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In Homer’s Mythology About The Trojan War, Poseidon Almost Blasted An Opening Into The Realm Of Hades

By
thehistorianshut
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If you want a decent modern visual depiction of the scenes that Homer poetically described in his epics on the Trojan War, you need look no further than a superhero movie that pits different powerful beings against other entities with incredible power. In Homer’s vision of the Trojan War, the ancient Greek gods split into separate factions (favoring either the Trojans or the Greeks) and fought it out in a series of separate, intense battles that could make scenes from The Avengers movies seem pitifully weak.

This concept is perfectly illustrated in one of the final skirmishes in The Iliad, right before Achilles killed Hector, the champion of the Trojans. In this awesome battle, many of the gods joined the fray, either by directly fighting, or by more subtle means, such as mystically inspiring troops or using their powers to sabotage enemy soldiers to give their own men an advantage. An intrigued Zeus gave off cracks of thunder as he watched his divine kin join their respective sides in the Trojan War. On the side of Troy were Apollo, Artemis, Leto, Aphrodite, the river-deity Scamander, and Ares (who would later switch sides). Siding with the Greeks were Hera, Athena, Poseidon, Hephaestus and Hermes.

In a battle of epic proportions, all of the participating gods became embroiled in one-on-one fights. The gods of war, Ares and Athena, crossed blades. The queen of the gods, Hera, faced off against the huntress, Artemis. The formidable messenger of the gods, Hermes, found himself battling Leto, the mother of Apollo and Artemis. The river-deity, Scamander, met flame-wielding Hephaestus in battle. Yet, possibly the most impressive match-up was between Apollo and Poseidon, a fight between the sun and the seas.

The battle between Apollo and Poseidon, unfortunately, proved quickly to be one-sided—Apollo suddenly decided he didn’t want to fight his uncle, and wisely called a truce. It is safe to say that Apollo made a good choice; Homer vividly described the palpable power flowing from Poseidon, brother of Zeus:

“The foothills and peaks
Of Mount Ida of the many springs were shaken; Ilium and the
Greek ships trembled; and in the underworld Hades, lord of the
Dead, took fright and leapt with a cry from his throne. He was
Afraid earthshaker Poseidon might split open the ground above
His head and expose to mortal and immortal eyes the horrible
Decaying chambers that fill the gods themselves with loathing.”
(Homer, The Iliad, Book 20, Penguin Classics, 2014).

Such was the awesome power that Poseidon exhibited in his frenzied state of excitement as he prepared to faced down the archer-god, Apollo. With this power, shaking the earth to the depths of Hades, Poseidon and his comrades in the pro-Greek faction were able to win the day, overwhelming the gods who had sided with Troy. Bolstered by their victorious divine support, the Greek forces were able to press the Trojans back into their city, and Achilles brought the scene to a climax by killing the Trojan champion, Hector. Yet, despite this show of force, the Trojan city did not fall. It would take some cleverness from Odysseus for that to finally occur.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Top picture attribution: (Poseidon graphic (augmented), [Public Domain] via maxfreepixel.com)

Sources:  

  • The Iliad by Homer, translated by E. V. Rieu and edited by Peter Jones. New York: Penguin Classics, 2014.

Plato

By
thehistorianshut
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Plato (c. 427-347 BCE)

“A moral person doesn’t set himself up as superior to people who are like him, but only to people who are unlike him; an immoral person, on the other hand, sets himself up as superior to people who are like him as well as to people who are unlike him.”

  • From Republic (349c-d) by Plato, translated by Robin Waterfield (Oxford World’s Classics, 2008).

 

Laurentius, The Second Archbishop Of Canterbury, Supposedly Was Whipped Into Action By The Long-Dead Apostle Peter

By
thehistorianshut
-

In 604, Laurentius (also known as Laurence) became the second archbishop of Canterbury. When he took his prestigious position, the future of the Catholic Church in Britain must have looked bright—two major kings, Æthelbert (or Ethelbert) of Kent and Saberht of Essex, had converted to Christianity, supporting and protecting the religion in their realms.

Yet, twelve years later, Laurentius’ worst nightmares became reality. In 616, both Æthelbert and Saberht died simultaneously. Even worse, the heirs to their kingdoms were all pagans. Adding insult to injury, the new king in Kent even married his own stepmother, which was against the rules of the church. As Catholicism in Kent and Essex began to be flooded by “heathen” pressure, many of Laurentius’ bishops decided to flee from Britain and return to France. Some of the most skilled churchmen quickly left the country, including Melitus and Justus, the future third and fourth archbishops of Canterbury.

