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THE
MAKEES OF HELLAS
A CEITICAL INQUIRY INTO THE PHILOSOPHY
AND RELIGION OF ANCIENT GREECE.
BY
E. E. Gr.
WITH AN INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND CONCLUSION BY
FEANK BYEON JEVONS, M.A., Litt.D.,
PRINCIPAL OF BISHOP HATFIELD'S HALL, UNIVERSITY OF DURHAM.
^ OF THE
UNIVERSITY
OF
LONDON:
CHARLES GRIFFIN AND COMPANY, Limited;
EXETER STREET, STRAND.
1903.
^ [All rights reserved.]
6L77I
^%>ft
(41
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson &^ Co.
At the Ballantyne Press
CONTENTS
Introduction, by the Editor
ix-xxix
I. THE LAND.
Introduction ....
Hellas as a Land of Experiments
Security and Development
Diversity and Individuality .
Intercourse, Progress, Expansion
Material Progress
The Breaking-down of Prejudice
Colonisation ....
Development of Character .
Development of Liberty
PAGE
I
3
4
5
lo
14
15
17
19
i9
PAGE
Climate and Energy . . . 20
Natural Resources and Self-help . 24
The Present State of Greece . 42
Stimulation of Thought and Inquiry 43
Volcanic Phenomena ... 44
Earthquakes and Disappearances
of Land . . . . .48
Phenomena connected with Water 5 2
Beauty 64
II. GREEK LANGUAGE.
First Experiment : The Language
The Basis of the Experiment
The Giving of Names .
Word Building
Words are Symbols of Ideals
Words made ready for the Mas-
ter's Use .
The Dialects
^olic
Doric
Ionic .
§111
Introduction .
The Grseco-Aryans .
The Pelasgian Age .
The Tribes of the West
The Tribes of the East
The Minyse
Achseans and Hellenes
Cadmeians (Thebans)
The Thracians
The lonians
Pelasgi, Danaans and Achseans
The oldest Monuments of Greece
Mycense
The Walls ....
PAGE
. 82
The Dialects (continued).
• 85
Attic
III
. 88
Place of the Dialects in Litera-
. 91
ture .....
112
• 93
How Dialects were superseded
3-
by a Common Language
112
. 106
The Koine-Hellenistic Greek .
113
. 109
The Result of the Experiment .
114
. 109
Greek the Language of the New
no
Testament . . . .
117
III
How the Experiment affects us .
118
I. THI
I PEOPLE.
PAGE
PAGE
121
Mycense (continued).
• 123
The Lower City and Suburbs
165
. 128
The Pit-graves of Mycense .
167
■ 130
Tiryns
172
• 133
Influences of the East on early
• 134
Greece
174
. 142
Egypt
175
. 144
Asia Minor
177
. 146
The Phoenicians . . . .
179
. 148
The Achaean Age . . ...
189
. 156
The Thessalian Invasion .
193
. 160
The Achaeans (Boeotians)
195
. 164
The Great Migrations
201
. i6s
169109
VI
CONTENTS
§IV. RELIGION.
PAGE
Introduction 208
The Basis of the Experiment . -215
The Prehistoric Period . . . 224
Witness of Names .
Localisation of Cults
Nature Worship
PAGE
225
226
232
§V. THE HOMERIC AGE.
The Supremacy of Zeus .
Zeiis supreme over Nature .
Zeus on the Mountain-tops
Zeus in relation to the Gods
Zeus supreme in the Moral
World ....
Zeus as the God of Social Life
Zeus supreme over Fate
The Web of Fate .
The Balance of Fate
The Character of Zeus
The Gods of Olympus
PAGE
242
242
243
244
245
247
248
249
249
250
254
PAGE
Revelation 258
Omens and Portents . . . 260
The Great Unwritten Laws . .261
The Oath and Hospitality . . 276
The Homeric Ideals . . .283
Sin 286
The Future Life . . . .292
The Ethical Unity of the Homeric
Poems 295
Summary 306
The Nature of God . . . 306
Revelation 307
§VL PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD.
Hesiod ....
The Theogony
The Works and Days .
The Idea of God
The Invisible Justice
Moral Ideals
Summary .
The Oracle
Dodona and Delphi
PAGE
309
310
311
313
313
315
318
319
320
The Oracle {continued).
The Character of Apollo . .321
The Delphic Priesthood . . 323
Rise of the Great Festivals . .327
Rise of the People . . . '330
The Seven Wise Men : the Gnomic
Poets 331
Rise of Philosophy . . . -334
§VIL CLASSICAL PERIOD: PINDAR.
PAGE
The Idea of God .... 340
The Ideals 343
Proved Worth .... 344
Truth 345
The Ideals : Peace .
Sin
The Great Unwritten Laws
The Future Life
PAGE
346
349
353
356
VIII. JESCHYLUS.
The Idea of God
Sin
The Great Unwritten Laws
The Ideals of ^schylus .
PAGE
361
363
360
369
The Oresteia 375
Sincerity 379
True Freedom .... 380
True Patriotism . . . .381
CONTENTS
Vll
§IX. SOPHOCLES.
The Idea of God
The World Ideal of Sophocles
Sin
The Great Unwritten Laws
The Trilogy .
384
385
386
388
394
CEdipus the King .
OEdipus at Colonus .
Antigone .
The Ideals of Sophocles
PAGE
396
404
412
427
X. EURIPIDES.
Life and Works
Euripides as a Philosopher .
His Apparent Moral Contradic
tions ....
The Idea of God
Introduction
The Slaying of Clytemnestra
The Sin of Helen
The Temptation of Helen .
The Orgiastic Cults
What God is .
God's Mode of CorDmunicating
His Will
430
431
431
432
432
440
442
443
445
448
451
What God is (continued).
Omens and Portents .
The Oracle ....
Sin, Misery, Impurity
Hippolytus ....
General Tendency of the Drama
The Christian and the Pagan Con
ception of Sin .
Moral Purity
The Consequence of Sin
The Great Unwritten Laws .
The Great Laws
The Ideals ....
§XL HERODOTUS.
The Idea of God .
Sin and Retribution
The Great Unwritten Laws
Plato and the Popular Religion
Plato and the Religion of his Day
God is Good
God is True ....
God as the Creator
Plato's Account of the Creation of
the World
God's Method of Working .
The Body of the Universe .
The Soul of the Universe
The Joy of God in His Creation
God Creates Time
Resemblances between the Mosaic
and the Platonic Accounts of
Creation
The Four Races ....
Creation of the Visible Gods
Creation of the Invisible Gods
Address of the Eternal God to the
Created Gods ....
PAGE
. 502
. 509
. 512
§XIL
PAGE
. 541
541
The Hellenic Ideals .
The Battle of Salamis
PLATO.
543
544
544
547
548
548
549
551
551
552
552
553
553
553
Some Difficulties of the Timseus
Plato and his Predecessors
God in Relation to the Invisible
World ....
God and the Ideas
Plato's Idea of Man : his Psychology
The Creation of Man .
The Soul and her Wings .
Plato's Conception of Sin
The Soul's Progress
Death and Immortality .
How the Good Man regards Death
The Hope of Immortality .
Objections ....
Socrates Refutes the Objections
The Dialectical Proof .
The Practical Conclusions .
The Ideal Ruler
Nature of the Lover of Wisdom
Definition of the Philosopher
451
452
454
454
457
458
460
460
460
470
477
PAGE
525
532
PAGE
555
560
561
563
567
567
573
577
586
590*^
591
594
601
605
606
608
612
616
620
VUl
CONTENTS
Plato's Limits ....
Plato and the Masses .
How Plato regards the People
Plato's Views on Slavery
PAGE
624
624
625
Plato's Views on Work and Trade 627
629
Plato's Limits (continued).
Plato's Conception of Woman
Plato's Communism
PAGE
631
634
The Isolation of the Philosopher . 636
§XIIL ARISTOTLE.
The " Metaphysic " of Aristole
The Ladder of Knowledge .
What is Wisdom .
The Highest Step in the Ladder
of Knowledge .
Summary ....
Aristotle's Definition .
The Ladder of Inquiry
Summary of the Argument .
Aristotle's Psychology
Introduction
The Early Theories concerning the
Nature of the Soul .
PAGE
639
639
640
641
642
645
646
649
651
651
653
Aristotle's Definition of the Soul
The Ladder of Life .
The Vegetative Soul .
The Sentient and Perceiving Soul
The Discriminating Soul
The Imaginative Faculty
Nous : Spirit and Mind
The Immortality of the Spirit
The Motive Power .
The Basis of the Moral Conflict
The Idea of God .
The Nature of God
God and the Universe .
PAGE
655
658
658
660
664
666
668
671
676
677
678
678
683
CONCLUSION . .687
INDEX 692
5 hsi}) .hoi)
INTRODUCTION
The author of The Makers of Hellas died before the book was in print, before
even the manuscript of the work was completed, and left a request that
I would prepare it for the press and publish it without revealing the writer's
name. Even if the author had lived until the book appeared in print, I
believe the book would have been published anonymously or under a 'nom de
plume. The reason for this reticence, or this self-suppression, will not be
apparent to those who merely scan the title of the work — The Makers of Hellas
— for the title scarcely suggests the dominant 'thought of the book. The
dominant thought and feeling of the whole work is religious. The makers of
Hellas are not those who made — and unmade — her politically, nor even the
artists and authors who made her what she is in literature and art. They
are those through whom the spirit of religion spoke. At a time, such as the
present, when the material monuments of Greece, and the isles of Greece, are
claiming an ever-increasing share of the work of classical students and of
the attention of the cultured world, when the sun of solar mythology has
set, and folklore is absorbing the study both of ritual and belief, it may seem
remote from the general trend of thought to consider seriously the religion,
rather than the religious monuments or the rites or myths of ancient Greece.
On the other hand, to those whose interest in myths, monuments, and rites alike
is weak, it may seem excessive even to speak of the religion of a people who
undeniably were pagan.
If, then, either to those who know or to those who claim no special know-
ledge of the thought of ancient Greece, it should yet appear, after perusal
of The Makers of Hellas, that religion played no small part in the making
of the Hellenic mind and spirit, the reader will perhaps surmise a reason
why the author's name does not appear. If there be any praise — non nobis,
Domine.
The main thought of the work then is that the Greeks were " the world's
greatest Pioneers and Experimenters " (p. 3). But, whereas their services
to mankind in literature and art are fully recognised, the value of their
contributions to religion has generally been overlooked. It is to these
evidences of religion that the author wishes to call the attention not only
of students of Greek thought, not only of the growing number of those
engaged in studying the history or the science of religion, but also of the
general reader, and particularly of the religious reader. To the last it may seem,
the author is afraid (p. 208), preposterous to talk about religion in connec-
tion with pagans, " or of faith in connection with their deities." But I am
inclined to think that, justifiable as this fear once was, the occasion for it has
much diminished in the last quarter of a century, and that there is a general
disposition to pay increased attention to the authority of St. Paul, who
declared of " every nation of men " that it was determined " that they should
seek after God, if haply they might feel after Him, and find Him."
In any case, the purpose of this book is to show that the Greeks did seek
X INTRODUCTION
after God, and to maintain that they did not wholly fail to find Him, for " He is
not far from each one of us." The evidence of this is sought not in religious
or " sacral " antiquities, or in mythology, or in rites and customs, but in the
literature of Greece.
The limits, then, of the work are pretty plainly marked out ; and there
is no difficulty in pointing out the lines within which it moves. In the first
place, if we distinguish, as we ought, between the philosophy and the history
of religion, the book is not concerned with the philosophy of religion. The
history of religious belief has nothing directly to do with the justification
of belief. If a belief exists, and exists for a sufficient time, the history of that
belief may be written, if the materials for the history exist and a writer is to
be found. Doubtless, the history may be written "with a purpose." Thus a
History of Philosophy was written by Mr. G. H. Lewes with a purpose — with
the purpose of showing that philosophy, as a matter of historic fact, was
futile. Histories of religion — and more frequently histories of some particular
religion — have been written with a view to show the validity of religion or the
truth of some particular religion. But, in either case, such histories have not
been purely ''objective." Their purpose has been not merely to record facts,
but to interpret them, and to interpret them in one, or other, particular way.
They have been, consciously or unconsciously — generally unconsciously —
philosophies, as well as histories, of religion. And unconscious philosophy
is specially liable to go wrong and to walk into some pitfalls which the
avowed philosopher has learnt to avoid. Theoretically, the historian who is to
be purely "objective" should have — we will not say no philosophy, for such
ignorance may lead him into those very pitfalls to which we have just
alluded, but should have — an absolute impartiality for facts, and should
surrender himself absolutely to facts. As a matter of fact, whatever may be
the case with social or political history, this is not yet the case with religious
history. Every historian of religion starts from a definite point in philosophy,
with a decided attitude towards the philosophy of religion, and that attitude
may be — indeed generally is — none the less definite and decided because the
writer himself is unaware of it. So far as the philosophic prepossessions of
the writer tend to shut out facts from his view, or to distort his view of facts,
the remedy lies, for the reader, in the hope that other writers, because they
start from a different philosophic point and follow a different prepossession,
may strike upon facts hitherto ignored or may reach a less distorted view. In
fine, it must be with religious history as it has been with political or social
history : the personal, religious equation may not be immediately ascertain-
able, and it may not at the time and for the moment be possible to make
the right allowance for it ; but in course of time and with the advance of
knowledge, we may take it for granted that, as long as the desire for truth is
active, errors will slowly cancel themselves out, and there will be a gradually
and increasing recognition of certain facts as " objective," and as undoubtedly
true, whatever philosophic standpoint we take up.
Indeed to a large extent, and especially in the case of a historic people,
such as the Hellenes, we have already at our disposal a large number of facts
which will at once be recognised, by those competent to judge, as " objective "
and as historically true. It is, that is to say, historically and objectively fact
that the Hellenes held certain religious beliefs. It is with this kind of objective
fact that history of religion has exclusively to do. To establish such objective
fact may in some cases require the utmost — and even more than the utmost —
that the historian can do. Thus it may be difficult or impossible to trace back,
beyond a certain point, the belief in a future life, or in the immortality of the
INTRODUCTION xi
soul, or in punishments and rewards after death. But thus to trace belief
backwards and forwards is the work of the historian : and that, and that only,
is his work. To inquire what is the value of the belief, when it has been
traced, or before it has been traced ; to ask what evidence there is — not that
the belief was entertained or how it came to be entertained, but — that it is
a true or justifiable belief ; those are questions, which, if asked, cannot be
answered by history, for all that history can testify is that the beliefs have
been held, not that they are true. Whether the beliefs have or have not value,
whether they are or are not true, are questions which may be answered by the
individual seeker after truth either on his own responsibility and at his own
risk, or may be referred for their solution to philosophy. When answered by
the individual, however, the principles on which he gives his answer and
undertakes his responsibility are evidently capable of generalisation and should
be as valid for other people as for himself. In other words, they form poten-
tially a philosophy, a theory of the universe which all other people would hold,
if only they saw the facts in the same way — assuming, of course, that it is, as
it appears to the holder of the view to be, the right way. If, however, the
individual thinker, instead of answering the questions on his own responsibility,
proceeds to philosophy for their solution, he will find at the end that he must
choose his own philosophy on his own responsibility and at his own risk. But
by following this course he will gain great advantages : he will at anyrate,
before making his choice, have duly considered the solutions proposed by the
greatest philosophic minds ; he will have discovered that some errors have been
definitely recognised and discarded ; and he will, by avoiding those errors, be
guided to some extent in the right direction. He will be less in danger of
inventing an unconscious philosophy which no one else can share with him ;
and more likely to realise truths which a majority of those qualified to judge
consider to be true.
The disrepute into which philosophy has fallen, in England at anyrate, of
late years, is due to the extraordinary development of the theory of Evolution,
which has done so much for knowledge that was unexpected that no bounds are
recognised to what may be expected from it. It is undoubtedly considered to
do away with the necessity of philosophy, either because it is itself the sole,
sufiicient philosophy, or because, confining itself to facts, it explains them, and
so dispenses with the need of any further philosophic explanation. From this
point of view all that is supposed to be necessary for the proper understanding
of any matter is facts, positive facts, and their relation to one another. For
the proper understanding of the present, as it is, all that is required, on this
supposition, is to know the actual facts which led up to it and caused it. The
ideal — unattainable, indeed, in the historic sciences, but none the less to be
aimed at — would be, from this point of view, to attain a series of equations,
which should resemble chemical equations, and which should be such that on
one side of the historic equation there should be stated all the causes at work
at a given moment, while on the other side the outcome of the causes should
be stated with such precision that every single atom which was postulated on
the one side should appear — though in different combinations — on the other
side. When everything postulated on the one side was accounted for on the
other side, when every factor in the process of evolution which was at work
as a cause at any given moment was seen to appear, though in a different
form, in the sum total of effects, then the effect would be scientifically and
totally accounted for. The history of the thing would then be complete. And
though such precision in the quantitative causes and effects of human thought
and action is impossible, the Historic Method seeks to approximate as closely
xii INTRODUCTION
to this ideal as the nature of its subject-matter permits, and to realise the
working of cause and effect roughly and in outline.
For the successful application of the Historic Method there is one condition
which is plainly indispensable : it is that the historian must not tamper with
the facts. He must not have a theory to prove or disprove — for that might
lead him astray — and every fact, as fact, must be as valuable in his eyes as any
other fact. Truth, in a word, is the only value which he can allow to facts. If
he has prepossessions in favour of this cause or that, in favour of this country or
that, this character or that, he must resolutely suppress them and rigorously
exclude them from his work. From the beginning he must know no partiality ;
and at the end he must show no satisfaction at the triumph of this movement or
the downfall of that. His business is to ascertain facts, not to estimate their
value. To ascertain the facts of Mary's reign is the work of a historian.
The value of her work will be differently estimated by the Protestant and the
Roman. But thus to assign the religious worth or moral value of the facts
that took place is no part of the historian's work. It is, indeed, practically
impossible to rest content with the objective results of the Historic Method :
if the historian himself refuses to pass any judgment upon the facts, the reader
will form a judgment of his own ; and in doing so he will, consciously or
unconsciously, be doing the philosopher's work. In other words, rigorously as
the historian may exclude philosophy and the valuation of facts in order to
ascertain simply what events took place, what were their causes and what their
effects, no one is content to remain satisfied with the facts, every one passes
his own judgment upon them and draws his own philosophic conclusions. The
Historic Method is simply a means to an end ; its object is to ascertain facts,
but the facts are to be ascertained in order that a judgment may be passed
upon them. And such judgment is part of philosophy.
What is thus true of a particular reign, is true of the whole story of Evolu-
tion. Interesting as the story itself may be, more interesting are the questions,
what are we to think of it ? what conclusions are we to draw from it ? how is
it to affect our actions, our beliefs, our hopes ? These questions may be
answered, indeed, as they have been answered, very simply, by the dictum
that Evolution is Progress. This answer may be right or it may be wrong.
Evidently it implies that we know, roughly but sufficiently well, what evolution
is, and what progress is ; and that, on coming to look at both, we discover that
they coincide. It implies that we have a standard of the good ; that we can
test the process of evolution by it ; and that, when we so test it, we find the
movement of evolution is always in the direction of the good. Unless we
have the standard, we cannot measure the movement or ascertain its direction.
Two things are necessary : that we should have knowledge of the movement
and that we should have the standard whereby to measure it. We cannot
measure a thing, if we have nothing to measure it by ; or ascertain the direc-
tion of a movement, if we have no fixed point from or by which to ascertain
it. If we know what good is, or what progress is, we can determine whether
the movement of evolution is towards it or away from it ; if not, not. But to
ascertain, in the first place, what good is or wherein progress consists, is a
philosophical inquiry.
Thus we come back to our original position, that, when we have ascertained
what, as a matter of objective fact, has happened — what the evolution or the
history of a thing has been — there still remains the inevitable task of de-
termining whether the thing was right or wrong, a thing to be acquiesced in or
to be remedied, to be avoided in future, or to be promoted. And thus to
determine the value of what has been or is is part of the work of philosophy.
INTRODUCTION xiii
There can be little doubt that, the moment we come to test in this way the
value of things that have happened and of movements that have taken place
in the past, we recognise that some were good and some bad ; that deterioration
as well as improvement takes place ; in fine, that, though progress is always a
process of evolution, evolution is neither necessarily improvement nor always
progress. The moment we have a standard whereby to measure, a goal to
which movement ought to be directed, we can determine whether and to what
extent progress is being made, and whether a given movement is progress or
deterioration.
Nor can it be doubted that for the history of religion we are bound to
assume some such standard, implicitly or explicitly. To begin with, it is
impossible to pretend to undertake the history of religion if we have not the
least idea of what we mean by religion and have no means of distinguishing,
roughly at least, religious facts from non-religious facts. We must at the
outset make up our minds that there are many things done by man and many
thoughts elaborated by him which it is not necessary for the historian of
religion to take notice of. When we set aside such facts as not bearing
directly upon religion, we thereby, however roughly or even erroneously,
testify to the fact that we have some conception, even if we give no definition,
of religion. But some such conception, if not definition, must be present to
our minds, or else we could not separate out those facts which seem to us to
belong to the history of religion, and discard those which are irrelevant to our
purpose. The history of religion cannot begin unless and until we have such
a conception or definition ; and the work of framing such a definition belongs
to the philosophy of religion.
With such a definition, the historian of religion is in a position not only
to select his facts, that is, to discriminate between those facts in the general
history of his period which do and those which do not belong to the history of
religion ; but he is also able to distinguish, by reference to his definition of
religion, movements of progress from movements of deterioration ; and to
determine whether the whole period has been one of religious progress or of
religious decay. But it is only by reference to his definition of religion that
he can do this ; and it is only on the assumption of the correctness of his
definition that what he regards as progress can be admitted to be progress.
If we wish to contest or he wishes to maintain the correctness of his definition,
the discussion ceases to be one of historic facts and becomes one of philosophy.
But until his definition is disputed, he is concerned with the purely historic
function of determining objectively what movements actually took place, and
what their direction was.
The philosophic starting-point then of The Makers of Hellas is given on page
212: there are " two facts which stare us in the face, viz. (i) that in all ages men
have been believers in the Unseen ; and (2) that the Unseen has exercised
over their lives an influence far transcending that of the seen, the visible."
With the question whether this belief is justifiable or reasonable, the author
of The Makers of Hellas has nothing to do. That is a philosophic question,
and this is a historical work. Whatever the philosophic answer to the
philosophic question may be, the historic fact that in all ages men have been
subject to these beliefs remains untouched and unassailable. That any scien-
tific or historic account of religion must start by recognising this fact and
must be built upon this fact as its foundation is recognised and insisted
upon by Professor William James in The Varieties of Religious Experience,
who says (p. 465): ''The religious phenomenon, studied as an inner fact,
and apart from ecclesiastical or theological complications, has shown
xiv INTRODUCTION
itself to consist everywhere, and at all its stages, in the consciousness
which individuals have of an intercourse between themselves and higher
powers with which they feel themselves to be related. This intercourse
is realised at the time as being both active and mutual." He quotes
from M. Auguste Sabatier (JSsquisse d'une PMlosopMe de la Religion, pp. 24-26)
the words: "Religion is an intercourse, a conscious and voluntary relation,
entered into by a soul in distress with the mysterious power upon which it
feels itself to depend, and upon which its fate is contingent. Prayer is religion
in act ; that is prayer is real religion. . . . This act is prayer, by which
term I understand no vain exercise of words, no mere repetition of certain
sacred formulae, but the very movement itself of the soul, putting itself in a
personal relation of contact with the mysterious power of which it feels the
presence — it may be even before it has a name by which to call it."
The Makers of Hellas, then, starts from a strictly scientific starting-point.
To some readers, and particularly to those whom our author specially addresses,
that is to those whose faith in the Christian religion happily requires none of
the doubtful props of philosophy and fears nothing from the circumscriptions
by which science surrounds itself, it may seem that the limitation thus self-
imposed is alike unnecessary and fraught with danger. It may seem to be an
unduly narrow limitation of the scope of " primal revelation." The answer to
this objection is to be found in the theory of evolution, rightly understood.
The objection itself seems to be based upon an implicit confusion of "primal
revelation " with final revelation. To assume that primitive man started with
a full and complex revelation of God in all His attributes — His wisdom,
justice, holiness — is indeed to surround ourselves with difficulties which are
perfectly insuperable. The history of the ages, the common experience of man-
kind, the testimony of nature, will set themselves in array against us, and
demand our warrant for the assumption (pp. 212, 213). The assumption is
indeed set aside by the words of St. Paul, that the nations were "to seek the
Lord if haply they might feel after Him and find Him." The finding follows
after the search ; it does not precede it. The "feeling after" the Lord implies
that there is a limitation of knowledge in the " primal revelation." That the
knowledge, thus limited in the case of primitive man, should develop and in-
crease, is in accord with all that we see around us : " everywhere we see the
Perfect slowly evolving out of the less perfect or the imperfect : the dawn pre-
ceding the day ; the acorn sending forth the shoot, the shoot growing into the
sapling, the sapling into the oak." Above all, and on the highest authority, so
it is in the spiritual life : " the same law is laid down by the Master as the
law of His kingdom, whether in a single soul or in that aggregate of souls,
which we call a church or a nation : ' First the blade, then the ear, after that
the full corn in the ear'" (p. 213).
Man was indeed made in the image {eikon) and after the likeness (homoiosis)
of God (Gen. i. 26); but Gregory of Nyssa and the early Fathers taught that
whereas the " image " of God was something in which men were created, the
"likeness "of God "was something toivard which man was created, that he
might strive after and attain it" (Trench, Synonyms, p. 52). It is precisely
with this process, this "striving after" the homoiosis, this "feeling after" the
Lord, that the history of religion has to do. And it is precisely this process
that constitutes the evolution of religion. Or perhaps we should rather say
that the evolution of religion comprises all the attempts that have been made
by man, whether successful or unsuccessful ; but that evolution is not neces-
sarily progress. The term Progress can only be applied to those attempts
which have achieved some measure of success, not to those phases of evolution
INTRODUCTION xv
which may have resulted in the abandonment of the search, or which may have
themselves been abandoned as leading to nothing or worse than nothing.
If, then, the evolution of religion is the history of the many attempts that
man has made to search after the Lord, peradventure he may find Him, it is
ex hypothesi inconsistent and impossible to assume that the primal was a full
revelation : "to imagine the primal revelation to have consisted in the full
knowledge of God as He is, is to postulate an impossibility, to reverse the
course of Nature and of Providence, to set ourselves against the order of the
universe — the Divine Law of Progress" (p. 213). The intercourse, active and
mutual, between the individual and the "Unseen, which, from a strictly scien-
tific point of view^ we are warranted in taking as the starting-point alike for
the psychology and the history of religion, may cheerfully be accepted as the
point of departure by those whose first, vital and permanent interest is in religion
itself rather than in the history of religion or its psychology. But it is only
as a point of departure that it will or should be so accepted. More important,
all-absorbing is the attempt to trace the course which, starting from that point,
man has struck out. Or, rather we should say, to follow the many tracks,
leading in many directions, which men have struck out, groping after the truth.
To trace these courses and lay them out upon the map of life is indeed the
work of the history of religion ; and it is the business of its historian to record
them all, for even those which ultimately proved unsuccessful, must for a time
and in some way not have been entire failures : " He is not far from each one
of us."
But readers whose interest is in religion, and not in its history or its
psychology, will demand Qui bono? to whom is it of any use to study acknowledged
failures? Students of physical science are required to understand and to
accept the acknowledged truths of science : only by so doing can they expect
to proceed to the conquest of fresh truths. Physical science has indeed had its
history, has accepted in the past as fact what subsequent investigation has
shown not to be fact, has held hypotheses which increasing knowledge
has demonstrated to be false hypotheses. But all these have been shovelled
aside ; the records of them can be discovered by those who are interested in
such things. But for practical purposes and by practical men they are
ignored. Nothing is to be gained by dwelling amid them : they cumber
the ground. Is the case otherwise with religion and its history ?
In one striking point it is otherwise. There are many religions. There
are many forms of Christianity. Science is one.
If there were as many theories of gravitation as there are sects of Christianity,
acquaintance with their history would be a matter of first-rate scientific
importance. It would be an indispensable preliminary to weeding out the
wrong theories or the wrong elements in any one of them. Church History
is a matter of first-rate theological importance. It is a record of the steps
by which the creed of the individual believer has been reached, of the arguments
by which fallacies or heresies have been set aside, and by which the truth has
been established. But what is thus true of Church History is also true of the
History of Religion : it aims at giving the whole story, the complete record, of
all the steps from the very beginning.
If there were the same unanimity in religious belief as there is in scientific
belief, the history of error in religion might, perhaps, be as remote from
practical interest as the history of exploded doctrines in science. But there is
not. And because there is not, the individual has a personal responsibility for
the religious belief which he holds, such as he has not for his scientific belief.
Or we may put it in another way. In any large business concern, the share-
b
xvi INTRODUCTION
holders feel no interest in the trial balance-sheets which have to be got out
and corrected before the final balance-sheet, certified by the auditors, can
be placed before them. If they trust the accountant and auditors, they
accept the balance-sheet : they have no interest in seeing the trial balances, or
hearing the process by which errors were detected, or studying the causes
which lead to mistakes. They are concerned simply and solely with the final
form of the accounts, certified to be correct. The result is everything ; the
process, or rather a history of the process, by which this error or that was
tracked from book to book and its genesis made plain, would be worse than,
useless : it would involve a waste of time, and delay them from proceeding
promptly to fresh commercial enterprises, which must be undertaken at once
or not at all.
Now, in science we are all shareholders ; and, as long as we receive our
dividends, we feel no interest in the clerks, the book-keepers, the accountants,
and the auditors, or in the history of the process by which, after making
mistakes and correcting them, they contrive to get out the balance. But in life
we are not merely shareholders : we have our personal, private accounts. In
them, indeed, others are shareholders ; and on us falls the responsibility
of keeping them correctly. We have to render an account ; and the process
by which accounts can be kept properly becomes a matter of the first
importance. In this instance we have a very direct interest in the accoun-
tant's business, in the means and processes by which errors are detected and
corrected, in the causes which lead to errors ; and the history of such errors is
a matter in which we have a vital concern. The process by which we, or
others acting for us, have arrived at our conclusions, whether in religion or
morals, is of the utmost importance ; and it is to the history of that process
that we must return again and again, if we are to find out whether and where
a mistake has arisen. And our accounts are never in this life finally made up.
We never reach the stage of the final balance-sheet, from which we can look
back and see all our errors finally corrected. There is always the possibility,
the probability, the certainty of many errors not yet corrected, not yet detected.
We may from time to time strike a provisional balance-sheet, and find, perhaps,
that we are somewhat nearer to the desired end, that we have made some
progress, but we also discover that there is always still something wrong
somewhere, much to correct, progress to be made.
What is thus true of the individual and of the account that he has to render
is also true of the race and of the principles of morality. Men's notions of
right and wrong have varied infinitely in the course of their evolution and
development. Men have always tried more or less to keep their accounts
straight, and have had no doubt that they could be kept straight. It is
because they have, rightly, cherished this belief, and have repeatedly made
this attempt, that they have, with wider and longer experience, discovered and
to some extent corrected their first mistakes. An obvious instance of this
process is afforded by the history of the sacred duty of revenge. A blow for a
blow, an eye for an eye, a life for a life are maxims of conduct which certainly
lead to the gratification of the desire for vengeance, and may, in some cases,
satisfy justice. An eye for an eye is a maxim which can be acted on by the
individual, who has suffered injustice and desires revenge, without appealing to
the community. The case is different with the principle of a life for a life : the
person murdered cannot take his revenge — it must be taken by the survivors.
Doubtless they are actuated partly or mainly by the desire for vengeance, but their
motives are not entirely personal : it is not purely revenge which they wish to
take, but to some extent, however small, it is justice that they desire to carry
INTRODUCTION xvii
out. When the avenging party includes persons who are but remotely akin
to the dead man, the desire for personal revenge must in their case be less
potent and active than the desire for justice. But even in their case the
motive assigned and accepted for their action is vengeance rather than justice ;
and, so long as this is so, the blood-feud and the vendetta flourish. Revenge,
not justice, alone is understood and accepted ; and revenge never finally
settles the account, or rather it always opens a fresh one. Thus the blood-feud
may be transmitted from one generation to another, and is so transmitted,
until there arises a power superior to that of the families at feud. This power
is inherent in the state to which the families belong or may come to belong ;
and it becomes effective when the necessity for its intervention is great enough
to call it into action. Its action is primarily directed to the termination of
the feud, and it may terminate it either by settling the compensation to be
made or by itself inflicting the punishment of exile or death on the murderer.
Thus a limit is imposed on the spirit of revenge ; and the court, however
constituted, is not actuated by any desire for personal vengeance, but by the
duty of seeing that revenge does not proceed beyond the bounds of justice. A
further step in this direction is taken when the relatives of the murdered man
are no longer expected or allowed to prosecute, and the state undertakes, not
merely to judge a defendant brought before it, but by its police and its public
prosecutor to detect the criminal and to bring him before the judge. The whole
process then is taken out of the sphere of private personal revenge, and is
conducted from beginning to end by state officials whose only interest is the
discharge of justice and who are absolutely untouched by any desire for personal
vengeance. The object aimed at by the whole proceeding is no longer the
gratification of the injured party's vengeful feelings — a just punishment
frequently fails to satisfy them completely — but the impartial distribution of
even-handed justice.
There will be no doubt that justice is more effectually done in the
criminal court of a modern civilised country than by the uncivilised methods
of the blood-feud or vendetta. There can, however, be no doubt that in the
earlier stages of the development of justice the desire for revenge and the
excesses of the vendetta are approved, as right, by the community : they are
accepted as the proper method of squaring accounts. But, as a matter of fact,
the growth of experience tends to show that they do not balance the account,
as they are originally intended to do, but produce further deviations ; and
when these further deviations are recognised to be serious, and to be the inevitable
consequence of this method of keeping accounts, approval of them becomes
impossible — originally pronounced right they are now condemned as morally
wrong. In other words, we are convinced that there has been not only
evolution, but also progress in the development of the idea of justice. But
evolution is not in all cases progress. Modern courts of justice and the
excesses of the vendetta are both evolutions from the same rough notion
of justice ; but in the former case there has been progress, the movement
has been in the direction of ideal justice ; in the latter case the move-
ment has been farther and farther away from justice, and more and more
a degradation.
Returning once more to the question why should we bestow upon the
history of morals or religion an attention which the student of science is not
expected to pay to the history of exploded scientific notions, we can see at
least one obvious reason : the average student of science is in no such immediate
danger of rediscovering, for instance, "the great Kepler's view of the celestial
harmonies produced by the various and varying velocities of the several
xviii INTRODUCTION
planets" (H. Sidgwick, PTiilosophy : Its Scope and Relations, p. 165), that it is
necessary to spend much time in convincing him of its futility. But the
average moral agent is exposed, when wronged, to the desire for vengeance ;
and much, or most, of such moral progress as we individually make, we make
at our own cost and loss, by doing wrong and bitterly repenting it.
Embryology shows that in the earliest stages of his growth the individual
human being passes summarily through the process of evolution by which the
race has attained its present human form. It is a commonplace not merely
of psychology but of ordinary observation that the child, with less rapidity,
may pass through the stages by which man has reached his present civilisation.
He may, of course, suffer from arrested development and ultimate degradation :
the " little savage " may pass into " a savage brute," and so on to the gallows.
The individual, at every stage of his youthful development, finds a variety of
paths before him, of which he may choose any one, and all of which have been
tried by his predecessors before him. The record of the success or want of
success which has attended their attempts is contained in the moral code of
his time. On that map of life the experience of his predecessors has recorded
the issue of their experiments, and has marked the various paths "right" or
" wrong." The blind desires which drove some or most of his predecessors
down the wrong path operate on him also. Hence the necessity of blocking
the way as effectually as possible. Hence, too, the difference between the
moral agent and the student of science. The errors which have been made in
the history of science have been committed by individuals, those in the history
of morals by the race. The temptations by which the moral agent is led astray
recur in the history of every man, whereas presumably the majority of those
who study astronomy are filled rather with astonishment that the great Kepler
should have formulated his views on the celestial harmonies than with any
wish to re-formulate them for themselves. If, for the practical purposes of
understanding or carrying forward a science, a knowledge of the past history
of its exploded hypotheses is unnecessary, whereas for the practical work of
morality a careful record of the consequences of following the wrong paths is
of vital importance, the plain reason is that in the one case the individual is
perpetually presented with the choice of paths, and in the other he is rarely
exposed to the temptation. In the one case the wrong path has been trodden
broad by the number of those who have plunged down it ; in the other case
the footprints of the solitary genius who adventured on it have so disappeared
that the wayfaring student is unconscious of them. The tendency to go wrong
has been transmitted and inherited in the one case ; and the temptation is
there. There is no inherited tendency in the other case, and no recurring
temptation. If the temptation to assuage the thirst for revenge occurred no
oftener than the temptation to formulate Keplerian theories of the celestial
harmonies, there would be no need of any law to check it ; nor would the
practical value of tracing the consequences of leaving the temptation unchecked
be any greater in the one case than in the other. Nor is there in reality any
greater doubt about the validity of our moral precepts than there is about the
laws of motion or of gravitation : the difference lies in the fact that whereas
particles of matter cannot choose but gravitate, individual men can and do
choose not to obey the laws of morality.
It is because of this power of choice that it is a matter of importance to
study historically the consequences of the action chosen. We thus may profit
by the experience of others rather than learn at our own cost. If the vendetta
has been abandoned, it is because the community after trial of it has eventually
chosen to put it down : the experiment of unlicensed revenge has been tried
INTRODUCTION xix
and has been pronounced a failure. Its consequences have been such that it
has been pronounced to be intolerable by the community. Those consequences
have been twofold : the perpetual danger to individual members of the com-
munity and the growing sense that justice is not achieved. Both of these evil
consequences are averted when it is at length, as a matter of experience and
by the process of trial and error, discovered that justice is a matter in which
not only the individual but the community is concerned, and that justice can
only be efficiently done when it is disentangled from the vengeful motives of
the individual and administered by the community.
The process by which public justice is thus evolved out of the impulses and
actions of the individual throws some light on the way in which religion, from
being an individual instinct, impulse or aspiration, becomes a public institution,
and, as such, rises as far above its first expression as modern justice stands
above the blood-feud. The religious phenomenon, as Professor James says in
the passage already quoted, when reduced to its simplest terms, consists every-
where "in the consciousness which individuals have of an intercourse between
themselves and higher powers with which they feel themselves to be related."
That they may and do frequently misapprehend the nature and the meaning
of this intercourse is apparent to any student of the subject, whether he
approaches it from the side of the history of religion or from the side of
psychology, as set forth in Professor James' Varieties of Religious Experi-
ence. But they also frequently misapprehend the nature and meaning of
justice : in the beginning, as we have seen, it is overlaid and distorted by the
vengeful feelings; and at the present day, if those feelings less frequently
succeed in perverting the course of justice, it is because the administration of
justice has been removed from the influence of personal caprice and is dealt
out by the community. The final determination of justice, experience has
shown, cannot be entrusted to the individual : it is too liable to perversion.
And as the political community has sought to eliminate errors from the doing
of justice by refusing to allow the individual to be the judge of his own cause,
so the religious community has found itself compelled to determine the limits
within which the experiences of the individual can be interpreted to be religious.
There is no hesitation on the part of civilised man to believe that justice is
more surely done by a modern court of law in crimmal cases than it was or
could be done in the time of the blood-feud or in countries where the vendetta
prevails : the efforts of advancing civilisation have been directed, not unsuccess-
fully, towards disengaging the requirements of justice from the excesses into
which the spirit of revenge when unrestrained has regularly run. The higher
conception of justice which has thus been reached has undoubtedly reacted on
the individual in such a way that in many or most cases he would^ even if
unrestrained by external forces, be less liable to be carried away by the desire
for vengeance, or would sooner be recalled from excessive steps.
But if the political community has been thus successful in raising and
enforcing the conception of justice, the religious community has done perhaps
not less in raising the conception and enforcing the practice of religion. It is
true that in different political communities, or in different periods of any one
political community, the actual administration of justice may vary much from
the ideal and fall short of it in various degrees. It is true that the very
constitution of the political community may place the administration of justice
in the hands of a favoured class, and that generations and centuries may be
spent in the struggle to escape from the abuses thereby entailed. There is
therefore no reason to be surprised, and no reason to doubt the reality of either
justice or religion, if different religious communities, or different stages in the
XX INTRODUCTION
history of any one religious community, have fallen short of the religious ideal
in various degrees.
In the case of the political community and in the matter of justice, the
authority of the community is undoubted ; and the consequences which ensue,
when the community does not as yet exercise its authority, or falls to pieces
and is unable to exercise it, are convincing proofs of its necessity. It is not
merely that the community, when healthily organised, has might, such as no
individual member of it can exercise by himself, and which is necessary if
even-handed justice is to be dealt to rich and poor, to the mighty and the weak
alike, but that it has right, and that the tendency to justice, which does exist
in the individual but is always liable to perversion by the temptations to which
the individual is exposed, is set free when it becomes an affair of the com-
munity and attains a development which otherwise it could not reach. The
flower of justice can only bloom in a garden from which have been cast out the
weeds that otherwise would over-run it.
That it is as impossible for the religious as for the political communi^by to
abstain from the exercise of its power, and yet to perform the functions for
which it exists, may be seen by any one who chooses to read Professor James'
Varieties of Religious Experience, and can draw the right conclusions from it.
In that work are given numerous examples, not merely of the varieties of
religious experience, but of the vagaries of individual souls ; and the reader
of the documents quoted, if they were the only facts he had to go by, would be
as puzzled to make out what religion is, and as likely to doubt its objective
existence and validity, as he would be to comprehend the nature and reality of
justice, if the only facts he had to guide him were the records of a series of
vendettas. The truth is that in both cases we have presented to us the
behaviour of the individual when unchecked and uncorrected by the authority
of the community ; and in both we see the extravagances which ensue when
that authority is non-existent or non-effective. In both cases we are warranted,
and indeed compelled, to believe that there resides in the community not only
greater power to enforce its beliefs than there does in any individual, but a
higher conception and a purer ideal. In both cases the garden must be weeded,
if the flowers are to grow ; and in both cases there must be the power to decide
what are weeds and what are flowers. And in neither case is the individual,
by his own unaided powers, competent to decide in all cases what should
flourish. In the Varieties of Religious Experience we have a copious demon-
stration of what weeds may grow up in plots removed from the community's
control. The extravagances into which the individual soul is liable to run, in
the field of religion, when uncontrolled, are parallel to the errors which are
committed in the matter of justice when every man does what is right in his
own eyes.
It is the community which checks excesses in both cases ; and, for that
purpose, ecclesiastical organisation is as necessary as political organisation.
But as political systems may perform their functions with very different
degrees of success, and may even break down altogether because they fail to
perform them in a way satisfactory to their members, so may religious systems.
When either does so break down, it is because a majority of the individual
members find that their own ideals of justice or of religion are not satisfied by
the constitution or the action of the community. If a community of either
kind, political or ecclesiastical, is to continue to exist, there must be in its
members a spontaneous recognition of the authority under which they find
themselves. The individual must be able to look into his own heart and there
find confirmation of the legitimacy of the authority to which he is subjected or
INTRODUCTION sad
submits himself. He must indeed be able to find that the authority imposed
upon, or accepted by him, approves itself as a better guide to religion or
morality than his own unaided and unguided impulse. It should lead him to
find in his own heart what, without its guidance, he might fail to find. The
conviction that by submitting to its guidance he will ultimately, though he may
not at first, find from his own personal inner experience an abiding satisfaction
to which he would not otherwise attain, is a matter of faith, for which he has
evidence of precisely the same kind as he has for his faith in the uniformity of
nature and the science that is built upon that faith. But though his own
personal experience may confirm the faith which he shares with others, and
though it is his own experience of what his faith has done for him — whether it
be faith in science or in religion — that is the guarantee of his faith ; this does
not set the individual above the community or make him the final arbiter to
the exclusion of the community, political or religious, to which he belongs.
His own experience of what has been is satisfactory evidence to himself of the
good that he has attained by accepting and acting on principles, whether of
science or religion, which he did not invent or discover for himself, but which
were the heirlooms of the society of which he is a member. His past experi-
ence warrants him in continuing to act on those principles in the faith that it
will be better for him to act on them than to reject them. It does not warrant
him in setting up the individual as a judge superior to the community. Un-
fortunately it does not always and invariably prevent him from so setting up
himself. Those who take vengeance into their own hands, for example, do set
up themselves as judges superior to the judges of the land ; and those who
break away from the religious community to which they belong and surrender
themselves to their own subjective impulses, set themselves up as individually
capable of better judgment than the community is. In the matter of science
similar variations occur : there are always to be found some few persons,
incapable of appreciating the weight and value of scientific evidence, who main-
tain that the earth is flat, and who are as convinced of the truth of their
assertion as the vengeful person is of the justice of his action.
In all these cases the individual sets himself up as superior to the com-
munity to which he belongs, and to the principles by which it is regulated.
The community, on the other hand, punishes him, excommunicates him, or
severely leaves him alone, as the case may be. But in no case does it allow
validity to action or belief subversive of its own principles. Progress, indeed,
may and does require the extension of the buildings already erected, their
alteration and in many cases their partial reconstruction. But in no case
does it demand or permit of the total destruction of the whole edifice and the
razing of its very foundations. Nor have any reforms, which have been truly
reforms, required it. They have always proceeded on the faith that the prin-
ciples on which the community — political, scientific, or religious — is based, call
for reform in some of the superstructures erected on those principles. But it
is always on the strength of those principles that the reformer has acted, and
to the faith of the community in those principles that he has appealed.
The positive religions of the world, i.e. those which " trace their origin to
the teaching of great religious innovators," such as Judaism, Christianity, and
Islam, were all reforms of pre-existing religious systems. " A new scheme of
faith can find a hearing only by appealing to religious instincts and suscepti-
bilities that already exist in its audience, and it cannot reach these without
taking account of the traditional forms in which all religious feeling is
embodied" (Robertson Smith, The Religion of -the Semites, p. 2). Until a
great religious innovator has sprung up, and by his teaching has founded a
xxii INTRODUCTION
positive religion, what prevails is a traditional religion, " a body of religious
usage and belief which cannot be traced to the influence of individual minds,
and was not propagated on individual authority, but formed part of that
inheritance from the past into which successive generations of the race grew
up as it were instinctively " {ibid ).
It is with a traditional religion that the author of The Makers of Hellas
has to do. The obvious and outstanding features of such a religion are its
myths and its ritual. So impressive are they at first sight that for a time there
was a tendency to regard mythology as constituting the whole and sole religion
of the ancient Greeks, and comparative mythology as containing the key to the
religion of the Indo-Europeans generally. That religious feeling in any proper
sense of the word might be entirely wanting from these myths was a fact which
did not at first fix attention. That many of the myths were immoral in the
eyes not only of ourselves but of the more reflective Greeks, was a difficulty
which was set aside either by the assumption that the myths did not mean
what they said, but were originally descriptive of solar or other natural
phenomena, and as such were perfectly innocent of the abominations which
ensued when by a disease of language the phenomena were personalised ; or by
the alternative argument of Mr. A. Lang, which has now gained practically
universal acceptance, that those myths mean what they say, and are survivals
from the time when the ancestors of the civilised Greeks were still in a state of
barbarism or even of savagery. But if the second alternative is accepted, there
still remains the original difficulty of discovering any religion or religious
feeling in those and in other myths. The " aetiological " theory of myths does
not aid in the discovery. According to that theory man has always required,
more or less instantly, an explanation of things that arrest his attention ; and
has supplied that explanation by framing hypotheses to account for them. The
explanations thus advanced to account for the customs observed by men in
their dealings with their gods, or for the course of nature as it affected man,
naturally and indeed inevitably took the form of assigning, as a reason for
what happened or was done, that some personal being or agent had once
behaved in a certain way, and that way of behaving had been faithfully
followed ever since. Obviously here, allowing that the aetiological theory may
account for many myths, we do not necessarily strike upon anything religious
by following it out. It might be that, in seeking for an explanation of the
fact that required accounting for, the primitive framer of crude hypotheses
would hit upon something that would be now recognised as religious. It is
certain that in the vast majority of cases he did not.
Indeed not only is it the case that myths are not religious, from our point
of view : belief in them was not exacted from members of the community in
which they were current, as compliance with the ritual of the State was enforced.
" Belief in a certain series of myths was neither obligatory as a part of true
religion, nor was it supposed that, by believing, a man acquired religious merit
and conciliated the favour of the gods " (Robertson Smith, The Religion of the
Semites^ p. 17). On the other hand, compliance with ritual was obligatory,
and, by such compliance, men were held to acquire religious merit and to
conciliate the favour of the gods. By compliance with ritual is meant not only
the performance of sacrifice but the making of offerings in the manner and
after the custom observed and prescribed at any given sanctuary. The nature
of the offerings, the particular kind of animal to be sacrificed, its precise
colour, the exact ritual to be followed, were all of course prescribed in each
sanctuary ; and the due fulfilment of every point was ensured by the priests
in charge of the shrine and responsible for the proper performance of the rites.
INTRODUCTION xxiii
If offerings were to be made, they had to be made in accordance with the
rites and customs of the place and the occasion. But, in point of fact, the
duty of public worship was not a hypothetical but a categorical imperative ;
and it was enforced ordinarily by public opinion, and, if necessary, by the
action of the State and the criminal courts. There were indeed many offer-
ings, e.g. those made for deliverance from disease or danger of death, the
neglect of which would not entail an indictment for "impiety" or involve
penalties inflicted by the State. But custom and public opinion were quite
strong enough to ensure the due performance of these offerings.
The question then remains whether compliance with ritual, which was
required by public opinion and could be enforced, if necessary, by law, is to be
regarded as constituting the whole of the religion of the Greeks. If, indeed,
we accept the view of Professor James, already quoted, that " the religious
phenomenon . . . has shown itself to consist everywhere, and at all its stages,
in the consciousness which individuals have of an intercourse between them-
selves and higher powers with which they feel themselves to be related," we
may at first be tempted to wonder whether we are justified in seeing any
religion whatever in the ritual of the Greeks, and whether ritual of any kind
is or can be part of "the religious phenomenon." The words of M. Sabatier,
quoted by Professor James, tend to confirm the view that ritual is not part
of the religious phenomenon : " Prayer is real religion . . . prayer ... by
which I understand no vain exercise of words, no mere repetition of certain
sacred formulae, but the very movement itself of the soul, putting itself in a
personal relation of contact with the mysterious power of which it feels the
presence." Religion is thus definitely identified with " the very movement
itself of the soul " ; it is a " consciousness which individuals have " ; it is
therefore apparently distinguished, and indeed dissociated, from any outward
act whatever, and consequently from the performance of all ritual acts.
Here then we have contrasted, apparently two extreme views. The Greek
community would not tolerate the abstention from the outward, ritual acts,
whatever might be the consciousness which the abstaining citizen had, or what-
ever " the very movement itself " of his soul. The modern thinkers will not
admit any outward act, any repetition of sacred formulae, any act of ritual
or any external act at all, to be part of " the religious phenomenon," or of
" real religion."
But it would be a misapprehension of the ancient position to infer that,
because compliance with ritual was required and enforced, no movement of the
worshipper's soul itself was contemplated or expected, or that the individual
worshipper had no consciousness of intercourse between himself and the higher
powers whom he approached with his offerings. The performance of the ritual
could be enforced by law and public opinion, because it is possible to see
whether outward acts are or are not gone through in the way prescribed by
law or custom. The intercourse which is purely internal, the movement of the
soul itself, evades the eye and eludes the grasp of the law. The State did all
that it could do, if it insisted on the due performance of the outward act. But
we are not warranted in inferring from this that nothing more than the out-
ward act took place, or that nothing more was expected by the community
from the worshipper. The outward acts were performed regularly and multi-
tudinously ; their performance must have been accompanied and dictated by
consciousness and motives of some kind. They certainly were not accompanied,
as an ordinary thing, with a conviction that the whole business was a meaning-
less mummery ; nor was the motive which dictated them simply the desire to
avoid a prosecution for impiety. If such had been the unanimous conviction
xxiv INTKODUCTION
of the community, public opinion would have expressed it plainly. But public
opinion was very strongly the other way. Accordingly, the motive cannot
have been to avoid prosecution for impiety. The community, as a whole, was
not impious or unbelieving : the Athenians were Seto-tSat/xoveo-Te/oot.
