The tingling that comes from a time displacement dissipates and you find yourself standing against a wall. You can feel the rough texture of uncut stone under your palms. It’s dark, so dark you can hardly see the stone wall facing you on the other side of the street. You can tell from experience that you’re in an ancient city, but you’re not sure where or when. Then, you hear voices in the distance and catch the faint glow of torches coming in your direction. They’re speaking Greek. You’re in a Greek city, possibly Athens. You look up, wondering if you could see the Acropolis, with its nightly signal fire. But the walls around you are too close.
Caliban’s voice whispers in your ear: "Athen, 430 BCE.”
"Why can't I ever get a break? This isn't anywhere close to when I need to be."
"Don't you mean, anywhen?"
You can't tell if Caliban has tried to make a joke, or if he's programed for humor. How do you program a sense of humor in the first place? You decide he's simply being literal. If he had a sense of humor it would probably lean toward practical jokes, like a foghorn in your ear at three AM.
The torches come closer and you realize that there are smoldering fires everywhere. You’re eyes just hadn’t adjusted to them. The smoke is acrid, and stings your nostrils. The air feels sticky with a stench you couldn't quite place, as though something had been burning for a long time, and not something pleasant.
"This doesn't look like the Athens I remember."
"This is Athens in the middle of the Peloponnesian War," Caliban tells you.
Before you can react, you are jostled from behind as several huddled figures hurry by.
One man glances at you over his shoulder, suspiciously, as though he is certain you were not standing there a moment before. Time to move on, you decide. You hastily readjust your knapsack and check that your Chronosensor is safe as you move down the street.
As you turn a corner, you come across a strange sight: a family standing in the middle of the packed dirt street, with a body wrapped in rags at their feet. An elderly woman wails while a young girl tries to comfort her as two young men stand mutely staring down at the body. Then, the body groans. Whoever it is is still alive.
Why doesn’t anyone do anything? They just stare down at it. As you watch, it twitches, then rolls on its side and spits some dark liquid into the dirt. Blood? It rolls back and moans again.
Before you can stop yourself, you rush forward and . . .
MINI CHALLENGE: WITH YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF PATHOS, WHICH EMOTION ON YOUR PART IS MOST LIKELY TO GET SOMEONE TO ACT? ONE EXPERIENCE POINT IF YOU CHOOSE RIGHT.
Push the young men aside and yell, [[“Why don’t you do something?”]]
Come to your knees and say quietly, [[“Someone go get a doctor.”]]
The two young men turn on you, their faces contorted with anger. One yells back: “Do what? Who are you to be angry with us? What do you expect? This one doesn’t have much time left. We’re not uncaring. But if we touch him we risk getting the plague ourselves.” They storm away, pushing past you. One shoves his shoulder against you as he passes, making you stagger back and almost fall on the body.
The old woman looks at you gratefully, but the girl’s anger matches that of the young men.
“They might have helped us,” the girl says. “But you scared them away. Now who will move him? Are you going to do it by yourself? He’ll die here in the street like a begger.”
"He was just trying to help," the old woman replies.
“Caliban” you say, not caring if they think you’re a little crazy, “What’s happening here?”
"The Spartans, with their superior army have infested the countryside. The people have all come into the city for the safety of the city walls. Too many people, poor sanitation, iron age medicine. Naturally, plague."
You are silent. You realize now that ANGER wasn’t the best emotion to use at that moment. But when is it? Those two guys had probably seen a lot since the plague started and had little patience left.
[[The Plague]]
“There are no doctors left,” one of the young men replies. “They were the first to die. Where have you been that you don’t know that?”
“Isn’t there anything we can do?”
“All we can do is take him to his house where his wife will make him more comfortable until the inevitable.”
The old woman cries aloud at that.
“You’re willing to do that?” The young girl asked. “To touch him?”
The other young man shrugged. “Who knows. Perhaps a gesture on our part will placate the gods."
The two young men gather up the man and carry him down the street. You realize that CALMNESS is an effective emotion to get people to act altruistically.
