King Minos Research Articles

Mare Tutum: Thucydides, King Minos, and the Concept of the ‘Secure Sea’ in Seventeenth-Century Maritime Law

Abstract This article examines a crucial argument in seventeenth-century maritime law: the concept of mare tutum, or ‘the secure sea’. According to this idea, the sea was characterized by chaotic piracy and required a strong central governing authority to impose order. Once the sea was secure, the ruler would reap the rewards of commerce and tariff revenues. Mare tutum espoused the idea of sea sovereignty for the goal of economic growth. Crucial to this idea was Thucydides’ account of the Cretan King Minos. The jurists Nicolaes Bonaert, Pietro Battista Borghi, and Giovanni Palazzi used the model of Minos’ Aegean thalassocracy to argue for Portuguese, Genoese, and Venetian control of the seas. The article illuminates the hitherto unknown importance of Thucydides in maritime law. It also complicates the traditional mare liberum/mare clausum framework by positing a third option which focused on control of the seas as a means to fostering trade and economic growth.

Analogical Perspectives on the Comparison between Vǫlundr and Daedalus

Analogical Perspectives on the Comparison between Vǫlundr and Daedalus

Meditation on the Fall of Icarus

Lieutenant (j.g) Karl W. Kirchwey, Jr., 1944 Meditation on the Fall of Icarus KARL KIRCHWEY I. all my life, I have been fascinated by aviation and the history of human flight. It is possible that this interest is genetic. The uncle for whom I am named, my father’s younger brother by two years, was a Navy fighter pilot flying off the aircraft carrier U.S.S. Enterprise in World War II. He was a Lieutenant (junior grade) killed at the age of twenty-two during the first day of the invasion of the island of Saipan, in the Northern Marianas. He was a member of Fighting Squadron Ten, called “The Grim Reapers,” the logo for which was a skeleton in a steep dive wearing a flying helmet and goggles, holding a blood-stained scythe. On June 15, 1944, his plane was shot down by Japanese anti-aircraft fire—or it may have been brought down by friendly fire from a U.S. Navy ship bombarding the island—and crashed into the sea. His body was never recovered. He was, according to the usual custom, listed as missing for a year, and then he was declared dead. He died twelve years before I was born, but he has paid me posthumous visits every fifteen or twenty years. His present visit may be his last, for although he lives now in a world beyond time, I do not. In Greek mythology, after having murdered his nephew Talos in a fit of jealousy, the celebrated inventor Daedalus took refuge on the island of Crete and made his skills available to King Minos. When he later wished to escape from Crete with his son Icarus, Daedalus devised wings for both of them, feathers sized just like the coverts of birds’ wings and held together with stitching and wax. Arthur Golding’s 1567 translation of the passage from Ovid’s Metamorphoses describes both the miraculous moment of first flight and the specificity of Daedalus’ parental concern: arion 29.3 winter 2022 2 meditation on the fall of icarus As soon as that the worke was done, the workman by and by Did peyse his bodie on his wings, and in the Aire on hie Hung wavering: and did teach his sonne how he should also flie. I warne thee (quoth he) Icarus, a middle race to keepe. For if thou hold too low a gate, the dankenesse of the deepe Will overlade thy wings with wet. And if thou mount too hie, The Sunne will sindge them. Therefore see between them both thou flie. (Golding 8.270–6) Daedalus’ emphasis on the importance of following his instructions and on steering a middle course echoes that of the sun god Helios to his son Phaëthon in the other great Greek myth about a father-son flying team. “I will guide thee right,” says Daedalus in Golding’s account, and: In giving counsel to his sonne to order well his flight, He fastned to his shoulders twaine a paire of uncoth wings. And as he was in doing it and warning him of things, His aged cheekes were wet, his hands did quake, in fine he gave His sonne a kisse the last that he alive should ever have. (Golding 8.282–5) The detail of Daedalus’ tears is poignant: Icarus’ doom seems foreordained, the child’s inability to follow his father’s advice . And it is characteristic of human aviation that, even in this early instance, it is neither an entirely solitary pursuit nor an entirely communal one. It is both. The operational ceiling of my uncle’s F6F3 Hellcat fighter plane was 38,000 feet, approximately that of a modern commercial airliner, although he had no heated, pressurized cabin, and had to breathe oxygen through a mask. The planes climbed well and were highly maneuverable but, being heavily armored, they dove “like falling safes” (Stafford, 380). On the day he was shot down, my uncle was closely followed by another pilot called his wingman. The idea was that planes flying in pairs had a better chance of surviving in the disorientation of combat: The acrid smell of gunpowder filled their cockpits as...