If we seek to learn what was the nature of the motives at work upon them
and inducing them to perform ritual acts, to make offerings and to offer
sacrifice, in the due and customary way, we may perhaps turn to the Euthyjpliro
of Plato. If w e do, we shall learn that the popular opinion of the nature of
sacrifice, when, examined by a philosopher, might be reduced to this : that it
consisted in giving something to the gods in order to get something out of
them ; that it was, in fact, a species of higgling in the celestial market. It
might, indeed, be thus reduced ; and was perhaps always in danger of such
reduction. But this danger is not confined to the case of sacrifice. It is
equally great, and from the same causes, if we regard service, and not sacrifice,
as the essential feature of religion. If a man adopts as his motto, in his
dealing with the gods, do ut des, it matters not whether he gives sacrifices or
service : in both cases his principle is purely commercial. It may be business,
but it is not religion. The utmost exactitude and the strictest punctilio in the
performance of everything demanded by the terms of the covenant produce
not religion, but formalism. A bargain is not the less a bargain because one
party to it discharges his side of it with the greatest care to do not one jot less
— or more — than the terms stipulate for.
Sacrifice, then, like service, may be reduced to huckstering. But are we, or
was Plato, justified by the facts of the case in holding that it had in his time
been reduced to its lowest terms, to the point at which it is obvious to all
beholders that religion has entirely evaporated from it? A glance at Mr.
Rouse's Greek Votive Offerings (Cambridge : 1902) suffices to show that
even in the fourth century B.C., when " Greek religion began to lose its
sincerity," and " the religious conception of the gods decays," it had not yet
become a mere process of huckstering and higgling ; still less had it reached
that point of dissolution and decay in the centuries preceding. Memorials of
honour and office, originally thank-offerings due to the feeling of gratitude,
were in the beginning occasional ; but in the long-run such dedications became
the regular thing. " It is in the fourth century that this change begins, and it
coincides with other changes in the old simple ways, which rob the votive
offering of its grace and moral worth, and turn it into a formality" (p. 260).
The change has, indeed, stripped the offering of its religious value, but it has
not reached the depth of degradation indicated by Plato. It may have become
a formality : it has not descended to the level of a bargain. " There are
indications that these offerings, with those for victory in the games, were even
made compulsory by law " (p. 261), and we might infer from this that the idea
was that debts due to the gods should be recoverable at law. But the inference
would be incorrect. The offerings were originally the outcome of gratitude,
and were thank-offerings. They became customary, and the custom may even
have come to be enforced by the law. But even so, the gratitude may not
always have utterly vanished. Many of the customary phrases of ceremonial
language say much more than is meant by the speaker or writer, and are not
taken by the person addressed to mean as much as they say ; but they still
have some meaning and some value, or they would be dropped altogether.
Indeed, many have disappeared entirely ; and those which survive are retained
because they have some function to perform.
If we turn to the offerings catalogued by Mr. Rouse under the head of
those made on occasions of Disease and Calamity, we shall find some, and
mTRODUCTION xxv
perhaps the only, examples which warrant the gloomy view taken of sacrifice
generally by Plato, and taken, or mis-taken, by him undoubtedly under the
influence of that loathing for the democracy which the condemnation and the
execution of Socrates produced in him. Offerings of this class undoubtedly do
lend themselves to misinterpretation, both on the part of the observer who
watches them made and on the part of the person who makes them. They
lend themselves to misinterpret£i'tion because, save in the somewhat exceptional
cases when the offering is made at once, before the calamity is averted, the vow
is not discharged until the prayer has been granted. Thus the whole process
lends itself to interpretation as a purely commercial transaction ; and the
Greek, who was a good business man, is then made to pose as one who does not
pay for goods that he has ordered until they are delivered. But though this is
a possible interpretation, it is not the only interpretation possible. Prayer
may be made, delivery granted, and offerings may be taken to the shrine with
heartfelt gratitude for the mercy shown. In such a case it is an insult, gross
and unwarrantable, to speak of higgling and huckstering in connection with it.
Thus we have two possible interpretations of the offerings made on occasions
of Disease and Calamity, the commercial and the religious. That the religious
is in many cases not only a possible, but the only possible, interpretation is
beyond doubt. One of the most ancient of these offerings is the dedication of
hair. The commercial value of these clippings and shearings may safely be
reckoned as nil. Yet " it was often vowed in time of peril and offered in
gratitude" (p. 245). We may safely compare such offerings, which are, of
course, not confined to Greece, with the widespread custom of attaching pins
and rags to sacred images, crosses, trees, wells, cairns, and temples. This custom
has been investigated by Mr. Sidney Hartland in his Legend of Perseus, and he
calls attention not merely " to the pins in wells and the rags on trees, but also
to the nails in trees, the pins in images, the earth or bricks hung on the sacred
tree in India, the stones and twigs, flowers and cocaquids thrown upon cairns,
the pellets which constellate Japanese idols, the strips of cloth and other
articles which decorate Japanese temples, the pilgrims' names written on the
walls of the temple of Kapila on the banks of the Hugli, the nails fixed by the
consuls in the Cella Jovis at Rome, and those driven into the galleries or floors
of Protestant churches in Eastern France" (ii. 212). Whatever the motive of
making these offerings may have been, it is impossible to suppose that they
had or were imagined to have any commercial value. The dedication was not
a commercial transaction.
But though on the strength of these analogies we may safely claim that
many of the offerings made on occasions of Disease and Calamity were neither
bribes, nor payments for value received, we must admit that in the case of
costly offerings they would tend in that direction, and that their tendency was
in a direction utterly fatal to all religious feeling.
But it is necessary to bear in mind that Greek votive offerings are not
confined to vows made and paid in time of calamity and disease. Such vows
make up but one section out of the ten into which Mr. Rouse distributes Greek
votive offerings. The offering of first-fruits and tithes, the dedication of war-
spoils, the arms or treasure of the vanquished, the victor's arms, the prizes won
in games, the instruments with which they were won, sculptures commemorat-
ing the victory — none of them lend themselves to the idea that they were
intended or regarded as the discharge of a bargain made between the offerer
and the gods to whom they were dedicated. There is little doubt that in all
these cases it was the custom, and in some even the law, that offerings should
be made. Public opinion required them, and doubtless ensured them in cases
xxviii INTRODUCTION
At the same time his experience, of either world, is neither identical with
theirs, for it is his and not theirs — a difference which is at times all-impor-
tant — nor is it ever exactly similar. Where it differs, or appears to differ,
there arises the question : Which is he to trust — his or theirs ? In the case of
the external world, he learns in many cases that theirs, not his, is the trust-
worthy guide: the wise man learns by the experience of others. With the
internal or spiritual world the case is the same : mistakes are just as possible
with regard to its content as with regard to what happens and to what may
happen in the external world. The individual is not left in entire isolation in
it by the community to which he belongs. He is taught, even in the most
savage communities, what to expect and how to bear himself. He finds that
often, even here, the experience of others saves him from errors which he
would himself have committed had he not been guided by the accumulated
experience of the community which is communicated to him.
The accumulated experience of the community is preserved in the customs
of the community, and those customs are both customary modes of action and
customary modes of thought and habits of belief. To argue that he, who in
religion adopts and follows the course of thought and action which prevails in
the community, thereby proves that he has no true religion, is precisely the
same, and for the same reasons, as if we were to argue that the citizen who
adopts and follows the moral and civic course of thought and action which
prevails in the community, is no good citizen. And this is equally true,
whether we take as the basis of the argument the false assumption that a line
of action customary in the community cannot be a genuine movement of the
individual soul that follows it ; or whether we vainly endeavour to limit
religion to a purely individual consciousness, and to the very movement itself
of the individual soul. It is patently erroneous, whether we are speaking of a
member of a political community or of the civitas Dei, to maintain or imply
that the man who believes in the laws of the State and does his best to act up
to them is not a good citizen; or to argue that true citizenship consists in
ignoring the fact that there are others, besides oneself, who are citizens and
conceivably better citizens than one is oneself.
Thus far we have concerned ourselves with an indispensable quality of the
good citizen, viz. readiness to obey the laws of the State. It may also be the
duty of the good citizen to try to improve them. Such improvements may
amount, and, where positive religions such as Judaism, Christianity, or Islam
have been established, they have amounted to revolutions. The founder of
the new religion has opened up new regions of the inner, spiritual world, and
his followers, so far as they have ventured after him, have the evidence of
their own experience to testify to the truth and reality of his revelation. But
no new religion is founded unless the new departure calls after it a sufficient
number of followers, and unless they frame themselves an organisation. If a
new organisation is to be formed, the teaching which is to provoke it must be
so markedly different from traditional belief that it can find no satisfactory
home in the existing religious community. A break there must be — either an
expulsion or a voluntary emigration of the followers of the new doctrine :
either the old community or the disciples of the new teaching must feel that
rupture is inevitable.
Now, during the period with which the author of The Makers of Hellas
deals, no such rupture, and no occasion for any such rupture, occurred. New
teaching, to a certain extent, there always and continually was ; but a collision
between the old and the new was rendered practically difficult by the un-
developed and even amorphous condition of the traditional religious life.
INTRODUCTION xxix
Compliance with ritual was demanded by the State, and was so easy that
Socrates had no difficulty in rendering it. But belief was bound neither by
creed nor dogma. If sacrifice were made to the gods, the demands of the
State were satisfied. What was to be believed about the gods had not been
reduced to any form of words, and was not imposed by authority in the shape
of any creed or dogma. There was a consequent elasticity of belief which
easily stretched far enough to cover all the developments of the poets from
Homer to Euripides. The State did not prescribe what a man should think,
but what he should in certain cases do. It was therefore difficult or impossible
for the mere thinker to come into collision with the State, But the very
reasons, which made it difficult for his speculations to find anything to collide
with, also made it impossible for them to become anything more than in-
dividual speculations. For the performance of the inherited usages in religion,
spiritual principles were but dimly necessary ; and if this practically ensured
the traditional usages from unnecessary collision with individual speculations,
it also made it practically impossible for men to realise that spiritual principles
must be principles of action to be real. Indeed they can hardly be called
spiritual principles when the will to enforce them is not strong enough to find
or seek the means of so doing. Spiritual they may be, but principles of action
they are not, until they are adopted by a community resolved to act on them
and enforce them.
It is these potential principles, as they are found in classical Greek
literature, and as they were to be realised in Christianity, that are dealt
with in The Makers of Hellas.
THE MAKERS OF HELLAS
§ I.— THE LAND
INTRODUCTION
"Yet I doubt not thro' the ages one increasing purpose runs."
— Tennyson.
" The Race of Man
That receives life in parts to live in a whole,
And grow here according to God's clear plan."
— Robert Browning.
Among all the wanderings and migrations of the ancient races of mankind — •
wanderings which took place in both East and West during the dim hoary time
which we vaguely call the " prehistoric period," and which resulted in the
settlement of the various nations of the world in their several historic homes —
there are two which have for us a very special interest. One is the movement
of a Semitic race towards the shores of the Mediterranean ; the other, that of
a branch of the Aryan stock, the stock to which we ourselves belong, towards
the shores of the ^gsean Sea.
With the story of the first movement — the march of the Chosen People to
the Promised Land — we are all perfectly familiar ; but the story of the other
movement — the march of the Hellenes into the land which they were destined
to render so famous — is enveloped in mystery. Whence the Aryans came ;
where their original home lay, whether in Asia or in Europe ; how long the
wanderings of the Hellenic branch had lasted before it finally settled on the
mainland and islands of Greece and the shores of Asia Minor — all these are
questions which are still being investigated, and to which it may, perhaps, never
be possible to give an entirely satisfactory answer.
Nevertheless, while recognising this, it has been found possible, out of the
fragmentary records of language, to learn the story so far, and to construct a
picture, not only of the primitive Aryans themselves, but of their Old Home,
wherever that may have lain. These results have been arrived at, as we all
know, by what is termed " linguistic palaeontology" — by the piecing-together,
that is, of the indications afforded by fossil- words — root-words which have been
found buried beneath the existing languages of Europe and Asia.^ All such
attempts to penetrate the mystery that surroupds the primitive Aryans are
full of the deepest interest — an interest which centres specially round the
history of the Grseco-Aryans, or Hellenes. They were the first of the
European Aryans to begin the work of civilisation — they led the van of culture —
and we naturally desire to be able to trace back step by step each phase of
their progress, each stage of their journey, until we finally reach the Old Home,
^ A brief sketch of the method, and of the facta arrived at by its means, is given in § 5 at
page 46 of Hellas.
A
2 THE LAND
where, in the beginning, the Greek dwelt with his brethren — the Indian, the
Persian, the Roman, the Celt, the Teuton, the Slav — when as yet there were
no such divisions of the Family in existence, but simply the mother-tribe that
sent out later the daughter-clans, destined to develop into great and mighty
nations.
^' Beginnings have charms for us all," and hence it is that we follow with
such eagerness the labours of men like Kuhn, Weber, Max Miiller, Schrader,
and many others, men who have lifted to a certain extent the veil of darkness,
and reconstructed for us that primitive world. Certain very important links
in the chain are still wanting, however. As we have seen, the site of the Old
Home itself is still a matter of dispute, and therefore any attempt to trace the
journey of the Hellenes to their New Home, as we can trace that of the
Hebrews to theirs, would be time lost.*
And yet, all that concerns the Hellenes is a matter of importance to us —
subordinate only to the still more vital interest that attaches itself to the
history of the Hebrews. How so ? asks the reader. Why should we spend time
in drawing any picture at all of those old Grseco- Aryans ? How does the
settlement of a wandering shepherd-tribe on the shores of the Archipelago
affect us ? What has it, or Hellas either, to do with the present century ?
Simply this, that at least one-half of the knowledge, art, and culture of our
time has grown — as naturally as a tree from its roots — out of the foundation
laid by the descendants of those same rude wandering shepherds.
To understand this, we must look at the unique position which the Hellenes
occupy in the world's history. Reverting to the comparison with which we
started, we can see that in the great World-plan (if we may use the term with
reverence) the two nations whose wanderings we have glanced at — the Hebrews
and the Hellenes — seem to have been specially singled out by Providence for
the accomplishment of very definite ends. To the Hebrews among Semitic
nations was entrusted the custody of a great and priceless treasure — the know-
ledge of the One God ; whilst to the Hellenes, pre-eminently among all the
Aryan nations, was given that task which is best described in the words of St.
Paul, as a seeking for God, if haply they might feel after Him and find Him.
The best minds of both nations worked consciously and unconsciously
towards the fulfilment of this their divinely-appointed mission — the Jews
within their narrow bounds keeping alight the torch of truth ; the Hellenes
feeling after God in nature, seeking for Him in the depths of their own hearts,
and everywhere striving to give utterance, in all noble and beautiful forms, to
the great thoughts which came to them in answer to this their seeking.
The Jews were thus the great Conservators of the old world, the Hellenes
the great Pioneers, for in their seeking and groping after the Truth, they
found many lesser truths, and worked out many experiments which were all,
so to speak, necessary steps in the world-development. It is this which makes
the history of the Hellenes so full of interest to us, for we are still reaping
the fruits of the seed sown by them. There is well-nigh no department of
thought or energy in which the Greeks did not experiment. True it is that
others had been in the field before them. The Greeks borrowed, as we know,
some elements of culture from their Semitic brethren in the East ; but this
does not affect their character as experimenters, for whatever they borrowed ^
they transformed and transmuted to suit their own needs and their own ideal.
There was no such thing as slavish imitation among the Greeks. Of by far
the greater number of their experiments, what has been said of their literature
^ And after all, it was not much, see p. 58 et seq. of Hellas.
HELLAS AS A LAND OF EXPERIMENTS 3
holds good — viz., that " without example or guide before them, they began, as
it were in play, to solve the highest tasks, and followed independently their
own course." ^ The Greeks were the grand pioneers of thought ; it was they
who opened up the paths on which the intellectual culture of the world pro-
gresses, and we moderns, on whom the ends of the world have come, learn
alike from their successes and their failures. We cannot, therefore, begin a
study of the Greek people better than by looking at them first of all in their
true character as the world's greatest Pioneers and Experimenters.
Here, before going further, let us just try to fix in our minds exactly what
we mean by the term "experimenters." The word ^^ experiments^ has come to
be used generally amongst ourselves in a very secondary and contracted sense.
To most of us it calls up nothing but the vision of a laboratory, and the various
chemical or physical tests associated therewith. But the experiments to which
we refer now were not made in a laboratory, neither were they performed in
a few hours, neither were they easy. Some of them took centuries to work
out ; all of them cost infinite labour and pains ; in a few, the experimenters
were themselves experimented upon and put to the test, for death itself had to
be faced. When, therefore, we talk of the Hellenic " experiments," we use
the word in its primary and real significance. Our "^experiment," as we know,
is derived from the Latin ex-perior, to go through and come out again. Hence
it means, properly, not only a something performed, but a something passed
through, a something borne for a certain definite aim and end.^
In thinking of the great experiment of the Greeks as a nation, then, we
must use the word in the sense in which it is true of the life of every one
amongst ourselves ; " My life — what shall I make of it ? " Their national life —
what did the Hellenes make of it? And the result of the countless experi-
ments which the Hellenes made in their national life, we sum up in another
word — also derived from experior — and we say that, on the Experience gained
by the Hellenes — what they went through in their experiments — more than
half the culture of the modern world rests.
HELLAS AS A LAND OF EXPERIMENTS
Now that we have seen exactly what force to ascribe to the term " experi-
ments," we must make another halt, and look for a space at the Experimenters
themselves and the Land in which they carried on their work. First, then,
the Land.
If the original home of the Greek (as of the other) Aryans is still a terra
incognita, the very reverse is the case as regards their historic home. Here
we are on firm ground ; we have no need of hypotheses, conjectures, or theories
of any kind, for everything lies spread out before us in the sunlight. Well-
nigh every part of Greece has been, or is being, explored ; and not only the
surface of the country — the land of the living — is known, but its secret recesses
— the chambers of the dead— have been unearthed and made to yield up their
secrets to us in these latter days.
An account of Hellas itself (and by " Hellas " we mean here the country
^ Bergk (Theodor), Griechische Literaturgeschichte, i. p. 5.
2 The Latin ex-perior is allied to Sans. par = to carry over; Gk. per-do = to pass through ;
Goth. far-an = to go. The same root has given the Gk. peirdo = to try; peira = a. test, an ex-
periment, and empeiria = experience ; the modern High German ^r/aArunp' = experience, and
G'e/aAr = danger ; and, through the Latin, our own experiment, experience, expert, peril — all
denoting something gone through, worked out, or endured. (G. Curtius, Max Miiller, Tick.)
4 THE LAND
now known as " Greece "),^ of its physical features, its rivers, mountains, and
cities, will be found in the Geographical Section of this work, and therefore
here we need trouble ourselves with no details, but shall simply ask the ques-
tion, and answer it as best we can : Was Hellas adapted to be a land of
experiments ? In other words : Was it suited to a race whose great business
was to be " seeking," striving, constant tentative effort?
SECURITY AND DEVELOPMENT
The first essential for any one with serious work in hand is, that he shall
be undisturbed. " Leave me alone ! " he says, " don't molest me. Let me
work out my plans in peace ! "
Well, if we study the physical configuration of the land, we shall find that
Hellas answers in a most wonderful way to this primary condition.
In the first place, the country is surrounded on three sides by the sea,
which, as in our own little island, " serves in the office of a wall." Hellas
abounds in good harbours, as we shall presently see ; nevertheless, to vessels
which have not access to these harbours her coasts at certain points are
extremely dangerous, as her enemies found out more than once to their cost.
Then again, turning to the North, the only land-side, we see that before
an invading force could descend upon the country, it would have to surmount
a fivefold rampart. Leaving out of sight the mighty Balkan-chain, which
barricades the peninsula against the interior of Europe — (i) the first line of
defence is the Cambunian range, which stretches across the country from
Acroceraunia to Olympus, from sea to sea. The only natural break in this
mountain-wall is the gorge of Tempe, through which the Peneius wends its
way to the sea — a gorge so narrow that it could be held by ten men.
The troubles of an invader, however, would not end here. Olympus
crossed, he would find himself confronted by two other great bulwarks — first
(2) Othrys, then (3) (Eta — a network of mountains from which there is only
one way of escape. And even supposing that he found this, and finally
emerged through Thermopylae — the Gates of Greece — if he tried to continue
his conquering career into Attica, he would be met by (4) the Cithseron-
Parnes range, whilst further south (5) the chains of Geraneia and Oneia with
Acrocorinthus and the narrow isthmus lying between them, would all have to
be passed before we could advance into Peloponnesus, " the inner heart of
Hellas."
Thus, we find Greece provided with no fewer than five great natural lines
of defence, any one of which in any other country would have been regarded
as of paramount strategic importance. Granted that over each of these ranges
Passes exist (two or three in almost each case),^ the fact remains, that such
Passes are merely mountain-paths, narrow glens, which could easily be defended
by a handful of resolute men — so watchful was Nature in her care of the little
country. Hence, as we have said, Hellas answers admirably to the first
condition. It is really a great natural Fortress, sheltering and protecting its
inhabitants. The Hellenes were for many centuries left undisturbed. Their
mountains defended them against attack from the north, from the interior
of Europe ; and the sea protected them on the three other sides ; for,
in those early days of navigation, not every people looked upon the stormy
^ For the wider meaning of the terms "Hellas" and "Hellenes," see p. 1:6 et sea. of
Hellas. . V i ^
^ See the account of the Passes given in connection with each State.
DIVERSITY AND INDIVIDUALITY 5
waters as an inviting " path." To most it proved a barrier rather than a
bridge.
This feature of " protection " was of the greatest importance in the infancy
of Hellas. It gave her people time to develop in their own way ; and although
by-and-by the invader did come down " like a wolf on the fold," he was not
permitted to descend upon it until those within were well able to defend them-
selves. Historians have speculated as to what would have been the probable
fate, not only of Greece, but of Europe, had the whole might of the East been
let loose upon the land even one generation earlier than the date at which the
event actually took place. One thing is certain, that had the experiments of
the Hellenes been stopped by invasions of '* barbarian " hordes either from
north, south, east, or west, the whole civilisation of Europe would have been
indefinitely thrown back. So nicely balanced were the time and the trial, that
when the Persian arrived he found a people no less able than resolved to fight
out the greatest experiment in the cause of National Freedom which the
world has ever seen. The long immunity from invasion, however, which had
enabled the Hellenes thus to grow into strength and manly vigour, was due,
under Providence, to the geographical configuration of their land and its
sheltering mountains.
DIVERSITY AND INDIVIDUALITY .
Not only, however, does the experimenter require to be safe from intrusion
from without ; to be secure against interference from ivithin is a no less pressing
necessity for him. And where the same experiment is being worked out by
several experimenters, or by several bodies of experimenters, at one and the
same time, the necessity for assigning to each a separate and distinct field of
operation becomes imperative if the experiment is not to be ruined by perpetual
collision and friction on the part of the workmen engaged in it. Now, as we
know, the great " Hellenic aggregate " — what we call collectively the Hellenic
** nation " — comprised within itself many such distinct bands of workers, and,
curiously enough, the country answered precisely to the need of each band for
a separate working-place.
When we think of the ancient Greeks, we must take care not to picture
them to ourselves as one great undivided nation like the English or the French
of to-day. The Hellenic " nation " consisted of a congeries or assembly of
Inany different clans or tribes, perfectly independent one of the other, differing
from each other in many ways, and without any political centre or head. Each
one of these clans had to live its own life, to work out its own experiments,
and, curiously enough, as we have said, provision was made for this. In the
great house of Hellas were many separate chambers.
We shall easily understand this if we take a glance at the map. There
we shall see that Hellas is not only defended by mountains, but is well-nigh
covered by them.
Greece is one of the most mountainous countries of Europe. So innumer-
able are the cross-bars, the spurs, the branches which strike off from the main
systems — to say nothing of the isolated crags and peaks — that but a small
proportion, comparatively, of level ground is left. The Peloponnesus especially
has been described as a " mass of mountains," a " pile of mountains," a " marble
rock," and to this part of Greece a recent writer ^ has aptly applied the legend
^ Tozer, Rev. H. F., Lectures on the Geography of Greece, p. 40.
6 THE LAND
whereby the Montenegrins are wont to account for the excessive hilliness of
their own country. The Maker of all things, they say, was on his way to sow
the seed of the mountains, when, having accidentally opened his bag over
Montenegro, out rolled the huge boulders pell-mell in every direction, thus
giving to their land more than its fair share of rocky obstruction.
The Grecian mountains, however, not excepting those of Peloponnesus,
present no hilly chaos bewildering in its confusion ; they form a series of grand
ranges connected, on what might be described as a systematic and well-defined
plan, one with another, and, so far as the northern mountains are concerned,
with their great root in the Balkan Alps.
By these interlacings of the mountains and the action of the sea, Greece is
divided into a great number of well-defined districts. Thus we have Thessaly
and Arcadia, each with a fourfold mountain- wall, enclosing it on north, south,
east, and west ; Bceotia, divided into two distinct lake-basins ; Doris, a valley
shut in by mountains on three sides ; Attica, a peninsula, defended on the north
by the Cithseron-Parnes range, on the remaining sides by the sea — and so on.
Most of the districts which are known to us under a general historic or
geographical name are again subdivided by Nature into yet smaller but
equally distinct sections. Thus, under the one designation, " Argolis," we
have a great variety of physical conditions : — a large plain, that of Argos ; a
peninsula, separated from the plain by mountains, intersected by hills, and
divided between three States, Epidaurus, Trcezen, and Hermione ; three river-
valleys, those of Phlius-Sicyon, Nemea, and Cleonse, running northward from
the plain of Argos, and opening on to another plain, stretching along the
southern coast of the Corinthian Gulf ; and finally, we have Corinth itself
with its Isthmus and mountain-gorge. The splitting up of Arcadia, again, by
the lofty mountains of the interior, first into two halves, east and west, and
then into very many distinct plains and valleys, affords a still more striking
example of the minute subdivision carried out by the hand of Nature herself.
In each of these " mountain-chambers," then, a separate clan — which may
possibly have grown out of the union of one or two families only — would seem to
have settled. Sometimes the first comers w^ere strong enough to hold their own ;
sometimes they were forced to share the land with members of another tribe ;
sometimes with settlers previously in possession. However this may have
been — and we must bear in mind that we have only inferences, not facts, to
guide us in tracing the earliest history of Greece — one thing is certain, viz. :
that, whatever its origin, each clan, or the State into which it grew, constituted
in historic times, to all intents and purposes, a little Nation in itself.
We can easily see how such a state of things was favoured, nay brought
about, by the nature of the country, as described above. Each tribe dwelt
apart, isolated from its neighbours by a strong mountain-barrier which, in
early days, few cared to pass. Each State thus grew up from its political
infancy to its manhood, " nestling amid its own rocks," independent in itself,
with all that it required within itself, ruled by its own traditions, observing its
own manners and customs, drawn to its neighbours by the cord (a strong one
certainly) of a common descent, language, and religion — but repelled again by
the still stronger force of its own autonomy and self-interest. The result of
this was, that National Unity was never attained in Hellas — the nature of
the country forbade it.
This minute " splitting up " is the most characteristic feature of the Greek
national life, and it is impossible to understand Greek history without taking
it into account, for in ancient Greece there were almost as many independent
States as there were communities.
DIVERSITY AND INDIVIDUALITY 7
In Boeotia alone, to take one instance, the number of independent States
would seem to have been originally no less than fourteen. ^ Again, in the little
valley of the Peloponnesian Asopus — a river so insignificant that in any other
country it would hardly be considered a " river " at all — there flourished two
States, Phlius and Sicyon, each of which maintained its independence nobly
for centuries, and exhibited the greatest individuality in its religious, political,
and artistic tendencies.^
Sometimes we find certain States, from ties of blood or pressure of
circumstances, entering into relationship with one another and forming
confederacies, such as the Boeotian and Phocian Leagues, the early Thessalian
Tripolis (union of three cities) of the Dorians, the Attic Tetrapolis (union of
four cities) round the Plain of Marathon, or the great Ionian Dodecapolis
(union of twelve cities). Such unions existed, however, in historic times, merely
for purposes of offence and defence, and any dictation on the part of the chief city
of the League, such as was attempted by Thebes in Boeotia, was bitterly resented.
Throughout Greek history nothing is more remarkable than the way in
which the people resisted every attempt at centralisation or fusion. A notable
instance of this is afforded by the founding of Megalopolis, the Great City, in
Arcadia — intended by Epaminondas to be a check upon the ambition of Sparta.
No fewer than forty independent little communities were brought in to form
the population of the new city ; but, notwithstanding the (as we should think)
evident advantages to be enjoyed by the citizens of a great democratic centre,
many of those communities came against their will, and several went back to
their mountain-valleys at the first opportunity. Some of the communities
chosen, indeed, positively refused to join the new city. The men of Lycosura,
who boasted that their own city was the oldest in Greece, the first ever shone
upon by the sun, had to be left in peace. And that this feeling was not mere
attachment to their native hills, such as we find among the mountaineers of all
lands, is evident from the fact that the people of Trapezus, a tribe of Parrhasii,
actually marched out to the farthest corner of the Black Sea and joined a
daughter-city of their own there, rather than lose their communal inde-
pendence.^
This cantonal '' splitting up," in which every valley became a little world
in itself, undoubtedly had its bad side. It created a great many clashing
interests, and by limiting the political horizon it prevented the Greeks from
taking that broad view of affairs which is inseparable from true national
feeling. He was the true patriot in Hellas who could show his fellow-citizens, not
how to promote the welfare of the whole land, but how to secure the aggrandise-
ment of that particular little corner of the land to which he and they belonged.
Each of the great States — Argos, Sparta, Athens, Thebes — regarded Herself
as the centre of Hellas ; and, with the noble exception of Athens during the
Persian War, not one could be induced to accept of a subordinate position for
the good of the whole. In this way, through mutual rivalry and jealousy.
National Unity, as we understand it, was never attained in Hellas. In this
way, also, a door was opened for the machinations, first of Macedonia, and
later of Borne. Both of these Powers studiously sowed discord among the
several States, and then used the feeling of hatred thus fostered to serve their
1 The number of the Boeotian States seems to have sunk to ten at the time of the
Peloponnesian War, to seven at that of the Battle of Leuctra (Thucyd. iv. 91 ; Diod. xv. 52,
53 ; Paus. ix. 13, 3).
2 Curtius (Ernst), Peloponnesus, ii. p. 469. Including the town of Orneas, mentioned in
Homer, the little Asopus valley had no fewer than three States.
^ Paus. viii. 27, cf. Bursian, Geog. von Griechenland, ii. pp. 193, 240.
8 THE LAND
own ends. As has been said over and over again, the internal divisions and
quarrels of Greece made her fall inevitable, as soon as a concentrated military
Power, like that of Macedonia, arose on her frontiers.
Nevertheless, although from one standpoint this was matter greatly to
be regretted — for it ultimately led to the political ruin of Hellas — yet we
cannot but see that this very diversity (and even the per-versity into which
it sometimes grew) was more favourable to the mission of the Hellenes than
any National Unity could possibly have been.
" How so ? " says an astonished reader ; " what could have been better for
the Hellenes than that they should have formed one great whole instead of a
mere aggregate of paltry little States ? "
To have formed one great whole, we reply, might have been better in the
end for the Hellenes themselves ; but not for us, the Nachwelt, and that for
four very good reasons : —
{a) First, the seclusion and isolation in which each State passed its youth
must have tended wonderfully to strengthen that individuality which is so
marked a feature in Greek character, and so all-essential an element in the
making of experiments.
{h) The second reason (a tolerably selfish one) is, that from the varied
experiments of numerous States we moderns have had bequeathed to us a
much richer experience than we should have possessed had one experiment
only been made. The political experiments of Athens, for instance, were
not those of Sparta, whilst those of Thebes differed from both. And we can
learn from all.
(c) But, thirdly, what shall we say when we reflect that, but for the
configuration of the country and the special character which this stamped
upon the separate little States, there probably would have been no Hellenic
history at all worth recording ? Yet this is the opinion of thinkers. It is
to her internal, friendly, dividing mountains that Hellas owes much of her
greatness. Without these protecting walls, on the one hand, the Hellenic
tribes in the earliest times would have fallen a prey to one another, and in
the constant friction of petty wars (which, even as it was, seem to have
gone on briskly) they would have sunk into lawlessness and barbarism, such
as prevailed among the rude peoples on their borders. Without their pro-
tecting walls, on the other hand, the Hellenes might have been forced into
slavish submission to a native despot, and so shared the fate of the empires
of the East.i This, however, was rendered impossible by the structure of
the country ; it offers no one single point which could be used as a military
position for dominating the rest of the land and so keeping it in subjection.^
Thus, Nature in Hellas did nothing to help forward the foundation of
one united State — everything, rather, to promote the development of many
little perfectly independent States ; and thus she marked out for the Hellenes
that path whereby they were enabled to keep to the happy mean between law-
lessness on the one hand and slavish submission on the other.
{d) This brings us to our fourth reason, which follows naturally from what
has been said. We of the present day are apt to smile at the dimensions
^ "If Hellas had formed one great State, it would easily have sunk into the same stagna-
tion in patriarchal forms which we meet with everywhere, more or less, throughout the East."
Hermann, Lehrbuch der Gr. Staatsalterthiimer, § 6 : 1875.
2 " There is no position in Greece analogous to that of the high Oastilian plateau, by which
the Iberian peninsula is commanded. Neither is the country formed in such a way that the
smaller valleys converge into one chief valley, which might thereby acquire such significance
for the whole land, as, e.g., the Danube- valley possesses for Austria." — Neumann und Partscli,
Physikal. Geog. von Griecherdand, p. 187.
DIVERSITY AND INDIYIDUALITY 9
of an Hellenic State — often, as we have seen, a single city with the plain
at its foot, or the land immediately surrounding it, constituted a " State " —
and to make merry over its " parochial " organisation, its tiny fleet, and
miniature army. Nevertheless, if we will but take the trouble to think the
matter out, we shall see that the little Greek States were precisely fitted
for the work which they had to do.
This has been brought out very clearly by Ernst Ourtius in his charming
Discourse on "Large and Small Cities," and their relative advantages.^ After
conducting his hearers to the large cities of antiquity — Nineveh, which re-
quired a three days' peregrination to wander through it ; Babylon, covering
a space so vast that one part was in the hands of the enemy whilst, in the
little-witting centre, dancing and festivities were going on — he takes them
to the small typical Greek city, a city which might have been found in any
district of Hellas, and which might be called with truth a real work of art,
inasmuch as it corresponded to Aristotle's definition of the Beautiful: every
part was subordinate to the Whole, and the Whole was not too large to be
taken in at a glance. There, on the citadel-rock, were the temples of the
guardian deities of the State ; beneath lay the market-place and the theatre ;
beyond the walls a little way were the stadium and the gymnasium. Pro-
portion and Order, governed by artistic intelligence, ruled the whole. Within
these clearly defined limits grew up a healthy Public Opinion. The citizens
knew one another, and felt themselves members of one community ; each
would be ashamed to do aught in the eyes of his fellows that might injure
the traditions or the laws. Every citizen was within reach of the Herald's
voice — of the Orator's eloquence.
Compare this picture — clear-cut and definite like a Greek mountain itself —
with that of the overgrown monstrosity called a Nineveh or a Babylon. Can
we not see how perfectly adapted the microcosm of a Greek " State " was to
develop, in the world's infancy, all the best qualities of a citizen and a patriot ?
The inhabitants of a Nineveh or a Babylon were not " citizens " ; they were
mere units, ciphers valued only as swelling a gigantic total — a total too cumbrous
and unwieldy to be able to exert its own strength. The citizens of a Greek State,
on the other hand, were the rational members of an intelligent organism.
Each knew that something depended upon Tiim, that by the wisdom of his
counsel or the cunning of his hand — yea, hy the strength of his sinews or the
fleetness of his foot — he could serve his Mother-city. Each had a voice in the
passing of the laws, and thus grew up the sense of political responsibility, and
with it the necessity for political liberty.
Now we can understand, can we not 1 something of the passionate love with
which the men of Trapezus clung to their city, insignificant and inartistic as it
probably was ; the dogged resistance which they opposed to the attempt to merge
their political individuality in that of a large and strange organism. Another
feeling also was at work to deepen the sense of patriotism in a Greek — the fact
that outside of his own city he had no rights whatever. This, however, will be
more conveniently discussed in our next section. Here we have said enough
to show how admii'ably fitted the Greek States were for the work which they had
to do. In these little " parochial " States were made experiment after experiment
in the art of government — experiments which, one and all, are intensely
interesting in their gradual working-out, inasmuch as in no two States were
the results arrived at the same. How to secure the due liberty of the
individual with the due liberty of the whole is a question not to be solved in a
^ Curtius (E. ), Grosse und Kleine Stddte, reprinted in Alterthum und Gegenwart, i.
p. 369.
lo THE LAND
day ; and hence, all sorts and forms of rule — monarchical, aristocratical,
democratical, tyrannical in a good sense and tyrannical in a bad sense — had to
be tried before the harmony of the Ideal State could be attained.
As yet, however, we are a long way from the harmony of the Ideal State.
The Grseco- Aryans have many preliminary experiments to make before they
attain to this — if, indeed, they may be said ever to have fully attained to it.
Nevertheless, the goal is always in view, and here are the separate sheltered
valleys and plains waiting to afford a scene of action for the experiments.
Nature, at least, has done her best to give each little Republic fair play, and
make the ideal possible.
Just, then, as the giant bulwarks on the north and on the encircling seas
gave protection to the whole, and secured freedom to the nation, so, in a like
manner, did the intersecting ranges of the interior, and the friendly bays and
gulfs which run up far inland to meet them, defend the freedom of the
individual State, and render possible the gaining of freedom by the Individual
Citizen.
INTERCOURSE— PROGRESS— EXPANSION
The next essential (although a later one) for an experimenter is — com-
munication with others. At first, his own efforts engross all his attention ;
but afterwards, when he begins to feel strong within himself, when his plans
have taken definite shape, he wishes to find out what others are doing, what
progress they have made. As iron sharpens iron, so is a certain mental friction
necessary to keep the faculties free from any trace of rust, and the wits keen
and bright. Now, how did Hellas answer to this condition ?
" Very badly indeed," says a reader. " So, at least, I should imagine. The
separating mountain-walls must have been effectual in preventing intercourse."
True — but you forget that almost all the Greek cantons opened, on one side
at least, to the Sea. If the mountains acted as separating walls, the sea was a
" uniting path " ; and that the Greeks knew very early how to make use of it
in this way there is no doubt. The " watery ways " of Homer are not the
rivers of Greece, for these are not navigable ; ^ they are the seas that
encompass Hellas on every side except the north. The sea was the scene of some
of the earliest experiments of the Hellenes, possibly of that very experiment
which brought them into their historic home ; supposing, that is, the theory
of the Asiatic origin of the Aryans to be true, and this theory has been by no
means yet conclusively disproved. ^
It is believed on very good grounds that the Aryans had not seen the sea
before the Dispersion,^ and, if this were the case, it must have requii'ed no
^ The Achelous in Northern Greece, and the Alpheius and Pamisus in Peloponnesus, may
be termed "navigable," but only for light boats and for a short way.
"^ For the probable route taken by the Aryans on this hypothesis, see Hellas, p. 51 et seq.
("The Dispersion.")
2 Whether the Aryans had seen the sea before the Separation or not, is still a keenly
contested point. That they had not seen it, however, may fairly be inferred from four facts : —
(a) There is no name for the Sea common to both the north-western (European) and
south-eastern (Asiatic) Aryans. The names common to the European branch are as follows:
Lat., Mar-e; Goth., mar-ei; Lith., mar-es ; Old Slav, mor-je ; Jr., muir.
Corresponding to the Sanscrit, mar-u-s, "desert." All are probably traceable to a root
mar, which has given the Latin mors, " death " — our mortal.
In this European list, as will be noted, Greek and Albanian are wanting. The Greeks
coined names for themselves.
The names for the sea in the Asiatic branch (Indian and Persian), are also quite different, and
INTERCOURSE—PROGEESS— EXPANSION 1 1
small courage and resolution to make the grand experiment, and trust them-
selves for any distance upon it. The story of the effort seems to be contained
in the names which the Greeks coined for the sea. They called it not only Hals,
" the briny " ; Thalassa, " the troubled " ; and Pelagos, " the striker " (from the
beating of the waves) ; but Pontos, " the pathway." It is as though at some
crisis of their history, when it had become necessary to cross the sea, and most
of those concerned were shrinking back in fear and dismay from venturing on
tho stormy deep, some dauntless spirit had risen up in their midst and said
only coined in historic times (c/. G. Curtius, Principles of Greek Etymology, 468 ; Max Miiller,
Biographies of Words, pp. 109, 152).
Dr. Schrader, Handelsgeschichte, p. 40, regards the connection of mare, &c., with Sans.
marus, "desert," as "highly improbable" ; but he suggests no.better meaning to take its place.
It is on the face of it by no means improbable that the name, "dead water," should have
been given by a primitive people to the water of the sea, when they noticed its effect on
vegetation, and found out by experience that it was not fit to drink.
(6) Salt would seem to have been unknown to the Aryans before the Dispersion. The
two great branches have no common name for it, and the oldest Indians and Persians do not
appear to have been acquainted with it at all (Schrader, Sprachvergleichung und Urgeschichte,
P- 373; V- Hehn, Das Salz, p. 16 etseq.).
Hehn suggests that the Aryans, as they went west, would probably meet around the Aral
and Caspian Seas with lakes, dry and half-dry, filled with salt- crystals, remains in the desert
of the seas which once overspread this region. Here for the first time, he supposes, they
would see and taste the precious mineral. But this is taking too much for granted. The
fact remains, as Hehn himself admits, that the Greeks, at least, always associated salt with the
sea. To Homer, men who do not know the sea are also men who mingle no salt with their
food [Od. xi. 122). If salt had been known in the earliest times, language would have shown
some trace of it ; for whenever its purifying and preservative qualities were discovered, salt
was considered sacred by the nations of antiquity, and was sprinkled by them on their sacrifices,
whilst sea-water was used in religious purifications (see under " Eleusinia," Hellas, p. 270, for
an instance in point).
(c) Fish. — Thirdly, there is no common name for fish, either for fish generally, or for
special kinds, in the Aryan vocabulary (Schrader, Sprachvergleichung, pp. 1 7 1, 371). This is
one great reason why the Aryans should not have come from the north of Europe, as main-
tained by Dr. Penka, for the Scandinavian kjokken-moeddings are full of fish- and shellfish-
remains, as proved by Professor Prestwich ; in them periwinkles, oysters, and mussels, as well
as the bones of herrings and four or five other species of fishes, have been found. Assuredly,
had these formed part of the usual diet of the Aryans before the Dispersion, their names would
have been carried by the various members of the family to their new homes (Miiller, Biog.
of Words, p. 117).
[d) Navigation.. — A fourth inference may be drawn from the paucity of nautical terms in
the common Aryan vocabulary. On this point no one has spoken more strongly than Dr.
Schrader himself {Handelsgeschichte, p. 41). "Even supposing," he says, "that the Western
Aryans had really reached the sea at a period in which, ethnologically, they still stood very
near to each other, it by no means follows that they had at that period ventured to trust them-
selves upon its stormy waves in the frail barks in which they sailed upon their lakes and rivers.
The fact is, that the Indo-Germanic vocabulary knows only two terms for navigation in the
very earliest times. These are Ship and Oar. Of agreement in such terms as boat, mast, sail,
sail-yard, anchor, rudder, keel, there is not a trace in the collective languages, either between
Greek and Latin, or between Slav and German, or between Slav and Lithuanian, &c., &c."
Navigation, therefore, seems to have played a very subordinate part in the life of the old
Indo-Germanic races ; and in accordance with the testimony of language is the fact that it is
almost never mentioned in the A vesta, and but rarely in the Rig- Veda, the oldest Aryan book
in existence (Schrader, Sprachvergleichung, p. 407).
Summing up, now, our four facts, the argument may be put in a nutshell, thus : Is it
credible that a primitive people, born and bred in sight of the sea, should have transmitted to
their descendants no distinctive name either for the deep itself, or for its fish, or for its salt
flavour, a flavour never forgotten when once tasted ? Further, is it credible that they should
have handed down no name for the technical objects connected with a ship, or even for the
winds which play so prominent a part in the seaman's life? (Schrader, Handelsgeschichte, p. 41).
This clearly is a case in which the inference from the silence of language must be allowed due
weight, and that inference would seem to be that, previous to the Dispersion, the Aryans
had not seen the sea. Let us recollect, however, that the last word has not yet been spoken
on the subject.
12 THE LAND
to the proposer of retreat, as Diomedes, the Graeco- Aryan, said on a time to
Agamemnon {Iliad, ix. 40 et seq.) : " Think ye, Sir, that all the sons of our
race are cowards and weaklings ? Let those flee who will to flee ! As for me
and mine, we shall stay, for with a God are we come. And as for this Thalassa,
which scares ye all, over its waters we mean to go. They shall be to us
PoNTOS, a Path, and a highway to that unknown land that lies beyond." ^
Whether the name originated in any such combination of circumstances or
not — every significant name, let us remember, has a story behind it — we shall
never know. Certain it is, however, that the word " Pontos " gives us a clue
to the after-history of the people — a whole world of energy and determination
lies hidden in it. For, the men who gave the name of " highroad," " uniting
path," to the unknown deep, at a time when all the other European Aryans
could find no better designation for it than the "barren," " the waste," the
" dead water," were — whether they came from North or South — whether they
gave the name during their migration, or after it — these men were the
ancestors of a great and noble people. Precisely " of such stuff " were the
Makers of Hellas.
That the later Greeks recognised the effort required to attain the mastery
over the sea is proved by the grand ode in the Antigone (Soph., Antig., 332
et seq.), in which Sophocles describes the wonders wrought by man — how he has
furrowed Earth herself, the oldest of the gods, with the plough, and bridled the
horse, and tamed the never-wearied bull of the mountain, and developed Speech,
and organised cities. In the very front of these achievements, as first and fore-
most of all, the great instance of the astounding boldness of Man, the poet
places this — that man has made his way across the grey sea in the teeth of
stormy winds and amid the surging billows.
We do not need now to be told that seamanship was one of the arts developed
by the Hellenes themselves, not one of those which they borrowed from the East.
We assume that they succeeded the Phoenicians in the command of the Medi-
terranean, and therefore we are apt to infer that they derived their seafaring
knowledge from these first mariners. Not so. That Greek seamanship was
entirely of native origin and home growth is proved by the testimony of
language. The nautical terminology of Homer is rich and original, derived
neither from a Semitic nor from any other Aryan source. The Greeks must
have been at home on the sea before they knew the Phoenicians (0. Schrader,
Handelsgesdiidite, p. 43).
The Hellenes, in fact, like the English, could not help being sailors —their
circumstances compelled it. Hellas, indeed, is not an island, but it resembles
England in this respect, that but few places in the country are out of reach of
the sea. Little Greece, whose superficial area is much less than that of Portugal,
has a greater seaboard than that of Spain and Portugal taken together. A
glance at a map will show the reason of this. The coastline of Spain and
Portugal, and also of Italy, is comparatively regular, while that of Greece is
jagged, contorted, and strongly marked by countless indentations — arms of the
sea, bays, and gulfs. The irregularities of the coast of Greece are no less
remarkable than are the irregularities of her surface. Everywhere the action
of the sea is apparent in the formation of the land, which, indeed, is so cut up
by the beating of the waves on either side (in combination with other physical
^ Pontos is thought to be related to patos, "a path," and allied to pons, pontis, "a bridge,"
not a barrier, "To the Greeks the sea is the uniting path (Gr. Curtius, op. cit., 349 ; Kuhn's
Zeitschr., i. 34 ; Max Miiller, Science of Language, ii. p, 355). Fick (I. iii. p. 135) assigns as the
meaning ol pontos, " broad, spread-out." If this meaning had been in the ininds of the Greeks,
would they have. used the name to denote a narrow strait like Helles-pont?
INTERCOURSE— PROGRESS— EXPANSION 13
causes) as to form not one great peninsula, like the Pyrensean or the Italian,
but a succession of small peninsulas, sharply defined — such as Attica, the
Argolic, Laconian, Messenian, and so on.
This great highway, then, was open to all or nearly all. No, district of
Hellas, except Arcadia, Phlius, and the Pindus range, is cut off from the sea.
Every State possessed its link of communication with its neighbours and with
the outer world, ^
That the Hellenes should have had intercourse with the outer world also
was of great importance, and this the geographical position of the land ensured.
The South-Eastern extremity of Europe, Hellas lies, as it were, between three
worlds. Opposite stretch the most fertile parts of Africa — the Egypt of
ancient days, with its mysterious religion, its curious art and learning.
Nearer, across a sea studded with chains of islands, each of which, in the
infancy of navigation, served as a stepping-stone to the mariner, lie the shores
of Asia, the home of the earliest civilisation. To the west, separated only by
waters whose breadth in some places does not exceed forty miles, is Italy, in
these old times the representative of unexplored regions beyond. Thus stood
Hellas, between the Old World and the New — the gateway, as it were, through
which the primitive knowledge of the East was to enter upon a fresh and more
vigorous life of progress in the West.
But while her geographical position thus suggested great possibilities, there
were not wanting indications, clearly marked indications, as to how these
possibilities were to become actualities. To return once more to our old
comparison : Just as the Hebrews were kept to their mission by stringent,
legal, and social barriers — Divine commands, which prohibited them from
mingling with the nations around — so, in like manner, were the Hellenes
assisted by deterring natural barriers in keeping faithful to the mission
entrusted to them. While Hellas was admirably placed for intercourse with
the older nations of the world — the peoples who had preceded her in the march
of civilisation — she was effectually prevented from seeking intercourse with
races from whom she could learn nothing. From the rude barbarians of the
north she was separated, as we have already seen, by her mountains ; and from
the tribes on the west (who were only just beginning to feel their way upwards,
when the Hellenes were already far advanced in culture), she was cut off by
the nature of the coast — in early days an effectual hindrance to intimate
communication. The western shores of Hellas are not well suited to naviga-
tion. There are few natural harbours, and where the coast is not lined by
rugged cliffs, it abounds in marshes and lagoons. With the features of
Western Greece we shall become more familiar as we proceed. Here it is
sufficient for our purpose to note that, during the earliest development of
Hellas, intercourse with the outer world took place mainly on the eastern side,
which is rich in deep bays and good natural harbours. ^ When the Hellenes
began to be strong in themselves, and to emerge from mere tribal life, then
^ This even Arcadia contrived to procure for a time by the annexation of a coast-strip in
Triphylia (Southern Elis), so that an old writer, Dicsearchus, could say with truth that all the
States of Peloponnesus lay on the sea {Cic. ad Att, vi. 2). Arcadia, moreover, must in very
early times have had communication with the sea, if, as Pausanias tells us (viii. 3, 5), she was
the first to send out colonies to Italy {cf. E. Curtiu?, Pd., i. 167).
2 " We cannot fail to recognise the incomparably more favourable formation of the eastern
side of Peloponnesus for commerce and intercourse by sea. The east is the front, the face of
the peninsula, which is thereby directed and summoned, as it were, to connection with Asia —
to take up and transplant the older civilisation of the East" (E. Curtius, Pel., i. 2l). The
same rule holds good in an even more remarkable manner of Northern Greece, as we shall
presently see.
14 THE LAND
they came into active communication with the peoples of the west — but not
until then. Thus, by a second set of natural circumstances {cf. p. ii, c), they
escaped the danger of becoming barbarised, and the work of experimenting
went on unchecked by alien influences.
And now, since we have taken Progress as the key-note to this section —
having said so much about the " watery roads" of Hellas generally, let us just
take a brief glance at some of the special ways in which they may be supposed
to have assisted in the development of civilisation and of the national
character.
I. Material Progress. One fact, to start with, is patent, viz., that whenever
the different little communities of Hellas were ripe enough for intercourse with
each other, the means of securing such intercourse were at hand without the
necessity of keeping to the land. Had the Hellenes been restricted to the
interior, progress would have been indefinitely delayed, for road-making in
such a country as theirs is attended with great difficulties. On the shores of
every part of the country, however, as we know, dashed the sea, with its deep
blue waves — far more beautiful than our own grey northern waters. And, as
we also know, the spirit of adventure, the courage to try and to trust the
unknown element, was there equally with the opportunity. Without this,
indeed, the opportunity in early days would have been useless. But, further,
another motive, as strong perhaps as the love of adventure, urged on the
primitive Hellene, and this was curiosity. It was no broad, limitless expanse
of ocean that he looked out upon. Everywhere and from every part of Hellas
(excepting the western coast of Messenia and Elis) one or more islands are to
be seen, while beyond them the coast of another part of the mainland may often
be descried. If, therefore, these first Hellenes obeyed the very natural instinct
which bade them ask : What sort of land is that perpetually within sight ? —
What manner of men may they be that dwell thereon ? — they could make the
venture and satisfy their curiosity safely, for the goal was in sight, and the
well-known mountain-peaks of their home would serve as landmarks to guide
them back again. ^
Thus, the island-strewn seas of Greece, and her deeply-indented coasts —
offering in their sheltered bays an experimental school for seamanship — were
pre-eminently adapted to forward the development of navigation in the
earliest times. Even the winds and the currents conspired by their regularity
to assist. Certainly, the Archipelago is not without its dangers ; to the sudden
squalls which sweep round its islands, its ancient name " -^gaean " is probably
due.2 Their dread, moreover, of the opposing winds and currents which meet
round one of the southerly points of Peloponnesus — Cape Malea, in Laconia —
the Greeks expressed in the proverb : " Double Malea, and forget your home."
