Seminars

It just occurred to me that 'seminar' and 'semen' share the same etymology (Latin semen 'seed'). There you are. Classics: always activating a dirty connection, even when your mind feels safely out of the gutter and in the University.

But I begin with a digression. This town, housing the original apple that knocked Newton out and caused him to hallucinate a psychedelic theory of 'gravity', is obviously quite keen on the 'learning'. This is both a general condition as well as one specific to this year: as we speak, the Esteemed Institution is celebrating its 800th anniversary (tracing its roots to a blurry point in mythological time - but it works for me) by a series of events publicised as 'The Festival of Ideas.' I liked this title, coming from an Australia where 'Festival' usually prefixes 'of Music, Drugs, and Disproportionately Muscular Arms'. We're just now commencing festivities, and the luminary-presence-factor (LPF) is pretty astounding. Check some of the events at http://www.admin.cam.ac.uk/offices/communications/community/ideasfestival/. I don't want to blow the horn (because that, young man, would be masturbation, and that, young man, would be wrong), but it's an exciting time to be in Cambridge.

Tonight I made my 'Ideas' debut with a panel discussion on climate change. The 'Idea' (aah, the word is inescapable...good publicity Cambridge) was that the five panelists, various men and women of distinction working in different interactive fields of climate change, would give their top five prescriptions on how to combat the warming of the globe on an individual level. Most of the suggestions weren't revolutionary. There was a significant amount of overlap between specialists; not to mention the preaching-to-the-converted environment which these kinds of event tend to foster. I will turn off my wireless router (the British pronounce it 'rooter' - the riches of English!) when I'm not using it, and I will enlist the aid of hot water bottles as a substitute for heating, for as long as this barren tundra permits. Even if the content wasn't earth-shattering/warming, however, it nevertheless felt great to be part of an audience (and performance) so engaged and responsive. People asked pertinent questions. One guy dared to prod the Achilles heel of hypocritical aviatory conduct: 'How many of you panelists have flown recently, and how did you justify it?' Bam. Right in the idea-maker.

The mood remained cordial and light-hearted, despite a bit of nettling provocation. So, by way of foil, let us cross Queens Rd to the architectural wonder that is the Classics Faculty. This building really puts the ass back in classical (the donkey, that is - but the Yank is welcome to read what she will). It's a horrible red brick monstrosity which elicits no awe for the Grand Traditions of Classical Scholarship whatsoever. And though that, in principle, is my cup of tea precisely, I just wish modesty didn't have to be so ugly. Anyway, within this building there unfolds on a weekly basis the Faculty literature seminar. These sessions have an international reputation for being a little ferocious; and the three that I've attended were reasonable witnesses to this fame indeed. The jousting can be quite exhilarating, but so far I've only seen one-way battles: i.e., the poor lad/lass down the front getting grilled by a sage down the other end of the long rectangular table. A speaker squirming for answers is not a pretty sight. The guy last week, whose research field fell under the aegis of 'reception studies' (valid and interesting pursuit of a classical text's continuing fate and influence after its initial 'publication'), came off particularly worse for wear. I'll never forget my supervisor's question at the end, framed with ever-so-slight disdain: 'So, I'd like to ask you a question about the only bit of Greek in your paper...' (the paper was mostly concerned with English texts). Whatever doesn't kill you...may paralyse your paper-giving muscles for life.

Then contrast the 'wine-dispensing' type seminar, such as the one I went to the night before, staged by the student-run classics society. Llewelyn Morgan, a sexy scholar straight outta Brasenose, Oxford, gave a largely extemporaneous (or naturally delivered, unlike the essay-reading which clanks in the foundry of the Lit Seminar) talk entitled 'The Short and Long of It: Sex, Death and Metrics'. The presentation was just that - a presentation. Clear, concise, and visually splendid, fully utilising the perks of the unfortunately corporate-ised Powerpoint. The lighting was set to 3: sultry scholarship. The ceiling was high, the roof was ornate, the acoustics were lovely (Benson Hall, Magdalen College). All this, and you could sip on your vin all the way through - and such was Dr. Morgan's skill that he managed to stay intelligible even as the glasses of his audience peristalled their way along the throat. Well, one has to wash the Sex and Death down with something.

By and large, I'm a self-confessed fan of the seminar. Thus are some of the variants of the genre encountered so far. I'm hoping that more will reveal themselves as time tramps on - preferably involving monkeys. For monkeys are the future of learning.

http://au.youtube.com/watch?v=XKgKZfhKrgU (thanks be to Tom Swann)

Ivory out.