Gide et le mythe grec. Suivi de fragments du ‘Traité des Dioscures’ et autres textes inédits ed. by Patrick Pollard

MLR, .,   that mourning, like melancholia, might be an interminable process’ (p. ). is shi contributes to making Freud so central to the book’s reading of Proust, since Proustian mourning too, Elsner argues, is characterized by interminability. is is illustrated by the two main examples of the study (the narrator’s mourning over his grandmother and Albertine), both of which depict mourning as ‘an interminable process forever trapped between anticipation and belatedness’ (p. ). While the ‘distorted time-structure of mourning’ (p. ) is the subject of Chapter , Chapter  excavates the novel’s ‘topography of mourning’ (p. ). Drawing on Freud’s de- finition of the uncanny as ‘deriving from a shiing and thereby fluid distinction between imagination and reality’ (p. ), Elsner persuasively argues that when the seemingly familiar spaces of Balbec, Venice, and Paris are re-experienced in the wake of loss, they turn into uncanny ‘spaces of mourning as the narrator’s inner grief slowly invades the exterior reality in which [mourning] is experienced’ (p. ). e section on Paris centres on the wartime passage of Le Temps retrouvé, in which Proust explores mourning as a public and collective experience. In Elsner’s shrewd analysis of this passage, an examination of developments in mourning fashion during the First World War serves as a point of departure for discussing social and cultural aspects of mourning. e final chapter reads Proust’s drame du coucher as the primal scene of mourning in the novel and engages in dialogue with Melanie Klein and Jacques Lacan in order to bring out the ethical dilemmas inherent to the narrator’s first and subsequent attempts to translate loss into writing. Its lucid and nuanced discussion of the Proustian ethics of creation is part of what makes this book a valuable addition to the field of Proust studies and a pleasure to read. U  B S Y A Gide et le mythe grec. Suivi de fragments du ‘Traité des Dioscures’ et autres textes inédits. Ed. by P P. (Bibliothèque Gidienne, ) Paris: Classiques Garnier. .  pp. €. ISBN ––––. At the beginning of Gide’s long career was Le Traité du Narcisse (), and towards its close he wrote ésée (), a first-person account by the mythical hero himself. In between was a tragedy Philoctète (), a sotie entitled Le Prométhée mal enchaîné (), a dramatic reworking of Œdipe (), and a partially complete Proserpine, which mutated into a mélodrame called Perséphone (). Patrick Pollard signals several other projects that were considered at length but never came to fruition: a Sylla, a Midas, an Ajax, to name but three. Add to these the Considérations sur la mythologie grecque (), consisting of fragments of a planned Traité des Dioscures, and a meditation on Greek mythology entitled Un esprit non prévenu (), both of which Pollard presents with important manuscript variants; reading these alongside numerous manuscript musings and notes rich in insights published here for the first time, one begins to understand why Gide noted in his diary on  February : ‘La culture grecque est entrée comme composante de ma nature’ (Journal II: –, ed. by Martine Sagaert (Paris: Pléiade, ), p. ). Pollard underlines Gide’s insistence on the rational, psychological character of  Reviews myth—which put the writer at odds with theoreticians who argued for symbolic, ritual, or sociological readings. Surveying the field of classical scholarship and the sources Gide had at his disposal, Pollard points to reference works and academic studies while stressing also the ancient texts which treat of—and embroider on—the figures and narratives of the Greek myths. Another important factor was the rivalry, evident in their correspondence, with Gide’s literary confrères such as Paul Valéry, Marcel Drouin, Henry de Régnier, and especially Pierre Louÿs, whose variations on Greek myth no doubt spurred Gide’s own creative reworkings. As for Gide’s understanding of the myths, Pollard takes us through a series of readings articulated around themes that resonate through his œuvre. Hence, under the heading ‘L’amour impossible’ feature the Dioscuri Castor and Pollux, Narcissus, and Orpheus and Eurydice; while the household of King Minos—Pasiphaë, Ariadne, Phaedra, Androgeos, the Minotaur, Daedalus, and Icarus—exemplifies ‘la famille’. e gods Dionysus...