Laurentius, himself, apparently made up his mind that a Catholic Church in England was a lost cause, and decided to stay one last night before leaving the British Isles, for good. He planned to spend his final night in a church that was dedicated to the two apostles, Peter and Paul. This decision was either his best or his worst idea, depending on your reaction to the weird finale of this story.

Unfortunately, the archbishop of Canterbury would not sleep peacefully in that church. No, not by far. According to the monk and historian, Bede (c. 673-735), the long-dead apostle Peter—one of the leaders of Jesus’ apostles and supposedly the first bishop of Rome—was extremely displeased with Laurentius. As the story goes, Peter was so irked by the actions of Laurentius that he personally descended from heaven to set the archbishop of Canterbury back on the right path.

What followed was weird. Peter appeared before Laurentius and chastised the priest for abandoning his flock, while others (Peter included) had faced martyrdom for their religion. While criticizing the archbishop with accusations such as these, the apostle supposedly struck Laurentius with savage blows from a heavy whip, or scourge. By morning, the bizarre mystical beating had convinced Archbishop Laurentius to remain in Britain.

Laurentius immediately sought, and obtained, an audience with the pagan king of Kent, Eadbald (r. 616-640), the son of Æthelbert. When he stood before King Eadbald, the sore and tired archbishop described the miraculous punishment that he had experienced during the night. According to Bede, he then dramatically removed his robe and let the king look upon his holy welts, in all of their bruised glory. As the story goes, King Eadbald was convinced by the sight and immediately converted, promising to follow and protect the Catholic Church.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Top picture attribution: (Archbishop of Canterbury (probably Edmund), Illustrations from the Nuremberg Chronicle, by Hartmann Schedel (1440-1514), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

Sources:

Albert Camus

By
thehistorianshut
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Albert Camus (1913-1960)

“The struggle itself toward the heights is enough to fill a man’s heart. One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

  • From The Myth of Sisyphus by Albert Camus, translated by Justin O’Brien (Random House, 1983).

 

The Unstable Sea Battle of Corfu Between Robert Guiscard And Venice

By
thehistorianshut
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By the end of 1084 or early 1085, Robert Guiscard, a Norman lord who managed to build himself an impressive empire in Italy and Sicily, had been at war with the Byzantine Empire for several long years. In 1081, he led an invasion to challenge the new Byzantine emperor of Constantinople, Alexios Komnenos (r. 1081-1118), and was initially successful in his endeavor. The Normans won several victories in the early years of the war. They took the coastal fortress and city of Dyrrakhion, and defeated an army led by Emperor Alexios, in the process. Led by Guiscard’s son, Bohemond, the Normans raided the empire, pressing into central Greece, even reaching Ionia and the eastern reaches of the Byzantine Empire, in modern Turkey. Yet, as the years went on, Emperor Alexios began to turn the tide of the war—the man just never gave up. He kept evading unwise battles and kept rebuilding his forces, waiting for an opportune moment to strike. Alexios’ patience paid off; he soon began to win victories against the Normans, and was able to push the bulk of the invasion back all the way to Albania.

That brings us back to the Battle of Corfu in late 1084 or early 1085. Even though Bohemnond’s campaign against the Byzantine Empire had taken a definite turn for the worse, Robert Guiscard was not ready to give up on his ambitions in Greece. Instead, he mobilized another army and navy for a second invasion of the Byzantine Empire.

After dropping troops off in Greece at Butrint, Guiscard sailed toward the rebellious island of Corfu, situated between the heel of Italy and Greece. According to Anna Komnene (daughter of Emperor Alexios), the Byzantine emperor discovered that Corfu was Guiscard’s destination. Emperor Alexios then sent this valuable information to his allies, the Venetians, and they coordinated together in hunting down the Norman fleet. When Guiscard received word that the Byzantine and Venetian navies were closing in on him, he set up a defensive position at Kassiopi, on the northeastern end of the Island of Corfu. There, Robert Guiscard suffered two successive defeats, but he emerged from the battles with his fleet still intact.

According to Anna Komnene, the Byzantine and Venetian navies parted and went their separate ways after their moderate victory over Guiscard at Kassiopi. The Venetians headed to the port in the main city of Corfu, while the other allied ships sailed back to mainland Greece. Robert Guiscard, however, was battered, but not defeated—he left Kassiopi and pursued the Venetians to the port of Corfu.