That the Hellenes were familiar enough both on land and sea with the
phenomena of great and mighty winds is amply proved by passages in their
history, by the honours paid to Boreas, the North Wind, and by the curious
survival of the earliest Nature-religion mentioned by Pausanias at Titane, in
Achaia, where was an Altar of the Winds, and where were shown four pits in
which the powers of the atmosphere were pacified and soothed by magical
incantations (Paus., ii. 12, i).
Nevertheless, during the summer months at least — the season of navigation
— the mariner knew what to look for. He knew that "through the midst
of the sea a current went from north to south, accompanied on both sides
along the coast by contrary currents, and he made use of one or the other,
1 Neumann und Partsch, Physikalisch Geographie von Griechenland, ch. ii.
2 See Hdlas, p. 42.
INTERCOURSE— PROGRESS— EXPANSION 15
according to the direction in which his vessel sailed " (Neumann und Partsch,
o'p. cit., p. 149). Even the Etesia, again, the rough northern winds of July
and August, are not exempt from this characteristic of regularity. The seaman
knows exactly when to expect them, and can arrange accordingly. The name
*' Etesia " itself means " yearly " or regularly-recurring winds.
Granted that the early Hellenes made use of their *' highroad " only
too frequently for the piratical attacks on one another of which Thucydides
tells us (i. 5), there can be no doubt that intercourse by sea was a great factor
in the development of civilisation as well as of piracy. The Hellene could
launch his little skiff, and, taking with him such native products as would
ensure for him a friendly reception, could visit, in the course of a week, a
dozen sovereign States, and see for himself what each was doing, how it was
governed, what progress it was making in the useful arts, and so on. Granted,
again, that most of the little States were pretty much on the same level as
regards technical skill, it nevertheless stands to reason, from the variety of
natural productions in Greece, that one would excel in one department of
industry, another in a second ; and, as has been well said, it was of far more
importance to the primitive man that he should see, say, the art of dressing
wool one stage further advanced than his own technique admitted of, than that
he should see the most superb purple robe, wrought and coloured he knew not
how (Neumann u. Partsch, op. cit,, p. 134).
That the primitive Hellene did see such dazzling works of art as purple
robes, fit for the shoulders of kings and chieftains, and that he must thereby
have been rendered very much dissatisfied with his own rough, undyed, not-
over-savoury sheep-skin coat, is an undoubted fact. And that he knew,
moreover, of the existence of sharp swords and axes of metal, polished and
ornamented in a way which, when compared with his own rude instruments,
must have caused him (artist from the first) much grief of soul, is another
undoubted fact. For he had only to permit the landing of strangers on his
own coast, or to visit the factories of the same strangers at Corinth, or on
the islands of Thasos and Cythera, or in certain other places, to see all these
wonders for himself.
The very same island-streams which were so helpful to the Greek sailors,
were helpful also to these Eastern peoples — Phoenicians and Lycians — who
paid them visits from time to time. Across the bridge formed by the islands
of Rhodes, Carpathos, Casos, Crete, Cythera, with the intervening little islets,
came the Phoenicians, and although their coming was anything but an un-
mixed benefit to the Hellenes, as we shall presently see, yet there can be
little doubt, not only that the latter learned from them in the material
arts — weaving, dyeing, and working in metals — but that they were indebted to
the Phoenicians for the introduction of the system of Weights and Measures
afterwards used throughout the land, and of the Alphabet — the foundation of
their literary enterprises.^
While admitting, however, that the intercourse with these Eastern visitors
must have been stimulating to the Greeks, we must guard against attributing
too much weight to this factor in their development, for they soon became
independent of it. If they went to school to the Phoenicians, they speedily
outstripped their teachers.
2. The Breaking^ down of Prejudice. — In yet another way did the "watery
roads" of Hellas help on progress. By rendering intercourse easy, they
brought the different little clans together, and so broke down prejudice by
^ See Hellas, p. 58.
1 6 THE LAND-
making them acquainted with each other. In very early times, as we know,
such acquaintance is feared rather than desired. This point is so important
that, at the risk of wearying the reader, we must pause for a moment to
consider it.
Not only is there the testimony of history, but we have the evidence
of language to prove that the Greeks of the earliest times were by no
means ambitious to make the acquaintance of their neighbours. The words
*' neighbour," as applied to an adjacent people, and " enemy " were, in fact,
synonymous in ancient times.
Says Dr. Schrader on this subject {op. cit., p. 4) : " The primitive man
knows only the interests of his own district, of his own clan ; he considers,
therefore, as his equals only those living with himself, those united by the
same necessities, and the same traditions and customs [Satzungen, ius]. The
stranger in a primitive community enjoys neither protection nor rights. Nay
more, since at any moment invasion might come upon the land from without,
* neighbour ' is essentially identical with ' enemy,' and the stranger is regarded
with suspicion and hatred. Hence, to destroy him, or, at least, to keep him
off the home ground, is a good work."
" Surely," says the reader, " the Greeks were never on so low a level as
this ! What about that beautiful relation of the host and the guest-friend,
the xenia, that we find in Homer ? "
Ah ! we are very far from Homer yet, and it is clear from the evidence
of language that the Aryans, on their entrance into history, were still at
the stage of distrust and suspicion, or but just quitting it. That the Greeks
were ever on the level of the Scyths of the Pontus — who, as Strabo tells
us (p. 300), sacrificed all foreigners, eating their flesh, and making drinking-
cups of their skulls — we do not for a moment imply. Nevertheless, they
shared this hatred of foreigners ; for the very word xenos^ which came to
have so beautiful a meaning, is believed to have signified originally " the
slayer," " the injurer," " the enemy." Nor were the Greeks alone in thus
detesting foreigners, for our own Anglo-Saxon gaed^ with all the allied
Northern words, and the Latin Tiostis, have the same root-meaning (Schrader,
op. cit., p. 5 et seq.).
So much for the testimony of language. Then we have it on the autho-
rity of Thucydides that the earliest Hellenes kept up a kind of piratical
warfare on their neighbours, and that, far from being ashamed of this, they
gloried in it (Thuc, i. 5) ; those outside of their own community, that is,
they regarded as fair objects of attack and plunder.
This was the state of affairs in the earliest ages, and the same spirit in a
milder form presents itself everywhere in historic times. It is very necessary
at the outset that we should understand this, for it is closely connected with
the peculiar development of Greek political life. It was only in his native
State that a Greek had any rights at all. Outside of this, he was utterly help-
less and friendless. Hence the intensity of affection with which every Hellene
clung to his own Metro-polis, his Mother-city. Hence, also, the close con-
nection in antiquity between political and individual liberty. It was the
State alone that made the Hellene a freeman — outside of her he was not a
man, but a "thing," possessed of no rights whatsoever. Here we have the
roots of slavery as it exists in antiquity, and also of that distrust of the out-
side world which regarded the outer world as a power that might bring a man
into the terrible condition of slavery. Now we can understand how it was
that the members of the little Parrhasian tribe, whose story we know,i preferred .
^ See ante, p. 7.
INTERCOURSE— PROGRESS— EXPANSION 1 7
to wander out of Peloponnesus altogether, rather than become merged in the
" new-fangled " Great City, where they had no certain guarantee that their
status as citizens and freemen would be recognised. Now we can understand
also how it was that the conservative Spartans kept up, even in later times,
their early restrictions against foreigners — and let us recollect that a citizen of
any other State (say, an Argive, an Athenian, or a Theban) was an alien on
Spartan soil. Now also we can understand how it was that, even in liberal,
cosmopolitan Athens, as in Rome, every resident foreigner required to be under
the protection of a native citizen, who was, as it were, answerable before the
law for him.
This long digression proves that in antiquity there existed a spirit far more
formidable than any mountain-walls to that progress which results from inter-
national intercourse. Now, how was it overcome ? — for overcome it certainly
was to a great extent.
The answer to this belongs properly to the history of Greek experiments.
Here we would only say that religion played a great part in effecting the
change ; not only by the beautiful idea of Zeus Xenios — Zeus, the god of the
sacred guest-right — but by bringing the various little peoples together in a
peaceful way, and so developing the feeling of oneness, of nationality. That
it was possible, however, for different cities to join in the worship of the same
god — as, for instance, that of the Delian Apollo, or the Calaureian Poseidon —
or to take part in the great national festivals which brought them together in
a friendly and joyous manner — especially in that greatest of all, the festival of
the Olympian Zeus, during which all hostilities ceased, and the " peace of the
god " (the ekeeheiria = " holding of hands ") reigned throughout Hellas — that all
this was possible was mainly due to the facility of intercourse by sea. Then,
commerce followed in the wake of religion, and the Greeks found out that
strangers had a good as well as a bad side. Viewed in the light of possible
purchasers of the commodities which they had to offer, even " barbarians "
became bearable.
Thus, by bringing the various peoples together face to face, and making
them known to each other, the " watery ways" did good service. The vague
dread which lay at the root of the prejudice against foreigners vanished —
in so far as it may be said to have vanished at all in antiquity — before the
sunshine of a nearer intercourse. ^
3. Colonisation. And thus was paved the way for that wondrous expansion
which took place when the various peoples of little Hellas — either driven by
political necessity or beginning to feel their native bounds too strait — sent
forth colony after colony to found that Greater Hellas which sprang up on
every adjacent coast : in Asia Minor and the Islands, in Southern Italy and
Sicily, in Africa, in Thrace and Macedonia, around the northern shores of the
savage Pontus itself, until, as Cicero puts it, Hellas appeared " woven as a
border to the land of the Barbarians " {De j-epub., ii. 4).
And now let us fancy (if we can) a Hellas without the sea — a Hellas pro-
tected and overspread by mountains, as we know it, but lying inland, with no
outlet except its narrow mountain-passes. Or imagine (if you like) a perfectly
flat Hellas, with no internal obstacles to communication, but also lying inland.
Would this wondrous expansion have taken place ? Doubtless to some extent
it would, since expansion seems to be a law of the Aryan peoples ; but it would
^ This will be the more readily understood if we reflect on the change which the develop-
ment of steam-navigation has produced in our own time in the ideas of John Bull regarding his
neighbours on the continent of Europe — a change analogous in kind, if not in degree, to that
which went on among the enterprising Greeks of antiquity.
B
1 8 THE LAND
have taken place infinitely more slowly, with infinitely more diflS.culty and
suffering, without that brilliancy which forms so striking a feature of Greek
development. Had the concourse of men belonging to different Hellenic races
— ^olians, Achoeans, lonians — that streamed to the first great trading centres
of the wider Hellas — Smyrna, Miletus, and the other Ionian coast-towns of
Asia Minor — nothing to do with that wonderful phenomenon, the appearance
of an ar^-dialect — of a Homer ? The influence of the sailor element — to put the
argument on practical ground — is very distinctly traceable, if not in the Iliad,
at least in the Odyssey, and the marvellous adventures of its hero. Moreover,
it was in these first great centres that the beginnings, not only of Poetry, but
of Science and Philosophy were made — intercourse with other minds stimula-
ting thought and calling forth, like an electric current, greater warmth and
more energetic activity (E. Curtius, Grosse und kleine Stddte, loc. cit.).
The influence of the sea has been well summed up by a recent writer,
K. Woermann, Die Landscliaft in der Kunst der alien Volker, p. 83 et seq., as
follows : —
"The sea and the sea alone is the element which unites the different
isolated parts of the Hellenic landscape. One might almost say that no Greek
city which became the representative of a thought helpful to progress
{Kidturgedanke) lay far from the sea. Most of them lay immediately on the
sea, or had, at least, from their Acropolis the sight of its blue waves. This is
true, of course, as regards the Islands, which played a most important part in
the development of Hellenic culture. But it is true also of the coast of Asia
Minor, which is sharply marked off from the interior. This was inhabited by
Greek races ; the character of the landscape harmonises with that of the rest
of Hellas, and shares in this dependence on the sea. Similar bays run up here
also into hilly coast-lands, and here, as there, the shores are bordered by a rich
circle of islands both large and small. In fact, Hellas, the Hellas of the
history of progress, consists mainly of three parts : the western coast-strips of
Asia Minor, the eastern coast of the opposite peninsula (European Greece), and
the Archipelago lying between. But the Archipelago is neither i;he smallest
nor the most insignificant part of Hellas. Any one who has sailed through it
and has observed its beautifully-formed islands as they appear one after the
other, sometimes crowned with a joyous wreath of green, sometimes rising
up in naked, often curiously carved-out rocks, at the foot of which the white
foam dashes — ^gina, Syros, Melos, Andros, Pares, Naxos, Tenos and
Myconos, Lesbos and Chios, as they present themselves to the traveller on the
voyage from Athens to Smyrna and from Smyrna to Cape Malea — any one who
remembers, moreover, the role which these islands played in the history of
culture, some as having given birth to great poets or artists, others as the
sites of much frequented sanctuaries, many intimately associated with the
favourite myths of the Greeks — all important as intermediate anchorages
between the eastern and the western mainlands of the old Hellenic world :
on any one, we say, who has seen and reflected upon all this, the significance
of these island-groups for ancient civilisation, and the significance of the sea
as the means of spreading this civilisation, will be at once and decidedly
apparent. To think of a Hellenic landscape in the fruitful time of Hellas
without the sea is, therefore, hardly possible."
Thus, in a third particular, the little land of Hellas was provided with
exactly what she needed. Essential as were the protecting and dividing
mountains in early days, they would have acted injuriously later by cramping
and confining the energies of the race had not the glorious outlet of the sea ex-
isted, to give scope to every latent power and lead on to countless experiments.
INTERCOURSE— PROGRESS— EXPANSION 19
4. Development of Character. Most of us are familiar with Mr. Grote's
famous dictum on certain aspects of the Greek national character. That " their
position made the Greeks at once mountaineers and mariners " {Hist, of Greece,
ii. p. 154), is a saying which conveys a good deal more than lies on the surface.
We may still further express the effect of both factors on the Hellenic develop-
ment by saying that '* the Mountains made the Greeks Maintainors — of the
old ; the Sea made them Seekers — after the new " — in other words, Experi-
menters. Pontos and pioneering are connected by more than alliteration. We
can easily see this by examining the two types of character which, as Mr.
Grote points out, undoubtedly predominated in Hellas.
Amid his mountains the Greek grew up a shepherd and a hunter, with all
the qualities coincident with the pastoral life : he was brave and hardy, simple,
often boorish in his habits and tastes, conservative, a " stickler " for old customs,
and desirous of moving on in the old groove.
At the same time, within reach of every Greek (with the exception, as
before mentioned, of the Arcadians and the mountaineers of Mount Pindus),
within sight constantly of very many, was another element, differing altogether
from solid mother earth — sparkling, flashing perpetually under the sunny sky,
inviting and inciting him to try his luck upon it. Hence, we have also another
element in the Hellenic character — the versatile, adventurous, quick-witted
sailor-element ; the thirst for novelty, the inquisitive seeking after fresh ideas,
the readiness of adaptation to new ways and new customs, the tolerance of what
is unusual in the habits of others.
The first type of character was seen most markedly in the Arcadian, who,
shut up within his mountains, came least into contact with other peoples ; the
last, in the Ionian of Miletus. Between these two extremes, there were
many shades and varieties. It will easily be surmised, however, that
experimenting, and with it, progress, went on more rapidly among peoples of
the mariner- than amongst those of the mountaineer-type ; and this inference
is borne out by facts.
5. Development of Liberty. Finally, there only remains to be noted that
one influence of the sea which, to some minds, transcends all others. If the
mountains gave the Hellene the instinct of sturdy resistance, of dauntless
defiance, the sea breathed into him the ardour to do and to dare all in defence
of his mountain-home :
"The mountains look on Marathon
And Marathon looks on the sea,"
and it was with these ''two voices" ringing in their ears that the Hellenes
fought out the world's first and greatest battle in the cause of freedom. 1 To
the Greek, the mountains and the sea were the double pledge that the country
which they protected and encircled was the heritage of her children — theirs to
enjoy in freedom. He would have been dull and passionless indeed through
whose veins the blood should not have coursed more swiftly at the very thought
of any attempt to wrest from him what the gods so manifestly had sealed to
him as his own !
1 If, as we learn, the first draft of these lines was —
" Euboca looks on Marathon
And Marathon looks on the sea " —
Byron shewed his keen insight into Greek character by the alteration. (See Works, p. 637, ed.
of 1837.)
20 THE LAND
CLIMATE AND ENERGY
Coming now to a closer inspection of the little land, we are reminded that
there are certain conditions of more vital importance as regards Progress than
even protection and the opportunity for expansion. One grand essential for
successful work is, that the worker shall possess " a sound mind in a sound
body." Doubtless from the first, as now, some of the world's best work was
done by strong minds imprisoned within feeble bodies. Here, however, we
are speaking of the race, and for the race it was all-important that it should
be placed in conditions favourable to health and vigour. How did Hellas
answer to this condition ?
So remarkably that, in one case, it attracted the attention of the Hellenes
themselves. Thus, Plato says (2\mceus, p. 24c; cf. also Critias, ^. the) —
with a patriotic pride at which we may smile, but which nevertheless was
quite justified — that Athena had selected Attica wherein to plant her chosen
people, because she saw that the happy temperament of the seasons there
would produce the wisest of men ; men who, like herself, would be lovers both
of war and of wisdom — i.e., would possess the sound mind in the sound body.
And of Hellas itself we are told by Herodotus (iii. 106), who, as we know, was
a great traveller, that, beyond all other countries in the world, it enjoyed the
most happily-tempered seasons — an opinion endorsed by competent judges,
such as Aristotle and Hippocrates.
There can, indeed, be little doubt that in ancient times the climate of
Greece was much healthier than it is at present. The causes of this we shall
see clearly as we proceed. Meantime, let us bear in mind that, while we
accept the verdict of Herodotus on the country as a whole, Greece is
a land of contrasts. To begin with, Northern Greece is divided, as regards
general climatic and geological conditions, by the Pindus-range into two dis-
tinct halves. Further south, Parnassus may be regarded as the point of
separation. The eastern coast opens freely to the sea, and is dry and sunny ;
whilst the western is rugged, inhospitable, and generally more moist.
Then again, if we picture to ourselves the multitudinous little districts into
which the country is broken up, it will be evident that by no possibility could
the climate be equable or uniform throughout. There are coast-lands, such as
Attica and Argolis, where both heat and cold are agreeably tempered by the
sea-breezes ; Alpine-lands, such as Western Arcadia, .^tolia, and Doris, with
all the varying conditions of mountain-regions ; broad sunny plains, such as
those of Thessaly and Messenia ; and deep cauldron-shaped basins, such as are
met with in Eastern Arcadia and Boeotia, into which the mild sea-winds that
make the charm of the coast-lands and islands do not often penetrate.
As a consequence of this, in the different parts of the country, different
seasons prevail at one and the same time. Thus, in Arcadia there may be
deep winter-snows, whilst in Argolis and Laconia spring is unfolding in all its
brightness, and in Messenia the sun is glowing already with summer heat.
So much more severe, again, is the winter in Arcadia than in Laconia that
Pausanias attributes the defeat of the Spartans — when on one occasion they
had penetrated into Arcadia to make war on the men of Tegea — to the fact
that they were not able to withstand the severity of an Arcadian snowstorm.
Encumbered with their heavy armour and numbed by the cold, they were
easily overcome (Paus., viii. 53, 10 ; cf. also CurtiusJ Pel.j i. pp. 52, 267). Yet
Tegea lies but a little to the north of Laconia. We have also, on the authority
of the historian Polybius, the often-quoted fact that the Arcadians practised
CLIMATE AND ENERGY 2i
music, not only as an enjoyment, but as a necessity — a softening remedy —
against the harsh influences of their climate.
Nevertheless, amidst all this diversity, the fact remains, that the climate
of Hellas did tend to produce the " sound mind " in the " sound body," Physi-
cally, the ancient Hellenes must have been a fine race. This is evident from
the art-works which have come down to us. Where could Greek sculptors
have found their ideals — the finely-cut profile and beautifully-proportioned
figure which they modelled — save among the people? Even at the present
day, these noble types are not extinct. They are to be met with still in the
very districts which now groan under the worst climatic conditions, Boeotia
and Arcadia.^
Of more importance still is the influence of the climate on the intelledual
life of the Hellenes. Little as we are apt to think about it, climate, with all
that it implies, plays a great part in the mental development of a people. In
reflecting on the history of any nation, two factors must always be taken into
account. These are (i) the race, the stock whence it has sprung, and (2) its
physical surroundings — in other words, the ethno-graphy of the people and the
geo-graphy of their land. Now, the Hellenes, as we have seen, sprang from
the same great Aryan family to which we ourselves belong ; but if we consider
for a moment the subsequent history of the various branches of that family —
the Indian, the Celtic, the Teutonic, &c. — we shall see that some other circum-
stance besides race determines the mental fibre of a people. The contrast
between the contemplative inaction of the Indian Aryan, for instance, and the
stirring energy of his Greek brother, would, as has often been pointed out
(Polyb., iv. 20), be otherwise inexplicable. And this contrast is repeated in
varying shades and degrees through all the different members of the Aryan
family. No two nations have developed precisely in the same way — a fact
which shews plainly that the influences which we class under the names of
" climate," "geographical position," &c., are very potent in shaping the destiny
of a people.
To guard against misapprehension, however, lest any one should imagine
that we are disposed to overrate the importance of these physical surroundings,
let us repeat here the weighty and oft-quoted words of Lassen on this very
subject (Indische Alterthiimskunde, i. p. 411; cf. also Humboldt, Kosmos, ii.
p. 38). Speaking of the Aryans who crossed the Himalayas into India, he
says : " It would be a great mistake to believe that physical influences — either
alone or in greatest measure — determine the character of a people. India,
like other countries, shews this clearly enough ; the tribes of the Deccan and
the Yindhya races were exposed to the same natural influences as the Aryans,
but they never rose independently to a higher development. We must, there-
fore, recognise in the different nations a groundwork of character — an original
spiritual bent — which may be developed and definitely helped or hindered by
the exterior nature of the land, as well as by the events of history. This is
the Genius of the Nations, breathed into them from the creation " — a genius,
which, like that of the individual, may be modified by education and outward
circumstance, but " never can be given."
In our survey, then, we are considering physical conditions as influences
which helped to mould the genius of the Hellenic people. And that such
influences are, as stated above, exceedingly potent no student of history will
^ Speaking of the people of Phigalia in Arcadia, Sir Thomas Wyse says: "Painters need
not here recur to ancient types for authority. The tradition is existing, and the man and the
costume still live " {Excursion in the Peloponnesus, ii. p. 25- Compare also Hermann Bliimner,
Privat-Antiq., § 4).
2 2 THE LAND
deny. These very Hindu Aryans to whom Lassen justly attributes great
intellectual ascendency themselves succumbed in the end to the enervating
influences of the climate. We cannot, therefore, consider it as the result of
mere " chance " that the lot of the great experimenters of the world should
have been cast in a land the climate of which was admirably calculated to spur
them into energetic action. The dolce far niente, the possibility of taking life
easily, which lay within the reach of the Hindu Aryan, was not possible to
any of the Greek Aryans, except the Messenians, and their fate we shall learn
presently.
'* 'Twill not be always summer, make you cabins ! " growls old Father
Hesiod {Works a7id Days, 503). He spoke to those who knew the severity of
a Boeotian winter,^ and " cabins " they accordingly made ; the arts of construc-
tion flourished apace. " Work the works which the gods have marked out for
men ! " he says in another place {Ihid., 397, 398), and there is not the slightest
doubt that the keen blast of winter, the icy prick of mountain-winds, had its
share in furthering this work, as well as the glorious brilliancy of the southern
sunshine, or the invigorating breezes of the iEgsean. Let us make no mistake
here. When we come to investigate their history, we shall find that the
earliest makers of Hellas were great workers. They worked themselves.
Their kings and heroes worked, even their gods they represented as working,
doing with their own hands what we should now call " menial tasks." Poseidon,
the noble Earth-Shaker, unyokes the immortal horses of Father Zeus from the
car; Hera, the goddess-queen, herself harnesses her steeds to the chariot;
Athena, daughter of segis-bearing Zeus, weaves with her own hands the splendid
robe which she exchanges in time of war for the cuirass of the cloud-gatherer ;
it is Hephaestus, the glorious lame god, who builds the palaces wherein dwell
the other immortals {Iliad, viii. 440 ; 381, 382, 384-386 ; i. 6o7).2
Then, if we descend to earth, we find the same scenes enacted among the
great and noble : the sons of King Priam yoke the horses to their father's
chariot ; Odysseus, the man of many devices, chieftain of Ithaca, builds with his
own hands the craft on which he sets sail from Calypso's isle — mark ! it is not
provided for him by the goddess — and his nuptial couch he makes for himself
of olive wood; Nausicaa, the Phseacian princess, not only superintends the
washing of the household linen, but apparently herself shares the toil, paddles
in the running stream, and treads the garments with her little royal feet as
merrily as any of her maidens ; whilst her lady-mother, the queen, sits at home,
and presides over the spinning of the women {Iliad, xxiv. 279; Od., v. 243;
xxiii. 190 ; vi. 85 et seq., 52). So much for the testimony of Homer concerning
the doings of the great folk in the days of chivalry.
As for Hesiod, the poet of the people — a better exponent than Homer
of the opinions of the " masses " — great is his contempt for " do-nothings ! "
Non-workers are worthless creatures, "with whom both gods and men are
wroth" — stingless drones, eating up the honey which others have amassed.
" Work," he says emphatically, " is no disgrace, but sloth is a disgrace "
{Works and Days, 303, 311).
Far from being ashamed of necessary labour, the real Makers of Hellas
gloried in it. They lifted the burthen of toil— as in the Homeric Hymn the
princesses of Eleusis bear off the shining pitchers, which they have filled at
^ See the account of Thebes, Hellas, p. 1^ et seq.
^ Even in Imperial times the conception of the gods as active powers had not entirely died
out, for Pausanias mentions (viii. 32, 4) that he saw at Megalopolis a group of the so-called
"Working-gods" {Ergatai) : Athena Ergane, Mistress of Works; Apollo Agyieus, Way-god,
guardian of highways and roads, &c. (see Hellas, pp. 120-129).
UNIVERSITY )
^«i CLIMATE AND ENERGY 23
the fountain for " the dear house of their father — with a noble grace," exult-
ingly (Homer, Hymn to Demeter, 170). One could see, the old singer implies,
that they were princesses by the very way in which they poised the jars ! ^
And coming down to later times, we find the Work-spirit of old Father
Hesiod the distinguishing characteristic of the Hellenes throughout all their
best days. There is nothing that strikes a thoughtful observer more in the
great ruins on the Acropolis of Athens than the extreme thoroughness of
the workmanship. Even the parts not originally intended to be seen are
found to be as truthfully and carefully wrought as the portions of the design
which were meant to be conspicuous.
Hence we repeat again — the Makers of Hellas were great workers. When,
at a later period, we find the Hellenes despising work — pluming themselves on
the fact that they had no need to work, because there existed a body of in-
ferior beings (slaves) expressly designed to relieve them from toil — we do not
require a prophet to tell us that the un-malcing of Hellas was in progress.
From a nation of Workers, her people had become, or were fast becoming, a
"^ nation of Talkers.
Our present inquiry, however, is concerned with happier times, and we
can see that it was of the utmost consequence to the Hellenes, as Experi-
menters, that their climate should have been such as enabled them to delight
in work for its own sake. We say advisedly to delvjht in work ; for the Greek
climate has another side as well as its sterner wintry aspect. We have dwelt
specially on this, because it is undoubtedly that element which most assists in
developing energy of character ; but the softer element had its share, and a no
less important share, in making the Hellenes what they became. Suppose
that Hellas, with its little mountain-regions, had lain, say, in our own latitude,
the energetic spurs to action, keen frosts and wintry winds, would have been
present in abundance. But would these rough agents ever have succeeded in
" stimulating" the people into that wondrously harmonious development which
is characteristic of all their work ? We venture to say that, making full
allowance for the genius of the race, this question can only be answered in
the negative. It is as much as we moderns living in northern regions can
do — with all our present-day appliances for comfort — to obtain the mastery
over our natural climatic conditions. How would this have been possible in
the early ages of the world ?
Fortunately for the world, Hellas does not lie amid the fogs and chill
blasts of the Baltic and the North Sea, but in the warmer part of the temperate
zone. The genial sunshine of the South was necessary to bring to maturity
fruit so early developed as the Hellenic ; and Hellas is emphatically a land
of the sun.
The only part of the country in which a systematic study of the climate
has been carried out as yet is Athens. The following table, however, giving
the mean of a series of observations, made by Julius Schmidt (director of the
Observatory), and extending over a period of twenty-four years, speaks volumes
(Neumann u. Partsch, op. cit., p. 24) : —
Athens has —
Of clear days in the year, on which the sun is not hid for a moment 179
Bright days on which it is hid, perhaps, for half-an-hour . . 157
Cloudy days 26
Days when the sun is not seen at all 3
365^
^ For the story of the visit of the goddess Demeter to earth, and her acting as nurse at
Eleusis in the family of Oeleus, see Hellas, p. 258, et seq.
24 THE LAND
Three hundred and thirty-six days of almost unclouded sunshine ! Contrast
this with the meagre share which falls to our own lot in the pale north.^ Con-
trast our mists and fogs and dull grey sky with the purity and transparency of
the Attic air, the glowing blue of the Attic sky, and we shall cease to wonder
at the early development of the genius of the race. In such a climate, under
such conditions, the very burthens of life are lightened, its roughnesses are
smoothed.
True, Attica is not Hellas, and no other part of the country possesses
in an equal degree the climatic conditions which gave Attica the pre-eminence.
Nevertheless, the fact remains that in every district of Hellas, without excep-
tion, the people could, as we have said, delight in work for its own sake.
Their energies were neither lethargised by excessive heat, nor paralysed by
excessive cold.^ The climatic diversities of the little States are, however,
best considered in connection with a subject to which they stand in close
relation — viz., the soil.
NATURAL RESOURCES AND SELF-HELP
"Yes!" says a reader, "climate is, of course, a weighty factor, but I
should think that the fertility of the soil is even more important. Unless it
were very fertile, and produced in abundance all that the people wanted, there
would not be much leisure for experimenting."
Is " much leisure/' then, a sine qua non in experimenting? True it is, that
some of the greatest discoveries of our own time have been made by those who
might have passed their days in inglorious ease had they been so minded.
But again we must reflect that we are speaking here of the race in general —
not of individuals — and is it not the case that, as a rule, everything which
requires an effort is pursued most vigorously amongst those who have not much
leisure, who are dependent for the means of subsistence on their own exertions,
either of body or of brain, whose wits are sharpened by dint of exercise and
the pressure of necessity ? If we examine into the history of Hellas, we shall
find that precisely where the soil " produced in abundance all that the people
wanted," there, " curiously enough," the experiments came to a sudden and
untimely end.
To this we shall refer presently. Meantime, let us note one very signifi-
cant fact, viz., that it w^as quite as much by what she withheld as by what she
gave that Nature helped -on "experimenting" in Hellas. This is evident
from two considerations : —
(i) In this curious little country — more, perhaps, than in any other —
Nature demands the co-operation of man. Like a saucy beauty, she will
neither smile nor be gracious, until her caprices have been duly honoured. If
we reflect for a moment on the immense variety of physical conditions which
obtain in Greece, we shall see that a uniform fertility is just as far from pos-
sible as is a uniform climate. There are districts, such as Attica and Argolis,
where a four-months' drought yearly prevails ; there are others, such as Boeotia
and Eastern Arcadia, where the inhabitants are well-nigh deluged with the
^ The average number of sunny days in Germany (Breslau) is given by Professors
Neumann and Partsch [Phys. Oeoy. von Griechenland, p. 24) as seventy-nine ; of cloudy
days as 286 — seventy-nine days of sunshine against the 336 of Athens.
2 Speaking of the Greeks as art-workers, Mr. Ruskin says: "Northern hands and eyes
are, of course, never so subtle as Southern ; and in very cold countries artistic execution is
palsied" (Queen of the Air, p. 170).
NATURAL RESOURCES AND SELF-HELP 25
watery element. Both phenomena will become very clear to us when we
have inquired into their causes. Meantime, we can see that in neither case
could Nature do much for man, until man had bestirred himself and paved the
way for her operations. When man had done this — when the Athenians had
devised that system of irrigation whereby the waters of the Cephissus were
brought to their olive-groves and gardens ; when the Argives had become
adepts in the art of well-digging ; when the Arcadians had found out how
to regulate their floods by means of canals and dams — then indeed Nature
deigned to smile upon their efforts. It may be safely aflSrmed that no climate
in Europe so richly rewards labour bestowed upon the soil as does that of
Greece, but the necessary conditions in every case must first be fulfilled.
It is the neglect of these conditions — a neglect brought about by long ages of
suffering and misrule — that brought Greece into the deplorable state from
which she is even now but slowly emerging (see Appendix to this Section).
Nothing is wanting, however, except the old care and skill, to make the coun-
try what it was in antiquity. The healing, restoring, revivifying powers of
the climate of Greece, where man works with the climate, are described as
little short of miraculous.
To return, however, to the first Hellenes. Can we not see how admirably
fitted was this state of things to call forth the best powers, the assiduity, the
ingenuity, of each race ? The Hellene knew that Nature could do little with-
out his co-operation ; but he also knew that, if he did his part, Nature would
do hers. He could therefore work on with the sure hope of success — a suc-
cess not always granted to the children of more northerly climes.
(2) Where "experimenting" of all sorts went on with most vigour was
in districts such as Attica and Corinth, where the soil is poor and thin. In
Attica earth is so precious a commodity, that in ancient times, when land was
leased out, a clause in the contract prohibited the farmer from carrying any of
the soil away (G. I. Gr., i. p. 93). Here as in Peloponnesus (where the proportion
of hill to level ground is nearly as 9 to 10) (Curtius, Pel., i. p. 22), the terraced
sides of the mountains bear witness to the indefatigable diligence of the inha-
bitants. Not the most unwearied efforts, however, could induce Mother Earth
to yield enough for the wants of an ever-increasing population, and conse-
quently both Athenians and Corinthians were forced to look elsewhere for the
means of subsistence. The Athenians discovered the advantages of their posi-
tion as dwellers on the southern foreland of Northern Greece, facing the Isles
and Asia ; the Corinthians discovered the amazing benefits which might be
derived from their double sea. Who would waste time " picking stones out of
an ungrateful soil " when such possibilities lay before him ? Surely no one
with a head upon his shoulders! And so, the Corinthians set to work to
develop their fleet ; they sent out colonies to the Ambracian Gulf, to Corcyra
(Corfu), to Sicily and Thrace ; they were in the forefront of all material and
artistic progress, and as a consequence their '* stony " city became the wealthiest
in Hellas (ibid., ii. p. 516 et seq.). All the grain-markets of the East were at
their service. The Athenians likewise set to work to develop their fleet and
their seamanship, and well was it for Hellas that they did so. For in that last
desperate struggle with the Persian, it was Athenian courage, and Athenian
seamanship, and Athenian knowledge of winds and currents, that gained the
day, and led the Barbarian in the Bay of Salamis into the very ruin which he
had planned for others. The Athenians were not a whit behind the Corinthians
in the march of material and artistic progress. They led the van in all things
intellectual, and in a yet nobler cause — the cause of Freedom and of the
Fatherland.
2 6 THE LAND
Such is the history of two of the poorest and least fertile lands of Greece.
Now let us turn to the richly-endowed lands, the lands which produced all
that heart could desire, and so '' gave leisure " for experimenting. Of such rich
and fertile countries, Greece can boast three — Thessaly, Boeotia, and Messenia.
What does history tell us concerning their achievements? The chronicle is
by no means a brilliant one. Thessaly, with her fat pastures and fertile plains,
proved a good nursing-mother to many of the races of Hellas in their infancy ;
l)ut, this accomplished, Thessaly folded her hands and considered her part
done. In historic times, her fat pastures sent forth neither heroes, nor patriots,
nor artists, nor men of letters. Boeotia certainly numbered many brave and
distinguished men among her sons, therefore any inference in respect to her
must be cautiously drawn. Nevertheless, there can be little doubt that, as
regards the mass of the people, the epithets lavished on^ them by their polite
Athenian neighbours, " Boeotian pigs," " Boeotian swine," were only too well
deserved, and called out by Boeotian sensuality and sloth. The history of
Messenia, again, is sadder than that of any other Hellenic State. The richest
and most beautiful land of Greece, " watered by innumerable streams," as
Euripides describes it {Straho, p. 366), abounding in corn, wine, and oil, ripened
under sunny skies, with rich pasture-ground for flocks and herds— Messenia
was yet the most unfortunate of all. The Messenians, and the Messenians
alone of all the nobler peoples of Hellas, failed in working out their grand
destiny. The Dorian nature itself, stern, energetic, practical, was not proof
against the seductive influences of an enervating climate and rich soil. Yery
early the Messenian Dorians displayed their want of " backbone," their in-
capacity for self-defence, and fell a prey to their stronger brethren, the
Spartans, who, on the colder, less fertile side of Taygetus, had coveted their
sunny plains. The Messenians, too, were Hellenes, 'and protested against their
chains. They, too, went into exile rather than submit to the oppressor ; but
even when led back in triumph by Epaminondas and reinstated in their rights,
the old fatal effect of the climate became visible again. Weak and undecided
in character, the Messenians brought no blessing on Peloponnesus ; rather, by
relying on outward assistance and alliance with Macedonia, did they hasten
the downfall of Hellas. ^
From these instances it will be seen that, in the great work, fertility and
natural wealth proved to be a hindrance rather than a help. As to the rest,
it will also be seen that Hellas, as stated before, is a land of contrasts. In no
way can this be better studied than by a comparison of two of the examples
just cited, the neighbouring states of Boeotia and Attica. Side by side they
stood with only the mountains intervening. On the one hand was Boeotia,
true to its name. Land of Oxen, with its hollow basins and humid valleys, its
teeming fertility and depressing vapours, its grey-and-black marbled cities.
On the other was Attica, true also to its name, the Wave-hroken {i.e. coast-land),
with its barren, thyme-covered, rocky hills, its light soil, its pure bracing atmos-
^ The above remarks, based on a remarkable passage in the Peloponnesos of E. Curtius
(ii. p. 123 et seq.), seem at first sight to bear rather hardly upon the Messenians, who made a
noble stand, from first to last, against the Spartans. But in no other way except on the
theory of a " deterioration of fibre " under a semi-tropical sun can we account for the failure
of the Dorians in Messenia. In Laconia, in Argos, in Corinth, in Phlius, they held their own
sturdily. The same difference in physique and temperament has been observed in our own
day between the peaceable planter of Kalamata and the fierce Mainote of the rugged Tayi>-etus
peninsula. "^
For an equally remarkable example of a contrary influence, that of a sunless, cheerless
climate, and its effect on the same Dorian race, see the sketch of the Dorian migration given
a few sections further on.
NATURAL RESOURCES AND SELF-HELP 27
phere, its deep blue sky, its '' violet-crowned " city, dazzling in the brilliant
whiteness of her marble edifices. It seemed as though some higher power
had intervened to restore the balance destroyed by the favouritism of Mother
Earth. Parnes, like a wall, divides the two States ; but, as has been well said
(Bishop C. Wordsworth, Greece, p. 150), Bceotia is on the northern, cheerless
side, intellectually ; Attica on the southern, rejoicing and glorying in a sun-
shine under whose influence all that was bright and beautiful in the world of
genius came to maturity. Not without a struggle on the part of her inhabi-
tants, however. The very efforts which they were forced to make to obtain
from and by the sea the supplies denied them by the land, saved them from
sinking into the inglorious ease of their wealthy Boeotian neighbours.
It will be evident, then, from the foregoing that although, on the whole,
ancient Hellas in many respects is accurately described as a land " not less
rich than beautiful," a land whose "waters and forests teemed with life"
(Thirl wall, Hist, of Greece, i. p. 31), it is nevertheless equally true to say that
poverty was at home in many parts of it. The Hellenes had a proverb :
" Hunger is a teacher of many things," and certainly it was " necessity "
that suggested not a few of their experiments : their navigation, commerce,
colonisation, were, as we have seen, in great part due to that stern but kindly
Mother. " In Hellas," said Demaratus, the exiled Spartan king to Xerxes,
" Want is our foster-brother, dwelling ever with us ; but," he adds, " Yalour
is an ally whom we have gained by wisdom and strict laws " (Herodotus, vii.
102). In Sparta at least, then. Want and Yalour went hand in hand. Those
who have but little will struggle to keep that little.
This reminds us of the story, also told by Herodotus, concerning the men
of Andros (viii. iii, 121). They, like most of the Islanders, had sub-
mitted voluntarily to the Persian ; hence, immediately after the battle of
Salamis, Themistocles levied upon them a money-fine. This they declined to
pay, giving as an excuse that their island was troubled by two unprofitable
gods, whom they could by no means get rid of — Poverty and Helplessness.
Therefore, they said, they could not pay the sum demanded. Themistocles
proceeded forthwith to besiege their city ; but the men of Andros knew so
well how to defend themselves, that he was compelled finally to sail away
without the expected contribution.
Although we may not admire the unpatriotic conduct of the Andrians, it is
quite clear that the dominant influences of the island were not Poverty and
Helplessness, but the same that were at home in many other parts of Hellas —
Necessity and Self-help.
Turning now from the negative to the positive aspect of the matter — from
what Hellas did not to what she did afford — we ask : " How did the little
country, then, nourish her children? What tools did she provide for her
workmen ? " Perhaps this, of all questions, is the one that most closely con-
cerns a primitive race. In ancient times the connection between land and
people was far more intimate than in our own day. Think only of the matter
of food-supply. Noiv, the whole of the habitable globe is, practically, as one
country ; the failure of the harvest in any particular part is speedily remedied
by the abundance of another. In the earliest times, failure of the harvest too
often meant — starvation. We moderns can only realise to ourselves the
position of a primitive race by comparing it with that of castaways on some
desert island. True, the Aryan of 3000 or 4000 years ago was a being very
different in some respects from his brother of the present century — from the
28 THE LAND
" castaway " point of view, a much more capable and independent being.
Nevertheless, the prime wants of both are the same — food, shelter, clothing,
the raw materials of all the adjuncts of a life above that of the animals. It
must, consequently, have been in a very Robinson- Crusoe-like spirit that the
primitive Hellenes surveyed the land in which they found themselves, and by
dint of testing and experimenting, gradually appropriated all that could be
made to minister to their wants.
They would be forced to begin with the forests, for although we hold that
the Aryans were not the first settlers in Greece — that races on a lower stage of
civilisation had preceded them,i and cleared the land here and there — yet the
real works of improvement, the draining of the swamps, opening up of roads,
&c., doubtless awaited Aryan intelligence and Aryan energy. Forests they
would find in abundance, for in the earliest times the slopes of the Greek
mountains must have been clothed with well-nigh impenetrable woods. On
the eastern side of Greece these had disappeared in certain districts, such as
Attica, to a great extent in historic times ; but on the western side, where, as
we have seen (p. 20), the climate is moister, some parts of Acarnania afford
even in our own day an idea of primitive Greece as it must have presented
itself to the eyes of the first Hellenes. " Everywhere," writes M. Heuzey of
Acarnania in 1856, " everywhere we find forests, everywhere flowing water,
everywhere a soil embarrassed at once by woods, by ravines, by mountains "
{Le Mont Olympe et VAcamanie, p. 223).
Were we to describe at length all that the Greeks found in their forests
and valleys, or all that by experimenting they introduced into the land, this
part of our subject would require a volume to itself, for Greece possesses a rich
and most varied flora. The utmost that we can attempt here, therefore, is to
notice briefly those natural productions which were of value as food, or of
practical utility to them otherwise, or which, as the myths shew us, had
forcibly struck their imagination.
Of all the trees that clothe the mountains of Greece, first in the category of
usefulness must be placed the Ooniferse — trees which grow well in a warm,
sandy soil. Without their pines and firs — light wood, easily cut down with
rude tools of stone or of bronze, and easily transported — Greek navigation
could not have developed so early as it did. Strange to say, the Greeks, great
sailors as they were, had few ships of oak. Oak-trees they had in plenty ; but,
in the first place, oak-wood is hard to fell and work, and in the second, the
Greeks had a prejudice (like all their prejudices, not without a touch of
plausibility) to the effect that resinous wood resisted better than any other
the action of sea-water. Hence, when they used oak-wood, it was mainly, as
Theophrastus tells us, in the construction of light boats used on rivers and
lakes ; if used for sea-going ships, they thought it would decay in the salt
water. This mistake, however, cost them not a little; for their vessels of
war, constructed at great expense, had no durability, and soon became unfit for
service {Hist. ;plant, v. 4, 3 ; c/, Neumann u. Partsch, op. cit., p. 371). Of the
trees mentioned by Homer as cut down for shipbuilding purposes — the oak,
the white poplar, and the pine {Iliad, xiii. 389 ; xvi. 482) — the last was by far
the most used. Probably the common strand-pine {Pinus halepensis), which
grows on the Isthmus, in Attica, and elsewhere, w^as employed at first ; later,
the Apollo-pine {Abies Apolli?m),^ which is found everywhere in Greece, and
1 See the quotation from Professor Max Mtiller on p. 46 of Hellas.
'^ The Apollo-pine, according to v. Heldreich, is probably the elate of the ancients — the tree
now called mbret, " the king," by the Albanians. It is, however, difficult to distinguish pre-
cisely what species are indicated by the old writers. Thus peuJre = ' ' the fir," and pitys= "the pine,"
NATURAL RESOURCES AND SELF-HELP 29
itself, with its tall slim stem, seems to suggest the idea of a mast {Od., ii. 424).
But not only was the pine-tree employed for shipbuilding. It served for con-
structive purposes of all sorts — for houses and furniture, for bridges, chariots,
oil-presses, casks ; pine and fir alike yielded resin, pitch, and tar ; from both,
torches were made ; in later days fir-cones were steeped in wine to prevent it
souring ; and finally, the kernels contained in the large cones of one species of
pine were eaten as fruit, and ranked, even in historic times, amongst delicacies
such as almonds and walnuts (Hugo Bliimner : Technologie und Terminologie
der Gewerhti und Kunste hei Griechern und Edmern, ii, 283, 285 ; Neumann u.
Partsch, op. ciL, p. 365 et seq.).
Who can wonder that the early Hellene — perforce his own boat-builder,
house-builder, and carpenter — loved the fir-tree, with her fragrance, her
manifold uses, her light- and heat-giving properties ? That he dedicated her
to Poseidon, god of the waves over which his little bark bore him, and crowned
with her feathery foliage the victor in the Isthmian Games ? Who can wonder
that the slender, graceful pine-tree appealed even more forcibly to his imagi-
nation, that when wintry blasts played havoc in the pine-woods, he lamented
over his favourite, and told of the untimely fate of poor Pitys, struck down by
her jealous suitor, rude Boreas, the North-wind.^
More conspicuous than the pine among the forest trees of Greece, however,
is the Oak. According to von Heldreich (op. cit., p. 15 et seq.), Hellas pos-
sesses no fewer than ten species of oak, many of which are evergreen, forming
woods of incomparable beauty, even in winter. Chief of all the varieties is
the Valonian oak {Querents segilops), a magnificent tree with spreading branches,
almost an evergreen, which grows everywhere, but is seen to greatest perfec-
tion in Acarnania, where it clothes the plains and the sides of the hills, bear-
ing large acorns, which are sweeter than those of any other sort, and now form
(for tanning purposes) one of the most important articles of export in Greece.
This variety is probably the pJiegos of the ancients,^ and it was also valued in
early days — not so much, however, on account of its timber, as for other
reasons. The oak, with its majestic proportions, the Greeks dedicated to Zeus
— king of trees to the king of gods — and they regarded it as a special gift of
the gods to men, but why? Because, as Hesiod tells us (TVorks and Days,
232), it bears "acorns on its summit, and bees in its middle " — that is, honey
stored up by the wild bees in its hollow. With the uses of honey to a people
who possessed no sugar we are all familiar. The Aryans made from it their
7net or mead — a kind of sweet intoxicating drink. ^ To picture the primitive
Hellenes as acorn-eaters is, however, apparently repugnant to some modern
writers, and accordingly attempts have been made of late to show that the
edible "acorns" of the ancient Greeks were the fruit, not of the oak, but of
the chestnut. But what are the facts? Simply (i) that the Hellenes knew
the fruit of the chestnut (which they called Dios balanos = " Zeus' acorn ") before
are used interchangeably ; and Theophrastus says expressly that what was elsewhere called
peuke, the Arcadians called pitys. Both names are forms of the same word, and mean " pitch-
tree," tree full of resin. (Von Heldreich, Die Nutzpflanzen Griechenlands, p. 13 ; Theophr., iii.,
9. 4 ; V. Hehn, Kulturpfianzen und Hausthiere in ihrem Uebergang aus Asien, p. 259, 3rd
ed.)
1 For the myth, see Hellas, p. 249.
2 Fhegos is a name which has caused difficulty through its being confounded with the Latin
fagus, "beech." The Greek name for the beech is, however, different {oxya). Most botanists
consider phegos as = " oak with edible acorns." The general name for the oak is dr^s ; but this
term is used to include, not only any timber-tree, but even trees like the olive. Taken in a
special sense, rf?'^s="oak which sheds its leaves," prtnos = " evergreen oak" (Neumann u.
Partsch, op. cit., p. 381).
^ See Hellas, p. 50.
30 THE LAND
they knew the tree itself, from which it is inferred that the latter was not
indigenous to Greece, but transplanted from its home in Asia Minor at a later
date ; and (2) that the Arcadian and Acarnanian Greeks of the present cen-
tury still eat acorns — roasted or even uncooked — facts vouched for by v. Held-
reich, Fraas, and Heuzey (Hehn, op. cit.^ p. 341 et seq. ; v. Heldreich, op. cit.,
p. 16; Heuzey, ojy. cit. p. 239). We may therefore be tolerably sure that in
a country like Greece, although acorns served in good years as food for the
swine, yet that when the harvest failed — and also before the Greek Aryans
had attained to proficiency in the tilling of the soil — acorns were by no means
a despised food for human beings. Hesiod, indeed, says expressly, in the
passage just quoted, that the gods gave them as a special blessing to the just,
and Plato emphasises this still further (Mepub., ii. 363).
In later times other species of oak were prized for the qualities which
make them esteemed now. Thus, the ilex (prinos or evergreen oak) was
valued for its hardness, and to it the Greeks applied their equivalent of our
phrase, " hearts of oak " — andres prininon = " men steadfast, to be relied
upon." Of its wood they made the keels of their triremes — i.e. that part which,
in dragging up the vessel on dry land, was most exposed to friction, a process
which the soft pine-wood could not resist. They found out also that oak-wood
does not decay in earth, and consequently used it for posts and beams. Finally,
gall-nuts and the red dye obtained from the Kermes variety (Quercus cocci/era)
were known in antiquity, as was also the cork-oak of Arcadia (of which Pau-
sanias tells us), with its thin light bark, which was used for the floats of anchors
and nets. Thus by degrees, by experiment after experiment, were the different
properties of the bounties of Nature discovered and turned to account (Theophr.,
V. 7. 2 ; Paus., viii. 12. i ; Bliimner, op. cit., p. 261 ; Neumann u. Partsch, op.
ci^., pp. 371-382).