[[The Plague]]
You walk on, realizing as you pass a fire in the middle of a square that the smell that stung your nose earlier and now seems to fill your lungs is due to bodies, piles of them, being burned in the street. You avert your eyes a little so you don’t have to look at what you thought a moment before were tree branches in the flames--but you can’t do anything to get away from the smell.
As you walk along the streets you see an authoritative man taking notes on a clay tablet with a stylus and ordering young men around. Students or interns? You listen as he directs them to collect information from people nearby about the number of sick, the supply of water, and whether anyone has bodies that need to be brought out.
As you come nearer, you can hear him chastising one of the young men for his carelessness. It sounded like he had spilled some ointment, something in short supply.
As he watches the young man slink off, the older man shakes his head and mutters to himself, "It is frequently a misfortune to have very brilliant men in charge of affairs. They expect too much of ordinary men.”
You can’t help but smile. He looks up from his tablet and notices you for the first time.
“And, what may I do for you?”
This guy seems to be in charge, so you decide it might be a good idea to ingratiate yourself with him. Somehow, you’ve got to get him on your side. But how? Maybe you could build on his emotions about the young man who spilled the ointment, or channel them in some way.
MINI CHALLENGE: WHAT IS YOUR ANSWER? WHAT EMOTION WILL YOU CHOOSE?
He doesn’t seem that friendly, and he sounded a little egotistical with that ‘brilliant men’ remark, which you were pretty sure he meant to refer to himself. Still, even though you didn’t think the guy he dressed down deserved it, you decide . . .
CHOOSE ONE; ONE EXPERIENCE POINT IF YOU CHOOSE THE CORRECT ONE FIRST
. . . to go along with this guy and build on his enmity: “You sure put him in his place. He deserved it. Wasting medicine.” [[Enmity]]
. . . you decide to see if you can channel his emotions, turn them on a different track: “Was what that kid did so bad? From what I hear the medicine isn’t helping much anyway After all, he is here helping." [[Friendship]].
He frowns at you. “Thank you for your input, stranger,” then turns away, studying his tablet
YOU’LL LEARN WHETHER THIS WAS THE RIGHT CHOICE LATER.
[[Walk on.]]
“True.” He smiles at you. “He's as good a young man as this city possess. He’ll be a bit more careful now, though.” Another young man runs up and the two enter into conversation.
YOU’LL LEARN WHETHER THIS WAS THE RIGHT CHOICE LATER.
[[Walk on.]]
“Calliban? Do we have anything in the Chronosensor on this plague?”
“A passage from Thucydides' Peloponnesian War.”
You download it and read it as quickly as you can, trying to understand what is happening here. One passage in particular sticks out for you:
“By far the most terrible feature in the malady was the dejection which ensued when any one felt himself sickening, for the despair into which they instantly fell took away their power of resistance, and left them a much easier prey to the disorder; besides which, there was the awful spectacle of men dying like sheep, through having caught the infection in nursing each other. This caused the greatest mortality. On the one hand, if they were afraid to visit each other, they perished from neglect; indeed many houses were emptied of their inmates for want of a nurse: on the other, if they ventured to do so, death was the consequence. This was especially the case with such as made any pretensions to goodness: honour made them unsparing of themselves in their attendance in their friends' houses, where even the members of the family were at last worn out by the moans of the dying, and succumbed to the force of the disaster. Yet it was with those who had recovered from the disease that the sick and the dying found most compassion. These knew what it was from experience, and had now no fear for themselves; for the same man was never attacked twice- never at least fatally.”
You remembered what Aristotle had written about fear, as “a pain or disturbance due to a mental picture of some destructive or painful evil in the future.” All these people were afraid, not so much of the reality of the plague, but of their own mental picture of themselves getting the plague in the future.
You are jostled out of your revere when someone pushes you, knocking you to the ground. This seems to be happening a lot in this time.
A hard yank on your arm, something snaps, and you realize your backpack is suddenly ripped away from you.
