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Authors: Steven Pressfield
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Forms arises from that selfsame interpretation. As the material manifestation of an
individual horse embodies the particular and the transitory, Plato suggested, so must there exist within some higher realm the ideal form of Horse, universal and immutable, of which all corporeal horses “partake” or “participate in.” To this way of perceiving, a man of Alcibiades’ spectacular beauty appeared little shy of the divine, his perfection in flesh approaching that ideal existent only upon loftier planes. This is why men followed him, I believe, and found it so reflexive to do so.
Thus to Polemides and those of our generation, his and mine, the male form alone embodied
arete,
excellence, and
andreia,
virtue. How must our client have responded, informed by his father of the identity of his bride-to-be? If he were like me, I doubt he had in his life considered the female form of especial beauty. In the carnal sense, yes, but never idealized as the male. How unappealing did she appear to him, this maiden of next door whom he had doubtless known since she was a drizzle-nosed runt?
Yet there is a telling allusion in Polemides’ tale. His wife, Phoebe, he stated at one point, when she was seventeen and already mother to their child, requested initiation into the Mysteries of Eleusis. At another point in his narrative Polemides expressed his distaste for this stuff, which he regarded as little more than superstition, and effeminate at that. Yet he not only permitted his bride this favor but accompanied her upon its exercise, making the pilgrimage by sea and completing the full initiation himself.
Why would he do this? What could his motive be, save to honor his spouse and forge with her a deeper union? We may at this point be forgiven a venture into imagination. Let us picture Polemides at twenty-two or -three, already a veteran of twelve years of Spartan discipline and two and a half more of war. He returns home, wounded; he recovers, sufficiently for his father and great-aunt to provide a bride. Perhaps his thoughts turn toward mortality; he may desire children, if only to cheer the advancing age of his father. The Plague has begun. His countrymen are perishing for cause unknown; no abatement is in sight. Nor does he find his male companions to hand; all are off to war. He is cooped within the city, in the apartments he shares with father, sister, perhaps cousins, aunts, and uncles.
Our young soldier accepts his bride. She is of good family, friend to his sister Merope; no doubt she is possessed of wit, skilled in music and the domestic arts. She comports herself with modesty, self-effacing as all daughters of breeding; we may surmise that she is not without physical charms. Incapacitated as he is, the young husband finds he must rely on his bride for
company and converse, perhaps even such necessities as to be brought his meals, to read or mount the stairs.
He finds his bride kind and patient, shrewd in her application of their straitened resources. She is younger, her heart is gay. She makes him laugh. Here is a man, recall, who all his life has been drilled in hardship and self-denial, to whom the supreme virtue is the sacrifice of his life in war. It occurs to him with the shock of revelation that there is another oar in the boat. He is not alone. Perhaps for the first time the steel of his heart relents. His wound makes him dizzy, in alarm he gropes for balance; to his astonishment he discovers his bride at his elbow, steadying him with a gentle hand. May we not envision her delivering to his bedside a favorite dish, setting flowers for him upon the sill, singing at his side in the evening?
He discovers her affection for his father, and the love this gentleman reciprocates. He hears the lass giggling with his sister in the kitchen. Does this make him smile? Despite the horrors without, the clan manages cheerful evenings at home in each other’s company.
As for appetites of the flesh, our young Polemides has thus far
individual horse embodies the particular and the transitory, Plato suggested, so must there exist within some higher realm the ideal form of Horse, universal and immutable, of which all corporeal horses “partake” or “participate in.” To this way of perceiving, a man of Alcibiades’ spectacular beauty appeared little shy of the divine, his perfection in flesh approaching that ideal existent only upon loftier planes. This is why men followed him, I believe, and found it so reflexive to do so.
Thus to Polemides and those of our generation, his and mine, the male form alone embodied
arete,
excellence, and
andreia,
virtue. How must our client have responded, informed by his father of the identity of his bride-to-be? If he were like me, I doubt he had in his life considered the female form of especial beauty. In the carnal sense, yes, but never idealized as the male. How unappealing did she appear to him, this maiden of next door whom he had doubtless known since she was a drizzle-nosed runt?
Yet there is a telling allusion in Polemides’ tale. His wife, Phoebe, he stated at one point, when she was seventeen and already mother to their child, requested initiation into the Mysteries of Eleusis. At another point in his narrative Polemides expressed his distaste for this stuff, which he regarded as little more than superstition, and effeminate at that. Yet he not only permitted his bride this favor but accompanied her upon its exercise, making the pilgrimage by sea and completing the full initiation himself.
Why would he do this? What could his motive be, save to honor his spouse and forge with her a deeper union? We may at this point be forgiven a venture into imagination. Let us picture Polemides at twenty-two or -three, already a veteran of twelve years of Spartan discipline and two and a half more of war. He returns home, wounded; he recovers, sufficiently for his father and great-aunt to provide a bride. Perhaps his thoughts turn toward mortality; he may desire children, if only to cheer the advancing age of his father. The Plague has begun. His countrymen are perishing for cause unknown; no abatement is in sight. Nor does he find his male companions to hand; all are off to war. He is cooped within the city, in the apartments he shares with father, sister, perhaps cousins, aunts, and uncles.
Our young soldier accepts his bride. She is of good family, friend to his sister Merope; no doubt she is possessed of wit, skilled in music and the domestic arts. She comports herself with modesty, self-effacing as all daughters of breeding; we may surmise that she is not without physical charms. Incapacitated as he is, the young husband finds he must rely on his bride for
company and converse, perhaps even such necessities as to be brought his meals, to read or mount the stairs.
He finds his bride kind and patient, shrewd in her application of their straitened resources. She is younger, her heart is gay. She makes him laugh. Here is a man, recall, who all his life has been drilled in hardship and self-denial, to whom the supreme virtue is the sacrifice of his life in war. It occurs to him with the shock of revelation that there is another oar in the boat. He is not alone. Perhaps for the first time the steel of his heart relents. His wound makes him dizzy, in alarm he gropes for balance; to his astonishment he discovers his bride at his elbow, steadying him with a gentle hand. May we not envision her delivering to his bedside a favorite dish, setting flowers for him upon the sill, singing at his side in the evening?
He discovers her affection for his father, and the love this gentleman reciprocates. He hears the lass giggling with his sister in the kitchen. Does this make him smile? Despite the horrors without, the clan manages cheerful evenings at home in each other’s company.
As for appetites of the flesh, our young Polemides has thus far
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