Bull by David Elliott

Reviewed by: Bull by David Elliott Karen Coats Bull by David Elliott Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2017 [200p] ISBN 978-0-544-61060-6 $17.99 Reviewed from galleys R* Gr. 9-12 Despite middle-grade and school-sanctioned sanitizations of ancient mythology, we know that the Greek gods were a randy, violent bunch who loved abusing their power to wreak havoc on the uppity mortals who dared shake their fists at the gods’ capricious ideas of poetic justice. Readers will certainly find more poetry than justice here; there’s nothing half-blooded or Disneyfied in David Elliott’s energetic, multi-voiced verse novel retelling of the myth of Theseus and the Minotaur. “Whaddup, bitches?” welcomes Poseidon, whose voice is as treacherous and irreverent as one might expect from the punitive god whose actions set tragedy in motion. His opening narration has a rolling bass rhythm that occasionally explodes into a gleefully naughty rhyme or pun as he explains the setup: how he first helps King Minos by sending a white bull from the sea and then punishes the king’s attempt to deceive the god by causing Minos’ wife, Pasiphae, to lust after the animal and give birth to Asterion, her bull-headed son. “Now you’re grossed out?” Poseidon taunts, “Well, Life’s not for wimps./ Sometimes gods are gods/And sometimes they’re pimps.” At Pasiphae’s request, Daedalus is drawn into the drama; he engineers his four-line rhyming stanzas as carefully as his contraptions, crafting a cow suit for Pasiphae to consummate her whim, and later a labyrinth when Minos’ beloved human son is killed during an athletic competition in Athens. Minos then vents his grief and anger by consigning the guiltless Asterion to be his vessel of revenge against the equally guiltless Athenians. Arrogant Minos therefore clearly emerges as the villain of the piece; Poseidon is too much fun to resent as he consistently challenges notions of propriety and does everything he can to convince readers that he is happily in charge of events. In a quirky twist, though, Asterion gets all of reader sympathy; gentle despite his horns, the bull-boy is himself bullied. His development is cannily handled as he poses surprisingly relatable identity questions at each age of his life: at three, he riffs on “Mary Had a Little Lamb” with the full knowledge that his mother loves him; at nine, her protestations that he is special fall short as he begins to feel the social stigma of his physiognomy; as a young teen, he becomes an aggrieved and melancholic maker of lists, noting what he loves and hates, questioning who he is and isn’t. Finally, at seventeen, he is pushed to the brink of despair and cruelty by the loneliness and betrayal he suffers at the hands of the father who despises him. While the poetry begs to be read aloud for its beats and voices, the novel makes clever use of typography and book design. The page turns are expertly handled [End Page 255] to manage reading pace and highlight mic drop lines and single words. The shapes and lineation of Asterion’s ottava rimas and Pasiphae’s randomized syllables chart their descents into meandering instability, while the background color of the pages of Asterion’s poems after entering the labyrinth darken gradually along with his environment and his thoughts. Brief, useful notes explain both the liberties taken with the myth and choices of form for each character. Nods to Hamilton are inevitable, but whether or not Lin-Manuel Miranda had anything to do with inspiring what we hope will be a trend of transforming old stories into hip-hop gold, all readers and educators can say at this point is keep ’em coming. (See p. 265 for publication information.) Click for larger view View full resolution Copyright © 2017 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

Myth, Ritual, and the Labyrinth of King Minos

Myth, Ritual, and the Labyrinth of King Minos

Complicated and complex: Helping the older patient with cancer to exit the labyrinth

