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I have loved the ancient Greeks ever since discovering Edith Hamilton's illustrated Mythology at a school book fair in 7th grade. During the 2020 lockdowns I returned to many of these stories by way of actor/author/comedian Stephen Fry. His renditions of the Greek gods, heroes, and antagonists were like a long dream—one that I treasured during many an afternoon and evening painting, walking, or cooking. Mythos was first, and this summer I delved into his second, Heroes. 

With extraordinary color, drama, wit, wisdom, clarity and brevity, I sailed the wine-dark sea with Perseus along his quest to kill Medusa and acquire the golden fleece. I tagged along with Heracles during his twelve trials of strength and honor. I met brave Jason, cunning Theseus, the female hunter Atalanta, the brash Bellepheron, and tragic Oedipus too.

All the while entertained by some of the greatest and oldest stories ever told, I felt and still feel so indebted to my guide, Stephen Fry, who helped me make sense of it all—the myths and monsters, the Greece language and geography, and the relevance of it all to modernity.

Carl Jung viewed myths as the dreams of mankind's collective unconsciousness. That may be true, but staying a bit closer to the Greeks, I think that their myths show a beautiful and dangerous world of order and chaos. Their heroes shed light on exotic locations, slay dangerous divine monsters, and meet their destiny—sometimes of their own choosing and sometimes on the path they take to avoid it. In doing so, the gods' powers are ultimately diminished and man's abilities grow—abilities to reason, to feel, to understand, build, survive, thrive, and wonder. [JG]
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Stephen Fry is a comedian, author, actor, husband, and self-declared atheist and empiricist. ​He is the author of a three-part Greek myths series, whose titles include Mythos, Heroes, and Troy. He is also the host of the podcast 7 Deadly Sins and an outspoken champion of free speech. 

“Go tell the Spartans, stranger passing by, that here obedient to their laws we lie.” — Simonides epitaph, quoted in Gates of Fire
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Steven Pressfield's The War of Art is one of the most impactful books I've ever read—a battlecry and battle plan against that ever-present, invisible obstacle that creative types face daily. This month I was happy to pick up one of his novels, Gates of Fire. It depicts the ancient Battle of Thermopylae, in which three hundred Spartan warriors held off hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of Persian invaders. Their ultimate act of sacrifice gave the rival Greek city states to muster their armies and unite against the east. Told through a series of flashbacks of different Spartan characters, Gates of Fire captures the historic moment with a brutal, caustic style. 
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"Here is an animal capable of killing a man, an animal of legendary endurance and spirit, an animal that embodies marvelous integration with its environment. This is exactly what the frustrated modern hunter would like: the noble qualities imagined; a sense of fitting into the world. The hunter wants to be the wolf." — Barry Lopez, Of Wolves and Men
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​The story of American Wolf spans two decades, two states, dozens of wolf packs, and hundreds of square miles. "O-Six's story begins where all good Yellowstone wolf stories began," writes Blakeslee, "the Lamar Valley." That's the northeast corner of the park and the top-right corner of this map aboove.

​O-Six fought to become the alpha female of her pack. Her ability to outlast and outwit made her a living legend amongst wolves and men during her life. As a new mother, she once was observed protecting her pups from a female grizzly bear for seven hours single-handedly. She also was seen dangerously crossing into other pack territories and convincing strong males to come breed with her own pack, in desperate need of future strength. 
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​Of course, as O-Six and all the other wolves hunted, mated, played and thrived in Yellowstone, tensions grew between ranchers, hunters, and conservationists.

Sometimes animals simply leave national parks, including wolves. Sometimes, nearby farms suffered from livestock being eaten. Sometimes, hunters would shoot radio-collared wolves accidentally or intentionally, legally or illegally. Sometimes wolves had political protection when on the Endangered Species list (Added in June 2010. Removed again in October 2020). 

This tense relationship with man is not new though. Wolves used to be discussed in pre-modern civilizations as much as the weather. They were the ultimate nemesis of pastoral cultures. Dog, man's best friend, is a domesticated wolf and was used as a defense against their wild ancestor. ​Werewolves of course are nocturnal, wicked, and blood-thirsty, haunting our campfire stories and Netflix queues to this day. 

However, there are also new stories too, like American Wolf, and the research team led by Rick McIntrye, who observed and recorded fascinating changes in Yellowstone.

​When wolves were re-introduced to Yellowstone, rivers came back.