In addition to the pine and the oak as forest-forming timber-trees, the
Greeks had (although more partially) the red beech, which grows on Olympus
and Pindus and in ^tolia. On their hillsides and in their mountain-glens,
they had the ash, the haunt of the Melian Nymphs, from which in the earliest
days the shafts of spears were made ; ^ the elm, the linden, the fragrant
juniper (dedicated to Apollo ^), of which there are at least ten species, varying
in size from a shrub to a tree ; while beside streams grew the willow, the
alder, and the silver poplar — the last, to the child-like Hellene, the embodi-
ment, with its glancing leaves, of the brilliant Heliadse, the transformed
daughters of the sun.^ Finally, in marshy places were found the homely reeds
and rushes, used for basket-making and mats ; and most important of all, by
the Copaic Lake in Boeotia, grew the donax, or flute-reed, which helped
so greatly in the development of music among the people. Probably the
Hellenes possessed all these and more from the first. Therefore, with the
means of providing shelter against the arrows of the frost and the rain, and
for transporting themselves from place to place, with the materials for huts,
furniture, boats, fuel, and light, they were amply supplied.
^ For the legend of the Melian Nymphs, see Bellas, p. 82.
2 For the myth, see Hellas, p. 137.
^ For the story of the transformation of the grief-stricken Heliadse, see the myth of Phae-
thon, Hellas, p. 190. The white poplar was a tree of mourning, and as such it is appropriately
placed by Homer around the dismal dwelling of Hades, together with the willows that cast
their fruit before their season. Its leaves, however, formed the wreath worn by athletes,
because the tree, although originally dedicated to Hades, became sacred to Heracles (Hercules),
as a symbol of the victory which the hero gained over the powers of the lower world when he
brought up to earth Cerberus, the terrible watch-dog of the abode of the dead (C. Bcetticher,
Der Baumcultus der Hellenen, p. 441 et seq.).
NATURAL RESOURCES AND SELF-HELP 31
Then, as to clothing. How must we imagine the primitive Hellenes to have
been attired ? In very much the same manner as the primitive Aryans — that
is, in sheep- and goat-skins,^ a fashion, as we know, followed by the Ozolian
Locrians in historic times, to the disgust of their more fastidious and polished
brethren. The warriors and heroes of each clan would probably appear in
the trophies of their prowess — the skins of wolves and of bears — as did the
Arcadians when, on one occasion, they came to the help of the Messenians,
grim and fierce, armed with their hunting-spears. The wealthy men, *' the
men of many cows," ^ would doubtless indulge in the shapeless coats of felt,
which seem to have been the first stage in the tailor's art. These, again,
would give place in time to the woollen garments, which, gradually advancing
in fineness with the proficiency of the women in weaving, formed at all times
the favourite garb of the Hellenes. Flax was cultivated in Greece, and that
linen was worn in early days by men as well as women is evident from the
linen corslet of Ajax Oileus. Later, however, linen apparel, as clothing
for men, did not find so much favour with the European Greeks as among
their Asiatic brethren.
Finally, as to food. This probably consisted at first with the primitive
Hellenes, as with their Aryan forefathers, of what Nature offered — the
products of the chase, the milk of their flocks and herds, acorns and wild
fruits. Of the latter, Greece now offers a great variety : raspberries, found
on Olympus ; gooseberries, in the forest-zone of lesser heights ; barberries ;
the cornelian cherry, with its pleasantly acid fruit ; and the berries of the
Judas-thorn (Zizyphus vulgaris), which are uncommonly sweet, and somewhat
resemble little olives in appearance (Neumann u. Partsch, op. cit., p. 400).
However, as the small thorny shrubs peculiar to the dry hillsides and heaths,
the Xerovuni of Greece, have increased in proportion to the destruction of
the forests, it is doubtful whether the primitive Hellenes possessed all these
desirable additions to their meagre fare. Three fruits they certainly knew
— the blackberry, the arbutus (which Yarro reckons among the means of
nourishment of primitive man), and the pear. The wild pear-tree is very
plentiful in Greece, and in Peloponnesus so much so that this part of the
country is supposed by some writers to have received the name of Apia from
its abundance.^ Apple trees are rare, and met with only in the north. The
climate, however, is too dry for these two fruits, neither of which came to
perfection or was of importance to the later Greeks.
To complete the tale of the natural bounties of Greece, however, we must
not omit to add the wild herbs, those which fill the air with aromatic fragrance,
as thyme and mint, and those which figure so largely as salads, &c., in the
present dietary of the people. Without these humble friends, the long fasts of
the Greek Church, rigidly observed by the lower classes in Greece, would be
impossible. Von Heldreich gives several lists of these plants, which are very
^ See Hellas, p. 50.
^ Polyhoutes. See the note on primitive survivals in early Greece, Hellus, p. 49.
^ From apios, " a pear-tree." The name Apia, or the Apian land — used for Peloponnesus by
the tragedians — the Greeks traced to Apis, the son of Phoroneus, an old king of Argos or
Sicyon. It is now supposed to mean the Watery Land, in the sense of land surrounded by
water. So Curtius identities Apia with the Sanscrit ap =aqua = " water" {Grundzitge, p. 463).
It must not be confounded with Homer's apiSs gaiSs {II., i. 270; iii. 49), which simply means
"the far-off land." It is probable that the three chief names, ancient and modern, for
Peloponnesus refer to its situation as surrounded with water — Peloponnesus = " Pelops' Island " ;
Apia = " watery land" ; Morea = "sea land" (see Hellas, p. 24). , At the same time, the deri-
vation of Apia from apios, "the pear-tree," is not worthless. It has its root, as we have seen, in
another piiysical fact, for which any traveller can vouch.
32 THE LAND
numerous, and the collecting of which in the woods and on the hillsides, now
forms one of the chief occupations of the women and girls of Greece. In
antiquity, wild herbs, doubtless played as great a part amongst the poorer
classes as at present, although they would seem not to have been to the taste
of the rich. "Fools!" says Hesiod (WorJcs and Days, 40-41) of his "gift-
devouring " kings, " Neither do they know how much more the half is than
the whole, nor yet what great refreshment there is in a diet of marsh mallows
and squills." ^
Mallows and squills! truly, it must have required the philosophic spirit
to live contentedly on such fare. If Hesiod had any practical experience of
it, this may help to account for the acerbity of temper apparent in the old
poet at times, despite his philosophising. We may be tolerably sure that if
the primitive Hellenes were often reduced to such a diet, it must have acted
as a goad and a spur to their zeal in the prosecution of agriculture and of the
peaceful arts, whereby they might raise themselves above the shifts and
emergencies of a hand-to-mouth life.
" Halt, for a moment, pray ! " cries a bewildered reader. " What an
extraordinary picture you are drawing ! Surely there must be some mistake.
What about the delicious fruits which Homer knew — the pomegranates, the
sweet figs, the olives in their bloom, that tantalised Tantalus in the lower
regions ? ^ Acorns and pine-nuts, marsh mallows and squills, forsooth 1 — your
Hellenes might after all just as well have settled round the Baltic ! "
Hardly ! for in that case they would have been obliged to wait longer for
their delicious fruits. These appeared in Hellas in due time ; but, as the
result of " experimenting." No one, we think, will venture to doubt this
after the exhaustive researches of Victor Hehn. All the finer fruits of the
Hellenes, which throve so " naturally " beneath the sunny skies of Greece as to
be taken for veritable children of the soil, were in reality either " ennobled "
by the process of grafting Eastern varieties on Greek stocks, or were introduced
directly from the East.^
We are as yet, however, very far from the fruit-age. The nomad-stage
must first be followed in the march of civilisation by the purely agricultural
stage, for horticulture pre-supposes a state of society altogether different from
that which obtains under primitive conditions. Even the beginnings of
agriculture must have been attended with great difficulties — not only because
of the dislike of the hunter or the shepherd to give up the life to which he had
been accustomed and settle down to what, in his eyes, is monotonous drudgery,
but for other reasons. To a nomad race land is common property ; no one
1 Asphodelos='^ the squill," the plant transferred by Homer to his lower world. From its soft
name we are apt to imagine the asphodel-meadows which surround the House of Hades as an
element of beauty in the picture. Far from this, they form the most appropriate of back-
grounds to that most dismal of regions — the Land of Shadows (see the description of the plant
in the section on the lower world, Hellas, pp. 282-83).
2 For the myth, see Hellas, p. 284.
2 Hehn takes as the motto for his remarkable work " Kulturpjlanzen und Hausthiere in
ihrem Uehergang aus Asien nach Griechenland und Italien" (which has been so well translated
into English by J. S. Stallybrass, under the title of Tfie Wanderings of Plants and Animals.
from their First Home), the apophthegm of Schelling : "What is Europe but the stem,
unfruitful in itself, on which everything must first be grafted, and which only thereby can be
ennobled ? " and in this spirit his researches are pursued. To protest against any conclusions
based on a learning so wide and varied as that of Hehn were a bold proceeding. Nevertheless,
when e.g. he represents the ^me {op. cit., p. 262) as a foreigner on Greek soil, one is disposed to
think that his theory is pushed too far. Prof. Grisebach ( Vegetation der Erde, i. pp. 313, 319)
recognises, as native to the Mediterranean zone, eighteen species of Coniferse, of which elevea
belong to the genus Pinus taken in the wide sense.
NATURAL RESOURCES AND SELF-HELP
33
will take the trouble incurred in ploughing and sowing until there is a chance
of his being permitted to enjoy the fruits of his toil in peace. The systematic
tilling of the ground, therefore, implies a recognition of property in land, and
much that this involves. Hence we find the introduction of agriculture into
Greece associated in the myths with the first ideas of Law. Demeter, Earth-
mother, the giver of the first precious seed-co rn, is also Thesmophoros, the
giver of the first laws.^ ~^
These beginnings of agriculture, however, had, as is believed, been made by
the Aryans before the Dispersion,^ and the Graeco- Aryans probably brought
with them to their new home both wheat and barley. The former throve only
in certain parts of Greece, where there is *a rich clay soil, as in the plain of
Eleusis in Attica (here agriculture was supposed to have originated), and in
Thessaly, Boeotia, Messenia, Laconia, and Argolis. Barley, however, will grow
anywhere, and barley-cakes accordingly formed the staple food of the majority
of the Greeks, even in historic times. Wh eaten bread was a dainty, reserved
for high days and holidays.
The third stage, the era of fruit-growing, seems to have been reached in
Homer's time, for Diomedes, in speaking of his father's possessions in Argos,
mentions not only wheatfields (stage ii.) and sheep (stage i.), but also orchards
of trees [Iliad, xiv. 22).
It is evident that here we have reached a stage of civilisation when the
rights of the proprietor are fully recognised, and when, moreover, the country
generally is peaceful and settled (Hehn, op. cit., p. 104 e^ seq.). The tiller of
the fields looks for his harvest within a few months ; the planter of trees must
wait years for a result (the olive, e.g., only begins to yield regularly in its
sixteenth year, and only in its 4o-6oth year is in the fulness of its strength),
and in early days, must be prepared to see his labour undone by an invading
army, or some wild marauding horde. In a country like Greece, moreover,
the horticulturist must have experienced peculiar difiiculties. The regulation
of the water-supply, for instance, was at all times a fertile source of dispute,
and any one attempting to draw off a portion of the precious element from
the local stream by a canal for his own private use would be denounced as
a traitor to the common weal. In any age of the world, again, there are
never wanting those who set themselves against a new order of things, and
we can easily understand how the introduction of fruit-growing would be
opposed by the upholders of " things as they are," how the patriotic argument
would be trotted out : " We, who own nothing but our flocks and herds, are ready
to march at a day's notice rather than submit to a disgraceful peace, these men,
who are constructing canals and planting trees, are binding so many fetters
on the land. To preserve their property they will make any terms with the
enemy, and drag us all into slavery. What sufficed for our fathers ought to
suffice for us." And so on, arguments which recur again and again, under
ever new faces, in every land, at every improvement-making epoch.
The fruit-growing stage in Greece, however, accompanied by all sorts of
experiments in planting, grafting, and irrigation arrived, and with it the
Three Sisters that henceforth played so important a part in the economy of
Hellas, the olive, the fig-tree, and the vine.
The nations of Europe have been divided respectively into " beer-and-butter "
and " wine-and-oil " consuming peoples. The Greeks belong to the latter class,
and from first to last the olive was their most highly prized possession. It
^ Consult the article "Demeter," Hellas, p. 256 et seq. For the myth of Triptolemus, and
the distribution by him of the seed-corn, see Hellas, p. 274.
2 See Hellas, p. 48.
34 THE LAND
grows wild throughout Greece ; but, according to Hehn, the cultivated variety
was introduced first from the East (op. dt., pp. 88 et seq.). If this be a fact, it
speaks wonders for the horticultural experiments of the Greeks at a very
early age indeed ; since there is evidence in the oil-presses found in the pre-
historic remains on the island of Therasia, that the inhabitants of the village
knew the olive — the fruit and its uses.^ The date of the volcanic outbursts
that buried the primitive community of Therasia is fixed by geologists about
2000 B.C., and in any case, it must be placed very early. Hence, on Hehn's
theory, intercourse with the East, and ennobling of the native species, must
have been well advanced at this epoch.
However this may have been, at the present day as in early times the wild
kinds abound in the land. No place is too dry, no soil too ungrateful for the
wild olive (kotinos), it is the veritable child of Greece. In the plains and
mountain-gorges, on the hillsides, it is to be found by millions (von Heldreich,
op. cit., p. 30). As the population increases, these wild plants are utilised by
grafting, as they were to a certain extent in the olden time. Especially did
the olive thrive in Attica; it loves sea-air and a light chalk soil, and both
conditions are found there. With his barley-loaf, a handful of olives, and a
draught of plentifully-diluted wine, the poor Athenian was as happy as a king.
He wanted nothing more, the climate made him independent. The olive was
the tree ^?ar excellence of the Athenians, and even now the groves of hoary
patriarchs, some of which may have seen Athens in her beauty ,2 testify to the
love of the people for their " best of all trees." Naught knew they of its
foreign birth. It was the special gift, so they thought, of their patron-deity,
Athena. In the legendary contest with Poseidon for the possession of Attica,
when it had been decided that the land should fall to the producer of the most
useful gift, Athena, so the story ran, struck her spear into a cleft of the
Acropolis rock, and forthwith there sprang up the first olive-tree. Or, better
still, according to another version, the spear itself became metamorphosed into
an olive-tree, the emblem of War was transformed into the symbol of Peace.
From this first-raised olive on the Acropolis a shoot was taken, and planted
on the spot afterwards known as the Academy, the scene of Plato's teaching ;
and from this, again, were descended the twelve famous Olive-trees sacred to
Zeus Morios and Athena Moria (guardians of the propagated olives), which
yielded the olive-wreaths and fine oil that formed the prizes of the victors
in the Panathenaic contests. So sacred were these propagated olive-trees,
parents of all the olive-groves of Attica, that if any one did but touch them,
he fell under the ban of the State. Any slave seeing and reporting such an
occurrence forthwith received his freedom. Thus, the olive-culture, sup-
posed to have emanated from the Acropolis, remained under the control of
the State. How important it became for Attica is well seen from the fact
that, by the old Laws of Solon, no olive-tree might be dug up except for the
purposes of some public festival, and even private proprietors were prohibited
from removing more than two in any one year, except on the occasion of a
death in the family {Lysias, vii. {peri seJwu); Demosth. in Macart. (43), 71 ;
Bockh, Staatsliauslialt. der Athener, i. pp. 54, 421, 3rd ed.).
The olive was associated with well-nigh every act of Athenian life ; an
olive-wreath on the door of a house announced that a child was born into the
world ; with olive-leaves the babe was surrounded and blessed in his cradle ;
with olive-oil the athlete made his limbs supple for contest and for war ; with a
1 For a description of tills prehistoric Pompeii, see Hellas^ p. 64.
2 According to v. Heldreich, some of the olive-trees of Athens must be at least 1500 years
old (Schliemann, Orchomenos, p. i).
NATURAL RESOURCES AND SELF-HELP 35
wool-entwined olive-branch the suppliant approached the altar or the conqueror ;
on olive-leaves, finally, both suppliant and conqueror were laid for the last long
Thus the olive, with all its varied applications — its wondrous vitality and
power of renewing its growth from its own roots, its hard, durable wood, its
sustaining fruit, its pure oil, emblem of light and understanding — became to
the Hellenes the symbol of culture, civilisation, progress, peace, and its leaves
formed the crown of the victor in the national contests at Olympia, contests
during which, as we have already seen, hostilities ceased, and the truce of the
Olympian Zeus prevailed throughout Hellas (C. Boetticher, op. cit., p. 423,
et seq.)}
The alien origin of the fig-tree and the vine we are not concerned to dispute.
The home of the former was probably Syria or Palestine ; the latter grows wild
in Thrace, whither it may have been brought from Asia Minor. Both fruits
certainly took very kindly to their foster-land, and both, as is evident from the
myths, must have been introduced at a tolerably early date.^
The Athenians believed that the fig-tree was indigenous to their land. The
wild fig, erineos, is common throughout Greece, picturesquely springing from
the crevices of the rocks, and it figures in the myths ; but its fruit is worthless.
The cultivated fig was supposed to have been the special gift of Demeter to
the hero Phytalus, who had shewn the goddess hospitality ; the name Phytalus,
however, which means simply " planter," betrays the origin of the story.
Although of immense importance in a country like Attica, the fig-tree was,
nevertheless, overshadowed there by its sister, the vine. This, too, according
to the Sagas, was native to ^tolia and Attica, and a gift of a god to these
districts. Undoubtedly, however, it found its way into both through Boeotia
from Thrace, together with the worship of Dionysus (Bacchus). The evolution
of this cult and the extraordinary developments, both religious and intellectual,
which proceeded from this material germ, the fruit of the vine, form one of the
most singular and striking episodes in the history of the human mind.^
A second group of fruit-trees which played a part in Hellenic myth and
poetry is represented by the pomegranate, palm, and quince.
The pomegranate, which now grows wild in Greece, must also have been
brought into the country (probably in connection with some religious cult) at a
very early period. Its original home is Syria, where, with its glowing hues, it
took so conspicuous a place in the worship of the Phcenicians that its name
among them, rimmon, was identical with that of their sun-god, Hadad-Rimmon
(F. C. Movers, Die Phmnizier, i. p. 197 ; Hehn, op. cit., p. 206 et seq.).
Among the Hellenes it was sacred to Hera. The palm-tree, found at the present
day in some of the islands and as far north as Attica and Bceotia, was well
known in antiquity, as is evident from coins and allusions. It was, however,
prized more for its slender, graceful beauty (to which Odysseus compares the
form of Nausicaa (OcZ., vi., 162 et seq.) and its shade than for its fruit, which,
even in Messenia, does not ripen sufficiently to be of value as a food. The
golden quince, introduced early from Crete (as its Greek name, Cydonian applSj
shews), was a favourite fruit in Hellas. According to Hehn, the golden apples
^ The association of the olive with the coming of Peace is, however, very much older than
the Athenian fruit-age. It is, as we all know, an olive leaf that the dove carries to Noah, as a
token that the Almighty had brought peace upon the earth again. The tradition of the deluge
in some form was common to both Aryan and Semitic peoples, (See Bellas, p. 98.)
2 The fig-tree is mentioned in the Odyssey although not in the Iliad. It is Thracian (not
Greek) wine, which the Homeric heroes drink. (See Hellas, p. 60.)
^ Consult the article " Dionysus," Hellas, p. 229 et seq.
36 THE LAND
of the Hesperides ^ were simply, in Greek imagination, " idealised quinces " {pp.
cit., p. 2 11 et seq.).
To sum up. At a late period the Greeks had most of the fruits now known
round the Mediterranean, some of which, as the orange, found theu^ way into
Europe as a result of the conquests of Alexander. In early times, however,
they had probably only those mentioned : olives, figs, and grapes ; almonds
(known to Homer), pomegranates, and quinces ; walnuts (called by the Greeks
Persian or King's nuts ^), and chestnuts, both of which are now widespread over
north and middle Greece — by no means a bad list, especially when we reflect
that their acclimatisation was due to Greek energy and experimenting some
thousands of years ago.
To complete our tale of the Greek plant-world, just let us notice here briefly
a third group of three, which played too important a part in Hellenic life to be
overlooked. These are, the laurel, the myrtle, and the plane-tree, now so much
at home in Greece that it is diflScult to realise the fact of their being foreigners.
The first two were introduced very early into the country from the East,
probably, like the pomegranate, in the train of religious cults ; planted at first
round the sanctuaries of the deities whose symbols they were, they speedily
became acclimatised and spread throughout Hellas.
Daphne, the laurel, takes the first place. With its glossy leaves and
aromatic berries — the odour of which was supposed to chase away decay and
corruption — it was early consecrated to the god of light, Apollo, and was
itself believed to represent his transformed love, Daphne.^ It became an
indispensable adjunct in all rites of purification ; the god himself was
obliged, according to the myth, after the slaying of the dragon Pytho, to
repair to Thessaly, and bring thence a laurel-bough — a ceremony repeated
every ninth year at Delphi. The more the Apollo-cult spread, the more did
these fragrant evergreen woods spring up around his temples throughout
Hellas. At the present day. Daphne, the laurel, grows wild in Thessaly, the
home of Daphne, the maiden — varying in size from a shrub to a stately tree.
As the god of light, Apollo is also the god of prophecy ; hence the laurel-staff
became the emblem of the seer. As the god of harmony, and the leader of the
muses, he is also the patron of singers ; hence the laurel-wreath belonged
specially to bards and poets, and crowned the victor in the Pythian Games
(Boetticher, op. cit., p. 338 et seq. ; Hehn, op. cit., p. 193 et seq.).
The myrtle, however, rivals and even outshines the laurel in the variety
of its associations. Its evergreen leaves, reddish-white blossoms, spicy berries
— used before the introduction of pepper as seasoning in the Greek cuisine —
and the fragrance from which it takes its name, made it a general favourite.
It spread everywhere through Hellas, and now grows apparently anywhere,
inland and by the sea-shore. The myrtle was dedicated chiefly to Aphrodite
(Yenus), goddess of love and beauty. Hence, at that (to us moderns) most
pathetic of domestic events, a Greek wedding — when the partners for life were
about to see one another for the jirst time — myrtle-leaves, roses, and violets
were strewn before them, emblems of unity, and of what each hoped the other
might prove to be.
Not to this alone, however, did the myrtle owe its popularity — it signified
not only domestic, but political unity ; for it was sacred, in association with
the goddess of love, to an attendant constantly found in the train of love —
^ For the myth, see Hellas, p. 219.
2 From their origin in the realms of the Great King.
8 For the myth, which doubtless originated in a play upon words, see under "Apollo,"
p. 130 of Hellas.
NATURAL RESOURCES AND SELF-HELP si
Fe/'tho, sweet persuasion. Consequently, whenever any desirable public work
was consummated by the power of heart stirring and convincing words alone,
the myrtle denoted that it had been effected by Aphrodite and her handmaid,
Peitho. Thus is explained the otherwise inexplicable custom of the wearing
of myrtle-wreaths by the archons (chief magistrates) of Athens, in the dis-
charge of their official duties. Such wreaths — only removed when passing
sentence of death — were a symbol of the unification of the twelve cities of
Attica ; a fact said to have been achieved without bloodshed, through per-
suasion alone, by Theseus. For the same reason, all the citizens who took
part in the procession at the great Panathenaea, covered head, breast, and arms
with myrtle 1 — emblem of unity obtained by peaceful means — whilst the old
men, the Thallophoroi, bore olive-boughs in token that the unity had been
brought about by the help of the goddess of peace, Athena, patron of the city.
Such beautiful meanings did the Hellenes read into the humblest things.
On every domestic occasion of importance — birth-rejoicings, weddings,
banquets, sacrifices — myrtle- wreaths were worn. As sacred also to the gods of
the lower world, the powers of the great Hereafter, the myrtle appeared at
funerals, and myrtle-wreaths were worn at the annual procession of the mystics
to Eleusis.2 In short, so important a part did the myrtle play in Hellenic,
and specially iji Athenian life, that a section of the market-place at Athens
was reserved expressly for its vendors (Bcetticher, op. cit., p. 445 et seq.).
The said market-place was the most popular resort of Athens. Under its
spreading, shady plane-trees, philosophers walked and talked, idlers lounged,
and bargain-hunters chafifered and haggled. The planting of these planes in
the Athenian Agora was one of the good deeds of Oimon, the son of Miltiades,
and perhaps not that one which least insured his popularity. The plane is, in
fact, the tree which wayfarers and travellers of all degrees in Greece have
most reason to bless. Wherever a stream or a spring affords it the necessary
sustenance, there the plane-tree spreads its noble branches and offers — beneath
the dense, deeply-indented foliage to which it owes its name {platanos, " the
broad-leaved ") — a cool retreat from the overpowering brilliancy of the blue sky
and the broiling heat of a Greek noontide. Hehn claims for the plane that,
although it is of Eastern origin, and came doubtless from the regions of the
Taurus, yet that it was introduced by Aryan, not by Semitic races (o}?. cit., p.
255 ; A. Grisebach, Vegetation der Erde nach Hirer klimatischen Anordnung, i. p.
310). However this may have been, there can be no doubt that it took mar-
vellously to its new home. Of the immense age and size to which it can attain
in Greece, we have a notable example in our own day in the magnificent plane-
tree of Vostitza (the ancient ^gium) in Achaia. This tree is probably older
than the Ottoman empire ; its trunk measures 46 feet in circumference ; its
branches extend for 150 feet; and its hollow trunk served as a prison during
the War of Independence (Murray's Handbook to Greece, 1884, p. 549). Stack-
elberg also relates that he saw near the Apollo-temple at Bassae (also in Pelo-
ponnesus), a plane-tree whose trunk measured 48 feet round, and whose
hollow was used by a shepherd as a fold for his entire flock (O. v. Stackelberg,
Der Apollo-Tempel von Bassae, p. 14, footnote). What wonder then that, as
Hehn says, the fame of the plane fills all antiquity ? We meet with it in Homer,
for it is under a fair plane-tree whence flowed sparkling water that the great
omen of the ten years' duration of the siege of Troy — the omen of the snake
^ For an account of the Panatheneea, see Hellas, p. 121. The carrying of the myrtle boutjhs
explains how Harmodius and Aristogeiton were able to conceal the weapons with which to
attack the tyrant.
2 See Bellas, p. 270.
38 THE LAND
and the sparrows — was given to the Achaeans, as they tarried in Aulis (Iliad,
ii. 307). We find it in Herodotus, in the story of the noble plane which
so captivated the fancy of Xerxes on the march to Sardis, that he presented
it with golden ornaments, on account of its beauty, and put it under the care
of one of his Immortals (vii. 31), the Ten Thousand picked troops that formed
the flower of his army. We find it, above all, in Plato, in that most charm-
ing picture which he gives in the Plicjedrus of the summer resort of Socrates
by the Ilissus — " the fair and shady resting-place full of summer sounds and
scents " — with its " lofty spreading plane-tree, and the Agnus castas, high and
clustering, in the fullest blossom and the greatest fragrance " ; the stream,
deliciously cold, which flows beneath the plane-tree, the sweet breeze, and
the chirruping of the grasshoppers, an ensemble which suggests to the philo-
sopher all manner of quaint thoughts concerning Myths, Myth-maidens, and
Muses.
We might go on adding many trees and plants to our imported group of " thrice three "
— our olive, fig-tree, and vine, our pomegranate, palm, and quince, our laurel, myrtle, and
plane — trees, such as the cypress, of sufficient importance to be personified in the myths ;
flowers, such as the rose and the lily, whose Greek names betray their Iranian origin.
Enough has been said, however, to shew the gradual transformation of the hillsides and
valleys of Hellas under the intelligent care of her sons. Many of the plants which we now
look upon as peculiar to the countries round the Mediterranean are, in reality, as we have
seen, only the foster-children of this region. What Hehn says of one of them (the oleander,
op. cit., p. 358) is true of all. Once introduced, they knew how to help themselves, and put
on the appearance of free children of nature. Chief among these are especially the ever-
green species, which are best suited to withstand the ordeal of a four-months' drought.
Armed with a strong outer-covering, their leaves are completely protected against excessive
evaporation ; they preserve their sap, their texture remains unaltered, and although deprived
of nourishment during the months of drought, such plants can wait until the autumn rains
come to swell their cells and renew their life (Grisebach, op. cit, i. p. 285). Thus is
explained the peculiar beauty of the woods of Greece, with their glossy shining foliage.
The introduction of the Eastern varieties belongs to the history of the Greek experimenting
rather than to a description of the land as they found it. Nevertheless, inasmuch as when
the curtain rises in Homer, at the dawn of history, we find the Greeks already acquainted
with most of them, it has been necessary to take account of them here. With the
exception of the orange, the citron, the aloe, the cactus, the oleander, and one or two
subsequent importations, the vegetation of Greece in the later classical period must have
been very similar to the vegetation of the present day.
Returning now from this digression to the all -important question of food-
supply, as we have already had a glimpse of the diet recommended by one
philosopher, let us take a glance at that approved of by another some 300
years later, and we shall learn thereby what was well within the reach of every
Hellene. In the Bepuhlic of Plato, after Socrates has brought together into
his ideal state his citizens, the husbandman, the builder, the weaver, the smith,
and all the other craftsmen and traders who are to contribute their energy and
toil to the common wesil(liepuh., ii.. Prof. Jowett's translation, vol.'iii. p. 243), he
proceeds to describe their mode of life : " They will feed," he says, " on barley
and wheat, baking the wheat and kneading the flour, making noble puddings
and loaves ; these they will serve up on a mat of reeds or clean leaves, them-
selves reclining the while upon beds of yew or myrtle-boughs. And they and
their children will feast, drinking of the wine which they have made, wearing
garlands on their heads, and having praises of the gods on their lips, dwelling
together in unity, and having a care that their families do not exceed their
means ; for they will have an eye to poverty or want."
" But," interposes Glaucon, one of the respondents in the dialogue, "you
have not given them a relish to their meal."
NATURAL RESOURCES AND SELF-HELP 39
"True," says Socrates, "I had forgotten that; of course they will have a
relish — salt, and olives, and cheese, and onions, and cabbages, or any other
vegetables which are fit for boiling ; and we shall give them a dessert of figs,
and pulse, and beans ; and they will roast myrtle -berries and chestnuts at the
fire, drinking in moderation. And with such a diet they may be expected to
live to a good old age, and bequeath a similar life to their children after
them."
" Yes, Socrates," says Glaucon, in comic dismay, " and if you were making
a city of pigs, how else would you feed the beasts ! "
The programme of the philosopher finds, therefore, as little favour with
" Young Athens " of the classical period, as it would have found with " Young
England " of the present day. Nevertheless, in early times the food of the
people was almost exclusively vegetarian. Animal food was regarded as
something extraordinary, and consisted mainly of the produce of the chase —
the flesh of domestic animals being partaken of only as part of the feast which
accompanied a sacrifice : this is proved by the curious passing over in later
times of the name hiereia = ^^ sacred " (given at first to the victim slain for the
sacrifice) to any animal slaughtered for ordinary food (Hermann Bllimner,
Privatalterthumer, § 25, note 5).
Notwithstanding, the Achseans of Homer were mighty trenchermen, and
loved their roast meat and their honeysweet wine right well — when they
could get them. In these degenerate days there is something refreshing
in the poet's descriptions of the way in which the heroes make their
repast. Take, for instance, the picture of the sacrificial meal in the First
Book of the Iliad (458 et seq.), how the sons of the Achseans gather round
the altar by the salt sea (one can almost feel the fresh wind blowing) ; the
cleft wood burns, and the young men stand ready with their five-pronged
forks ; and after the barley-meal has been sprinkled with pure hands, and
the portions for the god have been duly burnt, and libation made of sparkling
wine ; how they slice the rest of the victim, and roast it carefully with
spits ! Then they fall to with might and main — nor, as the poet takes care
to mention, is there any stint of the banquet, nor of the goblets crowned
with wine, nor of the joyous song, the paean which they raise to the Far-
darter.
For those Hellenes who, in historic times, shared the tastes of the
Homeric heroes the land made ample provision. The Alpine pastures
afforded nourishment in summer to the flocks of goats and sheep which,
in winter, descended to the sheltered valleys beneath ; the forests abounded in
boars, fallow-deer, and other game offering sport which attracted the attention
of the huntress Artemis (Diana) herself ; ^ and last, but not least, their seas
teemed with fish — a food which suited the Attic climate, at least, better than
did a diet of flesh.
As regards the fiercer wild beasts, Greece had in very early times probably
lions, and certainly wolves and bears ; so abundant were the latter that
Arcadia is supposed to owe its name to them. Noxious snakes were found in
the woods ; but harmless varieties exist near the warm springs, and it is to
the latter class that the serpents sacred to Asclepios (^sculapius) belonged.
Amongst a variety of song-birds common to Greece, the swallow and
the nightingale were singled out, and in the Attic sagas appear as the trans-
formed sisters, Procne and Philomela. The larger birds of prey, eagles
^ See the article on "Artemis" {Hellas, p. 139) ; and for the chase in mythic times, the
story of Meleager and the Calydonian Hunt, Hellas, p. 144.
40 THE LAND
and vultures, seem also to have attracted much attention, and their flight
was considered full of meaning, and taken as an omen.
Finally, mention must be made of the humble murex or purple mussel,
which procured for the Hellenes the visits of the Phoenicians, who used it in
the production of the famous Tyrian dye. Last of all, we notice the still more
humble sponge, which was known to Homer ; and the tortoise, which figures
in that quaintest of all quaint myths, the story of the baby-thief, Hermes, and
his invention of the lyre.^
Passing now from the organic to the inorganic productions of Greece, we
come to a subject which touches us moderns more closely. What the Hellenes
ate — whether they lived on a vegetable or an animal diet, whether they spiced
their viands with the berries of the myrtle or of the pepper-tree — matters to
us in reality not a jot. Neither does it concern us that the materials which
they used in their shipbuilding experiments should have been perishable. But
when we come to consider the Hellenes as architects and sculptors, we are
roused to a perception of the fact that, within their mountains, they possessed
a hidden store of a material which was precisely adapted, not only to develop
their own artistic skill, but also to preserve specimens of that skill for the
benefit of the after- world.
Suppose, on the one hand, that the art works of the Greeks had been
carved in some soft, crumbling stone — would these art works have lasted to
our day ? Suppose, on the other hand, that Hellas had offered her children
nothing but the harder stones, such as granite — would the Greeks have
attained to that perfection in style which has made them the art teachers
of the world ? ^ Both questions, humanly speaking, can only be answered in
the negative. In their stores of marble — a material at once beautiful, durable,
and workable — Hellas possessed an inexhaustible supply of the very material
which her artists required to stimulate and encourage their efforts. Here,
again, the land was made for the people, the people for the land — both, alike
unconsciously, existed for posterity.
We say Hellas possesses an " inexhaustible " supply of marble, and this
appears practically to be the case. The whole of the eastern side of Greece is
formed of calcareous rock and crystalline schists, in which layer upon layer of
the most superb marble is embedded. Attica alone possesses three exquisite
varieties — those of Pentelicus, Hymettus, and Laurium. Again, Boeotia,
Laconia, and the Islands, each has its own distinctive kind. Most striking of
all is the island of Paros, which is simply a marble mountain, containing a
supply so apparently endless as to lead to the fable among the ancients that
its exhausted layers filled up again (Strabo, c. 224, Bk. iv. 6). Nor are
these marbles all uniform in texture and appearance. Nature seems to have
intended to train the artistic eye by offering for selection a choice the most
varied. Sometimes the marble is of the purest, most dazzling whiteness, as is
that of Paros ; sometimes, after exposure in the air and polishing, it becomes
of a faint golden hue, as in the marble of Pentelicus, seen in the temple of
Theseus and in the ruins on the Acropolis of Athens. Or, again, the white
background may be intersected by veins of colour : blue, as in the marble of
^ For the myth, see Hellas, p. 159, under " Hermes."
■^ ** Hard stones (such as granite) were used in Egypt, where human toil was of no account,
and the greatest technical difficulties seemed to exercis^e a certain fascination, both in archi-
tecture and in sculpture, and indeed with a mastery of technique, which even now excites the
admiration of all competent judges. But it is recognised, on the other hand, that this using of
hard stone did its part in hindering the development of Egyptian sculpture, and keeping it hack
at a certain stage. The Greeks, on the contrary, seldom used such materials either in building
or in sculpture" (BlUmner, 2'ech. und Term., iii. p. 10 et seq.)
NATURAL RESOURCES AND SELF-HELP 41
Hymettus ; pale green, as in the Carystian marble {cipellino) of Eubcea ; or
yellow and grey, as in that of Laurium. Yet again, it may not be white at all,
but greyish-black, as in the marble of Boeotia ; black, as in that of Taenarium ;
or red, as in the Rosso antico of Laconia.
In addition to the foregoing, there were various hard-coloured stones also
called " marbles " by the Greeks. Besides the red stone, which they knew as
*' porphyry," there were the so-called " green marble " (green porphyry, Verde
antico) of Laconia and Thessaly ; and the ophit (serpentine, so called from its
appearance, resembling the spots on a serpent's skin) of the island of
Tenos (Bliimner, op. cit.^ iii. pp. 8-50; Neumann u. Partsch, op. cit., pp.
209-223).
Whether these well-nigh innumerable varieties were all known to the
ancient Greeks or not is a question which we cannot discuss. One thing is
certain that, for the most part, each canton and each island in early days was
restricted to its own supply, and would probably become acquainted with its
own local resources. More important for us to note is the fact that the
Hellenes had the fine taste to avail themselves in their chief works exclusively
of the pure varieties. They employed mainly the snowy white marble of
Paros in their sculpture, the golden-tinged marble of Pentelicus in their
architecture. The streaked and coloured varieties were left for the bizarre
taste of the Roman period.
Nor were marble and ordinary building- stones the only material that
appealed to the artistic sense of the Greeks. In their beds of fine white Clay
they possessed another, on which they practised long before they ventured to
chip and hew the rocks for sculptural purposes. The clay of Greece was of the
greatest service in the development of statuary, and it is certainly noteworthy
that in Corinth and Sicyon, both the seat of vigorous art-schools, where for lack
of marble casting in bronze was specially studied, clay suitable for modelling
abounds. In the potter's art again (an art which, in early days before metals
are freely worked, ranks among the most important to a primitive community i),
it was of course indispensable. The Athenians, as we know, raised their
Ceramic industry to the rank of a fine art, and to this result the fact that, in
the clay of Cape Colias, they possessed most excellent material, easily worked
and coloured, certainly contributed. Finally, the occurrence of natural
pigments — a red chalk or ochre on the island of Ceos, and a white earth,
resembling a ready-prepared white-lead, on Melos (C. Bursian, Geog. von.
Griechenland, ii. p. 468 and 497, note 3) — must have helped not a little in the
development of painting as well as of colouring generally.
In turning to the Metals of Greece, and the extent to which they were
known in early days, we touch upon a most interesting subject. It will,
however, be better considered in connection with the experiments which the
Greeks made in developing, as best they could, their natural resources. Here
we would only point out that they possessed to a small extent both the precious
metals ; silver was worked in the mines of Laurium, and gold obtained in early
times on the islands of Siphnus and Thasos ; in the latter it was worked by
the Phoenicians. Copper was obtained at or near Chalcis on the island of
Euboea ; and iron was tolerably abundant, although not much worked, owing
to the difficulty of obtaining fuel enough for smelting purposes.
One fact, however, we ask the reader to note, viz. : that all the mineral
wealth of Greece — her marbles and her metals — lies entirely (so far as is yet
^ For an account of the variety of articles made of earthenware in primitive times, see
the description of those found at Hissarlik (Troy) by Dr. Schliemann, and on the island of
Therasia by M. Fouque, in Hdlas, p. 64 et seq.
42 THE LAND
known) on the eastern side of the land. Thus, all natural circumstances — the
ruggedness of the western side, the attractiveness and resources of the
eastern — combined to keep the Hellene who was capable of progress away from
the rude west, and to throw him on the east, the side on which the historical
development of the race was destined to take place.
This brief resume of the chief natural productions of Greece will serve to
shew what manner of land it was, and what the primitive Hellenes had to
expect when they looked around them for their means of sustenance and
shelter. We have pictured no soft region of uninterrupted summer, such as
travellers describe in southern latitudes, where the fruits of Mother Earth
drop of their own accord into the lap of her children. No ! — Everywhere and
on everything in Hellas was stamped the doctrine of Work ! True, when we
read the account given of some of the isles of the Archipelago, where grapes,
figs, and other luscious fruits, left to themselves, will overhang the rocks,
*' concealing the soil beneath with their wild luxuriance of fruit and foliage,"
we are apt to forget the sterner side of the picture. But the Hellene himself,
in early days, was in no danger of forgetting it. Even the commonest
necessities of life had to be won by energy^ — anything beyond these by
experimenting. Certainly, from the first, Hesiod's cheerful diet of mallows
and squills, varied by acorns and other wild fruits, was available for all. Long
years of labour, however, were required before Plato's " noble puddings and
loaves " could become possible, whilst the fruit-age — the time when the
cultivation of olives and figs had attained to such perfection as to render these
fruits a staple food for the people — represents, as we have seen, another long
period, probably centuries, of watchful care and observation.
In no way was the Hellene exempt from the common lot of man — work he
must, and work he did. The only advantage which he possessed over the sons
of more northerly latitudes was, that his work was pursued under happier
conditions. If Nature would not do all for him, if she insisted on man's
co-operating unceasingly with her, she yet came to his help in a thousand
ways, and lightened his toil, so that it did not degenerate into absolute
drudgery. Nevertheless, the law for Hellas was, help thyself in order that
the Higher Powers may be able to help thee. " To him that hath shall be
given."
Appendix: The Present State of Greece.
So desolate and forlorn an aspect do many parts of Greece now present to the traveller,
that the question of a deterioration both in soil and climate has been seriously argued by
scientific observers. Recently, however, as the result of more extended and careful
investigation, thinkers, such as Hehn and others, have come to the conclusion that to no
failure of vigour on the part of nature is this desolation to be ascribed. Rather must its
causes be sought in the treatment which for ages the country has received at the hands of
man.
From her physical conditions, Greece is, as we have already seen, a land which impera-
tively demands the co-operation of man — her months of drought call for artificial irriga-
tion, her floods for restraint. When these conditions are not fulfilled — when the guiding
and co-operating hand of Man is withdrawn — Nature languishes. Finally her beauty
perishes.
And what are the facts of the case ? Simply that for long ages such care and co-operation
have been lacking to Greece. The country, for more than a thousand years, has been the
sport of Fortune — overrun by barbarous hordes who knew nothing of, and would have
cared less for, her past greatness. Goths, Huns, Avars, Bulgarian Slavs, have poured in
turn over this unhappy land, and satiated their thirst for blood and for booty upon her.
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 43
What little hope of escape from misery remained to her wretched inhabitants in later
days was for long years crushed out of them by the Turk. Can we wonder, then, that in
certain parts Hellas became a desert ? — that her fruitful plains became swamps ?
To the past ravages inflicted on the land, moreover, must be added another cause of
desolation, which has been going on even in our own time, and under happier auspices —
namely, the wanton destruction of the forests. These have been treated in reckless fashion,
and used not only for ordinary and legitimate purposes, but ruthlessly by the charcoal-
burners, a wild and intractable race, who, with the shepherds, are responsible for many a
ruinous fire, and by the classes engaged in the preparation of the resin so much employed
(as a preventive against souring) in the wine of Greece. For the sake of a trifling gain,
whole forests have been destroyed. Says an eye-witness. Sir Thomas Wyse {Impressions of
Greece, p. 232): "The pines and firs are not sapped only, which might do no harm, but
hacked and gashed. The wound . . . allows the resinous fluid to flow out ; but the
quantity given is slight while the tree is ruined. Death gradually creeps upward, withering,
like a smouldering fire, branch after branch. Whole ranges of these blasted forests are to
be seen in all parts of Greece."
With the destruction of the forests, a continual deterioration has been going on, not
only in wood, as such, but in agriculture and climate. The remarks on this subject by the
same careful observer quoted above, for many years a resident in Greece, are most instruc-
tive. As a direct consequence of the loss of the forests, "the rains," he says, "are not
provoked, nor the streams collected and usefully distributed, nor the soil nourished, nor
the temperature moderated. A fierce storm carries away all the soil, substitutes torrents
and devastation for rivers and irrigation, burns up crops, and plants irremediable fever."
All tliis could be remedied by care and attention. Says Victor Hehn {op. cit., p. 6) :
"Alluvial earth can be collected in terraces on the mountains, choked-up river channels
can be cleansed, bare heaths watered, swampy plains drained by canals. The forests,
even, would in this happy climate in no very long period again clothe the slopes of
the mountains — if they could only be protected from the goats which attack the
young trees, and from fire," and from the carelessness of human beings. . . . " In this
climate the creative and healing power of Nature is astounding." What the Hellas of
our own day needs, therefore, is that she should once more be cared for and cultivated
with the energy and ability of her first sons — a condition of things which peace and free-
dom will bring back to her with time.
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY
In yet another way was Hellas adapted to the needs of a people destined
to be seekers and inquirers — developers of ideas new to the world — and this
was in the number of curious and * striking natural phenomena which she
presented to their notice.
Ages, many ages, before the Graeco- Aryans made their appearance upon it,
the little land was a-preparing. Mighty agents were at work to fit it for their
reception : earthquakes shook it, rent the Peloponnesus from the mainland ;
and scattered the islands which formed the stepping-stones for their approach ;
whilst forces, internal and invisible, threw up their bulwarks on the north and
the encircling walls round each little chamber. And not only earthquakes,
but floods, inundations on a gigantic scale, expansions and shrinkings again
of the sea-limits, sinkings and raisings of the sea-bed (such as formed one
isthmus, that of Corinth, by which the Peloponnesus was re-attached to the
mainland, and destroyed another, that which, south of the Hellespont, is
supposed to have once joined Europe to Asia i) — all had their share in marking
out the present contour of the land. And not only flood, but fire was at work.
Fiercely and wildly, from the depths of the sea, it sent up islands destined to
^ The union of the Black Sea with the eastern basin of the Mediterranean is a work of the
Diluvial Age. In the Tertiary epoch, the Greek peninsula was joined to Asia Minor by a land-
bridge of varying, but always very considerable breadth. This bridge of land lay originally, as
stated above, to tlie south of the Hellespont (Neumayr, Zur Geschichte des ostlichen Mittel-
meerbeckens, 1882 : Pt. 392 of the Virchow-Holtzendorff Collection, cf. Neumann und Partsch.
p. 264).
44 THE LAND
play their part in the world's history ; more gently and intensely, in the
heart of the mountains, heat and pressure (aided by moisture or other of
nature's mysterious agents) crystallised the raw material which formed their
bulk, ordinary limestone, into the goodly stores of pure, fine-grained, brilliant
marble which, as we have seen, the Hellenes discovered in their survey of the
land.
The physical explanation of some of these phenomena is not far to seek, for
Greece lies in a volcanic zone, extending from the Caspian Sea to the Azores,
and traces of the changes wrought by volcanic agency are everywhere visible.
The Mediterranean is still " undermined by fire," which manifests itself not only
in Vesuvius and Etna, but in the hot springs of Thermopylae and Troezen. The
transverse fractures by which the Greek mountains are I'udely torn, the
cauldron-shaped hollows into which they are scooped, the gloomy, tortuous
glens by which they are pierced — all point to the action of some mighty
internal force or forces, and to a transition -period of fierce elemental conflict,
during which the formless chaos was reduced to its present proportions and
fitted for the abode of man.
Such scenes were undoubtedly calculated to awaken thought, and there is
evidence that from the earliest times the Hellenes were struck by them and
set themselves seriously to work to find out their cause. This early evidence
is to be found in the myths, but it is not to be despised on that account.
(i.) Volcanic Phenomena : — (a) Eruptions.— The elemental conflict which
preceded the present order of things the Greeks depicted as war in heaven. A
succession of three dynasties (two of which are deposed by force) — represented
respectively by Uranus, the dim beginning ; Kronus, the Ripener ; and Zeus,
Light and Wisdom — typify three periods supposed to have elapsed before the
KosMOS — i.e. the world, regarded as a perfectly- arranged and beautifully-
ordered whole — was complete.
Before Zeus, the final ruler of the universe, attains to a permanent victory,
therefore, he has many and fierce foes to contend with. The Titans, representa-
tives of the rude forces which we have been considering — Earthquake, Fire,
and Flood — offer him battle,^ but in the end he conquers and imprisons them.
No sooner is this accomplished, however, .than a new enemy starts up, more to
be feared than a dozen Titans. This is Typhon, the most terrible of monsters,
graced with one hundred fire-spitting heads.'^ Him also, after a determined
struggle, Zeus takes captive and buries beneath Mount Etna. Now whenever
the giant turns himself in his subterranean dungeon, the mountain shakes and
groans, and spouts forth fire. The imprisonment of Typhon is, therefore,
according to the myths, the cause of volcanic eruptions.
At first sight, we are inclined to smile at the explanation, and to
think that, although imagination may have had a large share in the
invention of the myth, yet that of "serious thought" there is in it not a
trace. We remember, however, that every genuine myth has a kernel, and
looking again a little more closely, we find that this myth is no exception to
the rule. The kernel — the real explanation — lies in the name. Typhon (Smoke
and Vapour) is neither more or less than a personification of pent-up gases and
vapours striving to find an outlet. To the working of these pent-up vapours,
and not to the corporeal struggles of any monster, it was that the Greeks
attributed the phenomena of volcanic eruptions. Hesiod's description of the
combat with Typhon is really what Preller has called it (Griechische Mytho-
^ For the spirited translation of Hesiod's Titanomachia, or Battle of the Titans, see Hellas,
p. 87.
^ For the myth of Typhon, see Hellas, p. 89.
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 45
logie, i. p. 55), " one of the most remarkable allegorical pictures ever composed,
of one of the grandest sights in nature — a mountain breathing forth fire." If
the authoi' of the myth had doubled the number of Typhon's fire-breathing
heads, he would have been guilty of no exaggeration, for Etna actually
possesses 200 lesser cones, each of which is a miniature volcano in itself. As
for the sounds sent forth by the monster — the roaring, bellowing, barking,
hissing — all are simply an attempt to describe what has been characterised
by those who have heard it as "utterly indescribable" — namely, first, the
subterranean rumbling and grumbling of the steam forcing its way upwards in
the funnel of the crater through the solid lava and othei* obstructions that bar
its progress, and then the tremendous crash of the final outburst. So much
for the truthfulness of the allegory.
Is there, then, no evidence of serious thought in this nearly three-thousand-
years'-old gaseous theory of volcanic explosions ? Yerily, it bears a marvellous
resemblance to the conclusions arrived at by geologists of our own day.^
Where the fable arose is not known. Homer places it " in the land of the
Arimoi" {Iliad, ii. 782), supposed to represent some volcanic district of Asia
Minor ; but it was localised also in Bceotia, in Sicily as we have seen, and
even transferred to the Caucasus. Typhon or Typhaeus was, in short, the
mythical expression of antiquity for volcanic energy and its destructive
effects.
Pursuing the history of Zeus and his conflicts, we find him next engaged
in the Gigaiitomachia, or Battle with the Giants — representatives of the
minor disturbances still going on within the earth. The battle takes place in
Phlegra, i.e. Fire-land, assigned by the ancients either to the peninsula of
Pallene in Thrace, which bears evident marks of volcanic action, or to a spot
in the Alpheius valley in Arcadia, where fire issues from the ground, and
where, in historic times, sacrifices were offered to the Lightning, and Storm,
and Thunder (Paus,, viii. 29, i), by whose aid Zeus won the victory.
The Giants, too, are finally overcome by Zeus ; and with this conquest
ends the elemental warfare : Light and Order rule the Kosmos — and now the
phenomena of Fire appear no longer as destructive, but as beneficent and
formative agents, personified in other mythic beings of a higher order. The
centre of the Fire-myths in Hellas is the island of Lemnos, called in antiquity
" Fire-island," where the Greeks had before their eyes a volcano, Mosychlos,
which, if not actually erupting, continued to flame down to the time of
Alexander. The whole island shews traces of its volcanic origin, and we need
not be surprised, therefore, to find it connected with two groups of fire-myths.
A temple near Mosychlos marked the spot, not only where the little Fire-god,
Hephaestus (the Lightning) fell when his hard-hearted mother, Hera, flung him
out of Olympus because of his deformity, his halting gait (i.e. the flickering of
the flame, or the zig-zag course of the lightning), but also where Prometheus
(the Fire-bringer) brought down his secret treasure to mortals — an offence which
had to be expiated first by the noble Titan himself, and in historic times by
succeeding generations of Lemnians.^
In later myths, volcanoes (not excepting Etna) and volcanic islands were
associated with the glorious artist {klytoteclines) Hephaestus the Smith. They
^ " Even in the more stupendous manifestations of vulcanism, the lava should be regarded
rather as the sign than as the cause of volcanic action. It is the pressure of the imprisoned
vapour and its struggles to get free which produces the subterranean earthquakes, explosions,
and outpourings of lava " (Geikie, Text-booh of Geology, p. 223 : 1882). The italics are ours.