The myth of the Minotaur is more than 4000 years old. Yet it offers a cogent metaphor of the complexity of modern cancer treatment. Like cancer, the Minotaur with the head of the bull and the body of a man was a biological aberration. Like many cancers, the Minotaur originated from the interaction of the human body with a foreign substance that perverts the normal body function (think of cigarette smoking or other environmental carcinogens). The monster was the product of the adulterine intercourse of Pasiphae, King Minos's spouse with a bull. Like cancer, the Minotaur was a cannibal. Perhaps the most relevant part to the story concerns the dwelling of the Minotaur. His stepfather enclosed him in a labyrinth. Even if he succeeded in killing the Minotaur, the brave warrior would have remained imprisoned in the labyrinth and starved to death. To find the exit from the labyrinth is the dilemma of most forms of cancer treatment: how to eliminate the cancer without hurting the patient. This is particularly true of older patients with cancer. The value of antineoplastic treatment is minimized in persons with a limited life-expectancy and increased risk of therapeutic complications. The treatment of cancer in older individuals is a complex, not just a complicated task. These two words, complicate and complex are used interchangeably, which is regrettable, as their meanings are quite different. Complicate derives from

Ambiguity in the heart, art and science by Marcus C. Schaub

Fig. 1. Ikaros in the Sky. Cutout colored paper in 1943 by Henri Matisse. Published in “Jazz” by Teriade, Edition Verve, Paris, 1947. 7th International AsconaWorkshop on Cardiomyocyte Biology, which focused on cardiac pathways of differentiation, metabolism and contraction, reveals a common notion appearing towards the end in each of them. Most material deals with basic science, but opens by mentioning the demographic socio-economic burden of high morbidity and mortality of cardiovascular diseases in technologically developed countries. Usually the circle gets closed at the end of the article. The endings are characterized by a transition from the precisely defined argumentative presentation of scientific facts to a more open not to say vague escape into speculation on “... potential opening of avenues for new therapeutic strategies”. We all know the trick that is needed to land research grant support. However, such ambiguity is not only reigning in science but is also typical for the representational arts. For illustration let's start with a paradigmatic aside by viewing Henri Matisse's picture of Ikaros in the Sky (Fig. 1). The dominant feature in this picture is his radiant red heart. It may serve as a metaphor for the ambiguity in art and science. We all know the story of Daidalos, the doyen of the Athenian craftsmanship, and his son Ikaros,whowere kept captive onKreta by the king Minos. To fly from the island Kreta, Daidalos constructed wings for his son and himself, by fixing together bird's feathers with wax. The father warned his son not to fly too high getting too close to the sun; otherwise, the sun's heat would melt the wax, loosen the feathers and cause him to fall back to earth. Ikaros, however, enjoying the newly gained freedom of flight couldn't help flying higher and higher into the sky until the unavoidable fate set in and he lost his feathers. The French painter Henri Matisse just captured this very moment of Ikaros using cutouts of colored paper (Fig. 1) when he had to give up brush painting because of severe polyarthritis. What is Matisse showing in this cutout? Has Ikaros resigned and is falling back, or is he still struggling to gain height? He just might experience an unprecedented new feeling of elation at the very moment of absolute weightlessness before the spacecraft era. Whatever he feels, he seems to feel it by heart. Ikaros has his heart on the right spot, which is onhis left;we, however, see it on the right. This is unlikely to be amedical problem; Ikaroswas not reported to suffer fromtheKartagener syndrome with “situs inversus” (described in 1933 by Max Kartagener, a physician fromZurich). It'smore likely to be an optical gimmick.Weperceive Ikaros as amirror image as if we looked ourselves into amirror; andwhat is the mirror doing? It simply reverses front and back (but neither left–right nor up–down). This reveals another ambiguity inMatisse's cutout; are we

The story of the condom

Condoms have been a subject of curiosity throughout history. The idea of safer sex has been explored in ancient and modern history, and has been used to prevent venereal diseases. We conducted a historical and medical review of condoms using primary and secondary sources as well as using the RSM library and the internet. These resources show that the first use of a condom was that of King Minos of Crete. Pasiphae, his wife, employed a goat's bladder in the vagina so that King Minos would not be able to harm her as his semen was said to contain “scorpions and serpents” that killed his mistresses. To Egyptians, condom-like glans caps were dyed in different colours to distinguish between different classes of people and to protect themselves against bilharzia. The Ancient Romans used the bladders of animals to protect the woman; they were worn not to prevent pregnancy but to prevent contraction of venereal diseases. Charles Goodyear, the inventor, utilized vulcanization, the process of transforming rubber into malleable structures, to produce latex condoms. The greater use of condoms all over the world in the 20th and 21st centuries has been related to HIV. This account of the use of condoms demonstrates how a primitive idea turned into an object that is used globally with a forecast estimated at 18 billion condoms to be used in 2015 alone.