You jump up to see a kid, a child almost, running into an alley. You quickly chase after the thief, but there are so many twists and turns and it is so dark that you soon lose him.
Now it is your turn to experience fear. For the second time you’ve lost the manuscript you got from Sor Juana. What were you going to do now? How would you ever find it? You realize your heart is pounding and you need to calm down. Yet, don’t know how you can do that. This whole fear thing is starting to get complicated.
As you try to catch your breath, not from running, you realize, but from your fear, you remember something else Aristotle wrote about fear, “For there are two reasons why human beings face danger calmly: they may have no experience of it, or they may have means to deal with it.”
This time you wonder if Aristotle knew what he was talking about. That guy with the tablet certainly had a lot of experience with this plague. But, he was out of medicine. He didn’t seem to have the means to deal with it, did he? Then, you realize that he might be able to help you with your problem; he might be your means to deal with it. If he’d been around for a while, he must know everyone in this neighborhood. Maybe he knew who the kid who stole your knapsack was.
If you responded to the man with enmity earlier, go here. [[The results of enmity]].
If you responded to the man with friendship earlier, go here. [[The results of friendship]].
You return to the courtyard where you met the man who seemed to be in charge. He’s still there. You watch him from the shadows. Occasionally a young man will come into the courtyard. They’ll speak briefly, then the young man will head out on whatever errand he has been sent on.
You step into the courtyard, and he notices you.
“You again. Why have you come back. These young men go about this district at their own risk. They risk contracting this disease because of their love of their city. What are you doing?”
You realize immediately that he is trying to shame you. To what end? To motivate you to become one of his helpers? It’s an excellent rhetorical trick. It might work if you didn’t have other concerns, things that were as important as what he was doing, at least to you. You’re surprised at your feelings though. You do feel ashamed, even though you know you shouldn’t. You feel the urge to volunteer, even though you know that you have other matters that have to take precedence. Shame, you realize, is a powerful emotion.
He shakes his head when you don’t answer.
"My name is Thucydides, son of Olorus of Thrace. How can I help you?"
This is Thucydides? The same Thucydides who wrote the History of the Peloponnesian War? “I . . . I . . .” before you can finish a couple of the young men enter the courtyard carrying a body.
"Excuse me a moment." Thucydides rubs his back and groans as he walks away to deal with a poorly-handled body. One of his students wanders over to you, curiosity written across his face.
"Have you come to study with Thucydides as well?" he inquires.
You shake your head, "No, I am new to the city and besides being hopelessly lost, I have been robbed of the little I had in my bag."
"Ah, hard times indeed, my friend. War creates fear and fear makes thieves of us all. Thucydides is a fine man, to be sure. He can help you. He knows everyone in the city, and everyone knows him. And if he can't get your bag back, he can certainly point you in the right direction."
You thank the young man who quickly returns to work as soon as he sees Thucydides is no longer distracted.
"This is the second time I have seen you here. I half expected you to be gone yet again. What do you seek?"
“I seek only the return of my belongings so that I might finish my business in the city and return home to my family.”
After describing the young man that robbed you, Thucydides shakes his head knowingly. "Ah yes, I know the one you seek. Troubled boy. But I can’t help you. I don’t have time for such things.”
“Tell him you don’t wish to punish the boy,” Caliban says in your ear.
“What?”
Thucydides looks back at you strangely: “You didn’t understand me?”
Caliban speaks again: “After your earlier criticism of one of his helpers he doesn’t trust you. He thinks you want to hurt the boy.”
“I don’t wish to punish the boy,” you tell Thucydides quickly. “I only want my pack back.”
“If I hear any harm has come to him.”
“I won’t harm him,” you quickly reply.
“Very well. His mother has a soft heart and an understanding ear. Here, have this map. It is only a sketch by my own hand, but it will serve you well. I will send one of my helpers to look in on her later."
You realize he means to make sure you keep your word. The results of enmity seems to be distrust. Maybe you should have tried friendship earlier.