^ For the fire-worship of the Lemnians and their yearly nine days' firelessness, see UellaSy
P- 97-
46 THE LAND
were his forges and workshops, where he toiled with his one-eyed assistants,
the Cyclopes, daemons of the Fire and the Lightning. Another striking proof
of the fidelity with which the Greeks adhered to Nature in their myths is to be
found in the story which makes the little Hephaestus lie concealed in the sea
until he is grown up.^ For not only are volcanoes commonly found near the
sea, but those of the Mediterranean, including even colossal types such as
Etna and Vesuvius, were in the beginning of their history (the infancy of
Hephaestus) submarine craters which owe their present dimensions partly
to the accumulation of ejected materials, and probably also partly to an eleva-
tion of the sea bottom (A. Geikie's Text-hook of Geology, p. 223).
(h) Upheavals of Land. — In another way volcanic phenomena forced them-
selves on the notice of the Hellenes. Let us look at an instance of this : —
We sail into a bay belonging to an island group in the yEgaean. Oval in
form, it is shut in for two-thirds of its circumference on the north, east, and
south by a large island shaped like a half-moon, whilst the western side is only
partially closed by two smaller islands. The entrance into the bay makes
a weird impression on the mind. As we leave the open sea, the water grows
dark and darkei- in hue ; around rise precipitous rocks mostly pitch-black in
colour, relieved by lighter bands ; high above, on the verge of the rocks, like
nests hanging over the abyss, are perched the houses of the inhabitants,
reached from the landing-places by winding paths. In the middle the bay is
of immense depth, and from its bosom rise three little islets, black and desolate
as the surrounding cliffs. Here, indeed, is a scene calculated to make even
the most inconsiderate pause, and ask : What does it mean 1
The answer has been given by modern science. The black rocks towering
upwards in such fearful steepness are the walls of a gigantic crater ; the bay
in the middle is the water-filled abyss, formed by the falling in of the crater ;
the three larger islands represent the rim of the crater, fragments of what
originally formed one island of considerable size ; the three little black islets on
the bosom of the bay are newforined land, sent upwards by the fiery Typhon
who caused the catastrophe in prehistoric times, and has continued his activity,
his tossings and his turnings, in the depths of the sea, down to the years of
grace, 1866-1870.
The reader will not need to be told that we are in the Bay of Santorin,
and are contemplating its island-group — Thera (Santorin,^ called by Elie de
Beaumont " one of the most remarkable and instructive islands in the
world "), Therasia, and Aspronisi — for this corner of the ^Egsean Sea has
become " classic " ground in a double sense to Europe (Fouque, Santorin et ses
Eruptions. Cf also Neumann u. Partsch, op. cit., p. 274; Bursian, op. cit.^
ii. p. 520).
Of the catastrophe itself and the terrible fate which overtook the
inhabitants of the island, the Greeks of historic times knew nothing, and the
myth by which they tried to account for the non-natural aspect of Thera is
poor in the extreme. They represented it as having sprung from a clod of
earth given by Triton to the Argonauts, who called the island Calliste, "the
beautiful " — a name which shows that they preferred the verdure of its
southern parts to the sombre region which interests us moderns.
In another way, however, in relation to another class of myths, the
Santorin gi-oup is exceedingly interesting — to those myths, namely, which tell
1 For the myths concerning Hephaestus, see article "Hephaestus" in Hellas, p. 1 12.
•^ See the description of the Santo rin-group given in Hellas at p. 40, and the account of
the prehistoric village on Therasia at p. 64. The modern appellation of Thera — Santorin — is a
corruption of the name of the patron of the island, Sant Irene, martyred here in 304.
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 47
of the sudden appearance of islands. When we read of Delos rising from the
waves to afford a birthplace for Apollo, or of Rhodes being upheaved to
remedy an injustice done to Helios ^ — we smile again, and class such fables
with the sudden growth of the famous beanstalk. Nevertheless, when the old
poets told these stories — whether the phenomena were applicable to the
islands in question, or not — they at least told nothing that was in itself
improbable — as is proved by the rise of the little Kaimenis, or " burnt islands,"
in the Bay of Santorin in historic times. The same phenomenon may have
occurred, and doubtless did occur, elsewhere during the ages in which the
myths arose.
An account of the appearance of one of these islets — probably the kernel of
Palaea or Old Kaimeni — about 199 B.C., has been preserved by the old writers
(Strabo, p. 57 ; Pliny, Nat. Hist., ii. 87, 202, cf. iv. 23, 70; Seneca, Quxst.
Nat., ii. 26, 4 ; Pans., viii. 33, 4). It was preceded by flames, showers of
stones, and clouds of smoke. Then appeared great rocks, and finally the peak
of a burnt-out mountain showed itself. This increased its height, and grew to
the size of an island. The Rhodians were the first to take courage and step
on the new-formed land, which they called Hiera, the " Sacred," and dedicated
to Poseidon (Neptune).
From this narrative we can see how such an event would impress itself on
the mind of an imaginative people — how land rising from unknown depths amid
fire and flame would seem to be a fitting prelude to the birth of a god.
Although these accompaniments are certainly not mentioned in the old
Homeric Hymn to the Delian Apollo, this may well have been (from poetic
motives) to emphasise what follows — for no sooner has the little god of light
touched the earth than all Delos " flames in gold," like a mountain blooming
with the flowers of the forest. {Of. F. G. Welcker, Griech. Gotterlehrej
ii. p. 341.)
Thera, however, is by no means the only scene of volcanic action in the
^gsean. The eruptions here seem to have followed an old line of fissure —
beginning in the east with the islands of Thera, Melos, Cimolus, and Polyaegus,
and continued in a succession of tiny islets, likewise of volcanic origin,
westwards as far as Argolis and the small peninsula of Methana in Troezenia.
They appear, judging from the variety of volcanic products thrown up, to be
the result, not of one gigantic " hearth," but of several independent craters at
work in the sea. Evidently, however, a connection exists, and Typhon has
shown himself active at both the extremities, Thera and Methana, in historic
times — at Thera, as we have seen, by island-formim/, at Methana by mountain-
building. About the year 282 B.C. there was suddenly thrown up, as it were
before the very eyes of the world, a gigantic mountain-mass, which modern
observers have found to consist almost entirely of volcanic stone — a reddish-
brown trachyte (Bursian, op. cit., ii. pp. 349-91 ; Strabo, p. 59; Ovid, Met.,
XV. p. 296 et seq.).
(c) Hot- Springs. — There only remains for us now to notice briefly the hot-
springs of Greece. These phenomena are to be found in several of the localities
already mentioned — on Melos and Methana, and along ancient lines of
cleavage, the results of earthquakes and volcanic action. Thus the most
celebrated of all, the hot - springs of Thermopylae, which gave their name
(Hot-Gates) to the famous Pass, form one of a series, continued eastwards in
the sulphur-springs of ^depsus on the island of Euboea, and westwards in
those of Hypata on the slopes of CEta, the capital of the little country of the
1 For the myth of the birth of Apollo, see Hellas, p. 124. For that of the appearance of
Rhodes, see ibid., p. 190.
48 THE LAND
^-Enianes, a district included in Thessaly. All these yield warm salt-water,
smelling strongly of sulphur, and depositing a sediment which covers the
ground with a whitish crust; they were used in antiquity for medicinal
purposes {e.g. Fiedler, Reise chirch GriecTicnland, i. p. 209). The springs of
Hypata are not mentioned by the old writers ; but Bursian is of opinion that
their healing effects may have contributed as much as the abundance in the
locality of hellebore (a plant with which the ancients associated marvellous
and baneful properties) to fasten in later days on Hypata in particular the
general Thessalian reputation for witchcraft (Bursian, op. cit., i. p. 89). In
the time of Plutarch, the baths of ^^Edepsus, in Euboea, which are the hottest
of all, were the rendezvous of invalid or fashionable Greece.
What concerns us, however, in our present inquiry is that the Greeks
very early noticed these phenomena, and strove to account for them. The
mythical explanation, viz., that Athena had caused them to spring up for the
refreshment of the hero Heracles (Hercules), although not very satisfactory,
is by no means so arbitrary as at first sight appears. Athena, as we know,
was worshipped as Hygieia, the goddess of Health ; hence the myth, in its
origin, was simply an allegorical way of describing the hygienic properties
of the waters. Many of the hot-springs, therefore, are naturally connected
with the Heracles-saga. Those at Thermopylae were specially sacred (together
with the whole district) to the hero, and an altar was erected to him in the
Pass (Herodotus, vii. p. 176). Along the other great line of cleavage, again,
on the northern shores of the Corinthian Gulf, at the foot of Mount Taphiassus,
flow sulphur springs, supposed to mark the spot where was buried Nessus,
the centaur slain by Heracles. Finally, we meet with hot-springs again in
Bceotia, at the north-eastern foot of Mount Laphystium, an extinct volcano,^
through the crater of which the hero is said to have emerged from the Lower
World, dragging behind him the terrible Cerberus, watch-dog of the Infernal
Regions — a feat which, according to Homer (Iliad, viii. 366 et seq.), he could
not have accomplished without the help of Athena.
(2.) Earthquakes and Disappearance of Land.— Passing now to the
next series of natural phenomena — those connected with earthquakes — we come
to a subject which touched the Greeks of the Historical Period much more closely
than did the volcanic phenomena previously described. With the latter, indeed,
it is closely connected ; for just as we know that Greece lies in a volcanic
zone, so do we know also that this same zone has been called with equal truth
" a great belt of earthquake disturbance."
The Greeks had ample opportunity of becoming acquainted with seismic phe-
nomena, both by actual experience and by what they saw around them. The
country, in fact, as already pointed out, owes much of its present contour to the
action of earthquakes. Evidences of dislocation are abundant everywhere ;
and specially do the two great lines of cleavage at once attract attention — that
which sundered Peloponnesus from the mainland, to which it remains attached,
as it were, only by a thread ; and the no less remarkable rent on the eastern
side, which tore the island of Eubcea from the continent.
These are the effects of the elemental conflicts of prehistoric times, and
far north, on the frontier, there exists a similar manifestation, which, beyond
any other, seems to have stamped itself upon the Greek imagination as a con-
sequence and result of some powerful interference with nature.
1 The name "Laphystium" is thought by Forchhammer {Hell., p. 15) to mean "stone-
producer" or "stone-discharger," in allusion to the showers of lava emitted by the crater (from
tos="8tone," and phyo=''to produce," or physao =** to discharge"). Another, and a much
more terrible significance (as we shall see shortly) was however attached to the name.
For "Cerberus," see Hellas, p. 283.
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 49
Between two great opposing mountain masses — Olympus and Ossa — lies a
hollow gorge, so narrow as in parts to afford space only for the river which
flows along it beneath gigantic cliffs that tower above, on either side, to a
height of nearly 1500 feet. This is the famous pass emphatically described
both by its ancient name of Tempe, " the Cleft," and also by that which it bore
in the Middle Ages — Lykostomo, " the Wolf's Jaws."
Here, indeed, is a scene which, like Thera, might well make a thoughtful
observer pause and ask : How did it originate ? What force rent those tremen-
dous " Jaws " asunder ? To this the Hellenes themselves replied : A beneficent
force ! for through these opened jaws was disgorged the flood of waters which
would else have overspread the land and turned the fruitful plains of Thessaly
into a standing lake. The Peneius, which discharges itself peacefully through
Tempe into the sea, receives the waters of the other rivers of Thessaly, four in
number, which in their turn collect and bear to it those of all the streams pouring
down from the mountain walls of the Great Plain. The two Thessalian lakes,
Nessonis and Boebeis, were thought in antiquity to be the sunken remnants of
the great sheet of water which was supposed to have overspread the land in
primeval times (Strabo, c. 430, vii. 5). "Thessaly," says Herodotus (vii. 139,
cf. Leake, Northern Greece, iv. p. 513 et seq.), "is surrounded on every side by
very high mountains ; to the east by Pelion and Ossa, the extremities of which
are united together, to the north by Olympus, to the west by Pindus, to the
south by Othrys. In the midst is the hollow Thessaly, watered by many rivers,
of which the five principal, having joined their waters into one channel (the
Peneius), are discharged into the sea through a narrow strait. It is reported
that anciently the valley which gives passage to the river did not exist ; that
neither the rivers nor the lake Boebeis had names, though the waters flowed as
at present, and that they thus made Thessaly a sea (j^elagos)."
Let us add that in these suppositions the old writers have been confirmed
by modern geologists — without Tempe, there could be no Thessaly. Well,
indeed, might the opening of the Wolf's Jaws appear an operation of the
utmost importance to the Thessalians, and well might they shudder when, in
after days, they heard of the cold-blooded possibility suggested by Xerxes :
that, by merely shutting up the " Jaws " again — blocking the passage of the
Peneius to the sea — it would be easy to dispose of a hostile Thessaly (Hero-
dotus, vii. 130).
The beneficent force to which the Hellenes assigned the " cleft " of Tempe
was — the force of the sea. In the language of the myths, it was due to
Poseidon. " The Thessalians say," remarks Herodotus in the passage just
cited, "that Poseidon opened the channel at Tempe, through which the
Peneius flows, and this will appear probable to those who believe that Poseidon
shakes the earth, for the separation of the mountains, Olympus and Ossa, seems
to me to have been caused by an earthquake."
In these words of the historian, we have one of the leading theories of
antiquity concerning earthquakes : viz., that they were caused by the rushing
of the sea waves into hollow caves on the coast, whence penetrating far inland,
they shook the solid foundations above, and produced the quaking and rending
asunder of the earth's crust. This theory — although far removed from the
truth — is neither so meagre nor so inadequate an explanation as it appears,
for it is based upon another — which, from the standpoint of the ancients, was
satisfactory enough : Poseidon (Neptune), " the Might of the Sea," becomes
Enosichthon, "the Earth-shaker," because he is first GcBeochus, "the Earth-up-
holder." To repeat here what the reader will find more fully discussed elsewhere,^
^ See under "Poseidon," Hellas, p. 204.
50 THE LAND
" Poseidon was supposed to hold up the earth, as Atlas supported the sky
— an idea which originated in the fact that, seen from shipboard, the land
appears to rest on the sea as on a foundation." It will be seen, therefore,
that on this theory it is easy for the Earth-upholder to become the Earth-
shaker at his pleasure ; and the awful suddenness and vehemence of an earth-
quake, or an earthquake-wave, seemed in those early days only the natural
outcome of the revengeful and implacable temper of the " dark-haired Earth-
shaker," the choleric monarch of the sea.
Poseidon, therefore, was worshipped in all parts of Greece visited by earth-
quakes, and at Tempe a temple was erected in his honour, as Petrxus, "the
Rock-cleaver," on the alluvial ground at the mouth of the Peneius.
It was, however, along the southern part of the great line of fracture — the
northern coast of Peloponnesvis — that the power of the Earth-shaker was most
clearly manifested. Achaia, the smallest district of Peloponnesus, is merely
a narrow seam of land, lying between the mountains and the sea, and best
described by its prehistoric name of ^gialos or JEgialeia, "the coast-land."
Concussions of earthquake, so travellers tell us, have tossed the surface of the
little land into a multiplicity of forms — deep dells and craggy steeps, yawning
ravines, and cloud-capped precipices (Dodwell, Tour through Greece, ii. p. 303).
Seen from the sea, the spurs of the mountains, as they descend into the plain,
lie in huge convulsed masses, or fall in abrupt terrace-fashion, like a succession
of gigantic landslips (Sir T. Wyse, Excursion in the Peloponnesus, ii. p. 281).
Here, in this district, sacred in early days to Poseidon, occurred in 373 B.C.,
two years before the battle of Leuctra, one of the most appalling catastrophes
of ancient times — a fearful earthquake, by which the city of Bura was
destroyed, and the neighbouring city of Helice, once the chief town of Achaia,
completely swallowed up by the wrathful waves. This terrible fate overtook
the city during the night, and when, next day, 2000 Achseans came together to
bury the dead, they found to their horror not a trace of the city remaining —
not a man nor a dwelling. The Hellenes regarded this as a judgment on the
inhabitants, who had driven suppliants out of the sanctuary of Poseidon
Heliconios and murdered them. Centuries later, the fishermen of the Corinthian
Gulf declared that their nets often became entangled in the image of the god,
standing sternly upright beneath the waves, as though testifying to the justice
of the sentence on the doomed city (Pans., vii. 24, 7 ; Diodor., xv. 48).^
Hardly less dramatic is a similar event mentioned by Thucydides and
others. About a century earlier (464 B.C.), in "hollow Lacedaemon, cleft with
glens," occurred an earthquake, which detached one peak of Taygetus,
destroyed Sparta, and buried more than 20,000 Lacedaemonians beneath the
ruins. This event also was regarded as a punishment sent by Poseidon on the
Spartans for the murder of certain Helots who had taken refuge as suppliants
in his sanctuary at Tsenarum ; and it had far-reaching political consequences,
for the enslaved Helots took the opportunity of the general terror (and
probably, also, of the cause assigned to the catastrophe), and rose in rebellion.
These Helots, mark you, were Hellenes, descendants of the Messenians whose
country the Spartans had, as we have seen (p. 26), unscrupulously annexed.
They established themselves on Mt. Ithome — not only the chief fortress, but
the national sanctuary of Messenia — and there began the third Messenian War,
a struggle which lasted ten years. When, finally, in the tenth year of the
siege, the Messenians could no longer hold out, a powerful ally was at hand in
the shape of a Delphic oracle current among the Spartans, which bade them
" let the suppliant of Zeus Ithomatos go free " — a warning which resulted in
^ For a fuller account see under ' ' Poseidon, " Hellas, p. 206.
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 51
the regaining of their liberty, at the cost of exile, by the Messenian Helots.
Nearly a century later (369 B.C.) their descendants were brought back and
their wrongs avenged by Epaminondas (Thucyd., i. loi, 128, 103; Strabo, c.
367, vii. 6; Plut., Gim., 16).
Between the terrible catastrophe of 373 B.C., which swallowed up Helice,
and the year 1861 of our era, Peloponnesus has been visited by some thirteen
earthquake-shocks, in which the city of Corinth was the chief sufferer, having
been laid in ruins no fewer than three times — in a.d. 77, 522, and 1858. Nor
has the northern half of Greece been exempt, witness the earthquake which
occurred at Thebes in 1853 (T. F. T. Schmidt, App. iv. to Wyse's Excursion in
the Peloponnesus),
Now, wending our way eastwards, we have in the long narrow island of
Eubcea a most remarkable phenomenon. Fragment for fragment, it corre-
sponds precisely to that part of Middle Greece from which it was torn.
Geological evidence shows that its mountains are continuations — end-masses —
of the chains of the mainland : the steep heights of the promontory of Censeum
on Euboea answer to those of (Eta ; the hot-springs of -^^depsus to those of
Thermopylae ; a fertile strip on the coast to a similar strip in Locris (P. W.
Forchhammer, Hellenika, p. 12); and at one place so closely does the island
approach the mainland, that the strait between, the Euripus, was bridged over
in ancient as in modern times. ^
The view that Euboea had formerly been one with the continent was held
in antiquity, and is mentioned by Strabo, Pliny, and others (Strabo, c. 60, i.
19; Pliny, ii. 88, 204; iv. 12, 63). There are numerous allusions also to
visitations of earthquake in historic times. Thus, Thucydides tells of one
which happened in Euboea during the Peloponnesian War, and in which a
portion of the island was swallowed up by the sea. The views of the historian
are in curious contrast to the popular mythical theory of Herodotus, given
above. Thucydides explains the occurence of the earthquake sea-wave (which,
as we now know, is propagated together with the land-wave from the centre of
the disturbance) by the force and rapidity of the rebound of the sea upon the
land, from which it has just been repelled by the violence of the seismic shock
(iii. 89).
Thus, the phenomenon of Euboea, no less than that of Tempe, aroused
thought and inquiry among the Hellenes, and that, if we are to believe our
modern myth-interpreters, long before the age of Thucydides. It is quite
possible that the event may have actually occurred within the memory of man
(according to modern views, it must have taken place at a relatively late
period) (Bursian, op. cit., ii. p. 349, 395) ; and consequently the story of the
catastrophe may have been handed down as part of the great body of tradition
embodied in the myths. However this may have been, Forchhammer, who
has made the most elaborate study of the locality, sees the rending of Euboea
distinctly set forth in the saga of the (Etaean Heracles (Forchhammer, op. cit.,
p. 16 et seq.).
He takes up the story at the point where the hero has just returned in
triumph with lole from the sacking of (Echalia, and is about to offer a sacri-
fice of thanksgiving to Zeus on the promontory of Cenaeum. Lichas, the
messenger of the forsaken wife, brings him the fatal robe which Deianeira, in
her innocence, imagines will restore her husband's love to her. Heracles puts
it on as his sacrificial garb ; immediately the sun beats upon it, the texture
grows soft and fastens itself round him like a coat of wax ; the poison sinks
^ For an account of the Euripus and its fluctuating tides, which,^o jess than the island itself,
engaged the attention of antiquity, see Hellas, p. 43. ^-- - 7- > v ' '^ ^^''^
52 THE LAND
into his veins and causes intolerable agony. Mountains and sea resound with
the cries of the hero ; in a paroxysm of fury he seizes the unfortunate Lichas,
and dashes him into the sea ; after him he throws the robe, tearing off with it
the adhering quivering flesh. Then, in his despair, he has himself conveyed
across the sea, carried to the summit of OEta, and placed upon the pyre whence
his apotheosis finally takes place.
This, by far the most dramatic and powerful of the numberless sagas con-
cerning the hero, a story which Sophocles has invested with an intensely
human interest, Forchhammer interprets thus : the long robe thrown oft' by
Heracles is the island of Euboea ; the bringer of the fatal gift, Lichas, is
represented by the little islets, the Lichades, between Euboea and the main-
land ; the cries and groans of the hero are the fearful sounds that accompany
the rending of earth's surface ; and Deianeira, the deserted wife, whose one
fault is that she loved, not wisely, but too well, Deianeira is, what her name
denotes, the " enemy of man," the destroying force of fire and earthquake.
So much for modei-n myth-interpreters ! We shall not quarrel with the
reader if he prefer Sophocles to Forchhammer.
There only remains for us now to notice the disappearance of land. Of
this in^connection with earthquakes, in historic times, we have already had two
examples in Achaia and Euboea ; and, therefore, when Pausanias (viii. ;^;^, 4)
tells us that Chryse, a little island near Lemnos, the supposed scene of the
wounding of the unfertunate Philoctetes on the voyage to Troy, was swallowed
up by the sea, there is no reason to doubt the truth of the statement. In fact,
soundings taken between Lemnos and the continent would seem to indicate
the presence there of submerged land (Choiseul-Youftier, Voyaye inttoresque
dans V Empire Ottoman, ii. p. 218 et seq. Of. Neumann u. Partsch, p. 338).
(3.) Phenomena connected with Water.— No less remarkable than
the phenomena presented by the solid earth of Greece, are those of the liquid
element on her surface. Just as we have seen land vipheaving and land
vanishing, so now we shall see water appearing and water disappearing in
apparently the most mysterious and inexplicable fashion. Torrents, big with
the winter's rains, rush down the mountain-sides, form a league, swell into a
mighty flood as though, united, they would devastate the land, and then — are
seen no more. Rivers pursue an open-air course for miles, and then suddenly
vanish, to reappear perhaps at some great distance. Lakes rise as if by magic,
and then, as by a stroke of the enchanter's wand, where the waters stood, dry
ground presents itself.
(a) Rise and Fall of Lakes. — Lest the reader should think that we are
drawing upon imagination, let us hear what an eye-witness of one of these
astonishing sights has to say about it : " Suddenly," says Mr. Clark {Pelopon-
nesus : Notes of Study and Travel, pp. 311, 312), "at a break in the forest, our
eyes were greeted with a scene of which the charm was enhanced by the sur-
prise. Two thousand feet below us lay a wide expanse of still water deep
among the hills, reflecting black pine woods, and grey crags, and sky now
crimson with sunset ... a lake seven miles long and seven miles broad,
washing the base of famous Cyllene . . . worthy to be matched for size with
Windermere, for beauty with Lucerne."
Yes ; but how comes a lake to be washing the base of Cyllene ? — " a lake
which as yet has been sung by no poet, mentioned by no historian, described
by no geographer." There's the rub ! In vain does the traveller scan his
map ; in vain does he jog his memory. The lake is no mirage of the desert.
True, but it has, notwithstanding, no real existence, no right of tenure. With
all its beauty, the water is an intruder and a despot which has taken possession
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 53
of the plain of Phoebus and ousted the unfortunate inhabitants, who are now
encamped upon the northern hillside.
Such was the appearance presented by the plain when visited by Mr. Clark
in 1857. When seen by Colonel Leake in 1806 it was partly dry ground,
partly swamp ; in the age of the Antonines it was dry (Pausanias, viii. 14, i ;
Leake, Morea, iii., p. 135) ; and, further back still in antiquity, its meadows
and cornfields supported a brave race who cultivated it assiduously. So im-
possible did the rise of a " lake " appear even to a shrewd observer like
Colonel Leake, that he speaks of certain water-marks on the hills around
(attributed by Pausanias to a previous submersion) as giving rise to " the
vulgar belief of the waters having once covered the whole Pheneatic plain."
The water-line he supposed to be the result of evaporation ; but the " vulgar
belief " for once proved right. ^
To what, then, are we to attribute the sudden appearance of the *' lake " ?
Simply to the fact that the waters of Pheneatis have found the usual channels
by which they make their escape to the river Ladon blocked up, and so have
submerged the plain.
To understand this we must call to mind once more the little " chambers "
into which the country is divided, and specially its deep cauldron-shaped
basins, surrounded on all sides by mountain walls which effectually hinder
the flow of the rivers along " natural " channels. But for a certain peculiarity
in these mountain walls, every hill-enclosed valley of Greece would be a
Pheneus. The fortunate peculiarity which prevents this is the soft calcareous
rock of which they are formed, and through which, in the course of ages, the
waters have hollowed out for themselves subterranean passages from which
they ultimately emerge into the daylight again, and either find their way to
the sea or join a larger river. Whatever may be the differences between the
western and the eastern sides of Greece, and to whatever geological age the
mountains may belong, they one and all present this feature. Whether we go
north and study the lake of Jodnnina (Pambotis) in Epeirus ; or east to that
of Topolia (Copais) in Boeotia ; or south to the valley of Eastern Arcadia ;
Pheneus, Stymphalus, Caphyae, Orchomenus, and the double hill-divided plain
of Mantineia-Tegea — we find the mountains, without exception, affording this
outlet to the waters of the district, the katabothra, or caverns by which they
enter, and the subterranean canals along which they flow. It will be readily
understood now how any obstruction to the mouth of these underground
labyrinths — such as might be caused by fallen rocks, trees, and debiv's, or any
internal alteration such as might result from an earthquake shock — would
prevent the escape of the waters, and thus cause them to rise in the valley
and form a " lake."
The most typical instance of these phenomena is the famous Copais in
Boeotia, better described by its other ancient name of the " Cephissian " Lake,
for, most certainly, if there were no river Cephissus there would be no floods,
and consequently no " lake " on a grand scale. ^ The Cephissus, in fact, forms
^ An old Romaic (modern Greek) prediction had foretold that the lake of Pheneus would
never fill again until Greece had regained her liberty. Strangely enough when, in 1 82 1, the
revolt of Ali Pasha (in which the Greeks took part) began, the lake did reappear. Whether
this phenomenon was " assisted " or not we cannot say ; but who can wonder that the Greeks
are somewhat " superstitious " ?
•^ The ancients used the names Copais and Cephissus without any clear discrimination, yet
in Copais (or Lake of Copae, at the north-east extremity of the basin) there is always some
water, even in summer. Cephissus comprehends the whole tract of occasional lake* and
marshes, enlarging or diminishing its boundaries according to the season (Leake, Northern
Greece, ii., p. 158). See also Hellas, p. 14.
54 THE LAND
the lake. One of the largest rivers in Northern Greece, it rises in the Phocian
valley, receives all the snow-swollen torrents of Parnassus and Oetia — think
what that means ! — and then proceeds to pour them into and swamp the
northern Boeotian plain — a work in which it is aided by two smaller rivers,
the Melas (or Black-stream) and the Probatia. The Copaic plain is really a
deep basin sunk among the mountains, which hem it in on all sides, and in
which some twenty katahotlira exist. These, however, are not sufficient to
carry off the immense amount of water in winter, and consequently the forma-
tion of the lake is an annual occurrence. Finally, by May the floods brought
by the Cephissus and its allies begin to sink, and soon they have disappeared
from the greater part of the plain ; they have found their way across it,
pierced the boundary mountains on the eastern side, and discharged them-
selves into the Eubcean Sea. Not, however, precisely as they came ; they
have paid for their temporary occupation by a very precious deposit. The
mineral particles which they brought down from the mountains in their im-
petuous course, and the salts which they held in solution, have been left
behind, filtered through in their passage across the plain, forming a soil of
wonderful fertility — one of the richest, as we have seen, in all Greece. The
Copaic basin thus reminds us of the Nile valley. To this annual overflow
Bceotia was indebted for her wealth ; to it, also, as will easily be perceived,
she owed her heavy, " fat " air, her mists and fogs — that crassus aer, in short,
which in antiquity had passed into a proverb.
(b) The Barathra or Katahotlira. — The foregoing notable instances will
suffice to show the exceeding importance of these natural outlets for Greece.
A brief description of them, therefore, will not be without interest.
In antiquity they were called simply pits, barathra.^ The modern term,
Katabothron, is now often applied to the whole of the underground passage,
but erroneously, for this consists of (i) the barathron proper — pit or cavern
into which the water descends ; (2) the canal or tunnel through which it flows;
(3) the kephalaria (springs or heads) by which it reappears — the outfall.
The barathra which receive the Cephissus on its way to Laiymna, are great
caverns at the foot of precipitous rocks, some 20, 50, or 80 feet in height.
Their size may be estimated from the fact that the stream which enters one
of them is 30 feet broad and 4 to 5 feet deep. Strange to say, these outlets
do not always occur where we should expect to find them — i.e. where the
shores are low — but often where the mountains are highest and rockiest, and
where they project farthest into the lake. The barathra thus being above the
level of the lake-plain, the water can only enter when it has reached a certain
height. Hence, in the month of August or earlier, four only of the Copaic
katabothra are active ; several of them are quite empty, and may be inspected.
During the Greek Revolution, these caverns served as temporary refuges for
the women and children, until they could escape under cover of night to
hiding-places more secure from the pursuit of the Turks (Forchhammer, op. cit.,
pp. 159-172 ; Leake, Northern Greece, ii. p. 281 ; Fiedler, op. cit., pp. 100-129 ;
Bursian, op. cit., pp. 195 et seq.).
How these mysterious, but most necessary, outlets were formed is still to
a certain extent a matter of conjecture. The most probable hypothesis is,
that the clefts are the results of earthquakes ; and, given an opening, no
matter how small, through which the water could penetrate, the formation of
the tunnel is easily explained by the chemical action of the water on the soft
calcareous rock, assisted by the mechanical friction of any particles loosened
^ The Barathron at Athens was simply a pit, into which criminals were thrown.
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 55
but not dissolved by the stream, and carried along as sediment (Geikie, op. cit.^
pp. 351, 357). If we imagine this process going on for ages, we can under-
stand something of the way in which the wonderful subterranean labyrinths
within the Greek mountains were hollowed out.
(c) Reappearance of the Rivers : the Kephalaria. — Tortuous labyrinths these
underground passages are ; so much so, that it is often difficult to trace the
progress of a stream from its entrance into the barathron to its exit at the
outfall. In the two cases already mentioned — the waters of Pheneus, which
join the Ladon, and those of Copais, which discharge themselves into the
Euboean Sea — their course is clear, as in both cases a single mountain -ridge
only is pierced through. It is supposed, however, that ultimately all the watery
treasures of the shut-up basins of Eastern Arcadia, with but few exceptions,
find their way by underground channels to the river Alpheius, either directly
or indirectly, and are thus conveyed through Elis to the Sicilian Sea. A noble
river is the Alpheius. Now diving into the heart of a mountain, now winding
and twisting deftly, as though seeking to avoid the hill-dungeon, in a way
which has gained for him his modern name " Sarantopotamos " (the Forty-
river) — we are not surprised to find Alpheius the watery hero of Pelopon-
nesus. It was even thought in antiquity that he continued his adventurous
career beneath the sea itself, nor halted till he arrived at Syracuse in Sicily ^
(Bursian, ii. p. 288 ; Curtius, Pel., ii. pp. 249, 274, note 34).
Perhaps the most curious instance of the dark underground journeyings of
the Greek rivers is that of the little Arcadian Stymphalus, which pursues an
independent course of its own, not west, but south-east. The Stymphalian
plain is now occupied in its lowest part by a lake, formed by all the streams
of the district, which have only one subterranean outlet. In antiquity, by
means of dams (of which the remains are still to be seen) and probably of an
artificial river-bed, the plain was drained, so that in summer no lake appeared,
but simply one river, the Stymphalus, which, after a short, regulated course,
disappeared (as the lake-waters do now) into the barathron at the western foot
of Mt. Apelauron, to reappear — where, think you ? — in Argolis, at the eastern
foot of Mt. Chaon, as the river Erasimis, "the Lovely," so called, doubtless, from
the refreshing sight presented by the perpetual fulness of its rushing waters
in that dry and thirsty land (Pans., viii. 22, 3 ; Bursian, ii. p. 195 ; Curtius,
i. p. 201 ; ii. pp. 340, 364). This, at least, was (and is) the opinion held by
the Greeks as to the source of the Erasinus, and there is no reason to doubt
its correctness. The Erasinus pursues an open-air course from Chaon to the
Argolic Gulf ; but other Arcadian waters (supposed by the ancients to come
from a little swampy plain in the territory of Mantineia) — after piercing
their way through Artemisium, and finding open-air progress blocked by Mt.
Zavitza, which bars the coast — flow on for more than 1000 feet beneath the
sea, and then suddenly leap upwards from their dark prison-house in the shape
of a whirlpool, with a column of water whose diameter is estimated at 50 feet
— the wonderful sweet-water fountain of Deine (Bursian, ii. p. 68 ; Curtius,
i. p. 245 ; ii. p. 373).'^ This curious phenomenon — fresh water springing out
^ For the legend of Alpheius and the fountain nymph, Arethusa, with Shelley's pretty
version of the story, see Hellas, p. 215. Some writers derive the name "Sarantopotamos"
from the many tributaries of the river (so Clark, Pel.^ p. 152). An older name for Alpheius
was Nyktimos, an allusion to his dark underground career. Alpheius was thus the Eiver of
Night, before he became the Nourisher (ill).
^ It is now considered more probable that Deine owes its origin to the barathron of Par-
thenium, with which it is in line (E. Curtius, Pel., ii. 373). In calm weather, Deine shows
its presence only by the arched heightening of the surface of the waters, and the concentric
circles around.
S6 THE LAND
of the salt waves — is met with also off the coast of Laconia, and in Northern
Greece, in the Bay of Cheimerion, off the coast of Epeirus.
The foregoing brief sketch of the exceeding wealth of water possessed by
certain parts of Greece, will enable us to understand better that co-operation
of man which we emphasised in a previous section (p. 24) as a necessary
preliminary to the cultivation of the soil. What could Nature do for man, so
long as the soil lay under water ? The essential condition, therefore, not only of
tillage, but of life itself in such countries as Eastern Arcadia, is the regulating
of the water. If the Hellene did not wish to see flocks and herds, houses and
temples, swept away or submerged, the barathra must be kept clear and open,
the mountain-streams directed towards them within confining bounds, flooding '
of the valley prevented by the erection of dams. Here, indeed, is a task for
experimenters ! — a task requiring the greatest watchfulness and endurance.
So dijfficult did its beginnings, the first draining of the land, appear to the
later Hellenes, that, looking back on the canals and such other works of their
ancestors as are still to be traced in the plains of Pheneus and Stymphalus,
they attributed them to supernatural help — the assistance of Heracles. Four
out of the twelve labours of the doughty hero, indeed, may be interpreted in
this way (Curtius, ii. p. 506).
(i) The slaying of the Nemean Lion is simply the regulating of the streams
which pour down furiously from the mountains that shut in the narrow
Nemean valley. Hemmed in between Mt. Apesas and the opposite projecting
hills, they collect more quickly than the barathra c^n carry them off, and
threaten destruction to man and beast. The cave in ' which the lion housed,
with its two openings (by one of which the animal always slipped out) is, of
course, the barathron with its entrance and its exit.^
(2) The destruction of the Lernsean Hydra — the great water-snake with
poisonous breath and nine heads, which grew again as fast as they were cut off
— is the effectual stopping-up or confining of the springs (ke}>}ialaria) which
formed the swamp at the foot of Mt. Pontinus on the Arcadian frontier of
Argolis, and which, as soon as they were repressed in one spot, forced their
way through the soft moor soil at another. The poisonous breath of the
monster is the miasma from the swamp (Preller, o^i. cit., p. 193 ; Curtius, ii.
pp. 340, 369).
(3) The subduing of the Erymanthean Boar — the fierce Arcadian mountain-
stream, Erymanthus — is even a happier allegory, for the animal is not slain ;
it is simply taken captive, i.e. confined within bounds and made useful
(Curtius, i. p. 388).
(4) The destruction of the Stymphalian Birds — monstrous creatures with
brazen beaks and claws, that haunted the lake of Stymphalus, before the
regulation of its waters, and lived on human flesh — is a vivid picture of the
beneficent action of the sun's rays in dissipating the noxious vapours of an
undrained soil (Paus., viii. 22, 3 ; Bursian, ii. p. 195 ; Curtius, i. p. 203).
All these achievements took place in Peloponnesus. When we repair to
Northern Greece, we find precisely the same kind of actions attributed to the
hero. Especially significant is the saga of his wrestling with the river
Achelous for the hand of Deianeira. The longest river of Greece, with a
course of some 130 miles, Achelous was a rival worthy of the Sun-hero. In
antiquity, it was considered the ruler of all the fresh waters of Hellas, and
accordingly we find Homer speaking of "King Achelous" {Iliad, xxi. 194).
^ The mountains of this district are perforated with caves — a fact to which two of them
apparently owe their names— Tretus, " the Pierced," and Coelessa, " the Hollow " (Bursian, ii.
P- 35 ; Curtius, Pel., p. 468).
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 57
A noble river, it well merits the distinction, not only from its length, but
from its depth and the volume of water with which it sweeps along to the sea.
Even now, after its banks have been neglected for ages, it is navigable as far as
the northern limit of the Acarnanian plain. The memory of its impetuous
current, and of the many occasions on which it broke through all barriers and
flooded the land, is preserved in the saga mentioned of the great struggle
between the River-god and Heracles. Achelous comes to woo the princess in
three different forms — now as a bull, now as a winding serpent, now in human
shape with the head of an ox. At sight of such a suitor the unfortunate
Deianeira gives herself up for lost, when Heracles appears upon the scene as
a rival claimant for her hand. The two heroes wrestle together, and, after
a fearful conflict, Heracles succeeds in breaking off the little horn of his
adversary, whereupon the mighty River-god owns himself vanquished, and
offers in exchange the Horn of Amalthea (Horn of Plenty), which Heracles
presents to (Eneus, the father of Deianeira, and wins the maiden for his bride
(Soph., Track. 9 et seq. ; 494 et seq. ; Preller, (^p. cit., p. 243).
Now, the question for us is : Did the Greeks really believe in a personal
conflict between the two superhuman heroes ; or is this, like the fable of
Typhon, a myth with a kernel ? Let us hear how Strabo, the old geographer,
interprets the story (c. 458; x. 19): Achelous, he says, like other rivers was
compared to a bull on account of its noises and the bends in its channel, which
are called its horns ; it was likened to a serpent because of its length and
its windings ; it was said to have an ox's head for the same reason that it
was called bull-faced. Heracles, who was not only of a beneficent disposition,
but was going to marry (Eneus' daughter, forcibly confined the errant current
of the river by dams and dykes, and thus drained great part of the
Paracheloitis (the Acarnanian-,^ tolian plain) out of favour to CEneus. " And
this/' adds Strabo, " is the Horn of Amalthea." In regard to the serpent-
like windings of the river, Colonel Mure tells us that they are most extraor-
dinary, sometimes taking the form of the letter S, at others that of C, or
even that of a nearly perfect (W. Mure, Journal of a Tour in Greece,
i. p. 402). Each patch of ground enclosed between these meanderings, and
thus liable to be flooded, became, when the river was confined within its banks,
a source of wealth and abundance.
Here we have a perfectly intelligible, nay scientific, explanation of the
myth, which is clearly a picture of the struggle, the " wrestling " of the first
experimenters with Nature, before they had secured her co-operation and with
it the Horn of Plenty.
The impress of this terrible struggle is very distinctly marked on the
religion of Arcadia, a religion which stands out in many ways in such sharp
contrast with the clear sunny myths of other parts of Greece that it is im-
possible to understand it without a reference to the nature of the country.
This holds good more especially of the cult of Demeter, Earth-mother. In
the beautiful Attic myth of the Mother and the Daughter, the consort of
the Earth is (as is natural in that parched -up land) Zeus, god of the heaven
and the rains. In the Ai-cadian version of the story. Earth is wedded to
Poseidon, god not only of the floods but of the earthquake — here the
beneficent agent to which the life-preserving barathra were supposed to
owe their origin. The one version is, therefore, just as true to nature as
the other. When we find, however, that in Arcadia Demeter is not only
the mother of Persephone (Vegetation), but of the first horse, Areion, we
are disposed at first to think that these old myth-makers had lost their wits,
and to agree with Juvenal that the Arcadians were really no better than
58 THE LAND
simpletons. Again we pause, however, for we reflect that the myths came
into existence at a period when the Arcadians were, probably, no whit behind
the other Greeks in intelligence. We recollect, moreover, that it was precisely
in Arcadia that, as Pausanias tells us (viii. 8, i), he began to understand
the myths. In this mysterious land he discovered that the fables of antiquity
had a meaning, that wise men of old had spoken in riddles. What this hidden
meaning was he kept to himself, but we can take the hint, and in the present
case, at least, it is not difiicult to see that the story of Demeter and the horse
Areion is simply an allegorical representation of the intimate union of Earth
and Water in the heart of the mountains, and the birth, a few hundred yards
farther on, of a little leaping, dashing, galloping cascade. The horse, in the
language of the myths, always denotes the waves. The favourite name for
Poseidon, as ruler of the waves, among the Greeks was, as we know, Hippios,
" the Horseman," and bridled horses were sacrificed to him by being sunk in
the sea, at the sweet-water fountain, Deine in Argolis, already mentioned
(Paus., viii. 7, 2).^
The significance of the first horse, therefore, as a river is evident, and
becomes all the clearer when we learn that Areion was given to Heracles,
and that he helped that hero in his war against Augeias, king of the
Eleans in Elis. Areion, in this connection, can only be one of the tributaries
of the Ladon, which united with the waters of the plain of Pheneus to flood
the low lands of Elis ; for it is from Pheneus that the expedition sets out
(Paus., viii. 25, 7, 10 ; Curtius, Pel., 372).
(d) The Drying-up of the Rivers. — No less noteworthy than the superabund-
ance of water in some parts of Greece is the lack of it in others ; a state
of things also calling forth, although in different ways, the forethought and
co-operation of man. In Argolis, Attica, Achaia, indeed, generally through-
out Greece, the rivers are merely deeply furrowed torrent-beds, full during
a few months of the year, empty gullies for the remainder. This is due
mainly to the porous nature of the chalk-soil, which, as in "thirsty Argos,"
absorbs or greedily drinks in the water — a phenomenon, we may be sure, that
did not pass without notice.
For the fulness of water Greek fancy invented, as we have seen, a variety
of images. Water regulated, is the bridled horse or the tamed bull ; water
overflowing in disease-spreading swamp and fen, is the snake or flesh-
devouring monster ; water roaring and foaming down the mountain-side,
sweeping all before it, is the bellowing, bull, or the wild boar, or the ferocious
lion.
No less fertile was early Greek imagination in devising reasons ivhy the
precious streams should dry up or disappear. Sometimes the cause is hatred
or revenge, as in the story of the fifty daughters of Danaus, the nymphs of the
Argolic springs. They have been forced against their will to wed their
impetuous suitors, the fifty sons of ^gyptus, whom they forthwith proceed to
murder, burying their heads in the Lernaean swamp. The fifty suitors are the
stormy winter-torrents of Argolis, which die in summer because their nymph-
brides have cut off their heads — i.e. dried up their springs, which have gone
to supply the lurking-place of the Hydra with its inexhaustible fulness of
water (Preller, op. cit, ii. p. 47). For this deed the Danaides were punished
in the Lower World by being condemned perpetually to draw water in vessels
pierced with holes, a very appropriate reminder of the futility of their
^ For the constant association of the horse with Poseidon, see under "Poseidon Hippios"
in Hellas, p. 205.
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 59
attempt to rid themselves of their lords, who, of course, came to life again
with each returning rainy season. ^
Or the motive may be indignation^ as in the case of the little Boeotian
river, Helicon, in which (so Pausanias tells us) the Maenades desired to wash
their bloodstained hands after tearing the unhappy Orpheus in pieces.^
Determined not to give the wished-for cleansing, the river dived beneath the
earth, to reappear as a coast-stream on the Corinthian Gulf (ix., 30, 8).
Or, again, the reason may be /ear, as in the case of the Helisson, one of the
rivers of Sicyon, which in summer is quite without flowing water. In it,
according to the saga, the Furies had bathed, and so appalling was the vision
of the swarthy, black-winged, fire-breathing Sisters with their writhing snake-
locks that the little river disappeared to prevent a repetition of the unwished-
for honour.^
Or, once more, the cause may be disappointed love, as in the case of the
river Selemnus, in Achaia (Paus., viii. 23, i ; Curtius, i. pp. 405, 446).
Selemnus was a beautiful youth who was loved by the sea-nymph Argyra
(Silver-fount) so long as he continued beautiful. No sooner, however, did he
begin (in the summer months) to lose his beauty and shrivel up than Argyra
ceased to visit him (the river could no longer reach the sea), and finally with-
drew her love from him. A truly Greek explanation, upon which the comment
of most Greek youths and maidens would probably be : " And quite right,
too ! How can ugly people expect to be loved ? " If the legend had arisen in
the cold North, we should have had Argyra weeping an ocean of briny tears
for the loss of Selemnus, ugly as he had become. The exaltation of the
beautiful, however, is a deep-rooted feature of Greek nature, and bursts out, as
in this little Mahrchen tale, in the most unexpected quarters.
Thus in grouping together some of the legends concerning the fountains
and rivers of Greece, we are struck by the extremely human conceptions
attributed to them, or, rather, to their representatives. Hatred and revenge,
indignation, fear, disappointed love — these are motives which touch the
deepest springs of human conduct, and show how the early Hellene esteemed
the springs and rivers of his native land. Water, sparkling and refreshing,
was to him as to Pindar (Olymp., i. i) the best of all good things, the quickener
of mind as well as of body, for the Muses themselves were originally fountain-
nymphs.*
(c) Rivers as Land- Builders. — One other peculiarity of the streams of this
strange little land of contrasts must be mentioned. Not only are the rivers
great destroyers, sweepers away of earth and arable land ; they are also, by
virtue of this very property, great land-formers. Bearing with them, in their
impetuous course from the mountains, both stones and earth, they deposit in
the sea a foundation which gradually rises above the sea-level, and then, by
many successive layers of detritus as well as by the growth of vegetation,
forms a plain, which, in its inner and higher portion, is altogether beyond the
reach of the sea (Geikie, op. cit., p. 388). In this way, through the slow
course of the ages, were formed probably all the alluvial coast-plains of Greece :
that of Argos, by the Inachus and other rivers ; the " Macarian," or Blessed,
plain of Messenia, by the Pamisus ; the plain of Helos in Laconia, by the
Eurotas ; the low lands of Elis, by the rivers of Arcadia ; the narrow coast-
land on the north, by those of Achaia. These river-formed plains often take
the shape of the Greek letter A, with the apex pointing inland and the base to
the sea. Hence the name " delta," now usually applied to all such alluvial
^ See Hellas, p. 287. ^ For the story of Orpheus, see Hellas, p. 136.
^ See Hellas, p. 291. ^ See Hellas, p. 170.
6o THE LAND
land at the mouth of a river, and first given by the Greeks themselves to that
of the Nile. Such deltas are best studied in Greece along the Achaean coast,
which owes its contour to the accumulations brought down by the wild torrents
of the land.
When we find the rivers of Hellas, therefore, figuring in the saga as national
heroes and progenitors of races {e.g. the Inachus in Argos), this land-building
property must be taken into account, for the alluvial soil so formed is amongst
the richest and most productive in Greece. "King" Achelous was the great
land-builder in the eyes of the Greeks. Like some human heroes with a
violent temper, he persistently strove to undo the effects of his furious actions
by " making up " for them in other ways, and the formation of the great
Acarnanian-zEtolian plain, the Paracheloitis, is apparently due in no small
measure (perhaps entirely) to the detritus brought down by him in his stormy
career from Mt. Lacmon southwards. We may be sure that his activity did
not escape the observation of the Greeks. It is noticed by Herodotus, Thucy-
dides, and others among the old writers ; and in earlier days it plays its part
in the saga of Alcmseon, the son of Amphiaraus the Seer. Like Orestes,
Alcmseon has taken the life of his mother, in order to avenge his father's
death, and is consequently pursued by the Furies. He wanders from place to
place until the oracle reveals that there can be no rest for him, until he finds
it in a land upon which the sun had not shone when the terrible deed was
committed. This land he at length discovers in the alluvial new-formed plain
at the mouth of the Achelous. Here accordingly, not far from CEniadae,
Alcmseon settles, calling the land around, after his son Acarnan, " Acarnania."
So, according to Thucydides, ran the old tradition about Alcmaeon (ii. 102 ;
Pans., viii. 24, 8, 9).^
{d) Formation of Grottoes. — Not content with building up plains, piercing
mountain-sides, and making subterranean channels, the energy of the Greek
rivers has also expended itself upon excavating glittering caverns, the homes
and haunts of the Nymphs, who, in Greek fancy, sit weaving the green mantle
of earth. 2 The Greek hills abound in such caves and grottoes, the formation
of which, like that of the peak caverns of Derbyshire, is due to the permeat-
ing influence of water. Such caves were dedicated to the Nymphs and Pan,
the Shepherd-god, and, accordingly, when the Athenians introduced the cult
of the latter into their city, in gratitude for his supposed services at the battle
of Marathon, 3 they gave him a congenial sanctuary in a grotto at the foot of
the Acropolis-rock.
The stalactites by which the hand of nature has adorned these grottoes
take the most varied and grotesque shapes, suggesting all manner of fanciful
thoughts and ideas — perhaps, in most cases, those in which originated the
legend connected with the grotto. Thus, Ernst Curtius tells us of the stalac-
tites in the Ox-hollow at Pylus — the scene, according to the local tradition, of
the slaughtering of the oxen by the babe Hermes — that here they do not
^ To the ancients, this land-forming activity of the Achelous appeared much greater than,
at least in historic times, it has really proved itself. For instance, Herodotus believed that
half of the Echinades (see Hellas, p. ii) — a group of islands lying close to the mouth of the
river — had become connected with the mainland by means of the agglomeration of soil brought
down by the Achelous ; and Thucydides anticipated that all would ultimately be so joined
(ii. ID ; Thucyd., ii, 102 ; Strabo, p. 458). He explains that the river could not escape to the
sea directly, because these islands do not lie in a straight line ; hence, in its winding course
the earth is kept back between them. During the last 2000 years, however — judging from the
measurement which Strabo gives of the distance of CEniadae from the sea — the coast has under-
gone little change. This may, however, be due to a deepening of the sea-bed.
'^ See Hellas, p. 226. ^ See Hellas, p. 250.
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 6i
form, as usual, free masses, but have been deposited on the walls in flat strips,
eminently suggestive of spread-out skins {Pel., ii. p. 177).
By far the most famous of the grottoes of Hellas, however, is the great
Corycian Cave, in the highlands of Parnassus, above Delphi. This was sacred
to Dionysus, Pan, and the Nymphs (Soph., J^7^^^r/., 11 26; ^sch., Eum., 22).
The interior, which is 200 feet long, nearly 200 feet broad, and 40 feet high
in the middle, is described as a " truly magnificent specimen of natural vault-
ing — a natural cathedral," adorned by colossal stalactites, formed by the drop-
ping water. The large hall leads into another, 100 feet in length.^ Both
must have afforded ample space for the Delphians, who took refuge here from
the Persians, as David and his men hid themselves from Saul — space not
only for their treasures, but their families.