1045 THE EVOLUTION OF THE CONDOM GOATS BLADDER TO RUBBER LATEX

You have accessJournal of UrologyMale Voiding Dysfunction (BPH & Incontinence) & Infection1 Apr 20121045 THE EVOLUTION OF THE CONDOM GOATS BLADDER TO RUBBER LATEX Fahd Khan, Faqar Anjum, and Seshadri Sriprasad Fahd KhanFahd Khan Dartford, United Kingdom More articles by this author , Faqar AnjumFaqar Anjum Dartford, United Kingdom More articles by this author , and Seshadri SriprasadSeshadri Sriprasad Dartford, United Kingdom More articles by this author View All Author Informationhttps://doi.org/10.1016/j.juro.2012.02.1150AboutPDF ToolsAdd to favoritesDownload CitationsTrack CitationsPermissionsReprints ShareFacebookTwitterLinked InEmail INTRODUCTION AND OBJECTIVES Condoms have been a subject of curiosity throughout history. The idea of safer sex has been explored in ancient and modern history, and has been used to prevent venereal diseases. From Ancient Greeks to wartime procedures, condoms have been deployed in pursuit of contraceptive measures as well as presentation of an individual in public hierarchy. METHODS A historical and medical account of condoms using primary and secondary sources as well as using the library and the internet. RESULTS The first account of condom use was that of King Minos of Crete. Pasiphae, his wife, employed a goats bladder in the vagina so that King Minos would not be able to harm her as his semen was said to contain “scorpions and serpents” that killed his mistresses. To Egyptians, condom-like glans caps were dyed in different colours to distinguish between different classes of people and to protect themselves against Bilharzia. The ancient Chinese covered the glans with oiled silk paper and the Japanese used Kabuta-Gata, a leather cap as a contraceptive. The Ancient Romans used the bladders of animals to protect the woman; they were worn not to prevent pregnancy but to prevent contraction of venereal diseases. The New Guinean Djukas Tribe ordered women to wear a condom made out of a vegetable so that conception would be prevented. In order to stop syphilis from occurring, a glans cap was introduced by Gabriello Falloppio (Physician who described the Fallopian tube). Colonel Condom, a royal physician for King Charles II created a condom out of lamb intestine to prevent Charles from conceiving illegitimate children. The origin of the name “condom” is subject to controversy but most opinions fall into the category of Charles II. As time evolved, and with the advent of the Industrial revolution, condoms were produced out of rubber. Charles Goodyear, the tyre maker, utilized vulcanization, the process of transforming rubber into malleable structures, to produce latex condoms. The condom underwent significant transformation in the 1700's and 1800's as they were made with rubber that had high tensile strength, and could be produced on a large scale. Today lubricated rubber latex condoms can be produced at a swift rate of 3000 per hour and can be varied in design. The prevalence of HIV has given a reawakening for the use of condoms in the 21st century. CONCLUSIONS The modern condom is the product of thousands of years of debate over safe sex, contraception, and the ideal structure of a condom. What we have to appreciate is how primitive ideas turned to an object that is used globally with a forecast estimated at 18 billion condoms to be used in 2015 alone. © 2012 by American Urological Association Education and Research, Inc.FiguresReferencesRelatedDetails Volume 187Issue 4SApril 2012Page: e424 Advertisement Copyright & Permissions© 2012 by American Urological Association Education and Research, Inc.MetricsAuthor Information Fahd Khan Dartford, United Kingdom More articles by this author Faqar Anjum Dartford, United Kingdom More articles by this author Seshadri Sriprasad Dartford, United Kingdom More articles by this author Expand All Advertisement Advertisement PDF downloadLoading ...

