she had rather been slain by the arrows of Artemis than ever have set eyes on Jason.   She even contemplates suicide to avoid the choice at hand, but then considers how even in death she will be tormented by her decision, and become known as “the maid who disgraced her home and her parents, yielding to a mad passion.”    She goes to the chest where she keeps her many drugs and potions, longing to choose one that will poison her, but in that moment, she is struck by an overwhelming fear of death. Seeing that she still yearns for life, she becomes set in her purpose and decides that she will give Jason the charms he needs to aid him in his quest—and face the consequences of her choice.   Jason Completes the Impossible Tasks Jason Wearing the Golden Fleece by Michele Cortazzo, 1865. Source: National Archaeological Museum, Naples   Jason and Medea meet in secret at the sacred grove of Hecate. Jason tells Medea he will make her famous all across Greece if she helps him, and Medea agrees. In return, Jason promises to marry her if she chooses to return with him to Greece after he wins the fleece.   Aeëtes’s first task is for Jason to plough the Plain of Ares with fire-breathing oxen that he must yoke himself. Medea gives him an unguent (a healing ointment) to protect him and his weapons against the fire, and he completes the task unharmed. Next, he is instructed to sow the teeth of a dragon, but Medea warns him that once he does so, the teeth will spring up as soldiers. She says that he must throw a rock amongst them in order to cause confusion, and the soldiers will turn on each other and spare him.   Jason does as she instructs and is successful in his tasks, however, at this moment of triumph Aeëtes goes back on his promise and refuses to give Jason the fleece, instead plotting to kill him and the Argonauts. Medea goes to Jason and tells him she will help lull to sleep the never-sleeping dragon that guards the fleece so that they can escape with it, and together they flee Colchis.   An Unholy Crime Medea the Sorceress, by Valentine Cameron Prinsep, 1880. Source: Wikimedia Commons   The Argonauts are pursued by King Aeëtes, and Medea’s brother Apsyrtus packs the surrounding islands with Colchians to guard the exits to the sea. Medea herself became a point of dispute, for while Jason had completed the tasks, he had done so through trickery and with her assistance. The Argonauts discuss separating Medea from everyone else and allowing her fate to be decided by the local kings.   Medea, furious that she may be discarded after all she has done, rages against Jason for the position he has put her in. She tells him that because of him she has “poured deadly shame over all women,” and wishes that her fury could drive him from his homeland because of what she has suffered through his heartlessness.   Jason hatches an alternative plot to escape the Colchians that does not involve handing Medea over. He convinces Medea that in order to avoid a more bloody battle, they must trick her brother into meeting with them alone at the temple of Artemis. He asks Medea to lure Apsyrtus with splendid gifts of friendship on the pretense that they wish to negotiate with him. Apsyrtus agrees and, on his arrival, is ambushed and killed by Jason while Medea shields her eyes. Jason puts his hands in the blood and stains Medea’s veil with it, binding her with him in this act of violence.   Medea by Frederick Sands, between 1866 and 1868. Source: Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery   There are other, usually later versions of this story that claim that Medea killed her brother herself, dismembering his body and scattering it across the island to delay her father, who she knew would stop to retrieve them for a proper burial. Regardless of whether she was an active murderer or reticent accomplice, Medea was complicit in her brother’s death and marked by her treachery.   Apollonius writes that in killing Apsyrtus, Jason and Medea had angered the Gods, and thus had to seek purification for this shameful act. They decide to travel to Aeaea, the island inhabited by Medea’s aunt Circe and ask for her help. Circe is horrified by their crime but due to her relation to Medea agrees to ritually cleanse them of it and they once more set sail upon the Argo.   A Long Journey Home Argo, by Konstantinos Volanakis, nineteenth century. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Medea, Jason, and the Argonauts encounter a number of further challenges as they continue their journey. When they land in Scheria, ruled by King Alcinous and Queen Arete, some of the Colchians arrive to try and retrieve Medea back to her homeland. Arete persuades her husband to protect Medea if she marries Jason. A wedding is quickly arranged and the King sends the Colchians away.   When they are nearing Iolcus, they encounter the bronze giant Talos who guards the island of Crete, throwing large stones at approaching ships. He has one vein which reaches down from his neck all the way to his ankle, and is bound shut by a singular bronze nail. Apollonius writes that Medea calls upon the “death spirits, devourers of life, the swift hounds of Hades” and bewitches the eyes of Talos, causing him to graze his ankle on a pointed crag and cut his vein. The ichor rushes forth and the mighty giant comes crashing to the ground, allowing them to safely pass. Soon after this story they finally arrive in Iolcus and the narrative comes to an abrupt end.   