Guiscard’s sudden attack caught the Venetian fleet totally by surprise. According to Anna Komnene, the Normans charged the Venetians, who made an interesting fortification out of their ships—they apparently chained their fleet together in a circle, with large ships on the outside and small vessels within. The Norman siege of this floating fortress went on for a long time. If Anna Komene’s sources were correct, the battle raged on for such a length of time that the Venetian fleet ran out of their stockpile of supplies, making their ships much lighter in weight than usual. Ultimately, the Normans triumphed over the Venetians in the Battle of Corfu. Anna Komnene recorded an interesting theory about the battle’s final moments; she wrote that the Venetian ships had become so light by the end of the battle, that when the soldiers rushed to defend the assaulted sides of their ships, the vessels tilted and began to take on water. Komnene estimated that around 13,000 Venetian sailors drowned as a result of the battle. The ships and crew that survived the battle were captured by the Norman fleet.

Although Robert Guiscard won an impressive victory in the Battle of Corfu, the Venetians would have their revenge. Another Venetian fleet hunted down the Norman camp at Butrint and won a redemptive victory. Nevertheless, the biggest blow to Norman ambitions in the Byzantine Empire was the death of Robert Guiscard, who died in 1085, after falling ill mere months after the Battle of Corfu. Yet, even though Robert Guiscard was gone, his son, Bohemond, would continue to be a very real threat to the Byzantine Empire for decades to come.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Top picture attribution: (A 19th century engraving of a Venetian galley fighting at the battle of Curzola in 1298, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

Aristotle

By
thehistorianshut
-

Aristotle (384-322 BCE)

“The end of medical science is health; of military science, victory; of economic science, wealth.”

  • From The Nicomachean Ethics (Bekker number 1094a) by Aristotle, translated by J. A. K. Thomson (Penguin Classics, 2004).

 

Emperor Phokas (r. 602-610) Gave The Ancient Roman Pantheon To Pope Boniface IV

By
thehistorianshut
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As the ancient world transitioned into the Middle Ages, the Eastern Roman Empire (known as the Byzantine Empire) slowly began to be pressed back into a heartland quarantined to Greece and the Middle East. Yet, the Byzantine Empire still had enormous power, and in the 7th century, the emperor still wielded significant authority over the Christian popes in Rome.

At the start of the 7th century, the pope was about to gain access to one of the oldest, best preserved, temples in Rome—the Pantheon. The site of the Panthon had long been home to Roman temples. The first Pantheon temple was built by Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa (approximately between 27-25 BCE), and another was constructed in the reign of Domitian (r. 81-96 CE). The Pantheon that stands, today, is believed to have begun construction under the reign of Trajan (r. 98-117), and was completed by Emperor Hadrian around 125.

The fate, and purpose, of the Pantheon would change with the rise of an interesting emperor in 602—Phocas. From his origin as a simple commoner, Phocas joined the military and led a successful rebellion in Thrace against the reigning Emperor Maurice (r. 582-602). At the end of the rebellion, Phokas was crowned emperor and Maurice, as well as his heirs, faced execution. Read our article about the unique reign of Empeor Phokas, HERE, if you wish to know more about the rise and demise of this peculiar emperor.

In 608 or 609, Emperor Phokas gave Pope Boniface IV (r. 608-615) permission to convert the Roman Pantheon into a Christian church. According to Bede’s Ecclesiastical History, Boniface IV had the pagan temple ritualistically purified and, “once its company of devils had been cast out,” it was renamed the church of Saint Mary of the Martyrs (or the St. Maria Rotunda). As a result, the ancient temple of all the Roman gods was repurposed into a Christian church that venerated martyrs and saints (Ecclesiastical History, Book 2, Chapter 4).

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Top picture attribution: (facebook Pope Boniface and Emperor Phocas in front of Roman Pantheon, all [Public Domain] via Creative Commons, Flickr and maxpixel.com)

Sources:

Mo Tzu

By
thehistorianshut
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Mo Tzu (Chinese philosopher and religious leader, c. 5th century BCE)

“Even in the deep valleys, the broad forests, the dark and distant places where no one lives, you must not fail to act with sincerity, for the ghosts and spirits will see you even there!”

  • From the Basic Writings of Mo Tzu (Explaining Ghosts, Part III, section 31), translated by Burton Watson (Columbia University Press, 1963).