Biological effects of electromagnetic fields

In early 2000 I have received an invitation to attend the Millennium Workshop on Biological Effects of Electromagnetic Fields to be held in Greek Island of Crete. It turned to be a relatively small, but at high scientific level meeting organized by Prof. Panos Kostarakis and Ketty Apostolou. Two years later, we were again in that area— this time at the famous island of Rhodes, and then at the island of Kos, to return to Crete for the fourth Workshop in 2006. Prof. Kostarakis, who applied enormous efforts to congregate every other year scientists from up to 44 countries, suggested that the Workshop should be kept alive in the Mediterranean area and Prof. Antonio Lo Casto organized the fifth Workshop in Sicily. Last October, we were again in the Aegean See area—at ancient Turkish city of Bodrum. Prof. Tunaya Kalkan found the best resort in the world, Kefaluka hotel, just across from the Greek island of Kos. Well, let me step out of science. The island of Kos is known to be the birthplace of Hippocrates, the father of medicine. Just 20 km from the island, on the western cost of Aegean Sea, was the ancient city of Halicarnassus (today Bodrum) in which Herodotus, the father of history was born. So, because of the Workshops we were able to see these important places in human history. If you add that the first and fourth Workshops were at Crete, the birthplace of Minoan Civilization, the residence of King Minos, the picture is even more impressive. Actually, Kos has a very important role in my story. It was the last day of the Workshop and I did look again on the posters. I was approached by Dr. Peter Kevan who introduced himself as the Editor-in-Chief of journal The Environmentalist. He told me that the presentations in this meeting were very impressive and offered to create a special issue of the journal with selected papers. Frankly, by this moment, I knew nothing about this journal. However, I found that this is a good recognition for our efforts in this area of science and quickly agreed. With Dr. Kostarakis we took the duty and a year later, in 2005 the first special issue ‘‘Biological effects of electromagnetic fields’’ was published. Then in 2007, we published the second one (following the 2006 Crete Workshop). In 2009 the third issue was on line within five months, and now after similar time period, we were able to offer to the attention of the readership of the journal the fourth issue. This special issue is the hand of our readers who will judge the work done. But I must point several things. First, I want to thank Dr. Peter Kevan for the continuous support in publication of the papers about the effects of electromagnetic fields on human life and their importance for the biosphere. Second, during a decade, the Workshops were sponsored by international organizations as Bioelectromagnetics Society (BEMS), European Bioelectromagnetics Association (EBEA), Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers (IEEE) as well as the local governments and various industrial entities. This allowed to keep the cost low and to offer financial support for young scientists. The number of participating countries reaches 44 with up to 348 participants. We hosted scientists from Australia and Japan, from Iran and Egypt, from Brazil and Bulgaria. The topics of presentations and published in the special issue papers covered the effects of electromagnetic field on human health and on environment, engineering and dosimetry of devices, standards and social policy, basic M. Markov (&) Research International, Williamsville, NY, USA e-mail: msmarkov@aol.com