Apollonius’s Medea is clearly a woman beset by tragedy. She is portrayed largely as vulnerable and emotional, struggling against the fate that the gods have set out for her. Despite this, it is she who conquers many of Jason’s enemies. She is shown to be a powerful sorceress and a clever strategist, and there can be no doubt that Jason would never have accomplished his task without her assistance.   Euripides’s Medea Medea, with her dead children, flees Corinth in a chariot drawn by dragons, by Germán Hernández Amores, circa 1887. Source: Museo del Prado   Although Apollonius provided us with the most complete surviving story of Medea from Greek sources, there were a number of representations of her before his writing. One of the most influential is Medea, by the Athenian playwright Euripides, first performed at the City Dionysia festival in Athens, in 431 BCE. The play continues to be read and staged today, and has become famous for its psychological depth and exploration of complex themes that still resonate with modern audiences.   Euripides’s narrative takes place after Apollonius’s narrative ends. The play begins with the Nurse of Medea’s children, wishing that Jason and the Argonauts had never made it to Colchis, that Medea never would have set sail for Iolcus driven mad with her love for Jason, and that they never would have come together to Corinth, where the play is set. We learn from the Nurse that Jason has now married Glauce, the daughter of Creon, King of Corinth, and that Medea and her children are to be banished.   This Medea is described often in natural imagery or animalistic terms. When looking at her children her eyes are described as “glinting at them like bulls,” and she has the “wild glance of a lioness with young.” She is often described using nautical terms, associating her with the tempestuous sea on which she was brought back by Jason. She is presented as an unstoppable force of nature, determined to wreak havoc, and destroy entirely the man who tore her from her homeland, used her for her skills and talents, and then abandoned her when he found a woman better suited for his purposes.   Bust of Euripides. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Unwilling to allow this humiliation, Medea hatches a plot to murder not only Jason’s new bride, but also the two children she shares with him. She instructs her children to go and supplicate Glauce, begging her favor so that she might request of her father, King Creon, that he revoke their banishment. She tells them that to endear themselves to her, they must give her a costly robe and golden coronet that she has secretly poisoned.   Glauce, unable to refuse the beauty of these items, agrees to the terms and accepts the gifts. Once she puts them on, they fuse to her body, and she becomes engulfed in flames, dying a horrible and painful death. On finding her, her father throws himself upon her body and becomes stuck to her dress, and in his attempt to save her, he suffers the same fate.   As her final act of vengeance, Medea steels herself to murder the two children she shares with Jason. Despite feeling conflicted and horrified by the task, she is overcome by her desire to punish Jason and commits the atrocity. In the final scene, her grandfather Helios sends a chariot drawn by dragons to help her escape, and she suffers no punishment for her crimes.   A Feminist Reading Mrs. Yates in the Character of Medea, by William Dickinson, 1771. Source: The Metropolitan Museum of Art   Euripides’s characterization of Medea is remarkable for its time, and he is often cited as something of a proto-feminist for the way he portrays her and the words he has her speak. Medea is repeatedly referred to as intelligent, her power is regularly emphasized, and although her actions are unspeakably cruel, there is no denying that she has substantial agency.   Where in Apollonius Medea was presented as a young maiden, seemingly helpless in her love for Jason and beset by anxieties, in Euripides’s play she is committed to the single-minded purpose that she will not allow herself to be humiliated, mistreated, and discarded by the man whose life she not only saved, but was instrumental in securing and advancing. She rages against the injustices committed against her as a woman, and facing the loss of her dignity, her pride, and her life in Corinth, she chooses, instead of giving in, to destroy all in her path.   Medea, by William Wetmore Story, 1865; carved 1868. Source: The Met, New York   Her famous speech on the plight of womanhood has resonated through history, the rhetorical impact of it so strong it was even recited at suffragette meetings to rouse emotion for the cause. The full passage is worth quoting here:   “Surely, of all creatures that have life and will, we women  Are the most wretched. When, for an extravagant sum,  We have bought a husband, we must then accept him as  Possessor of our body. That is to aggravate  Wrong with worse wrong. Then the great question: will the man  We get be bad or good? For women, divorce is not  Respectable; to repel the man, not possible.  Still more, a foreign woman, coming among new laws,  New customs, needs the skill of magic to find out  What her home could not teach her, how to treat the man  Whose bed she shares. And if in this exacting toil  We are successful, and our husband does not struggle  Under the marriage yoke, our life is enviable.  Otherwise, death is better. If a man grows tired  Of the company at home, he can go out, and find  A cure for tediousness. We wives are forced to look.  To one man only. And, they tell us, we at home  Live free from danger, they go out to battle: fools!  