Of the effect which such scenes must have had upon the imagination of
the early Hellene, we can form some faint idea : " If any one doubted the
influence which natural objects had exercised over Greek religion," says an
eloquent writer (Dean Stanley, Art. " Greek Topography " in the Classical
Museum, i. p. 69), "no more convincing answer could be given than by the
sight of the fantastic white rocks and grotesque fir-trees on the approach to the
cave, the wild and lonely character of the hills in which it is situated, and
the stalactite figures, which, when dimly seen in the gloom of its long recesses,
could hardly fail to suggest to the active imagination of Greek shepherds the
vision of the mountain god with his attendant nymphs and satyrs."
(e) The Styx. — That Greece is not without a grand instance of water in one
of its most awe-striking forms is proved by the existence of the Styx, the
famous waterfall in the north of Arcadia, below the highest peak of Aroanius
(Chelmos). It is impossible to picture a more desolate region than this of
the Styx. All life seems extinct ; nothing is to be seen but jagged mountain-
peaks, with the torrent pouring down over a precipice 220 feet in height
through a labyrinth of rocks, giving to all that it touches the dark hue which,
perhaps, has won for it its modern name of Mauronero, or Black Water.
The Styx, as we know, was a great power in Greek mythology. By it the
gods took their solemn oaths, and to it in historic times (500 B.C.), Cleomenes
wished to lead the chiefs of the Arcadian cities when about to form a league.
This ceremony was probably proposed as the revival of an ancient custom, and
if we accept this supposition, it explains the otherwise inscrutable fable of Styx
and her children. According to Hesiod, in the War of the Gods, Styx (who is
a daughter of Oceanus) is the first of the immortals to go over to the side of
Zeus. Why Hesiod should have put forward Styx as the representative of
Fidelity, becomes apparent if we imagine this weird and lonely waterfall as the
centre of an Arcadian league, or warlike confederacy — the spot where chieftains
and people were wont to meet to swear truth and loyalty to one another and
the common cause. Read in this light, the allegory, as pointed out by
Curtius,^ is replete with beautiful meaning, for Styx is wedded to Pallas, the
wielder of the lance, i.e. to Yalour, and the children of Valour united to
Fidelity are Zeal, Strength, Force, and Victory ; all of which powers give up
the cause of Chaos, and range themselves on the side of Zeus — Wisdom, Light,
and Order.
^ So Leake {Northern Greece, ii. p. 580). Tozer [Led. on Geog. of Greece, p. 115) gives the
entire length as 330 feet.
2 See Hellas, p. 289 ; [Paus., viii, 17, 18; Herodotus, vi. 74; Curtius, Pel., i. pp. 163, 195.
Whether the waterfall now described as the Styx is the Styx of Homer, of Hesiod, and of
Herodotus is a point which has been debated (see Clark, Pel., p. 301). The explanation given
in the text offers a very reasonable solution of a puzzling myth.
62 THE LAND
To sum up now the various wonder-sights which met the eyes of the
Hellenes: — when we find amongst them fire-breathing mountains — islands
rising from the sea amidst smoke and flame — islands and fragments of the coast
disappearing and leaving no trace behind — islands rent from the mainland by
internal forces — mountains cleft in twain by the same means — rivers destroying
and rivers building-up — rivers piercing the mountain-sides — plains transformed
into lakes, and lakes into plains— hot-springs bubbling up through the earth,
sweet-water springs amid the salt waves — (to say nothing of the thousand and
one wonders, which space has compelled us to omit, of the sea itself) — when we
find all these striking phenomena gathered together in this one little land, can
we be surprised at that yet stranger phenomenon, the early development, the
extraordinary acceleration (so to speak), of thought among the Greeks as
compared with the progress of the other Aryan peoples who are supposed to
have left the Old Home before or with them ? Each phenomenon was a goad
and a spur in early days to mental activity, for each one presented a riddle
which required an answer, each one roused the desire to know more about
itself and about things in general. In this respect too, then — stimulation
of thought and inquiry — Hellas was emphatically a land for experimenters.
" Nay ! " objects a practical reader, " such an argument is one-sided. In
what possible way can you prove that such phenomena as earthquakes and
floods were in their rightful place in a land of experimenters ? Had I been
designing the land, most assuredly I should have taken care to guard against
such disturbers of the peace."
No doubt you would have done so — and this possibly would have been the
object of any designer among mortals ; but no such short-sighted policy watched
over the destiny of the Hellenes. It seems to be the rule of life in every age
and in every land, that the few must suffer for the many, and Hellas is no
exception to the rule. Viewed in this light, we can see that there was not one
amongst the phenomena noted which did not serve a purpose. We must always
bear in mind the real meaning of the term " Experimenting." If the experi-
ments to which we refer had been such as, say, the standardising of instruments
in a laboratory — then, we admit, the presence of such phenomena as earthquakes
and floods would have been decidedly out of place. But if what we mean by
experimenting is the working-out of that grandest of all results, the formation
of character — and that, not of an individual, but of an agglomeration of
individuals, a Nation — then we think it possible to prove, on four very good
grounds, that all the natural features of Hellas served a purpose, and a
beneficent purpose.
( I ) The first link in this fourfold chain is the intellectual link — the creating
of the desire to know. That the natural phenomena of Greece had this effect
may, we think, be taken as proved, even by the short resume given in the
preceding pages. Not a vanishing river, not an island fragment, that did not
set some one speculating as to the "reason why." Naturally, in early ages
such speculations take the form of myth and saga. Even in this form, how-
ever, they are not to be despised. Apart from any happy guesses at truth
which they may contain, the wealth of imagination stored up in the Greek
myths, the varied and ever-fresh forms in which the same idea is clothed, are
simply marvellous. Then in later days, when men began to approach Nature
in what we call the " scientific " spirit, it is still the same phenomena that
exercise the minds of thinkers. Especially do the mysterious forces at work
in the earthquake receive attention. Historians like Thucydides, philosophers
like Aristotle — each has his own theory. And in regard to the most terrible
catastrophe on record — the disappearance of Helice — this event gave an
STIMULATION OF THOUGHT AND INQUIRY 63
unheard-of impetus to the study of natural science, for Diodorus (xv. 48, 3-4 ;
cf, Curtius, i. p. 45) tells us expressly that by reason of the very magnitude of
the calamity, thinkers made strict investigations {peirontai = tested and proved,
made experiments) into its probable physical causes.
(2) The second link in the chain is what we may call the technical link — the
causes which spurred on the Greeks to develop their systems of irrigation, of
engineering, of architecture. We do not pity the Dutch of to-day because they
are compelled constantly to be on the alert against their enemy, the sea, when
we observe the ingenious way in which they continue to hold their own by
means of their grand system of dykes. Then why should we pity the Arcadians
on account of floods, which, disastrous and unpreventable (apparently) as they
sometimes were, could yet, as a rule, be averted by a good system of drainage ?
That the Arcadians were able to cope with the enemy is evident even now
from a study of the valley of Stymphalus : "When we look at the whole district,
with its ineffaceable traces of earlier habitation," says an eye-witness, E. Curtius
(Pe/., i. p. 205), "we stand amazed at the comfortable way {Behaglichkeii) in
which the ancients ensconced themselves in the midst of their weird, inhospit-
able valley, and even conclude from this how well they contrived to overcome
the natural evils of their position." The Arcadians, then, in this respect can
dispense with our pity. As to the rest, their climate made them hardy and
robust — the god of medicine, Asclepius himself, was represented among the
Arcadians as a blooming youth — while the constant living in the presence
of danger developed in them the intrepid, fearless spirit characteristic of
the inhabitants of mountain regions. The Arcadians were the Switzers
of antiquity.
In regard to the still more formidable earthquake — a power with which no
human force may cope — even the dread of this appears to have helped on
experimenting. Such, at least, was the opinion of a thoughtful observer.
Colonel Leake, who suggests that the constant liability of Peloponnesus to
slight shocks may have been one of the causes which led to the development of
the massive style and solidity of Doric architecture (Leake, Northern Greece,
iv. p. 551)-
(3) Our third, or etJiical link, is one which many readers will doubtless
have anticipated. In days when as yet there was no objective standard of
right and wrong, when might was right, and Faustrecht held sway in certain
sections of society, was there no benefit to the world at large, think you, from
the terrible local calamities which we have been considering ? One of the
social experiments tried in antiquity on the largest scale, and defended a
outrance by philosophers, was that of slavery. In Corinth alone the number of
slaves was estimated at 640,000^ ; in Athens, at 400,000. Add to these the
slaves of the other Hellenic communities and we arrive at a gigantic total of
defenceless, " will-less chattels," as Aristotle would have called them, held at
the absolute disposal of will-ful, all but irresponsible masters. If, into connec-
tion with this condition of things, we bring the statement of Thucydides that
the great Laconian earthquake, and the fall of the peak of Taygetus, were
regarded as a punishment sent upon the Spartans for the slaying of certain
suppliant helots (serfs) at Taenarum, we can see that these events were calcu-
lated to rouse very curious feelings in the minds of the freemen of Greece.
" Have a care ! " said the " judgment " to every despot in public or in private
life, whether he would hear or whether he would forbear ; " the eye of your
Master is upon you. Except ye repent, ye shall all likewise perish."
^ This number probably includes the slaves employed in the trading settlements of the
Corinthians {cf. Bursian, ii., p. 13, note 2).
64 THE LAND
Awful, therefore, as was a catastrophe which, without a moment's warning,
deprived 20,000 Spartans of life, the making of life bearable to the hundreds
of thousands of " will-less " souls in the other scale far outweighs it in signifi-
cance. So long as the terrible event was held in remembrance, the slave, the
suppliant, the prisoner of war, women, the aged — all the weak and down-
trodden — would have, we may be sure, some measure of justice meted out to
them. By this conclusion we are " reading in " to the event no lesson which
was not drawn from similar occurrences by the Hellenes themselves. ^ This we
shall be able to prove shortly when we come to consider their ideas on the
subjects of justice and retribution. Here we can but note in passing that
such catastrophes seem to have formed a necessary part of the education of
man.
(4) The fourth link in the chain is the strongest of all, the link of religion.
The seeking of God was, in St. Paul's view, the mission of the Greeks, and it
was therefore necessary that they should have the opportunity of seeking Him
in every possible way. We all recollect the episode in the life of the Hebrew
prophet, who for the moment had lost faith and trust in God. He rfetires to
Horeb, and the manifestations of the Divine Power pass before him ; the great
and mighty wind, the earthquake, the fire. The prophet has been long trained
in the divine school ; he estimates these phenomena at their true value and
remains unmoved. It is not till he hears the still small voice that he
recognises the presence of God and his own nothingness, and covers his face
with his mantle. Precisely the same experience had to be made by the
Aryan thinker. The wind and the earthquake and the fire had to pass before
him, and of each he had to ask himself — " Is this God ? " Whether the
Greeks ever attained to the recognition of the still small voice is a question of
questions, to which we shall, perhaps, be able to find an answer when we come
to consider the greatest of all Hellenic experiments, that Seeking after God,
which we call their " religion." Meantime, let us note that, on this ground
alone, it was necessary that all the phenomena of God's working in nature
should pass before the Hellene, the awe-striking manifestations of His power
as well as the gentler evidences of His providence.
" I report as a man may of God's work — all's love, yet all's law."
In no way did the All- Father leave Himself without witness in Hellas.
BEAUTY
Finally, there is one other question which we have to ask, and it is a very
important one. Many of the experiments made by the Hellenes were in the
domain of the beautiful, and we therefore find ourselves speculating as to
whether the land were calculated to help them in this respect ; to rouse within
them the idea of beauty, or not.
"Can there be a doubt about it?" says the reader; "Hellas has both
the mountains and sea, and when you have said this, you have said all."
True ! That Hellas is a land of beauty, follows necessarily upon what has
been already said. In her scenery, as in the conditions of the soil and climate,
the law of contrasts, before referred to, holds good. Taking into account her
^ Thus, from the fate of Helice, Pausanias draws the inference (vii. 25, i) that the god of
suppliants is not to be evaded. By the " god of suppliants " {'Ifc^crtos) he means, not the minor
god, Poseidon, but Zeus, the god of the Greeks.
BEAUTY 65
size, Greece possesses the most varied landscape in Europe.^ Monotony is
impossible where the sea, running far up into the land, presents itself rest-
lessly in unexpected quarters. Overhead, the sky offers the constant charm
of mountain-lands, alternate sunshine and swiftly-passing cloud registering
their changeful effects upon the hills around. Vegetation, also, obeys the
general law. In place of the sombre uniformity of northern fir-topped hills,
or the gorgeous iteration of the tropical forest, we have in Greece every
variety of tree and shrub, from the oaks of Acarnania and the beeches of
Pindus to the palms of Boeotia and the orange-trees of Messenia. If, on the
one hand, we have nature in her sterner moods, Taygetus, with his torrent-
ploughed gullies, his deep gorges and abrupt precipices, his lofty jagged peaks,
covered with snow during the greater part of the year, we have, on the other,
in familiar sights and sounds, a constant succession of beautiful images.
Pelion, " quivering with foliage," its grassy sides gleaming with bright-leaved,
brighter-fruited pomegranates ; the clustering vines of Euboea ; the fig-trees
of Messenia ; the dark olive-groves of Attica, their silvery patriarchs sending
forth winding roots in all directions ; the cool rills of Helicon ;
" The flowery hill, Hymettus, with the sound
Of bees' industrious murmur ; "
the rush of mountain-streams, almost hidden in the spring-time by over-
hanging shade of myrtle, oleander, and laburnum, beneath whose blossomed
boughs the goats take shelter from the noontide sun ; the warbling of
nightingales, invisible in their leafy coverts ; the measured beat of the waves
upon the rock-bound coast — these and innumerable other scenes and sounds
prove that Hellas has still much to charm both eye and ear.^
Much of the foregoing description, however, would be equally applicable to
other countries, and if we would learn the great characteristic of the beauty
of Greece, we must again fall back upon the two features which proved so
momentous in the history of the land — the sea and the mountains.
The unifying element in the development of the Greeks, the sea, is no less
the unifying element in their landscape. The countless lonely valleys of
Greece, her projecting peninsulas, her innumerable islands, great and small,
isolated or in groups — all these disjointed limbs and scattered fragments of the
land are blended together into one great and perfect whole by the blue sky
above, and the glorious blue sea beneath. With its deep azure waters — waters
blue as lapis-lazuli — its foam-crested waves, its dolphins sporting in the
sunshine, the ^gsean Sea forms the essential background to every true picture
of Hellas (K. Woermann, op. cit., p. 83 ; Kunst und Naturskizzen, pp. 144-145).
Then the mountains ! — how shall we do justice to the wondrous variety of
character — we use the word advisedly — which each displays ? Beginning with
^ " If a man is fond of the large effects of natural scenery, he will find in the Southern Alps
and fiords of Greece a variety and a richness of colour which no other part of Europe affords.
If he is fond of the details of natural scenery, flowers, shrubs, and trees, he will find the
wild-flowers and flowering-trees of Greece more splendid than anything he has yet seen "
(Mahatfy : Rambles and Studies in Greece, Pref., p. viii. 3rd ed.).
'^ Among the " sounds that charm," the Athenians would certainly have included one
which, to our ears, hardly comes under that category, viz., the chirping of the tettix, cicada
or grasshopper. Far from being annoyed, however, at the monotonous crick-crick of their
dearly-loved Fatherkins [Vdterchen, so Bergk interprets the word, op. cit., i. p. 128, note 208),
it reminded them of their autochthonous origin, that they themselves had sprung, like the
gods, from Mother Earth ; a supposed fact of which they were not a little proud : witness the
golden grasshoppers wherewith they adorned their hair (see Hellas, p. 1 94). Accordingly, in
Plato's famous description of the plane-tree by the Ilissus, the chirruping of the grasshoppers
figures, as we have seen, among the sweet "summer sounds and scents " that filled the air.
E
66 THE LAND
the giants, we might say with equal truth of Olympus, of Parnassus, of
Taygetus, that it is "majestic." And yet, each calls up before the mind a
distinctly different picture, the majesty of which is all its own. Each, how-
ever, assumes a different aspect in Greek fancy, and plays a different part
in Greek history. Olympus, with its snowy precipices, towering to their full
height of nearly 10,000 feet, and its huge buttresses, " many-folded," " divided
again and again into minor ridges and valleys, thickly clothed with feathery
woods" (Tozer, Researches in the Highlands of Turkey, ii. p. 5 et seq.)
— impressing us both by its soaring grandeur and by its magnificent breadth —
became the home of the national gods of Hellas. Parnassus, its summits
enveloped " in rolling billows of cloud," overawes us by its mysteriousness no
less than by its immense mass, and in its bosom lay Delphi — according to the
Greeks the central point of Hellas, — the centre, at least, for ages, of the
religion of Hellas. Taygetus, stretching its mighty crags in one unbroken line
from Arcadia to the sea, a distance of 70 miles, strikes the imagination mostly
by its strength ; and at its feet, protected as by a bulwark, lay Sparta,
the home of those whose boast it was that their " walls " were their " menr
And turning from the monarchs of the land, what diversity meets us among
the " rank and file " of the Greek hills ! — Now they are forest-clad, their sides
furrowed by many a silver streak, marking in winter the path of a foaming
torrent, in summer its empty white-bleached bed, rosy with the glow of the
oleanders that fringe its banks. ^ Now they are bald and naked, broken into
a succession of marble peaks — clear-cut, dignified, and " aristocratic " — or
crumbled and fashioned by the storms of the ages into the most fantastic
shapes — each one glittering in the transparent atmosphere with all the
changeful hues of the sunlight.
To this clearness of the atmosphere of Greece, much of the witchery of the
scenery is due. Take, for instance, Mr. Symonds' brilliant word-painting of
the hills around Athens, where, as we .know, the air is specially pure and
transparent: — "At dawn and sunset," he says, "the rocks array themselves
with a celestial robe of rainbow-woven hues : islands, sea, and mountains, far
and near, burn with saffron, violet, and rose, with the tints of beryl and topaz,
sapphire and almandine, and amethyst" (J. A. Symonds, Sketches in Italy and
Greece, p. 192, 2nd ed.) — tints that no doubt gained for the city her beautiful
name of iostephanos, "the violet-crowned." ^
Poets and travellers have exhausted their imagination and their vocabulary
in the effort to make stayers-at-home understand the fascination of the Greek
mountains. To Gray's mind they were " inspiration-breathing " ; to Colonel
Mure their beauty was best expressed by the word which we have already
used, " aristocratic " ; to Thackeray the " chorus of hills," standing round
about the scene of heroic deeds, spoke a language of its own. Most of all,
however, do we feel the charm of the mountains in that little touch of Edward
Lear— poet as well as painter — wherein he speaks of the faint blue hills, of
exquisite shapes, the last link in the landscape betwixt heaven and earth
{Journal of a Landscape Painter in Albania, p. 37).
To get among the mountains, however, is dangerous ground, for writers as
well as for climbers — they exercise a too-powerful fascination. Nevertheless,
^ The rhododaphne, or rose-laurel, with its lovely blossoms and shining leaves, now one of
the most common (as it is one of the most beautiful) shrubs of Greece, is also one of those
which we must omit from any picture of ancient Greece. It is not mentioned by any writer of
classical antiquity, and according to Hehn (p. 358 et seq.) was probably introduced into the
country between the time of Theophrastus and the last days of the Roman Republic.
2 For Dean Stanley's no less beautiful description of an Athenian sunset, see Bellas, p. 18.
BEAUTY 67
before quitting them finally, let us just glance for a moment at one of the
magnificent prospects to be enjoyed from their summits. Passing over the
tempting heights of Pelion, of Parnassus, of Lycabettus, of Sicyon, of Acro-
corinthus — all offering far-reaching views which have repeatedly drawn forth
glowing descriptions — we select one, less widely known, perhaps, but present-
ing all the salient features of a typical Greek landscape, the panorama which
unfolds itself beneath the hills of Troezen.
At the foot of the citadel-rock stretches a fertile plain, richly wooded and
thickly planted with luxuriant vines, sinking gently towards two bays. In
the midst, between these bays, rises the mountain isthmus of Dara — hill press-
ing closely upon hill, and culminating in the broad series of bold rocky peaks
constituting the volcanic mountain of Methana, one of the most strongly
marked points along the Greek coast. To the left of Methana is the sea of
Epidauros, beyond it are the famous Scironian Rocks of the Corinthian Isth-
mus, and over these in the distance rises the great round head of Parnassus.
To the right is the island of ^gina, whilst as a background stretches the coast
of Attica, in all its length, to Cape Sunium. Close to the mainland is seen the
famous island of Calaureia, surrounded by the sea. Imagine this picture now,
in all its fulness of mountain, plain, coast, and islands, as it lies in glorious
sunshine beneath the deep blue sky, embraced and permeated, as it were, by
the rippling, glancing, sparkling sea, and we can form some idea, not only
of the joyousness of the scene, but of its wondrous harmony. As E. Curtius,
to whom we owe the foregoing description, justly says : "We have here one of
the most magnificent views in Greece — a picture endless in its variety, yet
ordered and arranged into one clearly-defined whole. That the early Hellenes
themselves were by no means insensible to the charm of the scene, may be
inferred from the name which the local saga gives to the daughter of the hero
Troezen : Euopis= 'Fair-face'" (Curtius, Pel., ii. p. 431 et seq.).
In her deep blue seas, then, her glittering mountain - peaks, her pure,
transparent atmosphere, her island-fragments, and her picturesquely broken
contour, Hellas possesses elements of beauty which are unchangeable. Far
different is it, however, when we come to earth's surface. As we have seen
(p. 42), the beauty of Greece as a cultivated land — the peaceful beauty of
homestead and of orchards, of olive-grove, and terraced vineyard — is no longer
what it was. Even her wild natural loveliness, the loveliness of woods and
forests, has suffered cruelly at the hands of man. Enough remains, however,
to charm and delight ; but before proceeding to feast our eyes upon the sylvan
beauty of Greece, we must once more emphasise the fact to which we have
already called attention, viz., that Hellas wears on her eastern side an aspect
very different from that which she presents on the west. At no time, probably,
could the brilliant, sunny (often burnt-up) east have vied, as regards her forests,
with the moister, greener west.^
The planting of the olive-wood of the Cephissus valley of Athens was itself
an experiment, for up to the age of Peisistratus, Attica, we are told, was bare
and treeless. In Plato's days, the Athenian hills had already become bald
and skeletonised (Dio Chrysostom, Or., xxv. p. 281c; Plato, Crit., 4). That
there must have been a time, however, when Hellas abounded in scenes of the
richest and wildest forest-beauty, is abundantly proved by the myths. The
Nymphs who sit weaving in secret grottoes the green mantle of earth, the
^ The contrast between the two sides of Greece has been forcibly described by M. Heuzey.
After leaving Delphi and the east, he remarks that his eyes, so long accustomed to naked
rocks and brilliant sunshine, were as if " surprised " by the vegetation and the living verdure
of Acarnania and the west [Le Mont Olympe et VAcarnanie, p. 223).
63 THE LAND
Dryads and Hamadryads who have theh' homes in the trees, the lurking Satyrs
of Greek fancy, are the direct personifications of forest life. No one has
appreciated this more than our own Wordsworth. ^ The forest scenery of
certain parts, moreover, and that on the eastern side of Greece, is still exquisite,
and affords, for instance, an idea of Helicon as it must have been in the days
when, to Greek imagination, its sunny glades were the fitting haunts of the
Nine Sisters. To a lover of nature, what an enchanting picture is that
sketched by Sir Thomas Wyse of the woodlands of Eubcea {Impressions of
Greece^ p. 247 et seq.) ; their great forest-ranges of every kind of timber-tree
produced by Greece — pines, valonia, firs — mingling with the magnificent
foliage of planes and all oriental forms ; their slopes, breaks, deep nymph-like
dells, opening into glens, clad with ilex and other evergreens, and here and
there sparkling with rivulets. How exhilarating is the breeze that wings its
way in at every opening in the forest ! What glorious gleams flash in upon
the traveller through the fir-trees, the deep blue sea beyond, with its frame-
work of grand promontories and rugged islands, glimmering in amethyst haze
in the vapours of the morning ! Within, as the day wears on, how delightful
is the intense shade, broken here and there by strong rays of light revealing
the infinite variety of foliage that forms the canopy overhead, "the gaunt
half-shattered pines that still sturdily hold their own," and now and again
block the onward course ; the luxuriant undergrowth of " shrubbery, brush-
wood, glimmering bay, lofty, red-stemmed arbutus, and sharp myrtle, and
bushy lentisk, and the red clusters of pomegranates, and the pale agnus-castus,
and such clumps and scatterings of flowers at their feet, yellow, blue, white,
blossoming like snow-flakes over the moss, or running up the wild branches
amongst those thousands of trees, so joyous, and festal, and superabundant ! "
Here, at least, we feel ourselves in the presence of " an exuberant and free-
giving nature, from which nothing looks as though extorted."
AcARNANiA is a district on the western mainland which has preserved its
forests better than most parts of Greece, and we owe some descriptions of its
scenery — none the less charming because somewhat paler than Sir Thomas
Wyse's glowing picture — to the pen of Colonel Leake [Nortliern Greece, i.
p. 164; iv. 19). Of all explorers the best, most modest, most thorough,
Colonel Leake is not the man to wax sentimental on any subject whatsoever,
and yet it is precisely he who tells us of this little known district — " Acar-
nania's forest wide" — of its mountain-slopes clothed by oaks, the finest in
Greece, festooned thick with clustering wild vines, and peopled by nightingales
singing in the deep shade ; of the aromatic shrubs that make the air fragrant
with the incense of nature ; of the torrents overhung by plane-trees ; of the
glimpses obtained every now and again of the sea, never very far off in any part
of Greece ; the lovely Ambracian Gulf, lighted up by the clearest of skies. ^
Acarnania, however, beautiful as it appears to us of the grey North, was
to the Hellenes themselves but a wild, cheerless, outlying district. Let us,
therefore, betake ourselves to the regions of the sunny south.
Wending our way into the heart of Peloponnesus, we find ourselves with
another traveller (W. G. Clark, op. cit., p. 155 et seq.) in the Pass leading from
^ See Hellas, p. 251.
2 It is Colonel Leake, also, who tells us that in his time on the mountain pastures in every
part of Greece the shepherds might still be heard, as described by Theocritus, pouring forth a
wild melodious strain from their pipes amid the murmuring of waters and the whispering of
the wind through the pine-trees ; and he goes on to express his surprise that the aromatic scent
of the pines in summer should not have been observed by Theocritus, since the poet notes the
whispering sound referred to (Id., i. i). The prince of explorers, then, had after all a keen
sense of the beautiful in nature as well as a keen eye for an old ruin !
BEAUTY 69
the north into a certain pleasant, hollow vale. Behind us is winter, before us
the brightness of spring. " Now the branches interlacing seem to bar the
way, now the thicket opens and leaves a green glade all blazing with scarlet
anemones, while the winding path is recessed into many a shady covert starred
with shy woodland flowers, on which the dew lies till noon. A jubilant clamour
of singing birds — nightingale, thrush, linnet, mixed with notes that are un-
familiar — rings around us on all sides. All sights and sounds remind us that
we are in the prime of ' scarlet-blossomed spring.' " At length we attain the
summit of the Pass, and begin by winding paths to descend its western side.
Suddenly, in place of the " dainty vignettes^^ forest-glade, and alley to which
our eye has been accustomed, there opens up a wide prospect, a panorama
hardly to be surpassed in grandeur. Before us stands a giant mountain,
stretching like a Titanic wall flanked with buttresses, in one mighty line far as
the eye can reach. His hoary head is white with snow, but his slopes and the
hollows between are clothed by a rare verdvire. At his feet lies a magnificent
plain bathed in the sunlight, rich with forest and fruit-trees, with olive and
vine, its brilliant green broken only here and there by red scars, the crumb-
ling earth-banks between which, like a silver streak, a river is seen speeding
its way through the vale into the distance beyond. Where are we ? we ask in
wonder. Were Theognis, the exile, by our side, we should have the prompt
reply :
" By the sunny wave and winding edge
Of fair Eurotas with its reedy sedge,
Where Sparta stood in simple majesty."
— {Theog. Gnom., 783 ; Frere's trans., p. 106).
" What ! " says the reader, " this delightful spot the home of the stern
Spartans — those grim warriors, those men of blood and iron, who banished
from their lives all softness, all delight ? "
Precisely. The lot of these " grim warriors " was cast in a wondrously
pleasant place — the beautiful, bountiful, blossom-crowned vale of Lacedaemon ;
and our amazement at the austerity, or, as you are pleased to call it, the
" grimness," of the social experiment which they worked out, abates not a
little when we see with our eyes the sweetness and the softness of its surround-
ings.i At this day, as in the days of Homer, the plain of Sparta spreads
itself out beneath the mountain-wall of Taygetus so joyously, so brightly, that
hardly can the delighted traveller restrain the burst of enthusiasm which it
inspires (Mure, op. cit., ii., p. 220 ; Wyse, Exc. in Pel., ii., p. 70 ; Clark, op.
cit, p. 156).
But time presses, and we hasten onwards and westwards. Our way lies
again through " a well-wooded ravine where the thick trees are festooned with
luxuriant ivy and wild-vine, and the babbling of the stream is mingled with
the thick-warbled notes of innumerable nightingales." A few hours' ride
brings us to Trypi, at the very mouth of the great Pass through Taygetus ; the
Pass of Langada, the most splendid defile of Greece. Leaving behind us the
orchards, vineyards, and olive-groves of this beautiful little village, and enter-
ing the gorge, which grows narrower and still more narrow as we proceed, we
climb the rugged path between lofty walls of rock and steeply falling torrent-
beds, through the different zones of the mountain. Now we pass through a
belt of fruit and forest trees, and little villages, and cornfields ; now the scene
grows wilder — " high above us, as it were, looking down from the summits,
^ " During all the many rides I have taken through Greece, no valley ever struck me with
the sense of peace and wealth so much as that of Sparta " (Mahaffy, Rambles, dec, p. 385).
70 THE LAND
are great forests of fir-trees — a gloomy setting to a grandiose and savage land-
scape." Yet even here, amid boulders and cliffs, in this bright spring-time,
are flowers — pale anemones, irises, orchids, violets, and, where a stream
trickles down, primroses. Higher still ! On we press through the gloomy
region of firs, and find, above them still, green alpine meadows with springs of
wondrously pure and sparkling water, over which rise the bare rocky peaks of
the mountain. " At last we reach the top of the Pass, about 4000 feet high,
marked by a little chapel to St. Elias, and once by a stone pillar stating the
boundary between Sparta and Messene. It was, then, up this Pass and among
these forests that the young Spartans had steeled themselves by hunting the
wolf and the bear in peace, and by raids and surprises in days of war." Now
we begin to descend the terrace-like slopes which form the western side of
Taygetus, but have not proceeded far when the cry is raised, " Thalatta !
thdlatta ! " " The sea ! the sea." And like a glad surprise flashes before us a
glittering gulf with its framework of mountains, whilst at our feet lies another
magnificent plain, its green-edged river winding through it like a dark ribbon.
The descent accomplished, the way begins to lead through high hedges of
fig and gigantic cactus, " the air is moist and warm, like the air of a hot-house,
and heavy with the scent of orange and lemon-flowers," and we need no
seer to announce that we have arrived in Macaria, the " Blessed " Plain of
Messenia — that beautiful land, whose very beauty and fertility proved its ruin
(Clark, op. cit., p. 187; Bursian, o]). cit., ii. p. 104; Mahaffy, op. cit., p. 386;
Wyse, Exc, i. p. 188 ; Boetticher, Auf GriecMselie Landstrasse).
But the Messenian sun is too powerful for northern constitutions. Onward
again ! we dive into the shade of overhanging woods, rich in varied green,
dashed with the bright pink of the Judas-tree ; and then, wending our way
northwards — once more with our old friend, Sir Thomas Wyse — we find
ourselves on the way from Bassse to Audritzena {Exc.^ ii. p. 40).
The scenes through which we pass remind us at every step that Hellas is
not one but many countries. From a region of desolation, of harsh gnarled
oaks and savage pines, we finally glide into one of great beauty — "the ideal of
an Arcadian landscape. A series of gentle eminences, sweeping into soft,
secluded valleys, wooded in the richest manner, with every variety of
southern shrub — arbutus, lentisk, agnus castus, bay, and myrtle — timbered with
luxuriant masses of oak and plane, now and then broken by dark-green clumps
of fir and pine — fine pasturage intermingling below — the grand framework of
the great Peloponnesian ranges around and above : these form the elements, of
which every step presents a new variety. The red soil, recalling the fertile
recesses of South Devon, and the close-foliaged pathways, revelling in all their
freshness after a shower of rain, and exhaling their scented odours as we
brush through them, complete this inland woodland picture " — a picture which
only wants the mellow sound of the horn and the appearance of the huntress
Artemis and her train —
" The breathing roses of the wood,
Fair silver-buskined nymphs " —
to carry us back in imagination some thousands of years.
These mosaics, pieced-in from the accounts of different eye-witnesses, will
serve to give us some idea of Hellas — of the Hellas that unfolded itself to the
eyes of the early Hellenes. Granted that some details of the picture must be
omitted— the laurel, the myrtle, the oleander — all the grand essential features
remain — sea, sky, and mountains. There remains also the wealth of wild
flowers in forest and woodland, and lightly as we may esteem these humble
BEAUTY 71
ministers of beauty, they played their part, nor were thrown away upon those
who then beheld them, if, as Schiller tells us, the first work of art was the
grouping of a nosegay, the second, the weaving of a wreath. ^
This brings us back to the question with which we started — a question to
which we are now in a better position to give an answer : — Did Hellas, the
land itself, help to develop in the people the sense of beauty which we are
accustomed to associate with the Greeks ?
Most assuredly, we reply, it did ; and this we may say nowadays without
much fear of that contradiction which, not so very long ago, such a statement
would have called out.
No question, perhaps, connected with the ancient world has been more
hotly contested than the one which we have just proposed to ourselves, and so
important is it in our argument that, at the risk of wearying the non-aesthetic
reader, we must linger over it for a few moments. For, if the Hellenes were
insensible to natural beauty — if they " had no eye for the picturesque in Nature,"
as has been maintained — then we should be compelled to admit that, in this
one respect, the land was not made for the people, that their experiments in
the beautiful owed nothing to the beauty around. To an honest mind, such an
assertion carries its own refutation with it. Nevertheless, at the outset of our
inquiry, we must premise that the standpoint from which we moderns regard
Nature is altogether different from that of the ancients. How could it be
otherwise ? The eyes with which a youth looks Out upon the world are not
those with which an old man contemplates it. The one seeks in it a scene for
action ; the other a place of rest. And the parallel holds good, so far, for the
youth and maturity of the race. Moreover, since the advent of Him who
came to give an understanding to man 2 on this as on other things. Him
who "read into" the lilies of the field that sweetest of all sweet meanings,
the assurance of the Father's love, of the Great Artist's joy in His handiwork
— Nature has worn an aspect very different from that which she presented to
the ancient world ; the underlying unity, the peacefulness, the restfulness of
Nature, were voices not heard in antiquity.
But to recognise this — to say that the ancients did not hear the deepest,
sweetest voices of Nature ; that in this as in other things the ancients " with-
out us " were not " made perfect " ^ ; to say with a great poet of our own day
that
" The race of man
Keceives life in parts to live in a whole " —
is one thing ; to deny to the ancients the " seeing eye " is another.
There is, we take it, abundant evidence to prove that if the ancients did
not find in Nature that subjective pleasure which she affords to us moderns, yet
they were keenly alive to her objective beauty. Let us, however, first examine
the arguments of those who deny to them this seeing eye, and let us note that
such arguments are mainly of a negative character.
^ Die Auswahl einer Blumenflur
Mit weiser Wahl in einen Strauss gebunden —
So trat die erste Kunst aus der Natur ;
Jetzt wurden Strausse schon in einen Kranz gewunden.
Und eine zweite hohre Kunst erstand
Aus Schopfungen der Menschenhand,
— {Die Kilnstler.)
For the very pretty use of flowers made by the later Greeks, see the account of the
Anthesteria, or " Feast of Flowers," in Hellas, at p. 240.
2 I St. John V. 20. ^ Heb. xi. 40.
72 THE LAND
(i) First, then, we have the literary difficulty. If the Greeks had a love
for Nature, it is asked, why did they not introduce passages in praise of the
beauty of Nature into their literature ? " Out of the abundance of the heart
the mouth speaketh " ; and, as a matter of fact, the purely eulogistic passages
in Greek literature, such as the beautiful little sketch of the plane-tree by the
Ilissus in the Phse,drus of Plato, already referred to (p. 38), or the no less
beautiful picture of his birthplace by Sophocles in the (Edipus at Colonus, are
few and far between.
A weighty indictment ! — how shall we answer it ? We oppose our adver-
saries on their own ground. A literary question must be fought out between
critics, and on our side we bring forward an argument of one of the most
famous champions of modern times. In some very well-known passages in his
Laocoon (^§ 16-18), Lessing has conclusively shown that the ancients, or
rather the great masters among the ancients, guarded much more rigidly than
do we moderns the boundaries of the respective arts. The proper function of
Poetry they conceived to be the narration of actions, that of Painting the
description of visible objects. Time is the sphere of the poet, Space that of the
painter. It is inevitable that these two functions and spheres should overlap
to a great extent ; nevertheless, says Lessing : "I find that Homer paints
nothing but progressive actions ; objects and single things he paints only
through their share in these actions." In other words, objects of all kinds,
including those which go to make up pictures of natural beauty, take a
secondary place. Thus if the poet would describe to us the Shield of Achilles,
with all its varied devices — its sun, moon, and stars, and great river of ocean,
its pastures and sleek herds, its corn-lands, its cities, and joyous vintage
festivals — he does not weary us with a minute account of the Shield itself,
but lets us see it as it grows out of rough metal, stage by stage, under the
hand of the glorious lame god, Hephaestus, with his bellows and furnace, his
crucibles, anvil, and sturdy hammer {Iliad, xviii. 468 et seq.). The scenes
upon the Shield, beautiful as they are, have no independent place in the
poet's mind. They are all subordinate to the action and aim of Hephaestus —
the making of a gift which shall be worthy of himself, and also worthily
express his gratitude to Thetis, the mother of Achilles.
This example must suffice ; but any one who will take the trouble to look
through his Homer will see for himself that Lessing is right. Homer (for a
very good reason, which we shall discover presently) is all action. Descrip-
tions of natural beauty are brought in only for purposes of illustrating the
action in hand or as a foil or a background to that action. We say then, on
the first count, that the great reason why we find so few independent descrip-
tions of scenery in Greek poetry is, that the Greeks did not consider such
descriptions as coming within the sphere of poetry, properly so called.
(2) Next appears the artistic difficulty. Granted (say the art-critics) that
elaborate pictures of Nature had no legitimate place in Greek literature, how is
it that they are so poorly represented in Greek art ? Why were the Greeks
so very far behind us moderns in landscape painting ?
This, indeed, is a most curious phenomenon, and one which at first sight
appears inexplicable. Nevertheless, like many other difficulties, it vanishes
when looked in the face. We bring forward as our first witness here an art
critic who has devoted years to this very subject — landscape in ancient art —
and has studied it on the spot, in the country itself — Karl Woermann (Bie
Landschaft in der Kunst der Alter Volker, part ii., chap. 1). The result of
his studies and his journeyings may be summed up in a nutshell, thus : — The
reason that the Greeks did not excel as landscape-painters is, simply, that their
land is not one which lends itself naturally to such delineation.
BEAUTY
73
To understand this we must recollect that the culture and progress of
Greece were thrown, as we have seen, mainly on the eastern side of the land,
and consequently it was on this side — especially at Athens and Corinth — that
the great art-development took place. Now, what are the characteristics of
the scenery on the eastern side of Greece ? Bare rocks, bald mountain-peaks,
a jagged, strongly indented coast, island fragments — all made beautiful, no
doubt, by the deep blue of sea and sky and the effect of the sun-rays playing
through the translucent atmosphere, but, nevertheless, all presenting an indi-
viduality and a fragmentariness which, far from inviting depiction on a flat
surface, most strenuously resist it. The very scenery of Greece has the
character which we find implanted in the people ; it resents concentration,
centralisation. Each mountain-peak, each headland, each island makes, as it
were, an art experiment of its own, stands out by and for itself like a work of
sculpture, and demands to be looked at on all sides and treated on its own
merits. Vegetation, even, on this side of Greece shows the same independence ;
it is met with, not so much in great masses as in isolated clumps or solitary
trees, often of great beauty, which seem to claim attention for themselves.
Far, therefore, from uniting the landscape into one great whole, vegetation on
the eastern side rather heightens the impression of detachedness and indi-
viduality.
Thus, there is imprinted on the eastern side of Greece an intensely
Plastic character, and this, as we know, was precisely the stamp which the
Greek national art-genius took. From the moment when the Greeks threw
off the swaddling-bands of oriental imitation, to the time of the Macedonian
supremacy, throughout the best period, that is, of their art, they were beyond
all else. Sculptors. Had their lot been cast in a land whose softly flowing
coast-lines, gently swelling wooded heights, and general massiveness rather
than sharpness of contour, lent itself readily to delineation on canvas, the art-
result would probably have been different. As it is, the fact remains that,
far from being irresponsive to the influence of Nature, the national genius,
in the direction which it actually took, was most faithful and true to the
nature actually surrounding it.^
And what shall we say, moreover, when we reflect that, in the opinion of
another of the best modern art-critics (H. Brunn), some of the Greek sculptures
were probably designed to represent laridscapes 1 This view is easily under-
stood when we remember that, to the mind of a pious Greek, every object in
nature had its divine representative ; every river its god ; every fountain its
nymph. Hence, the sculptured figure of this divine being naturally took the
place of the scene itself. Thus, Brunn interprets the figures on the western
pediment of the Parthenon as personifications of the different features of the
landscape of Attica {Die Bilclwerke des Parthenon, p. 23 e^ seq.). According to
him, the river Ilissus, the Cephissus of Eleusis, the fountain Callirrhoe, the
mountains Cithseron, Parnes, Pentelicus, Hymettus, with other Attic scenes,
are represented there, the centre naturally personifying the Acropolis, as the
religious and political heart of the land. The meaning of the groups on the
pediments of the Parthenon has been variously and diversely interpreted.
This explanation is, however, as reasonable as any hitherto propounded, when
the design of the building is taken into consideration, viz., the glorifying of
Athena as the patroness specially of Attica, her chosen land. If Brunn's view
be correct, it confirms the foregoing remarks. Sculpture in Greece, on this
^ Other questions as to the way in which Greek art was influenced by the special nature
around, such as the bearing of the transparent atmosphere on the subject of perspective, will
be best discussed when we come to consider the Greek experiments in Art.
74 THE LAND
assumption, actually took the place of landscape-painting, and fulfilled the
design of the latter art in the minds of the Greeks themselves.
(3) Finally, we are met by the — apparently — common-sense argument : Why,
if the Greeks loved the country, did they crowd together into cities 1 Well,
city life had certainly great attractions for the Greeks, and the Greeks of the
classical period — on whose habits our critics have formed the objection quoted —
were certainly a very sociable and society-loving people. But may we not find
another reason for this supposed preference for city life in the fact that they
had practically no choice 1 How long would our own enthusiasm for Nature
last, if it had to be maintained in a region exposed every summer to the
ravages of an invading army, as was the case in Attica during the Pelopon-
nesian War*?! — a common-sense question to be taken into account in a
" common-sense " argument. We may be sure that all Greeks, even later
Greeks, were not so enamoured of the study of Man as was Socrates, and as
for the first Hellenes, there is clear evidence they lived face to face with
Nature, and loved her too.
Now that we have considered the three negative objections to our position,
and shown, as we believe, good reason why the Greeks did not write descriptive
poetry, why they did not excel in landscape-painting, why they did not prefer
country to city, let us just look at certain very positive facts, which will reveal
to us a good deal of what they really did think about Nature, and what they
saw in her.
(i) First, then, we, too, bring forward our literary argument. We, too,
maintain that, " Out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaketh," and
we point to the testimony of the great univritten literature of the Hellenes, the
Language which they built up before written signs, and with these what we
technically call " Literature," came into use among them. If many a word
coined in the youth of the world may justly be regarded as a " poem " in
itself, so may many a Greek place-name — the name of mountain, or river, or
headland — be described as a "landscape" in itself, a scene in which some
feature of nature is seized and treasured up. This is a subject so rich and full
that we must reserve it for consideration in a more fitting place. ^ Here it is
enough to note that such names exist in abundance, and that they could not
by any possibility have been coined by a people with " no eye " for nature.
But we go further than this. We say that, just as the influence of the
Greek religion may be felt in Greek sculpture, so also may it be traced as
affecting in a curious way Greek literature. The fact that every object had its
divine representative precluded, in great measure, descriptions of the land-
scape (Woermann). Thus, where a modern poet would wax eloquent over day-
break, the rosy flushing of the sky, and the awaking of earth to new life, the
Greek poet simply said that Eos — "rosy-fingered," " white- winged," "saffron-
robed," "gold-enthroned," Eos — "the Dawn," had appeared.
But we go further still than this. We maintain that a love of nature may
be shewn in a hundred ways besides direct eulogy of nature ; and we say that
such a love of nature is the essence of Homer. It is his very life-breath ; he
cannot repress it.
" But," says the reader, " how do you reconcile this assertion with the
criticism of Lessing, which you have just brought forward as true ? " In
judging any poet, we reply, the circumstances under which his work arose
must always be taken into account ; and when we recollect that the Iliad grew
^ Thucydides says expressly that the country people of Attica felt keenly the trial of
removal to Athens during the War (ii. 16).
2 See the section on Language.
BEAUTY 75
up for the delectation of an audience composed almost conclusively of men of
action, we can see very plainly how the rule pointed out by Lessing came to be
a rule. Lengthy eulogies of scenery would have had no interest for the warrior
knights and the huntsmen of the Heroic Age ; such men would have been
simply bored by them. The poet or rhapsodist was bound to respect the
susceptibilities of his audience. To have been a " bore," would have been to
lose his influence. But, then, on the other hand, Homer was a poet, a maker,
a creator. What, then, about that Inner Self whose dictates the poet is bound
to respect more than the whims of any audience ? Homer was a true poet, and
as such in sympathy with nature. The " shadowy mountains and the echoing
sea" were never very far from his thoughts, and speak of them he must.
How, then, does he get over the difficulty ? Genius will always find a way of
escape. How does he at once satisfy his hearers and liberate his own soul ?
By his wonderful Similes — the most striking and truthful of nature-pictures
ever drawn. The Iliad is full of metaphors ; it has been computed to contain
some 1 80, and of these;by far the greater proportion are taken directly from
nature. And, let us note, they are mostly pictures of nature in action.
Homer understood his audience. Those grim old warriors, who would not
have tolerated a description of any object in nature merely for the sake of
itself (such a description would have seemed to them perfectly unnecessary and
tedious, seeing that they already k7iew it), could yet be roused into a furore
of enthusiasm, such as we read of in later days in the Ion of Plato, by an
association of this very object with some action or deed, with which they them-
selves were in perfect sympathy. They, too, were Hellenes, and had a love
for nature, in their own way. And how adroitly does Homer use this point of
vantage ; how skilfully does he introduce his little bits of description ; how
careful he is that he shall never be wearisome, that, as Lessing says, they shall
always be subordinate to the narrative ; with what a verve do they dash in and
carry all before them ! Then, when he feels sure that he has roused his audi-
tors, and can count upon their patience, how he delights in his art, how he
paints in details (often quite unnecessary for the purposes of the simile), and
revels in his own reproductions of nature ! Simile follows hard upon simile.
They pour from his brain, to use one of his own metaphors (Iliad, ii. 87), as
pour the tribes of honey-bees from out the hollow rock, forth -swarming ever
new, and fly, thick- clustered, on the flowers of spring. At every point of
interest in the narrative, at every crisis in the fate of his heroes, Homer sees
his opportunity, and is ready with his "Even as," or his "Like to." So we
find that there are no elaborated similes in the first book of the Iliad,^ — the
poet's hearers are not yet interested in the story ; but no sooner is this
effected, no sooner are poet and audience thoroughly warmed to the matter
in hand, than they begin. And once Homer has his flowing-haired Achseans
fairly on the march, how the similes buzz about us, to be sure ! The poet has
his revenge for the repression of the first book, and sends forth in the second,
no fewer than five nature-pictures, " all in a breath," in the space of two-and-
twenty lines {Iliad, ii. 455-476).
So much as to the manner ; then as to the matter, the Stoff of his similes.
Leaving on one side the pictures drawn from animal life, which are among
the boldest and most striking, we find painted for us with rare truth and fidelity
all those phenomena of a mountain-land with which we have already become
acquainted. Fire in the forest on a mountain-side ; clouds motionless on a
^ Very perfect short ones, however ; as when Apollo in his wrath descends from Olympus
"like to night" (47), or when silver-footed Thetis rises from the grey sea "like a mist" (359).
See also, for a little bit of nature, the history of the sceptre of Achilles (234 et seq.).
76 THE LAND
mountain-ridge while the might of the North-wind sleepeth ; mountain torrents
rushing furiously in winter-flood to the plain, bearing dry oaks, pines, and
much soil to the sea ; the boulder carried headlong with them ; the crashing
of the winds amid the trees of the forest : each and .all are used to illustrate
some point of the story (Iliad, ii. 455 ; v. 522 ; xi. 492 ; xiii. 136 ; xvi. 765).
The simile of the boulder, brought to a halt in its eager descent, although
by no means one of the most beautiful in Homer, affords a capital example of
the poet's Schwung or " go." It illustrates Hector's onset at the ships of the
Greeks, and the check which he meets with : — ^
" On pressed the Trojan masses : Hector led,
Impetuous rushing, as a mighty stone
Kent from the rock ; which from some mountain brow
A torrent has dislodged, with furious flood
Breaking the holdings of the giant crag :
Bounding on high it flies ; beneath it yields
The crashing wood ; on, ever on, it speeds
Unchecked, apace, until it reach the plain :
Then stays, perforce, its haste, and rolls no more."
— Iliad, xiii. 136-142.
Then how beautifully, how pitifully does the poet describe the death of his
heroes ! When they fall, they fall like a poppy in a garden, that droopeth its
head aside, heavy with fruit and with the showers of spring ; or like a young
olive which a man has reared beside the water- springs : blooming and beautiful
it stands, just bursting into white blossom, when suddenly there cometh a wind
with much storm, wrencheth it from its place, and layeth it low ; or they are
like to an ash-tree on the crest of a hill seen from afar : hewn down by the axe,
it bringeth its delicate foliage to the ground ; or they fall as falls the oak, or
the silver poplar, or the lofty pine, felled by the shipwrights on the hills with
newly-whetted axe to build their craft {Iliad, y\\\. 306; xvii. 53; xiii. 178,
389 ; xvi. 482).
But most beavitiful of all to the mind of us English folk are the sea-pictures
of Homer ; and, verily, we think that the breath of his salt spray and the dash of
his great waves on the rocky beach, have something to do with that at-liomeness
which we feel in Homer. Just as with the phenomena of the mountains, so are
the features of the sea brought into the action of the story. The strange,
silent, resolute march of the Danaans before the attack, for instance, is as
when a billow away out at sea first reareth its crest (in silence), then, breaking
on the land with mighty roar, it rounds with arching head the rocky points,
and spitteth forth afar the salt sea-foam. Or, when the Greeks themselves
meet the onset of the foe, they present a front compact as a tower, like to a
huge steep rock hard by the grey sea — a rock that abides the swift paths of
the shrill winds and the swollen waves that break foaming upon it {Iliad, iv.
424; XV. 618). Or, again, look at this picture of the waves driven before the
winds ; how it intensifies Hector's impetuous rush ! —
" As clouds that of the white South bred
Are by the West wind driven, what time he smites
With headlong squall. On rolls the swelling wave,
High flies the scattered spray beneath the force
Of the wide- wandering wind. So frequent fell,
Vanquished by Hector's might, his f oemen's heads." '^
— Iliad, xi. 304 et seq.
1 The translation is from the admirable Similes of Homer, by the Rev. W. C. Green (1877).
2 Mr. Green's translation, op. cit. See also another very beautiful passage descriptive of
the lull before a storm {Iliad, xiv. 16 et seq.), where, in illustration of Nestor's irresolution, the
poet speaks of the " dumb wave " awaiting the rising of the winds.