 

The Killer U. S. Military Dogs Of Cat Island

By
thehistorianshut
-

During the Second World War, all the warring countries were looking for an edge in their war effort, be it through machinery and science, new methods of personnel training or, unfortunately, even experimental drug-use. While most military research and development funding went to the tried and true necessities, such as weaponry, tanks, airplanes and ships, the war-torn countries of the world were also open to investigating more abnormal methods of warfare. Looking for any and every way to win the war, some countries invested their resources into turning mankind’s furry, four-legged best friends into trained man-killers.

Dogs have long been used by militaries during war. They were often deployed as scouts, messengers and rescuers, accompanying ground forces. Yet, during WWII, dogs were increasingly trained in some countries not to support, but to kill. Most notable (or notorious) was the Soviet Union, which may have fielded around 40,000 suicide-bomber dogs, which were specifically trained to detonate explosives underneath enemy tanks. The soviet scheme, introduced in 1941, was far from perfect. The dogs could easily become scared and confused, causing some of the poor animals to run back to their Russian handlers. This, far too often, resulted in the dogs blowing their own troops to pieces. Even though the Russian dog-bomb strategy was not considered very successful, the United States, too, wanted to try its own hand at a killer canine program.

 

  (Military and dog parade on Red square, Moscow, May 1, 1938, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

Shortly after the Japanese bombed the United States naval base at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the U. S. military was approached by a Swiss man named William A. Prestre, who, at the time, was living in New Mexico. Prestre pitched to the military a novel idea—he claimed he could train dogs to become autonomous killing machines who would be able to hunt down and eliminate Japanese soldiers without the help of handlers. The United States, heeding its venture-capitalist spirit, decided to give the man funding and personnel for a three-month trial period.

 

  (U.S. Marine `Raiders’ and their dogs, which are used for scouting and running messages, starting off for the jungle front lines on Bougainville.  Photo by T.Sgt. J. Sarno, ca. November_December 1943. [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

With U. S. military approval, William Prestre quickly went about gathering the resources he would need to train the perfect killer dogs. For a location that would somewhat mirror conditions in the Japanese Empire, he found an island in the Gulf of Mexico, ironically named Cat Island, situated just off the coast of Mississippi. Next, he needed bait that would teach his dogs how to single out Japanese targets—this is where the story gets a lot more scandalous.

In 1942, during the month of November, twenty-five Japanese-American soldiers from Company B of the 100th Infantry Battalion were sent to Cat Island with the impression that they would be aiding in the military’s dog training program. Little did they know what their role in the “training” really meant.

William A. Prestre founded his whole theory of autonomous killer dogs from a false premise—he thought the Japanese, as an ethnic people, all had a specific smell that he could train his dogs to attack. Consequently, the twenty-five Japanese-American soldiers on Cat Island were not handlers, or even trainers; they were bait.

Prestre instructed the trainers and the soldiers to beat the dogs, so as to make the animals more vicious. In-between the beatings, which sometimes drew blood, the dogs were commanded to hunt down and attack the twenty-five Japanese-American servicemen. Thankfully, the soldiers were wearing bite-resistant padding, but almost all of them received wounds during their stay on Cat Island.

From the start, William Prestre’s program was noticeably unsuccessful, especially when compared to other military dog training programs. Prestre’s allotted three months of time was up in January 1943. In his exhibition to the military on January 12, 1943, Prestre could not produce any dogs that could hunt down and kill Japanese soldiers without the help of military handlers. Even worse, his dogs seemed less effective than other military attack dogs. After witnessing the poor exhibition, the military pulled its support from the project at Cat Island, and William A. Prestre was off the payroll by early February.

 

 

  (War Dog Training in Britain, C 1940, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons)

 

Prestre, however, took his failure poorly. He truly believed in his program and proclaimed his former military overseers to be incompetent. Some say he even threatened to release damaging information about the military and the president of the United States, possibly resulting in him being put under FBI surveillance. Nevertheless, the fate of the peculiar Swiss dog trainer, just like his Cat Island program, remains a somewhat vague grey-area of history.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Top picture attribution: (Sentry dog alerts to movement outside the perimeter of Phan Rang Air Base. (U.S. Air Force photo), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons and http://www.nationalmuseum.af.mil)

Sources:

Snorri Sturluson

By
thehistorianshut
-

Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241)

“These women are called valkyries. They are sent by Odin to every battle, where they choose which men are to die and they determine who has the victory.”

  • From The Prose Edda (Gylfaginning, section 36) by Snorri Sturluson, translated by Jesse Byock (Penguin Classics, 2005).

 

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