Facing the Minotaur: "Inception" (2010) and "Aeneid" 6

Facing the Minotaur: Inception (2010) and Aeneid 6 JULIA D. HEJDUK I thought I was earningsomeMommyPoints bytakingmytwelve-year-old son to see a trendy heistmovie witha mind-bending premiseand cool explosions.The last thingI expectedwas a filmthatwould stimulate exciting insightsintoVirgil 's Aeneid . Yetliketheancientpoet,modern filmmaker ChristopherNolan taps into a mythof inexhaustiblepower ,one thatexpressessomeofthedeepestand mostuncomfortable truths about thehumansoul. For both artistsshow theirheroesentering an alternaterealitythat blendsthe Cretanlabyrinth, the underworld, and the subconsciousmind ,wheretheymustslayor be slainbya Minotaur - thatperfect symbolof theguilt,desire,and terror at theinnermost regionofthepsyche. Freud,of course,thoughtour unconscious desireswere bestembodiedin themythof Oedipus. Butin manyways, Creteoffers a more universalpsychicmodel thanThebes: theMinotaur lurkingin thelabyrinth touchessome ofthe same springs,but otherstoo, in an even morecompelling way.1The monsterhimselfis theproductofguiltthrough and through:King Minos' refusalto sacrificea beautiful whitebull to Poseidon, an act of concupiscencewithdire religiousrepercussions, caused thegod to instillin Minos' wifePasiphae a desirefortheanimal. The man-bullborn fromtheirunion (made possible by a fake cow contraption created by master-craftsman Daedalus), beloved by its mother,was hidden away in the labyrinth(also designed by Daedalus) whereit fedon youthsand maidens importedeach year fromAthens as retributionfor the Athenians'killingof Minos' son. Withthehelp of Minos' ARION I9.2FALL 20II 94 FACING THEMINOTAUR daughterAriadne, AtheniansuperheroTheseus slew the beast, followed a thread to find his way out of the labyrinth, and escaped withAriadne,whomhe laterabandoned on a desertisland- yetmoreguiltleadingto more death.The Cretanlegendis amongotherthingsa gripping storyabout the ongoing consequences of disordereddesire and repression,about lockingaway the unspeakable thingwhose dark powerthreatens to devourus ifitis not overcome. Inception (2010), with its brilliantpremiseof manipulated shared dreaming,provides similarlyfertileground for Freudian exploration of the psyche. The vulnerable youth Fischer,recentlybecome heir to a corporate empire ,is hauntedbythe beliefthathis emotionallyremote fatherwas disappointed in him. Rival company owner Saito hiresa group ofcon-artiststo entera shareddream with him and plant the idea (a process called "inception ") thatFischer'sfatherloved himand wished forhim to establishhis own identity by breakingup thecorporation . But Cobb, the film'sprotagonist,fears to participate because of the disastrousexperiencethat led to the death of his wife, also a master dream-architect:after their decades-long paradisiacal shared dream (which took onlya fewhours in real time),she was unwillingto returnto waking reality.By plantingthe idea that "your world is not real," Cobb inadvertently caused herto believe ,upon waking,thatthereal world was not real, and she committedsuicide to returnto her imagined reality. Charged with her murderand unable to returnto his children,Cobb needs to be freedfromthe crushingburden ofguiltoverhis wife;in theparallel plot,masterfully interwoven,Fischermustovercomethe devastatinggrief and inferiority complex springingfromhis relationship withhis father. Aeneasmustalso confront thepotentially paralyzing emotions attachingto the ghostsof his past. The underworld Virgilportrays inAeneid6, whilein some sensetheuniver- JuliaD. Hejduk 95 sal restingplace populated by all the dead, is in another sensespecifically tailoredto Aeneas. In meeting theShades of Palinurus (337-83), Dido (450-76), and Deiphobus (494-547) - the helmsmanwho represents his wanderings, thelover/wife who represents his chieftemptation to abandon his expeditionto proto-Rome,and the fellowTrojan who representsthe war his people lost - he delves ever deeperintothepainfulmemoriesof his previouslife.Near thebook'send,theShadeofhisfather revealsthe"history in thefuture tense"thatawaitsAeneasand hisRoman descendants (679- 899). It would be satisfying to conclude, as manyreadershave,thattheseencounters havehelpedhimto cometo terms withhispastand preparedhimforthefuture. Butifwe examinetheencounters themselves moreclosely especiallythe one withDido- it is farfromclear thathis catabasisbringssuchclosure. Allowing Inception to functionas a commentaryon Aeneid 6 bringsinto focus some troublingaspects of Aeneas ' underworldjourney.In particular, Nolan's handling of Cretanmythraisesa crucialquestionforreadersofVirgil to consider:Iftheunderworldis figured as a labyrinth, where - or who- is the Minotaur? I shall argue that the poet, likethefilmmaker, has placed at thelabyrinth's centerthewomanwhose suicidetheherohas caused- butthat whereas Cobb is successfulin metaphorically slayingthat monster, Aeneas is not. AENEID 61DIDO ANDTHE LABYRINTH on the doors ofthetemplethatmarkstheentrance to the underworld at theopeningofAeneid6, Virgilfamously depicts the story of the Cretan labyrinth,complete with Pasiphae,theMinotaur,and theAthenianyouthschosenby lotto be sacrificed to themonster. The ecphrasishas rightly been seen as havingnumerousthematicconnectionsto the Aeneid as a whole and to the underworldin particular. Manyreadershavealso recognized theimportance ofCretan 96 FACING THEMINOTAUR legendin Dido's story:likeAriadne,sherescuesa herowho thenabandonsher;likePasiphae,sheengagesinan impossible love thatresultsin herdoom.2Yet no one has quitearticulatedanotherpossible connection:that Dido herself, who appearsat theprecisecenterofAeneid6, is theMinotaur Aeneas must slay. After following the trail of labyrinthine allusionsleadingup to Dido's appearanceinthe darkwood, I shallconsiderwhattheimplications ofthisassociationmight be. One such...