-BEAUTY 77
The sea was known to Homer in all its varied moods and phases. He too
calls it, as did our own ancestors, "the barren," ^ " the unharvested," " the unvin-
taged " ; he, too, knows it as Thalassa, " the storm-tossed winter sea," which can
keep a man prisoner, far from wife and home ; but well he knows it also as
Pontos, "the path," and many a time must he have sailed over its " watery ways,"
on its " broad back." Then, what beautiful epithets he coins for it ! If it is
to him the grey sea, or the loud-roaring, or the black sea, it is also the hoary,
the wine-dark, the violet-hued, the purple, the echoing, the glittering, the
boundless, the divine — and divine to the poet, in all ages, the sea must be.
In yet another way Homer knew the sea — he knew it in a way which some
critics would deny to him. Homer, they tell us, is " utilitarian " in his
allusions to nature. What a nice word this "utilitarian" is, to be sure!
how admirably it brings the Great Unknown down to the level of current
criticism. Let us consider this : In the very opening of the Iliad when
Agamemnon has dismissed the priest of Apollo with hard and contemptuous
words — what does the old man do? Make his way to Troy, and tell his
pitiful tale to Hector, the favourite of Apollo ? This is what he ought to have
done, to keep the theory of the aforesaid critics upright. But what does
Homer tell us that he did ? —
" Silently he fared along the shore of the loud-roaring sea."
And there, beside the tossing waves — to Homer, as to us, a reflection of
the troubled soul — he tells his grief to Apollo himself. Verily, this one line
outweighs volumes of shallow criticism (c/. H. Motz, Uehei' die Empfindung
der Natursclionheit hei den Alien).
The counterpart to this picture of dejection is given in the account of
the return voyage of the Achaeans after expiation has been made for
Agamemnon's insolence, and Chryseis of the fair-cheeks has been restored to
her father. No sooner has rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, than the Far-Darter
sends a favouring gale, and they set up the mast and the white sails swell in
the breeze, and the dark wave shouts aloud around the keel as the ship speeds
along to the wide camp of the Achaeans. Could • any description be more
beautiful ? — bright Dawn, the white-winged ship, the glorious breeze, the dark
wave shouting, " singing " aloud for joy, around the ship. All nature is in
harmony with the glad hearts of the Achaeans ; now at length the wrath of
the Far-Darter is appeased {Iliad, i. 477 et seq.).
We might go on to tell of a certain scene in the Odyssey — the vine-hung
grotto of Calypso, with its violet meadows and its silver streams — a scene
which the poet describes as so beautiful that even a deathless god — Hermes —
pauses before it in wonder and admiration (v. 73). But time presses, and
we have said enough, we trow, to prove that Homer is the best interpreter
both of himself and of his people. In his pages the love of nature is writ
so large that he that runs may read, unless of set purpose he close his eyes.
(2) Then, secondly, we, too, bring forward our artistic argument, and we main-
tain that the peculiar development which Art took in Greece was due, in great
measure, to the peculiar influence of Greek landscape. As regards this, there
is not only the testimony of Greek sculpture, already considered, but of Greek
architecture. To attribute the rise of these sister arts among the Greeks to
the fact that in their marble-quarries abundance of superb material lay ready
to hand, would be a sorry piece of logic. Undoubtedly, this very materialistic
factor fits into the argument, that " the land was made for the people, the
people for the land " ; without Greek marble, Greek artists could not have
^ See footnote to p, 10.
78 THE LAND
wrought as they did. But of far more importance is it for us to note, that the
grand forms around — the Greek mountains, and the glowing hues in which
their rocky peaks are bathed — stamped themselves, so to speak, upon the
national genius. How many generations must have drunk in the beauty of
the sunsets on the hills of Athens before a Pheidias appeared ! Had the clear-
cut outlines of Greek hills nothing to do with that exquisite sense of proportion,
of symmetry, which is so characteristic of all Greek art-work ?i Had the
radiant tints of the " violet-crowned " city no share in suggesting the brilliant
colouring wherewith the pure white marble of a Greek temple was crowned ?
This brilliant colouring — so strange to us of the North, so appropriate to the
glowing South — colouring " which threw around the Parthenon a joyous and
festive beauty " — was but a reproduction of what Greek artists saw in the
temple of nature.
(3) Finally, there is the testimony of the Greek religion, and that in three
ways : —
(a) The very essence of the Greek religion lies in the fact that it grew out
of the closest observation of nature — it was emphatically a religion which
sought to find God in nature. The testimony of Greek mythology as to this
is so overwhelming that we must leave it for consideration in its own place.
Here we would only think for a moment of the beautiful myths which bewail
the fall of the year, and express the joyfulness of the returning spring.
(b) The subject-matter of such legends is, as we know, common to almost
all nations ; but the influence of the special environment is visible in the form
which the Greek versions take. That symmetry and sense of proportion
already referred to, as displayed in Greek art, meets us also in Greek
mythology. The myths of Hellas, as Welcker {Gr. Gotterlehre, i. p. 42)
long ago pointed out, are remarkable for the absence of exaggeration, and
in their clearly-chiselled form present a marvellous contrast both to the
monstrosities produced by the Oriental imagination, and the mythologies of
the North, grotesque and shapeless as the fogs and twilight that gave them
birth. The Hellenic myths are perfectly symmetrical, and kept within bounds
like their mountain-valleys or their sea itself, running up either into sharply-
marked gulfs and bays, or, where stretching out into expanse, often limited
by a visible background of hilly coast.
(c) Lastly, a very remarkable key to Greek feeling is to be found in the
sites chosen for temples and sacred places. The Greeks, as we know, grudged
nothing, spared no cost in their religion. What was offered to the gods must
be the best of its kind ; the purest marble, the highest artistic skill, were
pressed into their service. We may, therefore, take for granted that the sites
chosen for the sanctuaries on which so much care was lavished were selected
with a purpose. And this was really the case. Wherever we find a spot
peculiarly suited by its natural majesty to impress the worshipper with the
solemnity befitting the presence of deity, there, precisely, do we find a temple
or a shrine.
Take one instance, a wild and solitary glen, lying in the heart of a moun-
tain. At its western end the valley presents the appearance of a deep, semi-
circular recess, a rocky amphitheatre, rising gradually from a stream which
runs like a silver thread in a dark ravine at its foot, up to the mountain-wall.
' " The Greek mountains have, in part, in their 'working' on the mind the effect of
Architecture" (Welcker, Oriechische Gotterlehre, i. p. 40). The whole of Welcker's section on
the influence of the Land is most admirable, and to it we are largely indebted. No better
summary has ever been written. See also Julius Hare's Guesses at Truth, i. p. 91 et seq. (ist
ed.), quoted by Welcker in loc.
BEAUTY 79
This wall, which forms the background, is in one part cleft in twain from top
to bottom. The sides of the rent tower perpendicularly upwards in two
tremendous precipices, between which is a yawning chasm, one of the most
stupendous rifts in Europe. Thus, in all its savage grandeur, does the lonely
glen of Kastri lie, hidden from the outer world, between the rugged arms of
Parnassus and Cirphis, at the present day ; and thus did it lie before the eyes
of those first Hellenes. What did they think of the spot? Did they pass
it by with indifference ?
The traveller approaching some 2,300 years ago could have supplied the
answer. Suddenly, on turning a corner in the mountain-road, there would
have burst upon him a vision of unequalled splendour : the great rocky
theatre filled with the habitations of men, rising one above another, row upon
row, tier upon tier, on wall- supported terraces, from the river to the mountain.
Above, on one of the highest points, is a magnificent temple, the centre of
attraction, its marble fagade of dazzling whiteness glancing under the morning
sun in the reflected brightness of the glittering mountain-wall, which seems to
gather as in a focus the sun's rays, and flash them back upon the scene beneath,
lighting up countless objects of beauty, gods and heroes in bronze and in marble,
fountains shaded by spreading plane-trees, laurel, and olive, tliesauroi pro-
tecting national treasures committed to them. Here is a Lesche,i painted by
the hand of a Polygnotus ; here a theatre, a Stadium, both the scene of many
a stirring contest for the laurel-wreath ; there a Stoa adorned with sterner
trophies, shields, and beaks of brass, tokens of fierce conflicts waged on land
and sea. On the western ridge, with its grand view over the Amphissian
Plain beneath, bounded by the Corinthian Gulf with the Arcadian Cyllene in
the distance, is the meeting-place of the Amphictyonig League ; on the east
is a group of temples. In the background, towering above the rock-hewn .
fountain, Castalia, at their base, rise the two mountain peaks, Nauplia and
Hyampeia, the giant guardians of the sanctuary, dedicated to the presiding
deities of the place, Apollo and Dionysus, the Summer and the Winter-Sun.
Such was Delphi, rocky Pytho, the treasure-house of the archer, Phoebus
Apollo, as it lay in the olden time, the " centre " of the then civilised world
(Paus., X.; Plut., de Pythice orac. ; Leake, Northern Greece^ ii. p. 550 et seq.\
Bursian, op. cit., i. p. ijo et seq.).
Was there no " eye " or appreciation of natural grandeur displayed in the
selection of the site? Take away the rocky amphitheatre, the gleaming
Phsedriades, the awe and seclusion lent by the encircling mountain-walls ; place
the temple in a plain, among the ordinary haunts of men — and, notwithstand-
ing its own magnificence, its countless treasures of art, the illusion would be
gone. The Hellenes knew this better than either you or I.
Time would fail to enlarge on other and similar instances which rise to
mind : the lonely shrine of Apollo the Helper, amid the mountains at Bassse,
with its mossy oaks and its magnificent outlook over the whole of Southern
Peloponnesus and the sea ; the valley of Olympia, with its coronet of low,
encircling hills ; the stern Nemean Valley, with the altar-hill of Apesas ; the
dark glen of Lebadeia, with its mysterious subterranean waters ; the " queenly"
rock of the Athenian Acropolis, with its group of temples, crowned by silvery
haze. Enough has been said to show that the Hellenes had, to say the least,
quite as keen an appreciation of scenic effect, and the artistic possibilities
afforded by nature, as any of their modern critics. *
Connecting now the threefold link of evidence to be found in Literature,
Art, and Religion, we cannot fail to see that, not only did the land answer
1 A sort of club-house or lounge.
^o THE LAND
every requirement of those who were destined to be experimenters in the
domain of the beautiful, but that these experimenters responded to its
influence. Granted that the root of the matter lay within themselves, the root,
Creative Energy, was nourished and strengthened by what it fed upon, Natural
Beauty. " A grand nature elevates, a beautiful nature refines " (Welcker).
Those who think otherwise would have us believe that the Hellenes, if their
lot had been cast, say, amid the dreary monotony of the Russian steppes, would
still have produced a mythology full of poetry, and erected a Parthenon.
The truth is, that the Hellene drank in natural beauty as he breathed the
common air, and would probably have considered it as little necessary to rhap-
sodize over the one as over the other. The instinct to seize and appropriate
the beautiful was as innate in him as was the instinct to reproduce what he
thus appropriated ; but the receptive and the creative instincts operated, like
all laws, both in the natural and the spiritual world, in their own way. " One
Spirit — diversities of operations." Amongst ourselves, the beauty of nature
impels one man to pour out his thoughts on paper ; another, to reproduce
them on canvas. The Greek, in all the splendid . audacity of the spring-time
of Art embodied his, above all, in marble ; and well it is for us moderns that
he chose precisely this mode of experimenting.
To sum up: What shall we say then to these things? If we find a land
marvellously adapted to the people destined to inhabit it : —
1. A land, which shielded its people when as yet, in their infant days,
they could not shield themselves.
2. A land, which provided that each race among the people should have
fair play and full scope for its own individuality.
3. A land, which was so placed that its people might have free intercourse
with the older civilisation, and little intercourse with barbarism.
4. A land, which offered the conditions of climate best fitted to develop
energy of character.
5. A land, whose natural resources were such as to encourage enterprise
and self-reliance.
6. A land, whose natural features were calculated to stimulate thought and
investigation.
7. A land, finally, clothed in the rarest beauty, and stored with material
ready to the hand of the artist.
If we find all these conditions grouped together in one spot, what can we say
but echo, though with a truer meaning, the conviction of Plato? Not Athena,
but that Power of whose wisdom Athena was but an earthly shadow, Himself
chose out the land for the people, and determined beforehand the bounds of
their habitation — the mountains, the seas, and all that these implied to Hellas.
If no visible ark of the covenant was borne before the Hellenes as before the
Hebrews, certain it is that the same gracious All-Father had gone " before "
them to seek out, not, indeed, a place of rest, but a place wherein, without let
or hindrance, they might work their work.
Finally, there is yet one feature of this wonderful land which remains to
be noted, and that is — its size. Greece is one of the smallest countries of
Europe — smaller than Ireland, smaller than Scotland. ^ When we recollect,
1 The area of Portugal =35,260 sq. miles.
,, Ireland =32,513
,, ,, Scotland =26,014 ,,
,, ,, Ancient Greece
excluding Epeirus, but
including Euboea
BEAUTY 8 1
moreover, that the space, small as it appears, was subdivided amongst a num-
ber of independent States, each of which wrought out an independent history,
when we reflect that the extent of Attica, that State which wrought out the
greatest history of all, was only 740 square miles, or one-eighth the area of
Yorkshire, 1 the contrast between the insignificance of the space and the
significance of what was accomplished upon it heightens our conceptions of a
people who have left a memory to fill all time. It seems, indeed, as though
Providence, foreseeing the march of events — the discovery of a new world,
with its boundless extent, its inexhaustible physical resources, and the infla-
tion of ideas that would follow — had resolved to read a lesson to future ages
by exhibiting on a few barren rocks, and in the microcosm which we call
Hellas, the true law of historic proportion, the infinite and eternal superiority
of mind over matter.
^ The area of Yorkshire = 5983 sq. miles.
,, „ Attica =: 740 „
§11— GREEK LANGUAGE
FIRST EXPERIMEKT: THE LANGUAGE
*' A TEULY remarkable experiment ! " objects an aggrieved reader. " Have
you not just asserted that the Aryans brought with them into Greece a
language so rich, so perfectly coined and stamped, that even to this day (to
use the words you quoted) it is 'the very joy of the grammarian's heart?'
What credit, forsooth, can belong under these circumstances to the Greeks?
Once formed, language came naturally to them. From out a mountain of
prologue, forth creeps — a mouse ! "
Nay ! say rather, " Forth flies a nightingale ! " But are you quite sure
that the Greek language as it has come down to us "came naturally" to the
Greeks? How, then, do you account for the fact that no grand Thracian
language, no rich Phrygian literatut-e, has likewise come down to us? The
Thracians and the Phrygians were near neighbours of the Greeks, placed under
very similar natural conditions. Both the Thracian and the Phrygian language
belong, like the Greek, to the Aryan family. If the " natural " theory be true,
it ought to hold good all round.
No ! so far from a grand language coming " by nature " {phusei, as the
Greeks would say) to any nation, it is, on the contrary, its first work of art
(G. Curtius, 6rr. Ety., E. T., i, p. 26). The development of its language, says
a great thinker, Wilhelm von Humboldt, is the first and most important step
in the culture of any nation. It is the step which conditions all the rest, and
this advance was made by the Greeks in the early period of which we have no
record, except such as is to be found in the language itself. The oldest specimens
of the Greek language which have come down to us are the Homeric poems ;
but, as we have seen, centuries of development were at work on the language
before it reached the stage of perfection in which it appears in Homer.
Having said so much to justify our treating language as an experiment, we
must nevertheless admit that, to a certain extent, our aggrieved reader is also
in the right. The Greeks did not make their language ; they only developed
it. They did not create roots any more than the jeweller creates the gold
which he manipulates. They did not even set to work upon crude material,
for it was not rough ore that the Grseco-Aryans brought with them into
Greece ; the Aryan word-nuggets had already been purified, dressed, and
shaped. What, then, did they do ? — wherein lies the experimenting ? In
this, that they threw the nuggets afresh into the crucible of reflection and
transformed them. To use what is perhaps a better simile, the Aryan roots
and word-forms struck deep into the soil of Greek thought, and brought forth
these new and more beautiful blossoms and fruit. Not, however, without
effort on the part of the thinkers. " The Greeks," said George Curtius, " did
not make their language themselves ; they had a rich inheritance, and they
marvellously transfigured it " (Curtius, loc, cit).
This " inheritance " came, as we have seen, from the Aryan mother-
tongue, that old language that " died on giving birth to her daughters," and in
the " transfiguring," the results of the process by which Greek became differ-
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 83
entiated from her sisters — the Sanscrit, Persian, Latin, Teutonic, Slavonic,
and Lithuanian tongues — lies the gist of the experiment. Each of the sister-
nations had to lead her own life, just as each human being has to live his.
However much a child may receive from his parents at starting, his own
character depends entirely on the use he may make of what he starts with. So
in regard to language the inherent weakness or strength of a people shews
itself in what it makes out of the word-talents entrusted to it. In this respect
the Hellenes gave a glorious promise of their future. Surrounded on all sides
by tribes that have not left a trace of any permanent culture, they alone
struggled upwards (F. G. Welcker, Gi\ Gotterlehre^ i. 27), and worked out a
medium capable of communicating the highest and noblest thoughts which man
can conceive — a language worthy to be the true Ohristophoros, the Christ-
bearer, the carrier of the " good news " of the revelation of God to man.
We are apt to associate the development of a language exclusively with that
of its written literature, but it cannot too often be emphasised that Greek
existed in its beauty before writing was employed at all.^ From the very first
the people seem to have loved their language and to have striven both to
develop and to maintain it in its purity.
From first to last the " web of words, deftly woven," exerted an enormous
power over the emotional Hellene. He was no true hero who was not great in
word as well as in deed, mighty in the Assembly as in the battle. The posses-
sion of eloquence could even atone for that worst of deficiencies in the eyes of a
Greek — lack of beauty, of personal grace and charm. So in the famous scene
in the third book of the Iliad, where the old king Priam, with Helen and the
Trojan elders, is surveying the Greek army in the plain below, and the con-
trast between the tall, dignified Agamemnon, beautiful and royal, and the
short, rugged, broad-shouldered Odysseus, is discussed, Antenor tells the story
of the embassy of Menelaus and Odysseus to Troy. He relates how goodly
Menelaus had towered above all present in the height of his stature, and how
clearly and to the point in few words he had spoken ; how, when Odysseus of
many devices rose up, he stood and looked down with eyes fixed on the ground,
and moved his staff neither backwards nor forwards, but held it stiff like to a .
man that knows naught ; one would take him for a churl, and no better than
a fool. But when he sent forth his great voice from his chest, and words like
to the snowflakes in winter, then indeed could no mortal vie with Odysseus,
nor then did we wonder, beholding Odysseus' aspect, that he was the chosen
spokesman of the Achaians {Iliad, iii. 2156^ seg.).
And Odysseus himself, when, by reason of his weather-worn appearance, he
is made the butt of insolence in the Phseacian assembly, answers the malapert
youth who has attacked him in the following singularly beautiful passage : —
" Stranger, thou hast not spoken well ; thou art like a man presumptuous. So
true it is that the gods do not give every gracious gift to all, neither shapeli-
ness, nor wisdom, nor skilled speech. For one man is feebler than another in
presence, yet the god crowns his words with beauty and men behold him and
rejoice, and his speech runs surely on his way with a sweet modesty, and he
shines forth among the gathering of his people, and as he passes through the
town men gaze on him as a god " \0d., viii. 166 et seq.).
If the orator is thus treated by his countrymen in the eighth century, we need
not be surprised when society grows more complex to find the building up of
the State itself attributed to him. In the great ode to which we have so often
referred (Soph., Antig. 354 et seq.), Sophocles reckons as one of the achieve-
^ Niebuhr maintained that the "golden age" of Greek was before a book had come into
existence [Kleine Schrift, xi. 8),
84 GREEK LANGUAGE
ments of man that he has taught himself, developed " speech and wind-swift
thought, and all the moods that mould a State " ; and in this idea the poet is
followed by the philosopher, Aristotle {Pol., I. ii., § 12).
What the Hellenes thought about language is indeed best seen in the one
fact that in Greek logos means not only ivord but reason, the highest and best
gift of man as distinguished from the brutes {ta aloga = " creatures without
reason "). A people who regarded " words " as the outward sign of the inward
gift were not likely either to coin or to apply them indiscriminately or at
haphazard.
In later days speculations as to the origin of words — what they called
etymo-logy = "the truth about words " — whether names sprang up of them-
selves, of necessity, or were given arbitrarily by some one, seem to have been
very attractive to the Greeks. Socrates (or Socrates-Plato in Crat., for it is
impossible to separate that " double-star ") holds that " names have by nature
a truth, and," he adds, "not every man knows how to give a name." The
philosopher Democritus, a contemporary of Socrates (about 430 B.C.), describes
words most picturesquely as " statues in sound." Heraclitus, another philo-
sopher, who flourished about a century earlier, calls words the " shadows of
things," images which reflect things and thoughts as a clear lake mirrors the
*' surrounding hills" (F. Max Miiller, Sci. of Lang., ii. 334). Such meditative
views of words however, beautiful as they seemed to the philosopher, do not
suit the poet. To Homer, as to Sophocles, thought is " wind-swift," and its
bearers, too, must be " winged." Homer's " winged words " are heralds sent
forth with a message of peace and goodwill, or arrows launched by his heroes
in keen, trenchant style,
\Here, then, we have four difl[erent views of wh at the Greeks themselves
took words to b e : truth itself , sculptured thoughts, deep shadows, winged
It would not be an uninteresting task to attempt to range certain words
under these different categories. One word rises unbidden in the memory
as if belonging to all four, Aiithropos (man), " the upward looker." ^ Have
we not in this word at once the "shadow" of a deep "truth," a "winged"
reminder to each one of the race, a perfect piece of " sculpture " worthy to be
placed beside that grand old Aryan word, Man, " the Thinker." True, the
original meaning of the word was in later days neglected, like that of many
another significant name. Nevertheless, arithropos, " the Upward Looker ;
the aspirer to all that is noble and true," still stands out across the ages, for
all that have eyes to see, "with upturned face and outstretched hands," a
, majestic thought-statue.
If we would, however, see in all their fulness what " words " were to the
Hellenes, it is to Pindar that we must turn. The " journeys in the Muses' car,"
similes, metaphors, turnings of speech, by which he sets forth his vocation, his
manner of working, his aims, are astounding. " No statuary " he, that he
" should fashion images to rest idly on their pedestals!" {Nem., v. i et seq.).
Nay ! of living glowing material will he fashion Ms images, and they shall be
borne beyond seas " on the glorious gale of song." From every part of human
life his analogies are taken. Now he bids " sow the seed of splendid words " ;
again, his " shepherd tongue " would fain keep part of a brilliant flock in
fold (ibid., Neyn., i. 13; 01. x. 8); now he is "labouring with his hand in
the choice garden of the Graces" ; anon following the " Muses' plough" (ibid.,
Nem., X. 26 ; 01., ix. 26) ; now with sweet lute he " weaves the woof " of song ;
now he can raise a " pillar whiter than Parian stone" {ibid., Nem., ix. 44, 811).
^ So Bergk (Lit.-Gesch., i. p. 127 ; note 206).
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE SJ
Now his words rush " like the wave sweeping down the rolling shingle " ; again
they flow like "liquid nectar, the Muses' gift, sweet fruit" of his soul (ibid.,
01. y vii. 7 ; xi. 9) ; now they '' kindle the beacon-blaze of honour " ; again they
sprinkle the "kindly dew of hymns triumphal in the hope that even the dead
may hear perchance the great fame of their descendant" (ibid., Isthm., iii. 61 ;
Pyth, V. 96). He has arrows in his quiver, " swift arrows that have a voice
for the wise " ; he can send " the swift speech of his tongue as it were a
bronze-headed javelin " ; he aims at a far throw of the quoit ; if it be
necessary, the true master of his art will " grapple in the strife, bending the
words beneath his grasp, yielding not his ground as he wrestleth in speech,
of gentle temper toward the good but to the froward a stern adversary " (ibid.,
pi., ii. 91 ; Neni., vii. 71 ; Isthm., ii. 357 ; Nem., iv. 93).
Thus, things natural and supernatural, the Muses, and the Graces, the blaze
of fire, the gale, the rushing wave, sowing, ploughing, weaving, and shepherd-
ing ; the archer, the javelin-thrower, the wrestler ; all these images and many
more than we have space to quote, are pressed into the service to illustrate the
power of words, to show what they can do. As to there being anything which
\^hey can not do, that certainly is an idea which never entered Pindar's mind.
" As the refining of gold showeth forth all his splendours, so doth a song that singeth
a man's rare deeds make him the Peer of Kings " {ibid., Nem., iv. 82).
Such was Pindar's opinion of his art, and of his tools. Words.
The Basis of the Experiment. — Lang uage was, as we have seen (p. Ss),
the great mark of distinction bet ween the Hellenes and the tribes around — the
^<7ZojgQi\_ ^tonguek a i~FoIK7^r bar-bar-oi, " stuttering folk," as they called the
latter. That their own symmetrical language had been built up on a basis
common to several of these so-called " barbarian " tongues, never occurred to
them. Plato, indeed, notices in the Cratylus that several words, such as fire,
water, dog, were the same in Phrygian as in Greek, but he does not penetrate
to the meaning of the coincidence ; he supposes that the Greeks had borrowed
these words from the "barbarians." Seeing that the secret — the fact that
words related to each other must have had a common ancestor — was not even
guessed at until the eighteenth century of our era, we can hardly wonder that
it was not discovered even by a Plato.
To endeavour to shew how Greek became Greek — a language entirely
distinct from Latin, Sanskrit, Gothic, and the other Aryan idioms — would be
utterly out of place here. All that we can venture upon is to mention a few
points of interest and refer the reader for the rest to the works of those who
have made the subject a special study.
The first point which we would emphasise is the mysterious nature of
the process. We take a group of words, such as the following, all owning a
common source, all descended from a common ancestor (Skeat's Handbook of
Cognate Words) : —
English. Greek. Latin.
bear phero fero
kin genos genus
door thjra fores
fell pella pellis
heart ker cor
wine , oinos vinum
and we ask how the changes were brought about. Philologists point to
Grimm's law, and bid us note that certain initial letters correspond in the
sister-languages ; h in English to ph in Greek, and / in Latin, and so on,
86 GREEK LANGUAGE
and they add that these changes take place with the greatest regularity in
accordance with a fixed law. Still the mystery is not solved. We can see
that certain results were obtained, we can also see the How of the process,
but not the Why. Speaking of the changes which took place in the German
dialects, Grimm (Geschichte der deutsche Sprache, ed. 1848, p. 276) says: "The
variation does not merely affect one sound for a particular purpose, much more
all sounds at once, without anything being gained thereby in the inner part
(the heart) of language. It is a power, as it were, outside of the language
which has produced this marvellous effect." Since Grimm's day our knowledge
of the mechanism of language has increased wondrously, but still the impetus
which gave rise to these variations remains a mystery. We may attribute
them to the effect of climatic conditions, imperceptibly modifying the vocal
apparatus, so that in a certain locality it becomes easier to pronounce some
letters than others. This has its weight, and great weight, in the argument ;
but what shall we say regarding a country like Greece, which had not one
climate, but many ? The effects of climatic conditions undoubtedly show
themselves in the various dialects of Greece ; nevertheless, Greek is a
homogeneous structure with peculiarities common to itself, and to all the
dialects. The only real answer to the question is Grimm's, the working of
the mysterious power. There is in language, as in all else, that —
" Divinity that shapes our ends,
Eough-hew them as we will. "
Throughout the whole development of the daughter-languages there is
plainly visible, as philologists are beginning more and more to see, the reign of
law. In his day. Pott {JEtymol. Forschungen, i. 12) could write that "even in
letters there does not rule the lawlessness of presumptuous self-will {frechen
WillMtr), but a reasonable freedom, limited by laws founded in the nature of
the sounds themselves." And, in our own day, Brugmann (My. of Comp.
Gi^ammar, trans, by Dr. J. Wright, i. p. vi) can say that it is the aim of philo-
logists to seek for the reason of every exception^ even to these laws, " not
occasionally only, but in every case and systematically." The reign of law in
the development of language, then, is our first point.
Secondly, we note that although there were thus provided certain grand
channels within which and no others, the sound-stream of each people was to
flow, yet that all " reasonable freedom " in the regulating of the channels is
traceable, as is the case wherever man has to co-operate with the great Demi-
urges, the Worker for the People.
I. The Greek could go on building up as many new words as he chose,
provided he remained true to the old law of word-building ; he could invent
new forms, but they must be on the analogy of those already in existence.
We must not think that the Aryans brought roots into Greece, or any other
land where they settled ; far from that, the root period was separated by an
interval of a thousand years or more from the period of the Dispersion ; the
root and the other independent elements which constitute the inflexion-
particles had become fused inseparably into words, coined and firmly stamped
in the mother-tongue and "finished forms only were transmitted to the
daughter-tongues." ^ Nevertheless, the Greek was doubtless perfectly con-
^ Bopp resolves a form like ^' dodesometha^^ into do-dd-sometha. Can it, now, be assumed
that the affixion of these elements to the root do first took place in Greek ? Certainly not.
The more thoroughly the comparison of the Indo-European languages has been prosecuted, the
plainer the following principle has become — viz. that inflection was completed in the parent
speech, "only finished forms were transmitted to the individual languages" (Delbruck (B.),
Einleitung in das Sprachstudium, pp. 57, 176 ; see also Appendix).
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 87
scious of what constituted the essential part of most words, the part full of
life and meaning as, e.g. the root do in didomi, " I give," and he could go on
coining as many new words as he chose, so long as he kept to the old lines.
2. Then, again, the Greek was quite at liberty to please his ear, and please
his ear he did. What we call vowel-gradation or " Ablaut " was tolerably well
settled for him before he came into Greece. In Greek words a certain regular
change of the vowel, both in roots and suffixes, is observable, as in —
nemo, I pasture ; nomos, pasture ;
steno, I groan ; st6nos, groan ;
ameibo, / change ; amoib^, change ;
and so on. "This vowel-change" {Gustav Meyer) "did not arise in Greek
soil, but reflects, more or less faithfully, old vowel -relations already developed
in the Indo-German period" {Griechische Grammatik, 2nd ed., 1886, § 4).
These regular changes the Greek then retained, but he modified and
added to them in various ways until the melodious Klang of the language
satisfied his sensitive ear.
Moreover, he did not scruple to throw overboard any sound that displeased
him, and so the letter s fared badly in Greek hands. _
This iS shown by comparison with the sister-languages : —
English. Greek. Latin.
salt hdls sal
seven heptd septem
six h^x sex
Apparently the hissing sound as an initial was sometimes distasteful to
Greek ears, for the aspirate was then put in its place.
3. Finally, we note that the Greek exercised a great amount of freedom in
the way of "contraction," which tended very considerably to alter both the
structure and sound of the language. This desire to shorten long forms may
be attributed either to laziness, or to the exercise of a " wise economy " of
speaking-power, or to the universal tendency of human nature to take a " short
cut " wherever it is practicable — as in our own " can't " for " can-not," " shan't "
for " shall not," and so on. To whatever cause we may attribute it, certain it
is that the Greeks went so far as gradually to omit altogether a letter, the
digamma T, which does not figure in their alphabet. It represented the old u
of the mother-tongue, and was generally spoken as a vowel, though sometimes
written incorrectly as ^? or B (Brugmann, op. cit., § 163). It was evidently in
use when the Homeric poems were composed, but not as a written character
when they were first committed to writing, although the sound remained in
most Greek dialects, as inscriptions prove, until far on in historic times. The
omission of the digamma may be shown thus : —
From the old root ^ ueq = " speak," came —
Sanskrit : vacas = " speech " ;
Greek : Fepos = " word " (epos) {ibid.y § 151);
Latin : vocare.
^ The processes of shortening are well shown in the important word Zeus, the name for
God, which the Greeks brought with them from the old home, answering to the Indian Dyaus,
the Latin Ju-piter, the Teutonic Tiu, Zio, all from the root div, "to shine" — i.e. God of the
Bright Heavens. The contractions arose thus : —
Zeus, from Zeus, dieus (the Z from di) ;
Dios, from DiFos ;
Dii, from DiFi ;
Dia or Zen. In Zen the F has disappeared entirely [ihid.^ §§ 361, 493).
88 GREEK LANGUAGE
Without supplying the digamma, we should not be able to see that epos is
sister to vacas, or neos {neFos, " new ") to novos.
It must be admitted, however, that the Greeks went conscientiously to
work with the shortening process, for the digamma, when omitted, is frequently
replaced in some dialects by a compensation lengthening of the root-vowel, in
others by the doubling of a consonant {ibid., § i66); facts worth noticing,
inasmuch as they show thoughts and feeling at work in the development of
the language.
So much for a very dry subject. Let us pass on now to trace as far as we
may some of the actual experiments in word-making, bearing in mind that the
process went on vigorously to the days of Aristotle and longer. The language,
as we have seen, was formed and made before Homer, and from Homer in the
ninth century to the writers of the third century b.c. words were coined continu-
ally on the old models as new wants arose, necessities pressed, civilisation, art,
culture, philosophy developed, men's ideas expanded, their horizon enlarged.
When Aristotle finds that the ethical vocabulary of the day is not adequate to
express fully his ideas, what does he say ? " Peirat^on — we must experiment !
— we must try to coin names ourselves in order to make our argument clear
and easy to follow!" (Arist., Eth. N. II., vii. ii), and that this was the
course adopted by all great thinkers the Greek language shows. From Homer
downwards the versatility of Greek genius and the multiplicity of subjects
which enchained and delighted it afforded the widest of ranges and most ample
of " pastures for words " {Iliad^ xx. 249).
The Giving" of Names. — Following our Graeco- Aryans into Thessaly, then,
it is evident that one of the first ways in which their powers of manipulating
language could show itself would be, naturally, in the giving of names to the
various objects met with.i They would be obliged, for instance, to find a name
for the great mountain at the foot of which they settled. This would be by
no means so easy as appears at first sight, for several designations, each of
which contains a certain measure of " truth " about the mountain, are applicable
to it. Thus they might have called it the " Broad," from its spreading ampli-
tude ; or the "Woody," from its forests; or the "Many-folded," from its over-
hanging ridges and valleys. Each of these epithets would have been correct
to a certain extent, but none of them would have expressed that feature
which is the characteristic of the mountain — its gleaming peaks, soaring over
all adjacent heights, and visible in the dazzling brightness of their snows to an
immense distance. ^
The name "^ lympus," " the shining " (G. Curtius, i. p. 330), must have
come to the "poet'^ who made it like a flash of inspiration, and that it has
remained to the present day shows that, as a name, it was a survival of the
fittest.^ We may be sure that before that poet could induce his countrymen
to look up and see the flashing of the silver spears above he would have some
little trouble. There would doubtless be plenty of advocates for " practical "
^ The names of places — -mountains, rivers, promontories, &c. — always present a certain
difficulty, and etymologies proposed in regard to them must be accepted with caution, inasmuch
as such names may have been given by the earlier inhabitants of a land, and may contain
elements not belonging to the language to which they are ascribed. Or they may even be due
to visitors, as e.g. Malea, "the height," Taenarum, "smelting," but which, nevertheless,
are probably of Phoenician origin. There are, h<jwever, in abundance Greek names about
which there can be no doubt.
2 Professor Jebb relates that while travelling in Boeotia on one very clear day a strange
gleam was descried in the northern sky, " something that flashed like the point of a silver spear.
Our guide exclaimed, ' Olympus 1 ' "
^ Olympus is the only mountain of Greece which has preserved its ancient name.
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 89
names — the " Woody " and the " Broad " — but in the end the '* Upward-
lookers " carried the day, as they generally do when they are in earnest.
This one example may suffice to show how the experiments in name-giving
probably went on. Each name is a picture or a story in itself, and we should
possibly not be far wrong were we to imagine that the proposing and accepting
of a name in those early times was an event as exciting as is the publishing of a
new novel in these latter days, for names are the great unwritten literature of a
people. ' ' Next to numbe rs^" said Pythag oras . ^^ there is nothing so wo nderful
as nam es." And how appropriate and in many cases beautiful these oI3~^names
are, we have only to wander through Greece to see for ourselves. In this very
Thessaly, opposite to Olympus, across the gorge of Tempe, stands another
giant, inferior in height to the king of mountains, but conspicuous everywhere
by its pointed, conical shape ; and this " glorious grey peak," with its far
lookout, became to them Ossa, a name supposed to mean, like Ephyra,
" the watch-tower," " place of observation " (G. Curtius, ii. p. 387). A third
Thessalian mountain, with shaggy forests and beetling cliffs, was Othrys, " the
brow" (Ross, Wanderungen im Griechenland, ii. p. 173). Several of the
Greek mountains again took their names from the clouds and tempests
which hover round them. Thus we find Ceraunia, " the thunder-hills," in
Epeirus ; Typhrestus, "the whirlwind," in Middle Greece (G. Curtius, 205);
Msenalus, "the wild," "the stormy " (Pape's Worterbuch), in Arcadia. The
names of others seem to have been given from a fancied resemblance in their
shape to that of some animal or other object, as e.g. Arachnium, " the spider,"
in Argolis ; Kerata, " the horns," in Attica ; Cithaeron, " the lyre " ; Helicon,
"the ring-mountain" (probably from its curved outline), and so on.
Then what about the Rivers ?
One, making the circle of the Plain of Thessaly, and finally disappearing
to the sea through the narrow gorge of Tempe, "the cut," is Peneius, "the
thread " (G. Curtius, 304) ; another, wending its way gracefully through the
beautiful plain of Sparta, is Eurotas, " the fair-flowing " ; a third, a notable
land-builder (see ante, p. 59), is Pamisus, "the giver of property" (Tozer,
Led., p. 90) ; a fourth, a great fertiliser, is Alpheius, " the nourisher " ; a fifth,
in thirsty Argos, is Erasinus, " the lovely." Greek rivers, however, are, as we
know, mainly distinguished by their wintry violence — a characteristic which
gave rise to yet another class of names. One Achaean stream, foaming noisily
down the mountain side, is Sythas (sys), "the boar"; another, in Arcadia,
bears the significant appellation, Buphagus, " devour er of oxen" ; a third, with
swift, irresistible current, is Arachthus, "the smiter " ; a fourth is Spercheus,
" the hasty " (the prototype of Achilles, " swift of foot," so say some myth
interpreters). The famous fountain by which Pegasus, "the winged steed," was
found, on the top of Acrocorinthus, is Peirene, " the piercer," so called doubt-
less because it pierces through the mountain and bubbles out at its foot in the
lower city (Bursian, ii. pp. 16, 17).
Pr omontories were named chiefly from their shape , as Ichthys^ "the fish/L
Ch'Monatas, "the tortoise," JDrepanon, "the sickle," Zoster, "the girdle." One
promontory on the Taygetus peninsula they called Thyrides, " the windows,"
a most curious name. How in the world, we ask, could a cape deserve the
name of "the windows"? E. Curtius has solved the puzzle (Pel.). "Ima-
gine," he says, " steep marble cliffs, rising precipitously out of the sea to a
height of about 700 feet, like a gigantic white wall with a blackish border.
So violent is the current rushing past at this spot that the promontory can only
be approached in the calmest weather. A restless surge beats ceaselessly upon
90 GREEK LANGUAGE
it, and the waves break with a roar of thunder into the deep caves and holes
in the rocks, out of which flutter timidly innumerable doves." Now we see
the force of the name — " As doves to their windows ! " The gigantic gleaming
rock, the window-like holes with which it is perforated, the restless surge, the
doves fleeing to their refuge — all this makes an extraordinary impression when
seen from the sea, and all this is summed up in the old name Thyrides,
*' the windows." How poor in comparison is the modern name — Cape Grotto,
'* the massive ! "
Some places, again, bear the names of plants (Tozer, Led., p. 91). Thus we
have Khamnus, so called from the abundance of the Jerusalem thorn growing
there; Myrrhinus, from the myrtle; Agnus, from the Agnus castiis ; Daphnus,
from the laurel ; Phelloe, from the cork-oak ; Erineos, from the wild fig.
Selinus, " parsley river," is a name common in moist coast plains. Parsley was
a favourite plant amongst the Greeks ; of its leaves were made the wreaths that
crowned the victors in the Nemean Games.
Some names of this class mark the epoch at which they were given.
Mecone, " Poppyland," for instance, carries us back to that great gathering of
gods and Titans on the altar-rock in the north of Peloponnesus, when the
terms of the compact between the immortals and the puny race of man are
discussed, and the wily Prometheus seeks to outwit the far-seeing father of
gods and men. Beyond sparkle the blue waters of the Corinthian Gulf, in the
background rises the snowy head of Parnassus, at the foot of the rock spreads
the wild plain, ablaze in its native luxuriance with the red glow which links
the spot with the Fire-giver. Put centuries roll on — gods and Titans have
gone back to Olympus ; the blue waters still sparkle ; Parnassus still rears his
hoary head ; but the plain no longer glows in fiery red. It has become green,
refreshingly green — but alas ! poetry has fled with the poppies, and the meeting-
place of gods and Titans is transformed into — must we say it? — a market-
garden, wherein are raised the little relishes that delight the soul of the
Corinthian artisan. Mecone, " Poppyland," has become Sicyon, " Cucumber-
land " (Bursian, ii. p. 23).^
But we must hasten on nor tarry any longer with a subject which is only
too fascinating to those who delight in etymologies — the truth about words.
Enough has been said, we think, not only to show that Plato was right when
he claimed for names a " truth," but also to justify our former assertion that
the Greeks had the " seeing eye" for the beauties of nature (p. 71). If more
evidence were wanting it is forthcoming in such names as Euoras, " Bel-
vedere," Eu-opis, " Fair-face," Thaumacia, " Wondrous ! " names which,
there can be no doubt, express the delight inspired by a beautiful landscape.
One little name, moreover, seems to carry with it proof that the Greeks had
also the "hearing ear." The oak-forest in Arcadia, where was fought the
battle that proved fatal to Epaminondas, between Mantineia and Tegea, was
called Pelagus, "the Sea" (Paus., viii. 11). Why so? there was no view of the
sea to be obtained from it. The reason could only have been that the rustling
or the crashing of the wind among the branches recalled to mind the murmur-
ing or the roaring of the waves. Little enough is known about Greek music,
but we venture to believe that the old poet who had an ear for the " sea " in
^ The reader will find a rich collection of place-names in Mr. Tozer's Lectures, and many
charming hints in the Peloponnesus of E. Curtius. Bursian's Geographic v. Griech. and
Benseler's part of Pape's Bandwortcrhuch (vol. iii.) also offer many interesting suggestions.
The Beitrdge zur Geog. Onomatologie der Gr. Sprache of E. Curtius, and the Geog. Namen
Altgriechenlands of Angermann may also be consulted with advantage.
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 91
the ** forest " would have had an ear also for Beethoven. Isolated as the
coincidence is, it is worthy of note.^
Word- Building". — In no way is the fertility of Greek linguistic genius dis-
played so forcibly as in the building up of compound wo rds, in such words,
especially, as are found by the placing together of two ideas, as in our own "com-
mon-wealth." In such composition Greek is richer than any other language in the
world. Every poet, from Homer downwards, tried his hand at new combinations,
and most of these are marvellously effective. As much care seems to have been
taken in the formation of an epithet as in the details of a picture. Especially
do we find this picturesqueness in the epithets of Homer. Not content with
marshalling his winged " subjects" in battalions, he gets as much service out
of a single adjective as any ordinary captain of words would out of half-a-dozen.
Some of the most remarkable of these, the epithets given to gods and heroes,
rank as " Homeric," but it is more than probable that they belong to very high
antiquity, and must be regarded as preserved, rather than as coined by Homer.
To this class belong such words as " Cloud-gatherer," " High-Thunderer,"
" Lord of the Lightning," " ^gis-bearer," " Rejoicing-in-the-Thunder," etc.,
applied to Zeus; "Lord of the Silver Bow," " Far- Darter," "Lord of the
Golden-Sword" to Apollo ; " Earth -shaker," " Earth-embracer " to Poseidon;
" White-armed " to Hera ; " Bright-eyed " to Athena ; " Rosy-fingered " to Eos,
the Dawn, and so on.^
" Each of Homer's epithets," says Pope in the introduction to his
translation of the Iliad, " is a picture." We see Hector "of the glowing-
helm," Achilles, " swift-of-f oot " before us; whilst "quivering with foliage"
is as applicable to Pelion, " many-folded " to Olympus and Ida, to-day as
they were when the epithets were first thought out. Thetis, the sea-nymph,
mother of Achilles, is silver-footed, Iris, the Messenger (the Rainbow) is
stormfooted, in Homer {Iliad, i. 538 ; viii. 409) ; Demeter, goddess of
Harvest, is " ruddy "-footed in Pindar {01., vi. 94) (from the reddish hue
of the lower part of the corn-stalk) ; Eos, the Dawn, is " golden "-shoed in
Sappho (21(12)) : but every poet, well nigh, has his own name for Rosy-fingered
Morn, the "white-winged," "saffron-robed," ''gold-enthroned" goddess.
Some epithets again enclose within a word a who lejnyth. e.g. odoido-pliyes,
sprung from teeth used by Euripides (Phwn., 821), carries us back to the
story of Cadmus, and the sowing of the dragon's teeth, whence sprang the
Sparti, the ancient noblesse of Thebes ; whilst chryso-gonos, " gold-born," and
drakonto-mallos, " with snaky locks," both used, recall the story of the Sun
hero Perseus, his birth in a shower of golden rain ^ and his contest with
the powers of darkness, the snaky-locked Gorgons, Medusa and her sisters.
Nor is the attribute of picturesqueness, or the power of saying much in
little by any means confined to words relating to gods and heroes. Coming
down to mundane affairs, were we to attempt to note all the words that
arrest our attention by their vigour or terseness, we should end by trans-
ferring the greater part of the Greek vocabulary to our pages. A few
examples must suffice.
^ According to Pausanias, the significance of the names was borne in upon the Greeks in a
way to be remembered. The oracle at Delphi had warned Epaminondas (so runs the story)
*' to beware of Pelagus." The great Theban was thenceforward careful not to set foot on a
ship ; but, adds Pausanius, "Apollo evidently meant this oak forest, Pelagus, and not the sea."
2 We do not attempt to give the equivalents of these majestic old epithets in Roman
letters. Such words have a way of looking vevy ferocious when transliterated, as though they
resented the indignity of putting on the garb of the conqueror — and the barbarian.
2 Whence the epithet as applied by iEschylus {Pers., 80; Prometh., 799), to the Persians,
supposed to be the descendants of Perseus, the gold-begotten hero.
92 GREEK LANGUAGE
The expressions denoting words themselves are, we may be sure, pithy and
often amusing enough.
First let us look at a few Homeric words.
A reckless speaker, one who, like Thersites, the demagogue, was not
afraid to "take kings in his mouth " and revile them, is akritomythos^ literally
one who does not sift his speech, and the harangue of the same Thersites,
after he has been chastised by Odysseus, is characterised by the rest of the
folk as epesholos, "a throwing about of words" {Iliad, ii. 246, 275). The
taunts which the heroes have ready for the foe in such abundance that a
hundred-benched ship would not carry the load of them, are Kertomia,
" heart-cutting words" {Iliad, xx. 247, 202). Odysseus denounces the foolish
reproaches which Agamemnon has allowed to escape the barrier of his lips ^ as
anemdlia, *' words of air " {Iliad, iv. 355). Boasting, " talking big," is originally
simply a kompos, " a noise" {Iliad, iv. 17).
Here is a proverb in a nut-shell : Athyroglottos, " a tongue without a door,"
applied by Euripides (Or., 903) to a babbler, one who cannot keep his
mouth shut. A discomfort sometimes experienced by loquacious individuals
is indicated by another word used by the same poet, glossahjia, " tongue-ache,
endless talking" (Eurip., Med., 525; Andr., 690). One who argues for
arguing's sake, a quibbler, is dkantliologos, "a thorn gatherer " {Anth. P., xi. 20,
307).
The epithet kremnopoios, " talking precipices," is applied by Aristophanes
to ^schylus, on account of his fondness for long and rugged words (Nub.,
1367). Finally, we give as a sample of what the Greeks could achieve in the
way of word-building, agglutination, or word-sticking-together, as Mr. Ruskin
would doubtless have us call the process : lalo-hary-para-melo-rhytlimo-hates, a
comic word used by Pratinas to describe a " heavy-going discordant talker "
(Aristoph., Prat., i. 13).
Many of the words compounded with chryso, " golden," are noticeable : some
of them we have taken over bodily, as chrysanthemum, "the golden flower" ;
chrysalis, the golden sheath of the butterfly. Other pretty names are
anemone, "the wind-flower," ^ and kallipetalon, the beautiful-leaved, plant,
" the cinque-foil." Hesiod calls the ant idris, literally, the knowing one (oida),
the provident creature ; the snail, phere-oikos, " house-carrier " ; the polypus,
anosteos, ^^ the boneless one" {0pp., 776. 569, 522); while in -^schylus, the
bee has a telling name, anthemourgos, ^'^ the worker in lowers" {Pers., 612).
Finally, not to weary the reader with a catalogue which might be extended
almost ad infinitum, let us close with a glance at the enormous family of words
compounded with phil, "lover of," or "fond of." It gives a very curious
insight into Greek life. All varieties of tastes and opinions are represented :
ivom. phil-autos, "loving one's self," to philo-theos, "loving God," words both
found in Aristotle {Rhet., II. xvii. 6 ; Mh. N., IX. viii. 4) ; from philo-machos,
" loving the fight," to philo-zoos, " loving one's life," i.e. a coward, an idea
also expressed in philo-psychos ; from philo-kalos, "loving the beautiful," and
philo-mousos, "loving the Muse," to phil-argyros, "loving money," and philo-
kerdes, "greedy of fame"; from philo-ergos, "fond of work," to philo-lalos,
" fond of talking " ; and from philo-dikaios, " loving justice," to philo-dikos,
" loving litigation " ; from philo-mathes, "fond of learning," to philo-deipnos,
"fond of good dinners"; from philo-sophos, "lover of wisdom," to philo-
kenos, "lover of emptiness," i.e. show. Such words, and there are hosts of
1 Literally, of his teeth, herkos odonton.
^ Anemonce logon, be it observed, are " flowers of speech " with a suggestion of, must we
finish the definition, emptiness, flowers of air, deceptions.
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 93
them, coined by the Greeks themselves at various periods, throw many a side-
light on Greek life.
Words are Symbols of Ideas. — Far surpassing in interest any external
shaping of words, however, is the process by which words became the vehicle of
thoughts higher than those which they bore originally — that process whereby
ideas were transferred by analogy from things of sense to things of the mind,
its hidden powers and their working. Second to this alone is the historic
value of words, the light which they shed on the different stages of a nation's
growth, material and intellectual.
Let us try, then, to trace the probable development of a few of these idea-
bearers, and watch them, as by experiment after experiment, they either
expand in meaning historically or exchange the primary import of the earth,
earthy, for the later, spiritual significance. We cannot attempt to keep the
two classes apart, for they overlap ; neither is it possible, save in rare instances,
to say precisely when this or that alteration or development took place.
We cannot do better than preface our inquiry by a group of "advance"
words. En avant !
The first two take us back to the dim old time when the greater part of
Greece lay, to use the words of the Homeric Hymn to the Pythian Apollo,
" deep shr r>"^^^ hy forpsi-.^ nn way (yv path was there then through th e wilder-
ti^ssi! (ii. 49). What labour, what toil must have fallen to the lot of these
^rst pioneers ere the sunlight was admitted, a track cut through the forest,
the ground cleared for the habitations of men !
In later days the same process had to be repeated by the advance-guards
of armies, and hence, probably, arose the significant word Prokopto in its
double meaning of "cut down" and " progress." ^ He who would arrive at
the goal must "cut down" resolutely whatsoever hinders his "progress."
"The way of the slothful," saith the wise man, "is as an hedge of thorns." 2
Prokope, then, is our first watchword. En avant ! Cut down, and spare not.
In the second word we reach a fresh stage ; the road is made. To the ques-
tion, HoiD shall we reach the goal 1 the answer is ready, summed up in one word
— Methodos ! Only by following up the way opened out, by method, can know-
ledge be pursued so as to be caught, and made one's own. Hence Method-os,
as " the way to knowledge " came to be synonymous with inquiry, research,
the " J7b?(; " of science ; finally, with science itself. In this sense it is used
both by Plato and Aristotle (Plato, i?ep., vii. p. 533 c; Phoedr.^ 269 d; Aris-
totle, EtJi. N., I. i. I ; Pol., I. i. 3 ; Poet., xix. 2). Prokope, Methodos — two
good words ; but still en avant I
The third stage shows the goal attained, previous journeyers overtaken.
