A Feast

My dozen young classicists breeze into the room, tugging at the snack drawer--repeatedly--until they realize it's locked. "Hey, what happened to hospitality?" one grumbles. There are certain lessons it is not difficult to teach and sharing food facilitates the process. After all, throughout The Iliad and The Odyssey the meal comes before everything, even introductions. As angry as the Greeks are with Achilles, Odysseus and Nestor break bread with him first with no mention of the carnage his feud with Agamemnon has visited on the Achaeans.

I have watched as my twelve have bonded over the past months. Their enthusiasm for the Classics, its literature and its archetypal themes, is infectious and, I sense, somewhat proprietary as they come to realize they are speaking a language that may be universal and that they are joining a community.  No one wants to be alone--the Greeks ostracized Bellerophon for his hubris rather than sentencing him to death. The students' distinctions begin to blur yet their differences remain, a union that benefits both the group and its members.  Each knows the others' favorite treats and a pile of clementines sits in front of one student while the last gummy bear is presented to another; a student struggles to cut hunk of homemade bread big enough for 4 into 12 pieces.  Likewise, students are tolerant of the myriad opinions even as they develop predictably.  Medea's champions and her detractors will each have their impassioned say.  I expect next week's discussion of Cleopatra will develop similarly and students will smile and nod and patiently process the comments until one or more dissenters will announce something along the lines of: "I understand what you are saying and I cannot argue with your logic.  I still think Medea got a crummy deal."  They operate in direct contrast to so much of the "real world" discourse and counter the prevailing research that suggests we have all made up our minds and only give credence to, or even seek out, opinions, beliefs and philosophies sympathetic to our own.  They are patient when they sense someone needs to be forceful; they likewise know just how to keep from crossing the line into stridency.  Eventually, one will say it's time for a snack. 

My other students tell me that Classics is my favorite class--and they are right.  But it is not because they are any brighter or more interesting or easier to manage (truth be told, teaching them can be like herding cats--specifically the ones in Rome's Torre Argentina).  It is their shared love for the classics that engenders the common language that weaves them together and nurtures their souls in a way that makes them dear to mine.  But it is also the traditional nourishment, the breaking of bread--or sharing other treats--that sates their physical hunger and opens their minds and spirits to the rest of the feast.