[[With the thief’s mother]]
You return to the courtyard where you met the man who seemed to be in charge. He’s still there. You watch him from the shadows. Occasionally a young man will come into the courtyard. They’ll speak briefly, then the young man will head out on whatever errand he has been sent on.
You step into the courtyard, and he notices you. He smiles.
“Ah, you have returned again. This is the second time.”
He’s very ingratiating, and you wonder if he’s trying to make you a friend. To what end? So you will help? You find yourself wanting to help, wishing you could. But you have a different mission. Still, you’re surprised at how easy it seems to be to affect your emotions in this situation. You want to help, but you just can’t. You wonder at how these emotions seem to push you in one direction or another, often against your better judgement.
“Ah, but I haven’t bothered to introduce myself. My name is Thucydides, son of Olorus of Thrace. How can I help you?"
This is Thucydides? The same Thucydides who wrote the History of the Peloponnesian War? “I . . . I . . .” before you can finish a young man brings a body into the courtyard.
"Excuse me a moment." Thucydides rubs his back and groans as he walks away to deal with a poorly-handled body. One of his students wanders over to you, curiosity written across his face.
"Have you come to study with Thucydides as well?" he inquires.
You shake your head, "No, I am new to the city and besides being hopelessly lost, I have been robbed of the little I had in my bag."
"Ah hard times indeed, my friend. War creates fear and fear makes thieves of us all. Thucydides is a fine man, to be sure. He can help you. He knows everyone in the city, and everyone knows him. And if he can't get your bag back, he can certainly point you in the right direction."
You thank the young man who quickly returns to work as soon as he sees Thucydides is no longer distracted.
"This is the second time I have seen you here. I half expected you to be gone yet again. What do you seek?"
“I seek only the return of my belongings so that I might finish my business in the city and return home to my family.”
After describing the young man that robbed you, Thucydides shakes his head knowingly. "Ah yes, I know the one you seek. Troubled boy, but his mother has a soft heart and an understanding ear. Here, have this map. It is only a sketch by my own hand, but it will serve you well. These are cursed times. I hope you find what you are looking for. I hope you make it back to your family. Seek me out if you have need. Fare thee well."
As you walk away you wonder at how easy that had been, perhaps due to the friendship you had shown earlier. You're glad you hadn't responded earlier with enmity.
[[With the thief’s mother]]
You follow Thucydides's directions and soon come to a modest home. A servant takes you in to see the woman of the house.
"Good afternoon, may I help you," she greets you, curiosity and worry flicker across her face.
"Good afternoon, good wife. I am friend to Thucydides, it is he who has sent me here. It seems your son is the person I am looking for," you reply.
She releases a heavy sigh and invites you to sit, signaling the servant's exit.
"Pray tell, what has he done now?"
You contemplate your options. Somehow you’ve got to get through to this woman. You’ve learned that pathos, emotions, can be more complicated than you would have thought. Sometimes what seem to be negative emotions, such as anger, can be moving. Sometimes they are of no use at all. Should you seek to create pity in this woman’s heart for you, or should you feign indignation? You feel a little hypocritical yourself, because you don’t feel either. But you know you need to get her to act. You need your knapsack back.
AS A TEAM CHOOSE ONE:
[[pity]]
[[indignation]]
“Your son took my knapsack earlier this evening. Please," you beg her, "get your son return to me what is mine. It is all I have to my name. I came to Athens seeking medicine for my family, my little girl, my sweet Ariadne is only six, she's sick. Her fever hasn't broken and my wife is at the brink of hysteria and exhaustion. I must find a physician. I've prayed at temples of Hygieia, Panacea, of Laso and Aceso. I've burnt offerings at the temple of Apollo. I've spent hours praying that I might find you, that I might find a way to save my little girl. Please, I beg of you, return my belongings so that my sweet child might live."
You watch as the mother buries her face in her hands. "Ay, my poor sweet child," she laments. "How am I to keep him out of trouble when you foreigners tempt him with adventure, pull him from his studies?!"
"Foreigners?" you question.
"Yes, you are the second person that has involved my son in some such trouble. The first young man had the same manner of speech as you. You carry yourself in much the same fashion. Where did you say you were from?"