I’d rather stand three times in the front line than bear  One child.”    Medea Destroying Jason’s Family and Home (Trucidatis liberis Medea fugam capeßit), from Ovid’s Metamorphoses, by Antonio Tempesta, 1606. Source: The Met, New York   Euripides’s Medea is part revenge fantasy, and part thoughtful exploration of the psychological impact of social isolation, betrayal, and trauma. No doubt the suffragettes found something cathartic in Medea’s unabashed violence against the systems that oppressed her, and it galvanized their own desires to take action.   Despite the supreme horror of her actions, it seems in history Medea has achieved the aim she sets out for herself in the play, asking, “Let no one think of me as weak and submissive, a cipher—but as a woman of a very different kind, dangerous to my enemies and good to my friends.”    A Postcolonial Reading Medea in Chariot, Red-Figure Calyx-Krater by the Policoro Painter, c. 400 BCE. Source: The Cleveland Museum of Art   In certain critical interpretations, Medea has come to represent the postcolonial story of a foreigner taken from their homeland and made an outsider in a new land. A number of adaptations have emphasized this reading, placing Medea in various migrant or colonial contexts and exploring how her rage and eventual violence is at least partially a consequence of her position as an oppressed minority.   Citizenship in Athens was a closely guarded privilege, and anxieties about foreign inclusion were substantial in Euripides’s time. The Athenian empire was at the height of its power, buttressed by an ideology of cultural and political superiority, with a clear division between Athenian citizens and those that they labelled “barbarians” on their periphery.   Euripides continually emphasizes Medea’s position as a barbarian, and how, despite her attempts to adapt to the customs and ways of Corinth, she has never been fully accepted.   Jason expects her to be grateful that he brought her to a civilized land instead of her barbarian home, but she regularly bemoans the loss of her fatherland and her treatment by the Corinthian people. She complains that her social isolation and final banishment from the only home she knows lead her to question what she has to gain from living, and with no final refuge she decides that the only place her power lies is in destruction.   Ruins of ancient Corinth. Source: Wikimedia Commons   It is not unusual for Greek protagonists to commit such horrific crimes, but it is unusual for them to escape punishment. This may suggest Euripides’s sympathy for his heroine and a subtle alignment with some of her words. Medea’s statement that, “Men do not judge justly with their eyes when, before they know for sure the true nature of a person’s heart, they hate on sight, though they have suffered no grievance,” could be particularly pointed to his 5th century Athenian audience and show that Euripides himself held a more progressive attitude to cultural integration.   Regardless of his intentions, Euripides’s Medea has become a symbol of the psychological impacts of displacement and marginalization, as well as the cycles of violence it can generate and sustain.   Roman Depictions of Medea Jason swearing Eternal Affection to Medea, by Jean-François de Troy, 1742-3. Source: The National Gallery, London   Beyond the Greek tradition, Medea also featured in a number of Roman sources, particularly around the early Imperial Period—the 1st century BCE to 1st century CE. The poet Ovid, writing during the reign of Augustus, provides one of the most detailed Roman accounts of her life in Book Seven of his 15-book epic Metamorphoses, within which he recounts the story of Jason’s quest and Medea’s pivotal role in his success.   Ovid also wrote The Heroides, which translates to “The Heroines,” a collection of letters written in elegiac couplets in which heroines from Greek and Roman mythology directly addressed lovers who in some way betrayed or mistreated them. Medea is the subject of the 12th letter, which begins with the line “Scorned Medea, the helpless exile, speaks to her recent husband.” Through Medea’s voice, Ovid explores the sacrifices she made for Jason, the betrayal of her family and homeland, and Jason’s ingratitude. It is both sorrowful and furious, emphasizing her emotional turmoil and the rage she feels that he should leave her after all she has given him.   The poet Valerius Flaccus wrote his own Argonautica in circa 70 CE. It is in part a translation of the Argonautica of Apollonius, and part his own piece, full of allusions to Virgil and other literary works. Within it, he stresses Medea’s conflict between her erotic desire for Jason and her filial duty to her father and portrays her ultimate betrayal as a tragic fate.   Seneca the Younger, Cordoba, Spain. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Seneca the Younger, a statesman and dramatist, wrote his own play about Medea around the year 50 CE. He presents an even darker and more intense version of the story, choosing to show the murder of one of her children on stage and in front of Jason, instead of offstage as it happened in Euripides. The play famously includes the line “Medea nuns sum,” which translates to “Now I am Medea,” suggesting she has openly embraced her destructive power and allowed herself to become fully consumed by her rage.   Seneca himself was a noted Stoic philosopher, and thus believed that the path to leading a fulfilling life was through practiced reason and restraint. In the play he highlights Medea’s rejection of reason and virtue in her deliberate choice to pursue vengeance, and shows how her passion leads to her own self-destruction, distancing herself further from her humanity.   It is not surprising that Medea became a prominent figure in Roman literature during this period. The transition from Republic to Empire brought significant social and political upheaval, prompting philosophers, poets, and playwrights to explore tensions important between order and chaos, reason and emotion, and the boundaries between Roman identity and foreignness. Medea, as a figure who embodies these extremes, became a powerful vehicle through which to examine such questions, as well as providing a gripping story to satiate the public’s appetite for a compelling tragedy.