Negotiating the Labyrinth

this study identifies and explores digression in literary works of the seventeenth century as a conscious rhetorical strategy that permits disenfranchised authors to create their own powerful literary voices. Cotterill illustrates the strategy by performing close readings of several major texts: John Donne’s Anniversaries, Andrew Marvell’s Upon Appleton House, Sir Thomas Browne’s The Garden of Cyrus, John Milton’s Paradise Lost, and John Dryden’s The Hind and the Panther and The Discourse of Satire, with an epilogue on Jonathan Swift’s A Tale of a Tub. Digression is understood generically in terms of the Ovidian labyrinth, which was created by the Athenian master craftsman Daedalus for King Minos of Crete to conceal the monstrous minotaur conceived in his absence by his adulterous queen, Pasiphae (Metamorphoses, 8.152–82). As the story goes, the Athenian youth Theseus was intended by Minos to be a sacrifice but instead was able to negotiate the maze and kill the monster because Ariadne gave him a thread to follow. The absences, spaces, turnings, and eventual triumph of this mythic tale all provide important elements of Cotterill’s discussion of what she calls “underground writing,” or “the veiled expression of political doubt and enmity together with an exploration of hidden and unruly or disturbing parts of the speaker’s self ” (p. 2). Cotterill wittily creates an inner space in her own book. The chapters on Donne and Dryden in the public world of consciously sought patronage serve as bookends to the three inner chapters in which Marvell, Browne, and Milton strategically retreat to garden worlds; a final epilogue on Swift argues that the digression as rhetorical strategy is exhausted by the beginning of the eighteenth century. In the introduction, subtitled “To Wander ‘out of the Common Road,’” Cotterill explains that digression (Latin digressio; Greek parecbasis, “to step or go aside or depart”) is a figure not only denoting

Curriculum design as humanistic technology

When Theseus descended into the labyrinth, he took with him a sword and a ball of thread. His mission was to vanquish the Minotaur, half-man and half-bull, the progeny of Queen Pasiphae’s illicit passion for the snow-white bull that Poseidon had sent from the sea to King Minos. Minos, King of Crete, to hide the shame brought upon himself by his reluctance to sacrifice the bull to Poseidon, had his chief architect, Daedalus, build the labyrinth under the royal palace at Knossos. Every year a dozen young men and women were sacrificed to the Minotaur, whose subterranean bellowing could be heard like an earthquake throughout the island of Crete. Prince Theseus volunteered for the sacrificial contingent from Athens, determined to rid the region of this menace. His lover, Ariadne, the daughter of Minos, provided him with the means to do so: to kill the Minotaur-a sword forged by Daedalus himself, a short, sharp, pointed weapon, made for assault, for stabbing and cutting; and to find his way back out of the labyrinth -a ball of ,woollen thread. Theseus was successful in his mission, killing the Minotaur, escaping with Ariadne as an earthquake destroyed Knossos, and eventually returning to Athens to become king. The Greek story-tellers understood the power of symbols. They recognized that living requires two complementary kinds of resource: technical weapons for aggressive resolution of immediate obstacles, as well as the gentle means of guidance to ultimate goals. The myths of the Greeks, like all of their arts, integrated values and technique, art and science, the mind and the heart. We live, by contrast, in a fragmented, specialized and polarized culture. Educational thought is one arena in which different ideologies collide. What are the possibilities for the reconciliation of polarities in education, and specifically in what Westbury once called the ‘incurably schismatic’ field of curriculum?’

Minoan and Mycenaean Art

This survey describes and illustrates in detail all the significant works of art and architecture of ancient Crete and Mycenae and of the Cycladic Islands. An important event in the history of archaeology was the discovery by Heinrich Schliemann in 1876, of the treasures in the citadel of Mycenae - the home of the legendary King Agamemnon. The excavations of Sir Arthur Evans in 1900, at the palace of King Minos of Knossos was equally important archaeologically. Such treasures that were found are frescoes and gold funeral masks from the third and second millenia BC. This revised edition includes greater coverage of the frescoes from Akrotir, on the island of Thera. Other recent findings are described and illustrated in detail, such as the unique ivory figurine from Palaikastro, objects from the palace of Mallia and the intriguing discovery of Minoan-style frescoes in Egypt.