Willow is a riparian shrub that beavers love to eat. However, the elk in the park also love to eat it and the great herd had essentially striped the riverbanks clean for generations. So there were fewer beavers for many years and the waterways languished in the park. When the wolves came back in 1995, the elk moved away to higher ground for better defense from and visibility of these super-predators. So the willow grew back. The beaver population grew too. The soon-dammed waterways lead to streams, ponds, and more life. 

Wolves also hunted coyotes and killed the young, which halved the over-populated smaller predators soon after. This lead to the rodent population in the park growing, and soon owl, hawk, fox, and weasel numbers, which had been suppressed, restored too. Antelope and pronghorns were hunted less thanks to much fewer coyotes and so their calves saw adulthood. Wolf kills also provided scraps for bears, eagles, foxes, coyotes, and magpies. 

And so, with the wolves returning to Yellowstone after being previously exterminated by their alleged park protectors in 1926, many of the park's flora and fauna healed and thrived in ways that they had not for decades. [JG]
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"Every art and every inquiry, and likewise every action and choice, seems to aim at some good, and hence it has been beautifully said that the good is that at which all things aim. But a certain difference is apparent among ends, since some are way of being at work, while others are certain kinds of work produced..." ​— Aristotle, Book I of Nicomachean Ethics
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I love the ancient Greeks and I have loved them since discovering Edith Hamilton's illustrated Mythology in 7th grade at a school book fair. The stories of Icarus, the boy who flew too close to the sun, Narcissus, the young man who fell in love with himself, and the trials of mighty Hercules enchanted me. These and many other myths were just the beginning though. 

The summer before high school, I sailed the wine dark sea with Odysseus and watched the story's prequel, Troy, dozens of times. I soon encountered other stories too: Sophocles' Antigone, the original star-crossed-lovers tragedy Pyramus and Thisbe, Shakespeare's inspiration for Romeo and Juliet. I found the parallels between Oedipus and the original Star Wars saga. I sought out Disney's re-imagined versions of Hercules and Atlantis. Later, Zack Snyder's 300.

Beyond the plays and verses and myths, I also devoured historian Victor Davis Hanson's not chronological but conceptual account of the West's first civil war between Athens and Sparta—and what it can still teach us. I revisited The Tortoise and the Hare, and Aesop's other timeless fables, which I hadn't even realized came from Greece. I encountered Atlas, the titan who shouldered the earth in Ken Levine's magnum opus—and soon after Ayn Rand's. All these stories of gods and mortals, truth and beauty, right and wrong, captured me completely and continue to capture me, as they do much of the world to this day. 
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Aristotle's Poetics was my introduction to the philosopher's works, which is an exploration into the arts. I deliberated picked it up since it was such a hot topic in Umberto Eco's spectacular novel, The Name of the Rose. The 1986 movie adaptation staring Sean Connery is also spectacular. Rose is a murder mystery set in 14th century England. Deeper, it's a philosophical battle royale between reason and faith. The Franciscan monk's Aristotelian thought process leads him to discover the truth of the murders at a monastery, based on induction (evidence) and deduction (logic). In contrast, the Catholic priests' faith leads them to blindly obey orders, like hiding evidence, burning a library containing Aristotle's original works, and killing people who dare to disobey. 
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It's been said by some that Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics is the greatest self-help book ever written. Nicomachean is the Greek word for "victor in battle," and so while courage does count in Aristotle's ethical system as one of four major virtues (courage, justice, temperance, practical judgement), the philosopher begins with an exploration of happiness. I found his approach refreshingly down-to-earth and insightful. I'm grateful to highlight below some of the key takeaways rather than try to map out precisely his virtues, which he warns about in ethics generally. 

Aristotle says that moral virtues are the means to achieving various ends—all of which are some form of good—and lead to a state of happiness. Living virtuously, he emphasizes, is to engage in an active state or condition, not hit a perfect destination and stay there, passively. Humans, he argues have a unique way of properly living:

1. Seeing an end. 
2. Thinking about the means to achieve it.
3. Choosing an action or series of actions to reach it. 

To engage in this uniquely human process is to live virtuously. We as humans both pursue and also experience the good, that is, if one has seen, thought through, and chosen the means and ends that are proper to a human life. 

My favorite virtue that Aristotle explores surprised me. He views friendship as an integrator of cities and entire civilizations. Justice, a major virtue of Aristotle's system, he argues is necessary, because not all humans are friends. In those cases between strangers or enemies, goodwill is not the default state, and requires deliberate, difficult, virtuous action to treat one another properly. I found this point very interesting, and probably true. 

Aristotle contends that there are primarily three types of friendships:

1. Use: those who love one another for what is useful, and for what could come to them through the friendship. 

2. Pleasure: Those who love doing things together or how one makes them feel. Charm, witty conversation, experiencing the same kind of music or food. 