  The Iliad tells the story of Achilles, a great hero of the Trojan War, and how his uncompromising pursuit of honor ultimately led to the death of his best friend (or lover) and the loss of countless Greek soldiers. The poem explored the cost of individual honor versus collective duty. Through Achilles, Homer presents a hero torn between his desires and responsibilities.   Homer’s Historical Context The Parthenon, by Frederic Edward Church, 1871 CE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey are generally agreed to have been written around the 8th century BCE during the development of the polis, or Greek city-state. During this period, a shift began from the more individualist values of the aristocracy to the cooperative values necessary for the functioning of the city-state. This shift would eventually culminate centuries later with a popular uprising in Athens and the birth of democracy.   Homer’s epics originated from a long tradition of oral history that spanned back to the Bronze Age. While it was once thought that the poems depicted the values of Bronze Age Mycenae, it is now understood that, due to the changeability of oral tradition, it is quite impossible that the stories arrived unchanged down to the 8th century BCE. Certain details, such as the general plot of the epic, probably remained fixed, as they were considered actual history. The Trojans must lose the war, Hector must die, and Agamemnon and Odysseus must survive to return home. What changed was the context and values of the poets who interpreted these events for their audience. This leads to interesting contrasts between the story’s plot points and the source of the epic’s main conflict.   What Happens in the Iliad The Trojans Repulsing the Greeks, by Giovanni Battista Scultori, 1538 CE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   The Iliad opens in the ninth year of the Trojan War as a plague ravages the Greek army. Apollo was upset that Agamemnon refused a Trojan priest who had come to him as a suppliant, asking for the release of his daughter, Chryseis. To alleviate the plague, Agamemnon eventually consented to release the girl back to her father, but doing so was an insult to his honor, as she was one of his war prizes. This would leave him diminished in the eyes of others, so he laid claim to one of Achilles’ war prizes, a girl named Briseis.   This action constituted a breach of social conduct as Agamemnon and Achilles were social equals. While Agamemnon was the commander of the armies and had the right to distribute the spoils of war, reclaiming a prize that had been given showed Achilles that he could not be trusted to respect the rights of others. In anger, Achilles withdrew from the war effort.   The tide of the war turned against the Greeks as they no longer had their best warrior, and one by one, their great heroes were injured and had to withdraw from the battle. Agamemnon sent an embassy to entreat Achilles to return to the fight, offering him back Briseis and many other prizes, but Achilles refused. He eventually sent his friend Patroclus, clad in his armor, to fight for the Greeks. Patroclus faced off against Hector, the greatest of the Trojan defenders, and was killed. Patroclus’ death proved to be the turning point in the war as it prompted Achilles to rejoin the fight, his rage shifting from Agamemnon to Hector.   Shield Depicting the Siege of Troy, French, c. 1580-1590 CE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   Achilles slew countless Trojans until he finally faced off against Hector before the walls of Troy. He killed Hector and dragged his body behind his chariot back to the Greek war camp. King Priam, Hector’s father, later snuck into the Greek camp to Achilles’ tent and begged for the return of his son’s body. Achilles, feeling pity for the king who had lost so much over the course of the war, allowed him to return to Troy with Hector.   Conflicting Values: Timē vs. Aretē The Parting of Achilles and Briseis, engraved by Francesco Bartolozzi after a painting by Giovanni Battista Cipriani, c. 1786 CE. Source: British Museum   The main values at stake in the Iliad are timē and aretē. Timē, commonly translated as “honor,” refers to certain privileges allotted to a person based on their social status. This would include the choicest cuts of meat, the finest wines, and plots of land, among other things. Though “honor” is certainly part of the meaning of the word, it also connotes “status” or “prestige.” Timē was not merely an inner quality; it was inseparable from its physical manifestations. In the Iliad, this manifests as the person’s share in the spoils of war. Being given more or less of the spoils signified their rank among their peers, so receiving more or less, in essence, increased or decreased their standing in the social hierarchy.   