Your mind reels with the possibility that another intern has been trapped in Athens at the same time as yourself. You wonder if multiple people can be transported using only one chronosensor, belatedly realizing your introductory course on chronosensor use was sadly lacking. You say a quick prayer that the other intern hasn't lost his chronosensor as well. Though it also occurs to you that he may have sent this young many after you to steal yours.
"Mother?" a voice calls out.
"Ah, he has returned," the mother gasps anxiously.
You watch as the mother rises and grabs her son by his arm, alternately whispering angrily into his ear and pleading for his cooperation. The young man runs off down the hall and returns a moment later, your knapsack in hand. He hands it over to you with a sheepish grin.
"I'm sorry. You can have your bag back. The man said it was all in fun, some great joke between the two of you, said he would return it to you and pay me for my efforts. I must admit it was poorly done if he knew of your circumstances."
You greedily reach for it, relief coursing through your body when you see that the only thing missing were the few dracmae the institute had given you.
"Thank you! May all the Gods shower you with their favor!" you declare, clutching the bag to your chest. You excuse yourself and see your way out, eager to escape before anything else can go wrong. In your haste, the thought of another stuck intern slips your mind. Your thoughts are consumed with getting a meal and how you will possibly get out of the blockaded city.
[[Pathos]]
“Your son is nothing but a common thief, a cutpurse. I won’t turn him in to the authorities, but I should. He is beneath contempt, and you should be ashamed of yourself for protecting him. I am shocked that in the midst of this plague, with all the suffering you see around you, and with all the courage as well, you could let something like this go on in your own house.”
You’re a little ashamed of berating her like that. You just hope it will motivate her to act. You’ll have to live with yourself later, but you need that knapsack.
"Who are you to talk about my family like this? He is not a bad boy, and you should be ashamed. I can't believe you would come into my house and say such things. Be gone!"
"But--"
"Need I call my servant? He is a scythian, and quite strong? I could throw you out into the street with no effort whatsover."
"I, I--"
Suddenly her anger turns to tears. "How am I to keep him out of trouble when you foreigners tempt him with adventure, pull him from his studies?!"
"Foreigners?" you question.
"Yes, you are the second person that has involved my son in some such trouble. A curse on both of you. The first young man had the same manner of speech as you. You carry yourself in much the same fashion. I'll know not to trust such as you again."
Your mind reels with the possibility that another intern has been trapped in Athens at the same time as yourself. You wonder if multiple people can be transported using only one chronosensor, belatedly realizing your introductory course on chronosensor usage was sadly lacking. You say a quick prayer that the other intern hasn't lost his chronosensor as well, though it occurs to you that this intern may have lost his chronosensor and is looking to get yours.
"Mother?" a voice calls out.
"Ah, he has returned," the mother gasps anxiously. "Not a word to him or you'll get nothing from me."
You watch silently as the mother rises and grabs her son by his arm, alternately whispering angrily into his ear and pleading for his cooperation. The young man runs off down the hall and returns a moment later, your knapsack in hand. He hands it over to you with a sheepish grin.
He stares up at you, his face red with anger. "Here. You can have your bag back. The man said it was all in fun, some great joke between the two of you, said he would return it to you and pay me for my efforts." He pulls back as you reach for it. "You pay me. He won't now."
You reach into your pocket and find two pennies and a nickle. You toss them on the floor at his feet, hoping he won't notice that they are modern coinage until you can get out with your back.
As he scrambles after the coins, you greedily reach for it, relief coursing through your body when you see that the only thing missing were the few dracmae the institute had given you.
Clutching the bag to your chest you run out without another word, eager to escape before anything else can go wrong. In your haste, the thought of another stuck intern slips your mind. Your thoughts are consumed with getting a meal and how you will possibly get out of the blockaded city.
[[Pathos]]
You stand on the wall of the city. You can see camp fires on the hillsides in the distance and know those must be Spartans who have the city under siege. No escape that way.