But these two types are "incidental," and not likely to last. The complete form of friendship is that between people who are good and are alike in virtue, "since they wish for good things for one another in the same way insofar as they are good, and they are good in themselves." In this way, "...genuine friendship" for Aristotle "becomes a measure of closeness to good character," writes the editor. 
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A professor at Hillsdale College recommended to use the Joe Sachs translation, and I am so glad that I did. These three words below are crucial to understand when reading Aristotle, but often translations or interpretations skew the spirit of them: 

1. HEXIS
​The Greek word "Hexis" is mistranslated often as "habit," which robs the active-minded, rational process that Aristotle is identifying. This active process can in time  then become integrated with his moral character, but it is not at first, if ever, a passive, thoughtless process to establish those habits. Sachs quotes from Hamlet here:

Assume a virtue if you have it not, 
That monster, custom, who all sense doth eat
Of habits evil, is angel yet in this, 
That to the use of actions fair and good 
He likewise gives a frock or livery, 
That aptly is put on. Refrain tonight, 
And that shall lend a kind of easiness
To the next abstinence; the next more easy; 
For use almost can change the stamp of nature... 

It's not nature that needs to be changed but our own habits—with new habits. 

2. ERGON
The Greek word "Ergon," is mistranslated often as "function." But this smuggles in the idea that humans serve a function and are a means to an end. Instead, Aristotle contends that a human's happiness is an end in itself and humans are not merely means to an end. 

3. ENERGEIA
The Greek word "Energeia" is sometimes mistranslated as simply "activity." This, the editor contends, robs the true meaning, which is better understood as "to-be-at-work." 
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​1. THE MEAN

Often, Aristotle is misunderstood to advocate for a balance in all things, sometimes referred to as finding The Golden Mean. This, Translator and Editor Joe Sachs argues, is imprecise. For Aristotle, the proper mean is not purely quantitative. That is, ethical behavior is not all on a sliding scale or mapped on a spectrum. Rather, it is qualitative, and proper action is largely based on the context. There is never a singular right piece of content or quantitative measurement of ethics. "Principles are wonderful things," he writes, "but there are too many of them, and exclusive adherence to any one of them is always a vice." This is because there is an inflexibility to them if misapplied to the wrong context. So, achieving ends requires an understanding of the context in which you're operating to achieve a desired end. 

2. THE NOBLE

Sachs argues that often times translators misunderstand Aristotle's view of the good and the beautiful, which is sometimes mis-appropriately wrapped in language like "noble," which could smuggle in a lofty, sense of virtue detached from happiness and one's life. "Aristotle," Sachs writes, "considers moral virtue the only practical road to effective action..." and additionally that, "[The philosopher] is always alert to the natural way that important words have more than one meaning." For example, calling something a beautiful thing could be both an esthetic judgement and an ethical one. But noble actions, properly, are not divorced from practical results. This is a major philosophical difference from his teacher, Plato. 
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"Greatness of soul, even from its name, seems to be concurred with great things, and let us first take up what sort of great thing they are...Now the person who seems ot be great-souled is one who considers himself worthy of great things, and is worthy of them, for one who does so not in accordance with his worth is foolish, and among those who answer to the description of virtue there is no one who is foolish..." Aristotle, Book IV of Nicomachean Ethics
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Alfred Hitchcock's 1958 Vertigo is one of my favorites since film school, and so cracking open the novel was just a matter of time. Originally penned by France's hottest thriller duo for Hitchcock himself in 1954, the novel D'entre Les Morts (The Living and the Dead) disorients and frightens through a nightmare of twists and turns. 

Gevigne, a shipping magnate, asks his old friend, police officer Flavieres to follow his wife, Madeleine. She's been acting strangely as she approaches her twenty-fifth birthday—so strangely that her husband is convinced she is possessed by a ghost of her ancestor, one who killed herself—at age twenty-five. The next morning, Flavieres follows her as she frequents an old cemetery to pray at the grove of this deceased relative. And from there he stumbles into a maze of mysteries that blur the lines between the living and the dead—a maze that leads to a tower at its center. [JG]
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Boileau-Narcejac is the nom-de-plume of Pierre Boileau (1906-89) and Thomas Narcejac (1908-98), one of France's most successful writing duos, whose careers spanned four decades and led to over fifty thrillers. I want to read their debut, She Who Was No More, which inspired French filmmaker's Henri-Georges Clouzet to adapt it to screen as Les Diaboliques.
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