As timē was something someone was given and not something that could be gained on one’s own, it depended entirely on those who conferred it and not at all on the one who received it. This is true in Homer and remained true in the Classical period. This is evident in Book 23 of the Iliad, where Achilles holds athletic contests before Patroclus’ tomb. The prizes were allotted to men not based on their skill, but on their social status.   Warriors’ Departure, attributed to the Group of Toronto 305, c. 520 BCE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   Aretē has commonly been translated as “virtue,” yet in Homer, it is generally used in a context that refers to a person’s, or even an animal or object’s, competence or prowess at tasks expected of them. The virtue of a horse lies in its swiftness; the virtue of a woman lies in being a good housewife; and the virtue of a warrior lies in his skill in battle. In Homer, aretē was viewed as being innate to a person and predetermined by birth, much like a horse bred for racing will necessarily be faster than one bred for labor. However, aretē was an active virtue and must be displayed and used for public purposes, else it ceases to exist. A warrior had no value unless he displayed his prowess in combat.   These two values are at odds within Achilles in the Iliad as he tries to rectify the insult and diminishment of his timē with maintaining his aretē as a warrior.   Heroic Expectations Warriors in Combat, attributed to the Lysippides Painter, c. 520-510 BCE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   Due to a warrior’s status and timē, there were certain social requirements expected of Achilles. As Sarpedon says in Book 12,   “Glaukos, why in Lycia do we receive especial honor as regards our place at table? Why are the choicest portions served us and our cups kept brimming, and why do men look up to us as though we were gods? Moreover we hold a large estate by the banks of the river Xanthos, fair with orchard lawns and wheat-growing land; it becomes us, therefore, to take our stand at the head of all the Lycians and bear the brunt of the fight[…]”   While a man’s honor was not directly related to his skill in battle, the expectation was that the warrior would at least engage to protect his countrymen. The Greek heroes were bred to be warriors and leaders, which is why they received a greater portion of honors than common folk. They were expected to use their aretē for the common good of the society.   The Value of Pity Hector Lying on his Funeral Pyre, by Giovanni Maria Benzoni, c. 19th century CE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   Throughout the epic, Achilles grapples with his pursuit of honor, and all the misfortune that befalls him and the Greeks is due to his anger at Agamemnon for diminishing his timē. Though it is clear from the poem that his anger is justified, as the war dragged on and more Greeks died fighting, his wounded pride became less justified. We can see this sentiment in a speech Nestor gave to Patroclus in Book 11. Achilles sent Patroclus to ask who the wounded soldier was that he saw Nestor carrying in his cart. Nestor replied to him, asking why Achilles was now showing pity for the Greeks when, due to his absence, he knows nothing of what’s been going on in the war. All the Greeks’ greatest warriors lay injured and out of the fight. He then says, “Yet Achilles, valiant though he be, careth not for the Danaans [Greeks], neither hath pity.”   In Book 1, Nestor had tried to diffuse the conflict between Achilles and Agamemnon, arguing against Agamemnon taking Briseis from Achilles, showing that he clearly considered Achilles’ anger to be justified. Yet as the epic progresses and Achilles refuses any attempt at reconciliation, Nestor seems to change his mind on the matter. He tells Patroclus, “But Achilles would alone have profit of his valour [aretē]. Nay, verily, methinks he will bitterly lament hereafter, when the folk perisheth” (Book XI, lines 762-764).   Patroclus then returns to Achilles and mirrors the sentiment of Nestor, saying to Achilles, “May it never be my lot to nurse such a passion as you have done, to the baning of your own good name. Who in future story will speak well of you unless you now save the Argives from ruin? You know no pity” (Book XVI, lines 30-32).   Menelaus and Meriones Placing the Body of Patroclus on a Chariot, Etruscan, c. 2nd century BCE. Source: National Archaeological Museum of Florence   By prioritizing his sense of honor above all else, Achilles fails to fulfill the tasks expected of him based on his share of timē. His single-minded pursuit of honor has rid him of the purpose he was supposed to fulfill. So, though he increased his timē by virtue of Agamemnon giving back Briseis and gifting him even more treasures in order to make him rejoin the war effort, his aretē became virtually non-existent. It was only when Patroclus was killed did Achilles realize his error.   “I would die here and now, in that I could not save my comrade. He has fallen far from home, and in his hour of need my hand was not there to help him. What is there for me? Return to my own land I shall not, and I have brought no saving neither to Patroklos nor to my other comrades of whom so many have been slain by mighty Hektor; I stay here by my ships a bootless burden upon the earth” (Book XVIII, lines 98-105).   