Greek Historiography Page 2

  Historiography

  Prologue

  Two famous passages from Thucydides’ History, written between the late 430s and the early 390s bc, set out several themes common to the ancient Greek historians.

  In the light of the evidence I have cited, however, no one would go wrong in supposing that the early events I have related happened much in that way, if one would not believe that the past was more like what the poets have sung, embellishing with their exaggerations, or the prose chroniclers have composed, in versions more seductive to the ear than true, being

  unexamined and many because of the lapse of time incredibly winning the status of patriotic legend, but if one would regard my discoveries from the clearest possible evidence as adequate for what concerns antiquity.

  (Th. 1.21.1, Lattimore, adapted)

  For [Athens] alone of existing cities surpasses her reputation when put to the test … Through great proofs, and by exhibiting power in no way

  unwitnessed, we will be admired by this and future generations, thus

  requiring no Homer to sing our praises nor any other whose verses will

  charm for the moment and whose claims the factual truth will destroy, since we have compelled every sea and land to become open to our daring and

  populated every region with lasting monuments of our acts of harm and

  good. (Th. 2.41.3–4, Lattimore)

  The first quotation, a conclusion to Thucydides’ introductory summary

  of earlier history, evidences direct competition with earlier poetic and Greek Historiography, First Edition. Thomas F. Scanlon.

  © 2015 Thomas F. Scanlon. Published 2015 by John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

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  prose versions of the Greek past and asserts the superiority of his narrative to those of poets and prose “story writers” ( logographoi) (Marincola 1997: Chapter 5, on the topos). It contrasts both poetic exaggeration or adornment and the persuasive power of popular prose stories with

  Thucydides’ principles of clear evidence ( se ̄ meia). The second passage, from Pericles’ funeral oration, illustrates the monumental product of history through the example of Athens itself. From it we see that fame attested by proofs ( se ̄ meia) and preserved through memory is of paramount importance to Greek culture, that truth witnessed or supported by evidence is superior to poetic fiction, and that demonstrations of

  power ensure memory in posterity. Power is a central theme: its acquisition and loss and the human attraction to it and admiration for it. How will future generations receive the message of dynamic achievements in

  the absence of poetic commemoration? Implicitly Pericles’ own speech

  and the historian’s account, together, ensure that the monuments –

  literally, “memorials” ( mne ̄ meia) – will not be forgotten. (“We are irresistibly reminded of 1.22.1 with its dismissal of what the poets have sung about; also surely of 1.22.4 with its contrast between Thucydides’ own

  permanent but superficially unpleasing work … and prize competitions

  designed for the immediate moment”: Hornblower 1997 ad l.; see also

  Gomme 1956 ad l. and Lattimore 1998.)

  The Western tradition has for centuries shared the foundational elements exemplified in these passages: preservation of the past, inspiration for the present, and a claim to truth. Thucydides’ challenge to earlier tradition is also characteristic of an agonistic impulse among historians who forged the genre before him, most notably Herodotus (480s–420s bc)

  and, even earlier, Hecataeus (late sixth–early fifth century bc). The

  challenge was inevitable in the highly dynamic period of the beginnings of historical writing in the fifth century and earlier. Oral and written media in literature, local traditions, and budding empirical studies all coexisted and vied for attention. Genres were far less well defined in fifth-century Greece than in the following centuries. For example, drama,

  victory odes, new forms of lyric poetry, and philosophy or protoscience in verse and prose were all first evidenced from the mid‐sixth to the mid-fifth centuries, prior to Herodotus’ and Thucydides’ compositions. Prose was especially fluid in content and form and was influenced by contemporary verse traditions in this progressive period. The earliest “historical”

  texts (by today’s definition of empirical studies of people and places over time) depended heavily, but not exclusively, on purely oral sources of

  myth, folklore, or popular local traditions transmitted in verse or prose.

  These points will be explored below. Historical writing was a highly

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  innovative enterprise in this first century of its existence, and we now turn to an examination of how it got to the point where Herodotus received it.

  Choosing and Using History

  Before turning to the complex shapes of pre‐Herodotean tradition, we

  ask an obviously prior question about the meaning(s) of “history”

  common to the ancients and ourselves. Modern cynical wit sees history as nothing but a fiction, a hypocrisy, a litmus test for repeated human folly, or a tool for political control:

  History is a set of lies, agreed upon. (Napoleon)

  History is the nightmare from which we are trying to awaken. (James

  Joyce)

  History would be a wonderful thing, if it were only true. (Tolstoy)

  We learn from history that we do not learn from history. (Hegel)

  Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present

  controls the past. (G. Orwell)

  The genre’s promise of truth inevitably provokes aphorisms alleging bias.