Hours later you are still wandering the streets of the city. It is late, and everyone you see avoids you. Just as well, every time you talk to someone it seems to go wrong. You thought you understood pathos, how it worked, how to relate to people. You didn’t say that out loud. You didn’t need a lecture from Caliban.
Tired, feet sore, you enter a city square and realize this is the place you met Thucydides earlier that evening. It seemed so long ago. After all the activity earlier that night, the square seems preternaturally empty now. There didn’t seem to be a soul in sight.
You amended that assumption when you hear a moan from the shadows by a dry fountain. A man sits on the edge of the fountain, his head in his hands. He looks up and you recognize Thucydides.
“Ah,” he says, “the waderer returns. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“I, I found my pack.” You hold it up for him to inspect.
“Do I detect by the tone of your voice that you haven’t found everything you were looking for?
You sit down next to him. “I thought I was pretty good with people. But tonight, I offended the people I met as often as I connected to them. I have to admit, this whole idea of pathos has me confused.”
“Well,” Thucydides replies, “I’m no sophist, but some day I think I might want to write a history of this war, as horrible as it is. Perhaps such a history would keep others from making the same mistakes we have.”
“Maybe,” you reply uncertainly, because you know that’s not how things work out.
“Perhaps we won’t solve the world’s problems this evening, what with dawn barely an hour away. But, we might do something about yours.”
“I’m game.”
He gives you a look that tells you that you’ve got to stop using 21st Century slang.
“Pathos is really simpler than it sounds. The first thing you must ask yourself is what the <i>frame of mind </i> is of the person you are addressing. In other words, you can’t start from your feelings; you have to start from theirs. That in itself can be tricky. For instance, I’m angry. I’ve been angry for days, not as the rest of the citizens, at the Spartans, for they are only doing what Spartans do. Frankly, you can’t expect much original thinking from them. No, I’m mad at all of mankind. The Spartans it is true, but the Athenians, the high and the low. Pericles who started us on this track, and the people who followed him blindly. So, come to me complaining about the Spartans, as many of my fellow citizens do, and I get angry at them for not recognizing their own stupidity. On the other hand, were I simply angry at the Spartans I’d probably agree with them. Pretty complicated, no? Their anger fosters anger in me, but in one case at them, in the other, at someone else.
“Now, as that example illustrates, any emotion tends to breed other emotions. Thus, it matters <i>with what persons</i> you share emotions. Me, I’ve spent all day well into the night with young men who have ceaselessly worked for the good of the city and their fellow citizens. I have nothing but admiration for their courage, though I know they’re just as likely to do something stupid tomorrow—they are young men, after all. With what we’ve been through, we have a bond, even though I’m an old man and they are youngsters. The courage they have shown has fueled me far past what I would have been able. In this way, pathos is as viral as this plague. We share emotions with each other and the emotions we share build on each other.
“Finally, we should note <i> on what grounds people experience an emotion </i>. In this case, the emotions you have encountered this evening have been as a result of war, plague, fear of death and worse, concern for family. These are all strong feelings that run deep in our souls. Were we not in such dire straits, I dare say you would not have encountered such strong emotions this evening.
“This is why pathos is often so useful to someone who would give a speech to a number of people. In such a speech, the speaker can build on the emotions of the crowd.
“Now, enough of my rambling. You wish to leave the city. I suggest you go down to the port of Piraeus. Pericles convinced the people to build a wall on either side of the road and you can reach the port without worrying about the Spartans. They are a land power and do not have the ships to block the port. You should be able to find a ship out of the city.”
On board a ship bound for Rhodes, you think about what Thucydides told you. “I’m still not sure about how pathos works,” you say idly.
“That is so opportune,” Caliban replies. “I have been reviewing a speech, a quite good one, I might add, by one Martin Luther King Jr. At first, I could not understand the “Junior.” He is obviously no relation to Martin Luther. However, his use of logos in this speech is marvelously diverse. I suggest you review it.”
GO TO THE TRY THIS, “I HAVE A DREAM” AND COMPLETE IT AS A TEAM.