Achilles (left) about to kill Hector (right), Pallas Athena between them, Giovanni Maria Benzoni, 19th century CE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   Achilles realized too late the cost of his inaction. He finally seems to understand Nestor and Patroclus’ words now that the devastation of the war has affected him personally. His sense of pity extends to his lost friend and to the struggling Greek army. He takes responsibility for Patroclus’ death, and the only way for him to atone is by killing Hector and then dying himself. When he finally kills Hector, he is still not satisfied and cannot assuage his grief. He tries to desecrate Hector’s body, itself an insult to Hector’s timē, but Apollo won’t allow it. It is only when Priam, the king of Troy, sneaks into his tent at night to beg for Hector’s return does Achilles’s sense of pity finally extends not just to others with whom he has a personal tie but to his enemy as well.   Priam Ransoming Hector’s Body, by Giovanni Maria Benzoni, c. 19th century CE. Source: Metropolitan Museum of Art   The Iliad ends not with a final battle, but with an act of mercy. Achilles’ return of Hector’s body to Priam signals a moral shift, from a pursuit of honor to a recognition of shared experience. The epic suggests that true virtue lies not just in victory, but in empathy. Achilles’ journey demonstrates how the warrior code, when followed at the expense of all else, will lead to ruin. Only compassion and mutual respect give one’s personal honor any meaning.

  The university as we know it now differs greatly from its medieval counterpart. During the Middle Ages, some of the most prominent universities in the world began to form, including Oxford University, Cambridge University, the University of Paris, Charles University (Prague), and many more. But why was the Medieval university a necessity? Who attended them? What went on behind closed doors?   Early Medieval Education Systems Before Universities A Bologna University class, by Laurentius de Voltolina, c. 1350s. Source: Wikimedia Commons   During the Early Medieval Period, specifically in Christian Europe, education looked much different from what we think of it now. There was no expectation for anybody to receive a formal education, unless you were a member of the nobility or the Church. Children did not attend school during the day; they worked on farms or helped out at the family home. In addition, when it came to leaving home, there was no real expectation for anyone to further their education—with a largely agrarian economy and lifestyle, what was the purpose of furthering your education when your time could be spent working for the family business, such as farming or blacksmithing?   Monastic schools were an example of early medieval education that worked alongside the universities for many centuries. Wealthier members of society could afford to send their sons to become monks, and as such, they would receive a monastic education. As well as learning the contents of the Bible inside out, they would also learn valuable educational skills, such as reading and writing.   In the Middle Ages, monks were the primary writers of the age, so being able to read and write was an essential part of a young monk’s education. Furthermore, they would also learn practical skills, such as how to mend things and how to grow and tend to their own crops.   Education for the Nobility in the Middle Ages Mob Quad at Merton College, Oxford University, constructed between 1288 and 1378. Source: Wikimedia Commons   The nobility were the most educated group in medieval Europe, partly because they had to be, and partly because they were the only ones who could afford an education.   However, their form of education did not take place at university; instead, children would have private tutors, who would teach them a range of subjects, ranging from reading, writing, Latin, French, geography, arithmetic, history, scripture, astrology, and more, depending on each individual monarch’s preference.   This meant that there was often a huge discrepancy in the education levels between members of the nobility and the common people, although even by today’s standards, members of the British royal family receive a much better education than the majority of the British population, because they can afford it. So, has much changed in the last thousand years or so?   It would be easy to say that nothing has changed, but this is where the rise of the medieval university comes in.   The Origins of the Medieval University Quadrangle at King’s College, Cambridge, photo by Kirsten Drew. Source: Unsplash   Around the late 11th century, the medieval university began to crop up as an institution, evolving from the already-existing cathedral and monastery schools.   The reason for the evolution can be attributed to a number of factors. Firstly, the population increase in Europe meant that there was a higher demand for all sorts of professions, including lawyers and physicians, and with no formal institutions to train them, potential lawyers and physicians needed an institution from which to learn.   As with population growth, the urban centers of many of Europe’s largest cities began to expand, resulting in a greater demand for housing and employment opportunities. Many of these professions required a form of formal training, so that was another reason why the rise of the medieval university began.   Furthermore, the rediscovery of classical texts in this period spurred demand to learn about them and understand them, showing that universities were not simply places where lawyers and physicians could ply their trade, but institutions dedicated to the study of classical texts, and a new branch of educators: academics.   Separation of Church and State in Medieval Universities A meeting of doctors at the University of Paris, by Étienne Colaud, c. 16th century. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Despite the fact that many of Europe’s medieval universities were founded on former cathedral schools or monastic schools, they maintained a certain degree of autonomy, resulting in a distinct separation of Church and State within the university walls.   Universities were self-governing bodies of education, neither backed by the Church nor the State, and as such, students and teachers formed guilds to protect their interests.   It was these original guilds that meant that funding for university study was possible, with a corporation of students and masters dedicated to studying particular areas of academia, ranging from arithmetic to history.   Some of the earliest universities which sprang from guilds included the University of Bologna, Italy (founded in 1088, it is the oldest university in the world in continuous operation), University of Paris (France, 1150), University of Oxford (England, 1167), University of Salamanca (Spain, 1218), University of Coimbra (Portugal, 1288), Charles University (Czech Republic, 1348), Jagiellonian University (Poland, 1364), University of Vienna (Austria, 1365), Heidelberg University (Germany, 1386), and the University of St Andrews (Scotland, 1413).   The Curriculum at a Medieval University The University of Bologna. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Naturally, the curriculum differed depending on the university and what the students would be studying, but there were some general rules about what was taught, especially in the early years of the medieval university as an institution.   The subjects known as the Seven Liberal Arts were almost exclusively taught to every student in medieval universities. These subjects were rhetoric, grammar, logic, geometry, arithmetic, music, and astronomy.   Today at university, we tend to focus on just one subject, especially in Europe. In the US, it is common to major in one subject (such as history) and minor in another (like English). However, joint honors degrees are not hugely popular in Europe, and most undergraduates tend to specialize in one subject, such as history, geography, or civil engineering, and so on, perhaps then going on to study a master’s in medieval history or human geography, for example.   However, the seven Liberal Arts helped to shape early education in the centuries that followed, as these formed the basis of the modern European education system as we know it: English (rhetoric, grammar), Maths (arithmetic, geometry, logic), Science (astronomy), and the Arts (music).   The impact that this had on the wider European education system cannot be ignored.   How Were Students Taught at Medieval Universities? A map of medieval universities in Europe, by William Robert Shepherd, 1923. Source: Wikimedia Commons   Remarkably, the method of teaching at universities has not changed too much in almost 1,000 years of them being a European institution.   While preconceptions of education in the Middle Ages often involve a strict teacher walking around with a baton ready to beat any student who dares to disagree with him, the reality was much different.   Universities in the Medieval Period were (and still largely are) places of debate, learning, and interactive opinion-sharing.   Teachers at universities (academics, lecturers, and so on) would generally form a lecture on a certain text or reading (for those in the arts) and then invite the class to debate it, or to form their own opinions on the text. Much like in today’s universities, where lectures are the primary method of teaching, and then seminars are where the debate goes on, this has generally remained the same.   Students would engage in intellectual discussions with one another and with their lecturers, creating an institution where debate was actively encouraged so that they could get a better understanding of the texts they were studying and form their own opinions on them.   This idea of healthy debate is not typically associated with the Middle Ages, but behind the closed doors of universities, it was actively encouraged.   The Social Impact of Medieval Universities Diagrams on natural sciences in a medieval university book, c. 1300. Source: British Library   Aside from fostering healthy debate, medieval universities became well-known institutions throughout Europe, attracting huge numbers of people to study at them.   While initially, universities were solely reserved for members of the wealthier classes, and just men at that, the idea that the medieval university did not impact society because of this is, frankly, ridiculous.   One of the biggest impacts that medieval universities had was that they helped to train a range of people in different fields and industries, from doctors to lawyers to the next generation of teachers, which in turn, led to the slow move away from a solely agrarian economy and a more academically-focused one in the centuries to come.   Literacy rates in the middle and upper European classes also shot through the roof with the advent of the medieval university, creating a higher demand for books, texts, and arts. While it would be almost another 1,000 years before literacy rates were high throughout the continent, the impact that this had at the time was incredible.   Final Thoughts The University of St Andrews. Source: Wikimedia Commons   The medieval university as an academic institution was one of the greatest educational developments in world history.   The fact that in Europe these aforementioned universities are not just still active almost 1,000 years after their founding, but are still world-leading universities, goes to show the impact that they have had over the centuries of their existence.   Countless well-known people have passed through the doors of these institutions. Take Oxford University, for example: John Wycliff, Thomas More, Thomas Wolsey, and Roger Bacon all passed through Oxford University in the Middle Ages/Renaissance, while people such as J.R.R. Tolkien, Bill Clinton, Theresa May, and Hugh Grant have all graduated as Oxonians in more recent years.