  Yet the skeptical impulse is a productive one, with an ancient pedigree reaching at least to Hecataeus in 500 bc. One scholar began his study of the philosophy of history with a bleak observation: “The future is dark, the present burdensome; only the past, dead and finished, bears contemplation” – (Elton 2002: 1) to which he added:, “Like Oedipus we are dissatisfied with stories and seek our true parentage.” The past can best explain our identity in relation to that of others in the present and can help us anticipate or even shape the future. (For a good sourcebook of

  quotations from modern intellectuals and scholars on select themes, see Morley 1999.)

  The meaning of history depends upon its perceived function. Is history

  written to uncover a universally objective truth? Or is all history a verbal fiction, a “literary artifact,” to use Hayden White’s phrase, inevitably bound to the subjective aims of the author and culture in which it was

  formulated? (White 1978: 81–100; see Morley 1999: 97–131; on postmodern theory and Roman historians, Batstone 2009). One need not subscribe to any particular postmodern critical theory to make the simple observation that everything is political in the realm of human discourse.

  Universally shared absolutes of meaning and absolute objectivity are evanescent ideals that are reasonably embraced by groups and individuals,

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  but they are rarely globally agreed upon. So social and cultural meaning arises from the discourse or dialogue among a multiplicity of views. One description of the current orientation to history as framed in literary studies is that of “the historicity of texts and the textuality of history”

  (Montrose 1998: 781). Otherwise stated, all texts, be they ancient and

  modern, primary and secondary, are embedded in social and cultural

  contexts. Our access to a historical past as a lived experience must be mediated by documents, monuments, and other forms of evidence as

  they happen to be preserved. In short, literature, including historical writing, is both socially produced and socially productive (Montrose

  1998). In our review of ancient Greek historical writing, it will b
e useful to keep in mind this quality of texts being socially embedded and to ask how literary content, together with social context (both ancient and

  modern), determines the meaning of each text. Connor, for example,

  shows how Thucydides warned his contemporaries of the breakdown of

  traditional values and social order in the violent context of war, and how modern scholarship responded to these same themes with a torrent of

  scholarship in the Cold War and then in the post‐Vietnam and postmodernist eras. Now Herodotus has enjoyed a renaissance among classical scholars in recent decades not least because of his constant reinforcement of respect for cultural diversity.

  One useful definition of history common to both ancient and modern

  cultures is “writing about the past, selectively and with a purpose” (proposed by John Crook at a seminar I attended on “Society and the Ancient Historian” at the University of Cambridge, in winter 1977). Selection is of course dictated not only by the body of available evidence selectively preserved or eliminated over time, but by the active choice of the author from among that material. Whether a Greek historian has relied upon

  written documents, other narrative accounts, oral tradition, or personal observation and interview, that author inevitably must choose to include certain aspects and exclude others. He includes, excludes, and thereby

  imposes his own principles of valuation of the material with every sentence.

  In this sense, the historian can be as much a literary artist as a novelist or playwright who chooses a historical topic. Yes, certain fundamental events and participants must be acknowledged, but within those constraints a

  huge amount of creative description and emphasis is possible.

  Our understanding of a historian’s purpose is a crucial element in

  deriving meaning from the text. A close reading of what the author tells us in the prologue is a good place to start, followed by attention to

  prominent themes and motifs of the narrative. But a good modern reader

  must be a detective, always probing into the broader social, cultural, and

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  political context to ask why the historian chose specific events, was silent on others, focused on certain persons, inserted speeches and digressions where he did, and so on. “It is a commonplace,” wrote Moses I. Finley,

  “that every historian’s notion (conscious or subconscious) of his function is based on both the social and political situation in his own world and the literary and moral tradition he has inherited” (Finley 1987: 75). So attentive readers will also ask how the author’s selections relate to his own political, moral, and literary environment in the period during which the work was composed. Famously, Herodotus’ History has alternatively been read, since antiquity, as critical of Athens or as prejudicially defending that state in the later fifth century. Herodotus’ account of Persian hegemony has been read accordingly as a cautionary commentary on the Athenian

  empire. This is not to argue that many historical texts are simply literary or political allegories for the reader to decode. More accurately, most ancient historians were keenly aware of and engaged in contemporary

  issues, and they had fundamental views motivating their projects. So the historians’ engagement is often reflected in many nuances of their work, from the choice of topic to the framing of the major issues and the implicit or explicit judgments of historical agents. Note for example Thucydides’

  biased presentation of individuals (Westlake 1968; Woodhead 1960).