  When German geographer Ferdinand von Richthofen came up with the term Silk Road in 1877, the massive network of trade routes had already served as a trade superhighway for over 1,500 years. The labyrinth of paths stretched about 4,000 miles from the Chinese capital of Chang’an to the ports of the Mediterranean. Starting around 130 BCE, when the Han Dynasty officially started trading with the West, the Silk Road influenced many of the societies through which it passed.   A Blend of Local Cultures, Practices, and Economies Sogdians on an Achaemenid Persian relief, 5th Century   The Silk Road was not a typical trade route that moved straight from one point in a region to another. In fact, very few traders ever traveled the whole distance. Instead, goods changed hands many times at oasis cities like Samarkand and Kashgar. At some stops, local leaders charged taxes, thereby causing the prices of trade items to go up. This made middleman groups such as the Parthians and Sogdians very wealthy. Meanwhile, source traders like the Chinese kept the manufacturing processes of items like the highly valued silk a secret for many centuries by threatening anyone who shared it with death.   Qing-era print depicting Cai as the patron of papermaking.   Cai Lun, a Chinese eunuch court official, for example, perfected papermaking in China in 105 CE. While the technology eventually spread to Korea and Japan via the Silk Road, the secret was kept away from the West for centuries. That changed in 751 CE after the Battle of Talas. Historical records indicate that when Arab forces captured Chinese papermakers, they forced them to teach the craft in Samarkand. The shift in dynamics caused cheap paper to eventually replace expensive animal skins (parchment). The widespread availability of paper subsequently enabled more people to learn to read and write.   The Movement of Technologies Across Continents Earliest depiction of a European cannon, “De Nobilitatibus Sapientii Et Prudentiis Regum”, Walter de Milemete, 1326.   While silk gave the route its name, the pathways also led to the spread of inventions such as printing, gunpowder, and the compass. Gunpowder, for instance, was invented in China in the 800s as a failed attempt to create a potion for eternal life. The technology eventually spread west as a result of the Mongol conquests. By the time it reached Europe in the 13th century, people had begun to use it in weaponry. While it was used to undermine the armor worn by knights, it was also used to breach fortified castles. In 1453, for instance, the Ottoman Sultan used giant cannons to breach the walls of Constantinople, thereby ending the Byzantine Empire.   Religious Influences Apollo Belvedere, a 2nd-century CE Roman copy of a Greek original from c. 330 BCE.   Many different religions spread along the Silk Road. Buddhist monks, for example, traveled with merchant caravans through trade centers, thereby spreading their practices along the route. The amalgamation of cultures inspired societies like the Kushan Empire to produce a unique style of art that reflected the mix of many religious cultures. For the first time, artists carved statues of the Buddha who wore Greek style robes. These statues also had facial features that resembled the Greek god, Apollo.   Other religions such as Christianity and Zoroastrianism also moved east. The Mogao Caves in Dunhuang bear evidence of the religious exchange. Nearly 500 temple caves were carved into a cliff by the communities that lived there. The caves held thousands of documents and paintings that portrayed the rich blend of communities of different faiths who lived side by side in the area.   The Spread of Diseases A scanning electron micrograph depicting a mass of Yersinia pestis bacteria in the foregut of an infected flea.   Although the Silk Road promoted trade across regions, it also aided the spread of diseases and germs. The Black Death is one of the most famous examples of a pathogen that spread rapidly along the Silk Road. Historians believe that the bacterium known as Yersinia pestis that led to the ailment originated from Central Asia and was spread along the Silk Road by infected fleas.   It all began when the Mongol Empire established a period of stability known as the Pax Mongolica in the Silk Road regions in the 13th century that made long distance travel safer. As a result, the volume of trade increased and inadvertently speeded up the movement of the plague across the continent. Military movements also contributed to the crisis. Mongol troops are said to have carried the illness westward during their military campaigns. In 1346, the Golden Horde army besieged the Genoese trading port of Kaffa in Crimea and allegedly catapulted plague-infested corpses into the city in order to infect its inhabitants.   Genoese traders fleeing the siege at Kaffa reportedly carried the infection westward on their ships, enabling the disease to reach major ports in Europe. Millions of people died from the malady.