  Oral Culture and Archaic Poetry

  Other major early civilizations in the Eastern Mediterranean and northeast Africa, the Hittite, Mesopotamian, Hebrew, and Egyptian cultures, had

  historical records prior to Homer, including royal decrees, laws, and aristocratic genealogies. These were not history per se, but the substance for it. These cultures adhered to the “canon of a sacralized tradition” while the later Greek historians followed their personal judgement of truth,

  being conditioned by a cultural or political environment (Bertelli 2001: 70). Also, significantly, Greece never had a theocratic monarchy of the Near Eastern or Egyptian type. Greeks did not, therefore, have to adhere in their myth and secular culture to a rigid religious ideology that controlled political areas. Rather they maintained a consistently looser social structure, organized around autonomous local regions with independent

  leaders. “The sacred” ( ta hiera) was one important aspect of culture, but without influential local religious institutions or priesthoods. Indeed

  “religion” was not a Greek term or concept, though “the sacred” was a

  well respected aspect of thought, ritual practice, and public space (Burkert 1985: 269–71; Bruit Zaidman and Schmitt Pantel 1994: 8–9).

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  Across the Greek world, for centuries before Homer, oral myth was

  the dominant form of interest in the past. Without writing, local oral traditions of aristocratic genealogies and myths of gods and heroes were continually repeated but remained fluid and dynamic in their detail, responding to each city’s need to use the tales for its own purposes. The uses included

  “pan‐Hellenic or regional consciousness and pride, aristocratic rule and especially their [the rulers’] right to rule, their pre‐eminent qualifications and virtues, and an understanding of the gods, the meaning of cult practices – these and other comparable ends” (Finley 1987: 24–5). When myths were written down in the eighth century bc and for centuries

  thereafter, the stories continued to be used and altered for regional political interests, with completely new versions in original lyric and dramatic verses, but with less liberal change in the written texts already received. At that point a new “orality” emerged, namely that of the oral performance of both poetry and prose, which included public readings of Herodotus’ stories.

  Out of Homer or Not?

  Virtually all Greek literary traditions and genres, certainly including history, have some roots in Homer. The great Homeric and Hesiodic poems, generally considered products of a period that started around 750–700

  bc, have in turn long been recognized as both the culmination of a rich and complex Mediterranean oral culture stretching centuries before and

  the starting point of an influential reception that reaches to the present.

  Nor did the Homeric epics gain instant, widespread renown in the eighth century. Their readership likely spread over the Greek‐speaking world

  during the next two centuries, probably achieving very broad pan‐

  Hellenic appeal by the time they were regularly recited at festivals in Athens and elsewhere in the sixth century (Nagy 1990: 21–2).

  Homer’s origins are often tied to those of the “invention of writing”

  for the Greeks and to the broader use of written texts, publicly and privately, in the two centuries thereafter. Writing, it has been observed, was at the service of orality: it maintained the formality and content of oral tradition without critical self‐examination, and yet the invention of historical writing enabled close criticism and examination of traditions in genealogy and divine explanations (Bertelli 2001: 60). Myths and local

  legends that circulated by word of mouth were now subject to fixed forms and were put to the test of inquiry ( historie ̄). The individual writer often recasts the oral forms through an unbiased process that Oswyn Murray

  has called “deformation,” that is, a process of “both conscious and

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  unconscious self‐interested distortion and literary or aesthetic distortion, as they operate over time within a tradition” (Murray 2001: 23–5). Yet

  the element of self‐interest seems virtually always present in an artfully constructed ancient historical narrative. The autho
r selects material for his purpose in undertaking the project, and his selection may contain a degree of social bias or an “agenda” to support certain values that serve a political or social hierarchy.

  It has been commonly observed that Herodotus and his successors

  adopted many elements from Homer, including the topics of war and

  battle (from the Iliad), travel narrative and ethnographic curiosity (from the Odyssey), a search for the causes of conflict, and the idea of preserving deeds to ensure fame. One obvious protohistorical description is that of the shield of Achilles ( Iliad 18.478–607), where we have very interesting scenes of the life of a polis, its social components, and the first description of practices concerning Greek law. Herodotus has been called “the prose Homer” in a recently discovered inscription in praise of Halicarnassus

  (Lloyd‐Jones 1999; Hornblower 2006: 306). Yet I downplay here causation as a uniquely epic contribution, since all traditional stories present it.

  History also shares with epic pragmatic techniques such as a sustained

  narrative with careful characterization of the protagonists, abundant use of speeches and dialogue to move the action forward, and vivid descriptions, especially of battles (Luce 1997: 4–5; Lang 1984; Marincola 2001: 77–85; Stadter 1973). We can add that the epics also include the

  prominent historiographical themes of traditional hierarchy, power,

  authority, and the human motives of honor, fear, and profit. But,

  significantly, unlike history (at least before biography), the epics gain unity from the focus on a central character, a man ( ane ̄ r), and his conflicts or challenges with implications for all society around him: Achilles and Odysseus are crucial characters even when absent. History, when it

  evolved, rather studied social collectives ( poleis) in conflict, as they were affected by the actions of leaders and individuals. Usually the events over time in a major, multicity conflict, such as a war – and not the deeds of one individual – give unity to the historical narrative. Certainly there appears in the historical narrative a series of individuals who stand out as major agents in events. In most histories these prominent persons are