How shall we still proceed en avant ? Aristotle shall tell us again. By
generous work — epidosis, literally a "giving over and above" what is required
by bare necessity. A little more care, a little more thought, a little further
widening of the path, a little further deepening of the channel, here a line,
there a line ; in this way, the supply of deficiencies, Aristotle tells us (Eth. N.,
I. vii. 17), the increase, growth (epidoseis) of the Arts have taken place; in
this way must all growth, material, mental, spiritual, take place. Is it not so ?
Here then are the three watchwords of progress : Prokoye, Methodos,
^ St. Paul uses the word very effectively in Phil. i. 12, when he says that the things which
had happened to him had "fallen out rather unto the furtherance {prokopen) of the Gospel."
In an age that asked scornfully " What is truth ? " the sight of one content to be imprisoned
and to suffer hardships for the sake of truth was a powerful instrument in the "cutting down "
of indiflference. To use a continuation of the same simile it was a proodopoiem, " a preparing
of the way." -^ Proverbs xv. 19.
94 GREEK LANGUAGE
EpidosiSy "cutting down," "method," "growth." By these the makers of
Hellas led the van of progress among Aryan peoples, and the cry is still among
Aryan peoples — " Un avant I "
Let us now try to follow up a strictly historical group. As we shall see,
centuries often elapsed before a word put forth its full fruitage and showed its
capacities for good and evil, for weal or woe. Such a word is the first which
we select — nemo ; the little triad 7ie7n and its derivatives shall take us through
the making, yea, and the unmaking of Hellas.
JVemo belongs essentially in its origin to a nomad, pastoral race. It came
in with the first Graeco- Aryans to the broad pastures of Thessaly, and it pre-
sided over the allotment of the said broad pastures to the various members of
the clan ; for it means, primarily, to " allot " or " deal out/' to " count up," i
and also to " feed." Hence, in 7iemo we get a glimpse of one of the very first
proceedings of the future Hellenes, and an interesting one it is, inasmuch as
it gives testimony to the reign of order. There is nothing of arbitrary seizure,
of taking by force, from one another, whatever there may have been before-
hand from the unlucky natives, in nemo. The different spaces of meadowland
are evidently allotted by the chief or elders of the clans, in accordance with
some definite custom, so as to insure that each member of the community shall
have what is due to him, i.e. what he requires for the number of cattle which
he has to pasture (H. Schmidt, Synonymih der Gr. Sprache, § 17). An inter-
esting derivative of neino in its primary sense is Nomios, " the pastoral god,"
an epithet applied to several of the Greek deities, especially to Apollo, Hermes,
the Nymphs, Pan, in their character as protectors of shepherds and their
flocks and herds.
From the occupation of the land as pasturage and the consequent settle-
ment upon it of the clan came the meaning developed in nemomai, " I get
allotted to myself," " I dwell," and in the substantive nomos signifying first,
" pasture," then " an abode assigned to one." The primary meanings of nemo,
then, have shown us our Grseco- Aryans arriving, taking possession, and settling
down.
An interesting compound — lei-nomos — " dwelling amid the crops," must be
noted here, because although a late word, it yet describes the inevitable result
of the settling down. The pasturage has become exhausted, and the settlers
have been obliged in desperation to put their hand to the plough, to take to
agriculture (see ante, p. 33). Not till this stage has been reached can the
Aryans rank as Greeks. We are justified in introducing the word here,
because the first part of the compound occurs in Homer — in the beautiful
passage where Agamemnon's proposal that the Achseans should return home is
said to stir the hearts of his hearers, like the rush of the west wind swaying
a deep cornfield (IHon) bowing down the ears {Iliad, ii. 147).
The next development, ne7nesis, is exceedingly interesting. Even in order-
loving communities are to be found arrogant and selfish characters, people who
will not be content with their own portion of this world's goods, but will
contrive to annex what they can of their neighbour's. Such conduct — the
high-handed appropriation of " somebody else's holding," or any unfair
distribution of the land, or any conniving at the wandering of cattle past the
settled bounds — would naturally give rise to great indignation, and this is
exactly what came to be expressed in the word nemesis, which, although
it may strictly mean^ distributio7i of what is due, acquired the sense of
•' righteous wrath " at anything wwdue, unfair, or disproportionate. In Homer,
1 Note the connection with the Latin numerus, " number" ; also from the old root nerii,
'■^ Like nemesis, Curtius, Liddell and Scott, Schmidt's Synonymik der Gr. Sprache.
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 95
the word and its derivatives have often a fine meaning. Thus, when Poseidon,
the great Earth-shaker, would urge on the depressed Achseans to the fight
{Iliad, xiii. iiy et seq.), he says that he would not quarrel with one who ceased
from the battle, being a weakling ; but with them, strong men and heroes, the
case is different — more is due from them. " With you," he says, " I am
heartily wroth " (iiemessomai), and he bids them each one lay up in his heart
(aidus) shame and (nemesis) righteous indignation against himself. Again,
when the cowardly Agamemnon tries to induce the Achseans to steal away
under cover of the darkness, he urges {Iliad, xiv. 80) that " there is no nemesis
in fleeing from ruin, even by night " — no one will cry Shame ! or reproach us
under such circumstances.
In both passages the old* meaning of "allot" and "getting allotted to
oneself" is plain, but the application is nobly altered — the allotment is not now
share in the common lands, but share in the common danger ; and nemesis
expresses the just indignation against such as hold back from taking their part
in that. Again, when the Achaeans are bidden conceive "nemesis" against
themselves, it is because they are not doing what is due to themselves as men
and heroes.
In Hesiod this feeling is already personified as Nemesis, goddess of offended
justice. Wickedness has grown to such a pitch, things have reached such a
pass, the poet declares, that Aidos and Nemesis will shortly abandon men, and
ascend in their pure white raiment to the immortals {Op., 198).
By the natural growth of the same idea, Nemesis finally develops into
retribution, the Chastiser of excessive or undeserved good fortune, and the
insolence {hyhris) which follows in its wake. This idea seems to have made a
most extraordinary impression on the Greeks at the time of the Persian Wars,
especially when the arrogance of the Eastern despot received so manifest
a check. This feeling also gave rise to an epithet of Zeus (derived from the
same root) as highest god — Nemetor, " avenger, dispenser of right."
To return, however, to our herdsmen. It is quite certain that occasions for
nemesis, "righteous displeasure," could not remain long absent. They were
sure to occur, and would call for fair settlement. Hence we get our fourth
word, nomos. In its primary sense, nomas means something " allotted to one,"
something " due to one by possession or right of position " — as to the father or
mother of a family. The customs of a family are its laws ; and in like manner
the customs of the larger family of the clan, the tribe, the State, become also its
laws. Only very gradually, however, by force of usage and prescription, did
nomos become law in Greece. In Homer, nomoi exist not ; the function of
the kings as judges is to watch on behalf of Zeus over the therriistes — that is,
the existing judgments and ordinances ^ which have come down from time
immemorial and been established in the beginning by Zeus himself {Iliad,
i. 238). Hence, in Athens, the ancient laws of Draco are called thes7noi ; the
newer laws of Solon, nomoi.
Another curious use of the word nomos — its application to a musical mode
or strain — must not be passed over in a history of experiments. It is connected
with the very beginnings of music and lyric song. All poetry has its roots
in religion, and the Greeks were no exception to the rule. When the
sacrifice was brought to the altar, the deity was called upon graciously to
accept the gift. This was done in later days by a priest, who, in a measured,
solemn way, sang to a musical accompaniment the invocation, or hymn, which
was composed according to an established form, handed down by tradition, and
^ Our doom, all from the same root the = to establish, fix, settle.
96 GREEK LANGUAGE
hence called nomos (Bergk, i. p. 324). The name in its origin, however, may
simply be due to the root-connection of nomos with number, a meaning which
lies also in the very nature of music itself, as numbered, measured sound.
Certain it is that the Greeks recognised the reign of order and rhythmical
progression in the realm of sound as elsewhere.
In harmony with the development of nomos as " established custom," " law,"
is another development, nomisma, something " sanctioned by custom " ; hence,
poetically, any " established institution," but more generally, the " current
coin " of the State, as representing its established rights. With the introduc-
tion of nomisma, " money," we have indeed arrived at a new phase of society.
The old simplicity of life is gone; according to Sophocles (Antig., 295 e^ seq.),
*' Nothing so evil as money ever grew to be crfrrent {nomisma) among men.
This lays cities low ; this drives men from their homes ; this seams and warps
honest souls till they set themselves to works of shame ; this still teaches folk
to practise villainies and to know every godless deed." Could any preacher
nowadays give us a more vigorous comment on " money," the love of it, the
root of all evil?
Again, we pass on to another development, and a most striking one. If
by nomisma, " a coin," can be expressed in the words of Him who knew no
anomia, "lawlessness," the "rendering to Caesar the things that be Caesar's,"
so in the sister- word nomizein there came also to be expressed the "rendering
to God the things which be God's." Besides a variety of minor meanings,
such as " to hold as a custom," " to be accustomed to do," nomizein has also
the deeper significance from which custom itself springs, the rights in which
the custom originated. Hence, nomizein expresses the belief held in regard to
God or the gods as upholding the universe, and therefore having a right to
honour and worship (H. Schmidt, op. cit., § 17).
Thus, in following the unfolding of the little words nemo, nomos, on Greek
soil, we ascend, on the one hand, from notions familiar to every nomad tribe —
pasturing and allotting according to custom — to the condition implied in such
phrases as " a settled legislation," " coin of the realm " ; and, on the other hand,
from an elementary religious belief such as is expressed in JSfomios, " the shep-
herd god," to the wonderful moral chain culminating in Nemesis.
Further, we have also a significant view of the way in which a word, when
fully developed, can play the tyrant and make itself a barrier to progress.
Nomizein meant among other things, as we have seen, the rendering to the
gods of their dues, hence belief in them ; but in process of time the primary
meaning was forgotten, the notion of " custom " alone survived, and nomizein
came to be used of customary belief, traditional belief, the belief of the majority
of the State. In this sense it cost Socrates, one of the most religious men
that ever breathed, his life, for as both Xenophon and Plato tell us, his accusa-
tion ran that he was " not a believer in {ou nomizon) the gq^s of the States "
(Xen., Mem., I. i. i ; Plato, ApoL, 243).
Nor was the martyr-death of Socrates the only harm wrought by the
degeneration of this same word-family ; for in the hands of the Sophists, as
we shall presently see, "?zomos" as custom, "convention," was made to play a
traitor's part, and contributed, considerably more than did Philip of Macedon,
to the un-making of Hellas.
But now let us return once more to that primitive age, when as yet neither
sophistry nor sophists had come into existence, when men had too hard a fight
with stern realities to have leisure or disposition to indulge in word-jugglery.
Let us go back to the simple days regretted by Sophocles' Creon when as yet
also Money, the mighty tempter, was not, and current coin trod the pastures
of Thessaly in the shape of stalwart oxen.
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 97
The group of "ox-words" in Greek is interesting as a relic of these old
days.
1. Poly-houtes, " rich-in-oxen," i.e. wealthy, and a-houtes, "without oxen,"
i.e. poor, carry us back, as we have seen (p. 33), far beyond the Homeric age.
In Homer, oxen are still the standard of value ; witness the account, in the
Sixth Book of the Iliad, of the exchange of gifts between the Lycian Glaucus
and the Greek Diomedes, a little transaction wherein the Lycian's golden
armour passed to the Greek in return for the latter's bronze armour, " the
value of one hundred oxen for that of nine," says the old poet, with the com-
ment that Zeus, on that occasion, " had taken from Glaucus his wits " [Iliad j
vi. 234 et seq.).
2. Again, the fact that bous means both "ox" and "shield," rhinos
both " hide " and " shield," throws a light on the warlike equipment of the
period. " To right, know I, to left, know I," says Hector, " the wielding of
my tough shield" (literally, my ban, "dried ox-hide") (Iliad, vii. 238), and the
tower-like shield of mighty Ajax, the bulwark of the Achseans, wherewith he
protects his grim face, is made of seven ox-hides covered by an eighth layer of
shining metal {Iliad, vii. 2ig et seq.).
3. In boulutonde, again, we have a kind of "primitive chronometer";
the tide of battle is said to turn on the fatal day of destiny to Patroclus,
" when the sun turned at the time of the unyoking of oxen," i.e. the eventide,.
a phrase occurring again and again in the Odyssey {Ilidd, xvi. 779 ; Od., ix. 58).
4. Finally, atphesiboiai, " bringing in oxen," as an epithet applied to
maidens whose charms bring in many presents from wealthy wooers, belongs
to days when Greek maidens were free to consult their heart, free to meet the
village youths, in social gatherings, free to join in the dance, as portrayed on
the shield of Achilles : the maidens in their fine white linen and fair wreaths,
the youths in their tunics well-woven, their golden daggers hanging from silver
belts, with hands on one another's wrists ; whilst a great company stands round
the lovely dance with joy, and among them a divine minstrel makes melody on
his lyre {Iliad, xviii. 591 e^ seq.).
If in " the time of unyoking of oxen " Homer has given us one old-world
" chronometer," he has also preserved another in the hour " when a man
cutteth timber, maketh ready his meal in the dells of a mountain, after he
hath satisfied his hands with felling tall trees and weariness cometh on his
soul, and longing for sweet food seizeth his heart" {Iliad, xi. 86 et seq.; cf.
Geddes, Homer. Problem, chap, on " Local Mint-marks "). As our woodman
rests on his log and satisfies his hunger, let us look at a group of forest words,
which have grown out of his surroundings. Such sylvan scenes offer " ample
pasturage " for words.
Look, for instance, at the bushes and thick underwood ; they are painted
for us by the old master. In one of the Homeric similes, the sharp glance of a
seeker is compared to an eagle : " The bird, they say, of keenest sight of all
birds under heaven, whom, though he be on high, the swift-footed hare, crouch-
ing under a thick-leaved bush, escapeth not ; but he swoopeth down upon it,
and quickly seizeth her and taketh her life away" {Iliad, xvii. 673 et seq.).
Here the word rendered " thick-leaved" is awphikomos (literally, " with-tresses-
all-round "), as though the nymph of the bush had let down her flowing locks
to conceal the little " cowering thing " ^ which had come to her for protection.
The grand oak, too, which our woodman has just felled, is liypsikomos, " high
tressed," bearing its leafy tresses on high like the Hamadryad, who has her
abode within {Iliad, xiv. 398 ; xxiii. 118).
^ Ptox, "the hare" ; literally, "the cowering creature."
G
98 GREEK LANGUAGE
Look, again, at that sturdy ash which is marked out for felling. Had one
asked how it has acquired the property of toughness which makes it so valuable
for the spears of the heroes, the reply would have been : " It is anemotrephes,'^
" nurtured by the wind " {Eiad, xi. 256). It gained its toughness as a sapling,
battling and grappling with its rude nurse.
When our woodman stoops beside the spring to quench his thirst, the
spring, too, has a story to tell him — the very origin and fountain of all stories
— the myth-OS ; for mytJios,'^ in its primary meaning, is literally the " speech of
the spring," the inarticulate babbling and murmuring which the ear can trans-
late as it lists. The Muses themselves, the " violet-tressed," the " golden-
filleted," the "Pierian daughters of Zeus" (Find., Pyth. i. i ; iii. 89; 01.,
xi. 196), the choir of thrice-three maidens, divinities of music, the dance, the
song, the drama, of all culture and poetry ; these wonderful creations of
Hellenic imagination were in the beginning probably neither more nor less
than the spirits of the mountain springs of Pieria.^
Thus our woodman is by no means lonely in his solitude ; the very pebbles,
clinking softly together in the current of the stream, have a language for him,
as they had centuries later for Theocritus (22-39); they are ZaZZ-ae, " gentle
talkers," murmuring a lullaby of their own.
Before leaving the forest or water-group, let us just note that one word,
derived from 7'heo, " to flow," and connected with the " regularly recurring
motion " of water — whether the constant drip-drip of the spring, the splash
of the fountain, the steady current of the stream, or the regular beat of the
waves on the rocks — still flows along in the current of language at the present
day : rhythm, that which gives clearness, steadiness, purposefulness of form to
the flow of words, whether they flow in poetry or in prose.
Now, passing on, another of the Homeric similes shall link the next stage of
development — the agricultural — to the pastoral epoch. The close hand-to-hand
fight between the Trojans and the Achseans, as the former attempt to scale the
wall round the Greek camp, is, says the poet, " as when two men quarrel about
the bounds of their land, with measuring-rods in their hands, in a common
field, and contend in a narrow space for equal shares" (Iliad, xii. 421 et seq.).
Here we note that the " common " pasture has been succeeded by the " com-
mon " field. The task of clearing the ground and preparing it for tillage in
these first days of settlement was far too great for any one individual to venture
upon. It must have been a joint undertaking, the work of the sib or clan
(Schrader and Jevons), each member being guaranteed his share of the produce,
later of the land, in return for his labour. Here, then, we have a scene very
similar to the disputes about the pasturage which probably brought forth
^ Kogel connects mythos, "speech," with the O.H.G. musse, "spring," "source" (prim,
form madh-ti) ; cf. O.H.G. mutilon, "to murmnr," "mutter" (Paul-Branne's Beitrdge,
vii. 180 ; quoted by Brugmann, § 522).
2 We agree with Bergk that viuse cannot be derived from mad, maomai, " to strive after,
seek after." Such an etymology, again, as " the thinking ones," however beautiful, can
hardly be maintained. No early Greek divinity had an altogether abstract origin, " The
fountain," as Bergk beautifully says, " springing pure and clear from the rock or the bosom of
earth, will always make a powerful impression on those whose feeling for nature is not
blunted. It not only invites the wayfarer to tarry, but also to meditation and peaceful com-
muning with himself. This is the mood from which all poetry springs. The whole of nature
was thought of by the Greeks as ensouled, therefore it must be a higher, a divine being, which
made itself heard in the murmur of the spring, the rush of the torrent ; hence the fountain -
nymph, who in solitude animates the poet, comes to preside over song ; hence, also, note the
belief that a draiight of water from such a sacred spring would inspire." Bergk connects muse
with a Lydian word, mou or mous, signifying, according to Hesychius, " water " or "spring"
Oriech. Literatur-gescht., i. p. 320).
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 99
nemesis, " anger about injustice and encroachment." Here recourse is had to a
more exact defining of the bounds by the metron, or measuring-rod, which each
holds in his hand. In Homer, however, let us note that metron signifies not
only a measure of length, but of amount in any shape. Thus we read of looo
measures {7netra) of wine and 20 measures (metro) of barley-meal (Iliad,
vii. 471 ; Od., ii. 355).
From this simple word came a whole group second in importance to no
other product of Greek thought. Metrics meant " within measure," to metrion,
" the measured amount," " the amount measured in proportion to the circum-
stances " ; hence " the mean,'' the golden mean. Then came another equally
natural development, sym-metreo, " to measure with a standard," " to measure
by comparison," hence "the observance of proportion"; hence a fourth and
noble word, sym-metria, " symmetry " ; and yet a fifth, the quality of keeping
within due measure, metriotes, " moderation."
Metrion, " measure " ; metrios, " in accordance with measure " ; symmetria,
*' well-compared, well-proportioned measure " ; metriotes, " keeping within
measure," no chain of thought is more essentially Hellenic than that expressed
in this sequence of "measured" words. Proportion, symmetry, moderation,
this is the Greek ideal, not only of beauty, but of goodness. Pindar's idea of
a noble man is the man "loved for his kind entreating of strangers, to the
just mean (metra) aspiring, to the just mean (metro) holding fast, and his tongue
departeth not from his thoughts" (Tsthm., v, 70 et seq.). And Plato's idea of a
noble life is a life " within measure and steadfast." ^ This is the life which he
would prescribe for the guardians or joint rulers of his ideal State. If any one
of these, however, is not content with this " safe and harmonious life, which
in our judgment, is of all lives the best, but infatuated with some youthful
conceit of happiness which gets up into his head, shall seek to appropriate the
whole State to himself " — not content with his measured degree of power —
" then he will have to learn," says Plato, " how wisely Hesiod spoke when he
said ' Half is more than the whole' " (Pol., 466B, Prof. Jowett, p. 161).
The wise scheme of life of that other old Aryan sage, " Nothing too much ! "
which was engraved on the temple wall at Delphi, approaches very closely to
the prayer of Agur the Semite, " Give me neither poverty nor riches," but the
due and fitting amount, " Feed me with food convenient for me." ^
Do not, however, let us run away with the idea that " the true mean," " the
just mean," meant " mediocrity " in our modern sense of the term. Far from
that, as Aristotle, the great expounder of the doctrine of the Mean, shall tell
us : " It is not the superabundance of good things," he says, " that makes a man
independent, or enables him to act, and a man may do noble deeds though he
be not ruler over land and sea. . . . for a man who has but modest means
(metria) may do his duty" (Eth. N., xviii. 9, 10, 11).
To metrion, symmetria, metriotes — these were the links in the measuring-
chain wherewith the wisest makers of Hellas sought to survey and enclose the
" common field " of life.^
Passing on once more ; from among the " grain words " we select a group
which has proved of extraordinary fertility in the past, and is bringing forth
fruit to the present hour : krino, and its relatives. Krino signifies primarily
to " separate by sifting " — a meaning preserved in the old Greek krimmon,
coarsely-ground barleymeal, the Latin crihrum, "sieve," and the Anglo-Saxon
1 Metrios kai bebaios — in Prof essor Jowett's translation," safe and harmonious."
- Proverbs xxx. 8.
^ Plato's favourite terms for this idea of just proportion are metriotes and symmetria;
A.ristotle's is mesotes — a word which we shall examine further on.
loo GREEK LANGUAGE
hriddel^ " sieve," whence our own " riddle," something to be found out by sifting
(Curtius, 148).
By analogy krino is next transferred to the mind and its operations, and
comes to mean "pick out, distinguish, choose, test," — hence "to decide, to
judge." Then by degrees there spring up the related words, krites, " a judge,"
one who sifts the "pros and cons" of a question, and decides accordingly;
h'isis, " a distinguishing," hence a decision, a turning-point ; kritikos, " one able
to sift, and test," a critic ; kritenon, "a rule," or standard by which things may
be tested and judged.
The idea running through all these developments is the simple one of
separating by sifting, proving, and testing. Krites, "judge," sifter of evidence,
and kritikos, " critic," separator of the beautiful from its imitations, the true from
the false, are, in intention, at least, noble words. On krites, kritikos, kriterion
has been built up the critical apparatus of both the Old World and the New.
Nay, we must go even further and say that the spirit which developed the
" critical " group and its analogue, the "analytical" group (analuo, analyse),
lay at the root of all science and philosophy.
Philosophy indeed, as Aristotle tells us, began in wonder, but it was not
" philosophy " until it had endeavoured to sift the object of wonder, the
phenomenon, in order to find out its real nature.
Thus krino, " I sift, I test, I judge," stands out as one of those develop-
ments peculiarly Hellenic, of the thought processes — the two-edged tools —
which contributed both to the rise and the fall of Hellas.
We have already seen one good result of it in action in the manner in
which the Greeks examined and tested before receiving foreign cults, the
manner in which while adopting certain features they rejected others (p. 2).
In one of its tendencies the ki'ino-fsicultj was nothing less than that which
we moderns prize as perhaps our noblest heritage, the right of "private
judgment." We have seen also in the case of Socrates how with the Greeks as
with ourselves this just and inalienable " right " may become the unjust and
intolerant and altogether intolerable "right" to cripple the judgment of others
— to the detriment of the whole community. It was this very Socrates who
had showed his countrymen and the whole thinking world to the end of time^
how this double-edged tool, the critical faculty, may be safely and wisely
handled. Begin at home, he said — sift and test yourselves, your own motives,
your own thoughts.
Through the whole teaching of Socrates, and his disciple Plato, there runs
like a golden thread the axiom of the wise man, the golden inscription at
Delphi — " Know thy self! " Here is the safeguard, for " Know thy self ! "
means to every honest thinking soul, " Know thy limitations." The account
which Socrates gave of himself was simply this : " Socrates, the man who
knows nothing, and who knows that he knows nothing " — as he ought to know
it. Socrates, like St. Paul, knew that he only knew " in part." When the
right of private judgment begins at the wrong end — the right of judging what
lies outside one's self — it degenerates, as with the accusers of Socrates, into
the right of private pre-judgment, the right of private prejudice. And yet,
Socrates and Plato would have contended to the very last for the right of
freedom of judgment. They gloried in it, as does every one who has a thought
worth thinking.
And now, to see how another just thinker of Hellas would have the critical
sieve employed, let us listen to Aristotle ; himself a critic and a man of science,
he knows well the necessity of freedom. Surely every one is entitled to the
right of criticism.
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE loi
Here is Aristotle's simple rule: "Every one," he says, "judges well
(krinei) of things which he knows, and of these he is a good critic (krites). In
particulai' subjects, then, the man of particular cultivation will judge, and in
general the man of general cultivation" (Arist., Etli. N., I, iii. 5).
Here again we find limitations, and more than appear on the surface. Not
only is " knowledge " required, but " cultivation " ; the " cultivated man," let us
note, is simply the pepaideumenos, " the trained, instructed, disciplined man " —
all three meanings are wrapped up in the word. Hence, we can see that in the
opinion of, at least, the Makers of Hellas, the mere possession of the critical
faculty, or even the possession of freedom to use it, did not make a
** private judgment" always a true one. Knowledge and self-knowledge,
training and self-training, these are the preliminary essentials for the forming
of right judgment.
The criterion of life — the true sieve for, testing it, and its pleasures — says
Plato, lies in three things — Experience, Wisdom, Reason (Ernpeiria, Phronesis,
Logos) (Plato, Eep., 582, 583). Would that we all possessed them !
Such are some of the fruits that sprang from watching the " sifting of the
barley " in the dim dark ages past.
Again we pass on to another phase of Greek life, from activity in analysis
to activity in synthesis, in building up — the development of 7'eclme, of skill in
handicraft, in the widest sense of art. Its beginnings we cannot trace, they
are lost in the night of time ; for certain it is that the Aryans took with them
into their historic homes an elementary acquaintance with various arts (see
Appendix). Even in Greece, however, art in the highest sense takes its rise
from humble starting-points — the carpenter's bench, the kneading of the clay
for the making of the household pots.
Let us glance at the former, for in Greece, as in Egypt, the carpenter
stands at the head of the men of skill. The tekton (literally, "producer,
fashioner, maker ") it is who not only constructs the house and its furniture,
but builds the ships. In primitive days, as we have seen, each man was his
own tekton — tree-feller, carpenter, joiner, builder, shipwright, all in one— and
although in Homer the tektones have become a distinct class, yet pioneers do
not even now disdain to take axe and saw in hand. Odysseus makes his own
bridal-chamber by choice, his own raft by necessity ; Paris has himself built
the fair palace to which he brings Helen, with the help of the best men that
are tektones in deep-soiled Troy-land ; and these build for him a chamber, and a
hall, and a courtyard (Iliad, xv. 3 £3 et seq.).
One thing, however, we should bear in mind, viz., that although in Homeric
days the Greeks are just themselves beginning the struggle upwards in all
technical arts, yet that they are quite familiar with works of real art ; the
treasures of Mycenae (see ante) have proved this, to say nothing of the
numerous allusions to art-works in the Homeric poems. That they knew the
distinction between empeiria, " rule of thumb " (our good friend " experience "
in his old age), and tecline, working on an intelligent system which is open to
new contrivances, it is perhaps allowable to believe, for we read of a man,
shaping a ship's timbers with techne (Iliad, iii. 61), i.e. with a skill that is not
derived solely from tradition. Of course, as we can easily suppose, a word so
fertile as technaoniai, to contrive, to execute cleverly, " cunningly " in the old
sense, soon came amongst a quick-witted people to be used as " cunningly " in
the modern sense. Our own noble word " craft " — strength — has suffered the
same humiliation. Such metamorphoses are inevitable.
Let us rather dwell on the simple days when the tekton is an all-important
man ; his implements in good repute. In early times kings and chieftains use
!ro2 GREEK LANGUAGE
his axe ; in later days, philosophers are glad to borrow his ruler. The kanon
of the carpenter ! — how many things has it regulated and ruled since the days
when it measured the high-tressed oaks of the forest ! Of how many noble
things in the moral, intellectual, and spiritual worlds has it become the
standard ! To Aristotle, the good man, spoudaios — (literally, the man in
earnest) — is in himself, as it were, the rule and measure {kanon and metron) of
things morally to be desired and followed {Etli. N., III. iv. 5).
Again, the writers of the classical age became to later Greece the canon, or
measure, of intellectual excellence, as the canon of Holy Writ has become to
ourselves the rule of faith and practice.
Let us note, however, the primary sense of the word ; it is very significant
— " a straight bar or rod which keeps other things straight." In this sense it
is used by Homer ; ^ the kanones were two bars placed across the hollow of the
shield to serve as arm-rods, through which the warrior passed his arm, and thus
held his shield.
Let us apply the metaphor to ourselves. The component parts of our great
canon of Scripture may be said to be, as it were, the kanones whereby we may
lay hold of that shield, the right use of which — as of the " tough targe " in the
melee — makes the stout-hearted warrior [Iliad, vii. 238, et seq.) the Shield of
Faith. " The Eternal God is thy Refuge " ; " Underneath are the Everlasting
Arms" — here are two grand canons, straight as straight can be, for they are
the words of Him who cannot lie. Shall we leave our hold of these because,
forsooth, they are " ovit of date," " unfashionable " ? Is fashion the umpire on
the battlefield ? Shall we relax our grasp and fare like that renegade among
true men — the aspidapohles, the thrower-down of his shield, the runaway ? Nay,
let us hold by our kanones, they have stood the test of the ages. " To right, to
left ! " turn our shield as we may or must, in the hardest battle of life it will
protect us, if — we hold fast by our kanones. That is the lesson which the little
word has travelled down the ages to teach us. Like the shield and the kanones
of old Nestor so are our shield and our kanones throughout of fine gold, " and
the fame thereof now reach eth unto heaven " {Iliad, viii. 192).
But we have forgotten ! — the carpenter is not only the up-rearer of straight
posts, but he is also the constructor, the framer, and fitter-in — our join-er,
a word more noble a great deal than we of this century are apt to think. In
his constructive capacity the tekton is the special favourite of Athena Ergane,
Mistress of all works, arts, and handicrafts ; from her his skill was believed
to flow. Thus we read in the Fifth Book of the Iliad (59 et seq.) of one
Phereklos, the son of Tekton (the framer), the son of Harmon (the joiner), who
had built the ships for Paris, and with his hands wrought all manner of cunning
works, 2 for Pallas Athena loved him above others.
The constructive functions of the tekton brought forth a fine series of words,
among which the most noticeable is harmonia. Who could suppose that
harmony, that sweetest of words, both in sound and sense, came to life amid
the cutting and carving, the framing and fitting, the rasping, aggravating noise
of the carpenter's bench ? Yet so it is. Harmony, sweet, true, and humble,
will -not disclaim her origin ; which is simply — a " fastening of some kind, a
means of joining," the joining consummated. Disclaim her origin ! Why
should she be ashamed of it? Harmonia is all essential. Withdraw the
^ The carpenter's rule in Homer is the stathme.
'^ Dcedala, " cunning works." From dcedalos, " cunningly wrought," comes as substantive,
Daedalos, the cunning worker, the artist, the man who first gave to statues the appearance of
life by keeping their feet apart, a word belonging to the same class as Tekton and Harmon
above.
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 103
fastening, and your ship, your house, will fall to pieces. Withdraw Harmonia,
your house will be the house divided against itself, which, in the nature of
things, cannot stand. So saith He, who Himself once upon a time worked
at the carpenter's bench, He who is Himself lim^monia, that which linketh
together all things sweet and strong and true.
In Homer, we find the word used both in the primary and later derived
sense. It is by the aid of wedges and "harmonies" [Od., v. 248) of some sort
that Odysseus joins his twenty trees together to form the raft whereon he sails
away from Calypso's Isle, that he may return to his dear native land.
Then, by a natural transference, it meant a mental union or joining
together, a covenant. Thus when Hector, before the fatal combat with
Achilles, would urge the latter to a mutual agreement regarding the giving up
of the body of the one destined to fall, he says, " Let us pledge us by the gods,
for they are the best witnesses and overseers of covenants " (harmonies) {Iliad^
xxii. 254),
Next it is used of Law and stablished Order, as when, in the Prometheus of
^schylus (551), the chorus bids the martyred Titan remember that
" No scheme by mortals laid
The harmony of Zeus shall e'er transgress."
Then we find it as a proper name in " large-eyed Harmonia," that consort
of old Cadmus of Thebes under whose rule Music and Letters, or, as some
interpret the legend, " Peace among citizens and civilisation," first developed.
(See ante, under Thebes.)
Finally, it is used of Music, although not in the modern sense. Thus, Plato
says that a song or ode (melos) consists of three parts — the words, the melody
(harmonia), and the rhythm (i2ep., 3980). Harmony would seem, therefore, to
have been simply a musical strain, the " linked sweetness " of sound joining
sound by following it, rather than that " fitting-in " of part with part which we
moderns understand by " harmony."
That words so exceedingly rich in meaning as harmonia and her sisters
should have been welcome to the philosophers we can readily understarid.
With Plato harmonia, and eu-Ktrmostia, " fair harmony," especially, play a part
so important that we must reserve this for consideration in connection with
another group of words.
Before, however, passing on to this — our last — let us glance briefly at some
of the names given by the Greeks to their workers. They are of great
interest.
(i) Demiurgus, "a worker for the people," is the first we know of, and a
grand word it is. It shows us work, honest, manual work, held in repute and
honoured ; for amongst the demiurgi mentioned by Homer — the seer, the healer
of ills (physician), the divine minstrel, who can delight with his songs, is also
mentioned our friend, the tekton, the worker in timber. These are the men
who are welcome the wide world over {Od., xvii. 383 et seq.). Demiurgus next
appears as a magistrate, a worker for the people in another sense. Finally the
name is applied by Plato and others to God as the great Worker for the
people. From first to last demim^jus, then, has a noble record.
(2) The second is a very delightful word — Cheironax, "king of his hands."
Such a word could only have proceeded from a nation of artists. Think of it !
To be king of one's hands, with perfect command over muscle and nerve, so
that both shall carry out at once the behest of the thinking brain ! Is not this
the aim of every artist, be he musician, painter, or sculptor — this perfect
mastery of techne ?
I04 GREEK LANGUAGE
But cheironax, alas ! and another beautiful word, cheiro-tec/mes, " the man
with art-in-his-hands," fell, became degraded and sullied, like many other noble
words, by everyday use, and finally sank nearly to the level of our third word,
(3) Banausos, literally "a worker by fire," the follower of a merely
mechanical art — hence a fellow of the baser sort, vulgar, and ignoble in his
tastes.
What a fall is here ! From Demiurges, the honoured, eagerly-welcomed
guest, to banausos, the poor, illiterate furnace-man, only known as one of the
many — only brought into polite literature, in such a work as Aristotle's Ethics,
to point a moral, and be dismissed with scorn and disgust. Here, certainly, we
have a retrograde experiment, the causes of which one has not far to seek.
Herodotus (ii. 167) infers that his countrymen had learned from the
''barbarians," Thracians, Persians, &c., who held the warrior class only in
esteem, to look down upon the craftsman. The true reason for the change,
however, would seem to be that manual work in all shapes had been, relegated
to slaves, and hence become dishonouring to the freeman.
When we come, now, to the group of words denoting " Beauty " and the
"Beautiful," we are almost baffled in the attempt to grasp them, so much
do they enfold. In attempting, therefore, to unfold their meaning, Hesiod's
rule must be our guide — "a part must suffice for the whole."
One word, then, let us take as the representative of Greek feeling — a word
very small and not at all picturesque, but enshrining within itself all that
is essentially and peculiarly Hellenic — to kallos, "beauty." In its origin
Curtius connects the word with the Gothic Jiails ( = hale, " sound,") and from the
frequency with which the word itself and the prefix kalli are applied to
streams of running water, it is not unreasonable to suppose that in the
beginning personal beauty meant simply health — the condition of body brought
about by a personal acquaintance with pure water and invigorating breezes,
by friendship with the Muses, Nymphs, and guardians fair of bright sparkling
springs. This meaning holds good for more than one of the kallos family —
kallyno, e.g., signifies not only "adorn" but "cleanse," and such an association
would seem to be hinted at in Homer's account of the beautifying of Penelope
by Athena, where it is said that the goddess " first with immortal beauty
washed^ her fair face" (Od., xviii. 192). Whatever the origin of the word,
certain it is that the Greeks regarded beauty as a something bestowed on the
individual from without, a divine gift, and a very precious gift, surpassing well-
nigh every other.
This idea runs through the whole of Greek literature. In Homer when
Helen, fair among women, appears on the tower in her veiled beauty, the
Trojan elders speak among themselves softly (as though held in awe by it) the
winged words : " No shame is it (ou nemesis) that Trojans and well-greaved
Achaeans should, for such a woman as this, long time suffer woes " {Iliad, iii. 154
et seq.).
Herodotus enumerates a fine form as one of the things which make the
happy man (i. 32), and the historian is confirmed by the philosopher. Aris-
totle, too, does not see how any one is likely to be happy if he is very ugly
in person. "There are certain things," he says, "whose absence takes the
bloom off our happiness, as good birth, the blessing of children, personal
beauty" {Eth. N., 1. viii. 16).
To such a pitch did the Greeks carry this passion for beauty that when a
certain Philippus, the handsomest man of his day, fell on the battlefield, a
shrine was erected over his sepulchre, and he was propitiated by sacrifice —
^ Voss's rendering. The word is kathere, "made pure."
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 105
accorded hero-worship — solely, as Herodotus tells us, on account of his beauty
(v. 47)-
All this, from our modern pinnacle, appears very absurd and very super-
ficial. Well, we are not going to defend the Beauty-cult ; but — if we must
have a false god — let us choose Beauty and worship her under the clear blue
heavens, rather than sacrifice to Mammon in the grimy, polluted, man-to-
machine-reducing cities of our own day.
However, our Hellenes are not so superficial as they seem, for, as we have
already seen, there are qualities which can outweigh beauty in their esteem :
eloquence, as in the case of Odysseus' orator (p. 83) ; courage and intellect
combined as in the case of Odysseus himself (p. 83) ; the evidence of a noble
nature, as in the case of Socrates. Alcibiades compared the master to Silenus,
one of the little Satyr figures then in vogue — figures which, externally rude and
uncouth, were found to be mere cases, enclosing some precious work of Art.
So even the beauty- worshipping Greeks could see that the outer tabernacle in
the case of Socrates enshrined that noblest work of God — a beautiful soul.
The connection, however, between exterior and interior beauty, was pushed
by the Greeks to an extent which, unless we think the matter out, must needs
repel us. When, for instance, Theognis tells us (Theorj., 15) that at the famous
wedding of Cadmus and Harmonia, the Graces appeared and sang in honour of
the event, and that the burden of their theme was this : " What is beautiful,
that is lovable, what is not beautiful, that is not lovable," we moderns feel, as
the Germans put it, hefremdft^ altogether estranged.
Looked at in connection with the occasion, however, the wedding of Music
and Letters, the sentiment rights itself. In the domain of Art the beautiful
is supreme.
Sappho goes a step further in declaring that " the Beautiful is also good —
the Good is also beautiful " — a statement which per se and in the abstract is
profoundly true. In the concrete, it is rather what was expected from the
possessor of a beautiful form than what was realised by experience. As Plato
puts it : " When a beautiful soul harmonises with a beautiful body, and the two
are cast in one mould, that will be the fairest of sights to him who has an eye
to see it" (Bep., 402D).
This union of beauty and goodness the Greeks summed up in JcaloJcagathos,^
a word which expressed their ideal of the Perfect Man, the man as he ought
to be, noble in person, noble in soul.
So deep-rooted was this association between goodness and beauty that the
same word came to be applied indifferently to both — to kalon is both beauty
and goodness, nobility of soul. Then naturally, as in the Logos, the inward
gift, reason, expresses itself outwardly by the word, so in to kalon the inward
beauty manifests itself outwardly in noble deeds.
" For the thing that one hath well said goeth forth with a voice unto ever-
lasting ; over fruitful earth and beyond the sea hath the light of fair deeds
shined, unquenchable for ever" (Isthm.).
So sang Pindar, rejoicing in the mission of a poet, the building together of
noble words, that through them noble deeds may flash out as the beams of God
upon the darkness around, or shine on with the radiance (aktis) of the sun at
noonday, unquenchable for ever.
Finally, we arrive at the great exponent of the Beautiful for all times and
^ Kalos-Jcai-agathos, " beautiful and good." In the best writers the word is not so far
contracted, it appears as kalos kagathos. In early times it seems to have denoted the aristo-
crats, the noble-men, as distinct from the many. Later, in the beautiful-good, the moral
sense ruled.
io6 GREEK LANGUAGE
all ages— Plato. The Beautiful to Plato is entirely synonymous with the
Good. It is not possible for him to conceive of anything really beautiful which
is not also good, morally good. Nevertheless, Plato does not place Beauty
above Goodness — his idea, rather, is best expressed (as Professor Jowett has
well pointed out) in the passage in the Philehus, where he says (6 5 a) that : " If
we are not able to hunt the Good {to agatlion) with one idea only, with three
we may take our prey — Beauty, Symmetry, Truth {Kallei kai summetrid kai
alctheid)."
Beauty is thus in one sense a means to an end ; in another, Beauty is
the end of all ends, for Beauty in its perfection to Plato is simply the vision
of God.
Reserving this great idea for another part of our inquiry, we may well sum
up our minor ideas on the Beautiful in that most striking passage in the
Republic (401 CD., Jowett's trans., p. 87 et seq.), where the influence of
Beauty as a power in the training of the young is shown. We give it in the
version of Professor Jowett — a version which rivals the original in charm : —
" We would not have our guardians grow up amid images of moral deformity,
as in some noxious pasture, and there browse and feed upon many a baneful
herb and flower day by day, little by little, until they silently gather a
festering mass of corruption in their own soul. Let our artists rather be
those who are gifted to discern the true nature of the beautiful and graceful ;
then will our youth dwell in a land of health, amid fair sights and sounds, and
receive the good in everything ; and beauty, the efiluence of fair works, shall
flow into the eye and ear, like a health-giving breeze from a purer region, and
insensibly draw the soul from earliest years into likeness and sympathy with
the beauty of reason."
How many ages passed — how many experiments were made — before this
fine conception of Beauty, as health of soul, developed out of the old natural
conception of Beauty as health of body ? And yet the connection between the
two is real and intimate.
This short inquiry, then, into the growth of words as " symbols of ideas "
has helped to reveal to us much that went to the Making of Hellas. The
Hellenes themselves have disclosed this secret. The nemo group showed us the
growth of settled Order ; mythos and muse^ the development of Imagination ;
the metron group, the intense value in Greek eyes of Proportion and Symmetry ;
and the krino group, the power and bounds of the Critical Faculty — whilst in
harmonia and to kalon we have seen the very flower and charm of Greek
thought. How many ages did these word-experiments take in working out ?
What interval lies between the prattling myth of the forest-stream and Plato's
" beauty of reason " ? God knows.
Words made Ready for the Master's Use.— We now turn to another
class of words, bearers of ideas which never came to full fruition in classical
times. There are not a few Greek words, and those amongst the most significant
and beautiful, to which may be applied with truth Goethe's saying concerning
the Symposium of Plato ; it contained, he said, more than its author dreamt of.
So there are Greek words with a meaning latent in them, a depth not suspected
by the men who composed them. Such expressions were, as Niigelsbach has
well said, ''vessels made ready " for use hereafter {Nachhom. TheoL, p. 239).
Look, for instance, at two very noble words — enthusiasm and philanthropy.
If etymology speak "the truth" about words, then indeed is enthusias-mos a
very king amongst words, for it means "God-within-us" (ho theos en hemin). It
was used by the Greeks, both in the literal sense as "divine inspiration," and
as expressing the effect produced upon the mind by music or poetry. A
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 107
wonderful instance of its application in a way which includes both meanings, is
afforded by that passjige in the Ion (533 d.e. ; Jowett's translation), where
Plato compares the poet or the rhapsodist and his hearers to successive links
in a chain of magnets : —
"There is a divinity moving you, like that contained in the stone which
Euripides calls a magnet. . . , This stone not only attracts iron rings, but also
imparts to them a similar power of attracting other rings ; and sometimes you
may see a number of pieces of iron and rings suspended from one another so as to
form quite a long chain ; and all of them derive their power of suspension from
the original stone. In like manner, the Muse first of all inspires men herself ;
and from these inspired persons a chain of other persons is suspended, who
take the inspiration. For all good poets, epic as well as lyric, compose their
beautiful poems not by art, but because they are inspired and possessed."
Such, then, was the Greek idea of enthusiasm — an influence as it were,
magnetic, emanating from God Himself, and attracting to Himself through the
poet, rhapsodist ^ or musician as first link, the hearers or readers as last links,
in the chain.
The passage is thrown off, with the usual hits at the poets, in the "ironical "
manner under which Plato often hides his deepest feelings ; but no idea has
ever been given to the world more truly representing the ideal of the artist
who glories in his Art. Be he first link in the chain — creator as poet,
composer, painter, sculptor, maker of beauty in any shape ; or second link —
organ through whom the creations of genius become realities, rhapsodist, actor,
singer, executant : to be the means of revealing the Divine to man, of linking
man to God is surely the noblest and highest of ideals !
"Yea!" respond the Ions of our own day, "O Socrates, thou hast well
spoken."
Turning now to that large-souled word pMlanthroj)ia, " love of man," we are
apt to picture to ourselves, on first coming across it, Hellenic John Howards
and Elizabeth Frys going up and down the world doing good to all men alike,
simply because they were men, " upward-lookers," stamped with the image of
God. Greek philanthropy, however, was something rather different.
It meant in general, kindness and courtesy as opposed to haughtiness,
malice, cruelty — a meaning, of course, in its degree not to be lightly passed
over. Again, we must note that the great instance of phihinthropia on which
the Athenians prided themselves was a religious one, viz., that they admitted
all Hellenes (including Hellenic slaves) to the Eleusinian Mysteries (Isocr.,
Faneg., 29) instead of confining initiation to members of their own race —
certainly a very remarkable example of that freedom from prejudice, that
large-mindedness, to which we have so often referred as characteristic of the
Athenians. In its way this use of the word was really a foreshadowing of the
grand capabilities wrapped up within it,
Nevertheless, we may not overlook the fact that barbarians, i.e. all non-
Hellenes, were strictly excluded from the Mysteries ; only through fear of the
conqueror was the right of initiation extended to the Romans.
We must not, however, imagine that the Greeks had not arrived at the
perception that " man," " fellow-man," meant something more than " brother,"
something more than " neighbour," more even than " fellow-citizen." It is
recorded of Aristotle that when he was reproached for having done a kindness
to a person unworthy of it, he replied, " I did it, not to the man, but to
humanity " (to anthropino) — as our German brethren tersely put it, " Nicht
^ The rhapsodists were those who recited the Homeric poems at the Panathensea and other
festivals.
io8 GREEK LANGUAGE
dem Menschen, sondern der Menschlichkeit " (Stobaeus, quoted by Schmidt,
Ethik.^ ii. 277).
Nevertheless, of "humanity" and "philanthropy" in the sense in which
we now use the words, the ancient world knew nothing. An Aristotle
might pay a debt to " humanity " by an act of humanity ; he might even
pay tribute to humanity by admitting that there was "room for some kind
of friendship " between master and slave, " in so far, that is to say, as the
slave deserves the name man." How far in his opinion the slave deserved the
name " man," however, Aristotle had just been good enough to explain in the
sentences preceding the last, where he puts the slave on a level with the horse
or the ox, or lower still, with the household chattels.
"The slave," he says, "is a living tool; the tool is a lifeless slave" {Eth. iV.,
VIII. xi. 6-7).
A Euripides, indeed, might see and nobly maintain that a slave could be as
good as, nay, far better than, his master ; but the world at large only shrugged
its shoulders, laughed at the absurdity, pointed to the philosophers, and con-
tinued to use, misuse, and abuse its " living tools " to the end. As for such
wretched creatures as prisoners of war, criminals, outcasts, the sick, the dying !
— here and there a kindly soul extended to them the helping hand, for the
image of God was never wholly obliterated in man, justice and pity have
always been in hiding somewhere on earth, even in the darkest times. But, in
general, such unfortunates lay altogether outside the pale of society ; they were
"passed by " as they lay in their nakedness and agony, by the Levite, the man
of cultivation, the pepaideumenos, and the Scribe, the man of refinement, the
charieis. How could such miserable objects excite iihilanthropia ? What
possible link could connect them with " enthusiasm " ?
Not until the fulness of times was the answer supplied. Not until
Emmanuel — God-with-us — had tabernacled among men, did the true Enthusi-
asm — God-in-us — develop. Not until " the kindness and philanthropia of God
our Saviour" had appeared ^ did the old philanthropy enlarge its bounds. Not
until the Son of Man had been "lifted up" and drawn by force of love all
things good and true to Himself, the Magnet,'^ did Enthusiasm and Philanthropy
become linked together as fellow-workers. From the Cross comes that mag-
netic chain which, beginning in Dying Love, proceeding through the links of
devotion and gratitude to the Master, and ending in the service of Man,
constitutes the true Enthusiasm of Humanity.
Such words as " enthusiasm " and " philanthropy " have passed into the
body of Christianity. Others, again, have been taken up into its very soul and
essence. Among these are words which will rise to the memory of every reader,
words which cannot be fitly discussed here. We can only briefly point to the
sublime name applied by St. John to our Lord as the Word — the Outer Symbol
of the Inner Thought of the Father — the logos, or to that wonderful con-
centration of ideas found in the word charts, with its threefold meaning of
charm and loveliness, favour and kindness, thanksgiving and gratitude, a three-
fold meaning of which our rendering " grace " is full to overflowing but which
still pulsates in deepest, truest life in the original in the Christian Eucharis-t.
To vary slightly Nagelsbach's simile : these and kindred words stood ready,
like the water-pots at the Wedding-Feast in Cana of Galilee, filled by the
servants up to the brim with water which was indeed refreshing and not to be
^ Tit. iii. 4. The word rendered "love" is, in the original, philanthropia.
2 St. John xii. 32. The Lord's words are, " And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will
draw all unto Myself." The verb here translated " draw " means also to '* attract," and is used
specially to denote the attraction of the magnet (Eur., Fr., 571).
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 109
despised, but which needed the power of the Master to transform it into the
" good wine " that, coming last, should put new life into fainting humanity.
The Dialects. — Thus far we have spoken of the Greek " language," but in
strictness, even during the Classical period, there was no common Hellenic
language, nor did this arise until the time of Alexander the Great. Before-
this epoch we can, with accuracy, speak only of Hellenic " dialects."
Strange as it may seem, this fact is easily accounted for by the circumstances
under which the Greek races developed, the isolated cantons in which each clan
grew up into maturity, shut off by mountain walls from frequent intercourse
with its neighbours. Hence, just as there was originally no one Hellenic
nation, but a congeries of independent peoples, so was there originally no one
Hellenic tongue, but a diversity of dialects corresponding to the divisions of
race. These may be grouped as follows : —
(i) We have two main divisions, JEoUc and Ionic.
(2) Then other two great branches closely connected with these, Doric with
^olic, Attic with Ionic.
(3) Lastly, numerous sub-dialects, allied to one or other of the great streams,
and belonging rather to the spoken idiom than the written language. ^
Although, as we have said, Doric is closely related to u^Eolic, yet we must not
suppose that it was a daughter of the latter. The dialects stood to each other
in the relation of sisters. Each Greek race transformed independently that
rich inheritance of the Aryan mother-tongue ; each is more or less faithful to
it ; each imparts to its own dialect a colouring peculiar to itself. That these
dialects were fixed before the great migrations (p. 123) is proved by the fact
that every separate body of colonists, whether belonging to the -^olian, Dorian,
or Ionian race, carried the peculiarities of their mother-speech with them to
their new home, and these peculiarities were retained by the colonists in some
cases longer than by the mother-country. Of course, there was very much
that was common to all the dialects ; but again there were well-marked
diversities, especially in the use of the vowels.^
Each of the dialects expresses in a curious way the race-characteristics of
the people among whom it originated.
I. ^olic. — The ^olians were, as we have seen, a chivalrous race, given to
knightly sports and hospitality, to music and song. Hence, poetry was early
cultivated amongst them. The original Iliad, the nucleus around which the
whole poem as we have it gathered, the Achilleid, or story of Achilles, prince
of the Thessalian Achaia (see aiite, p. 49), is held to be most probably of
Achaean and Thessalian origin. It grew up amongst the ^olians, and, as may
^ Herodotus (i. 42) mentions no fewer than four varieties of Ionic as spoken by the Greeks
of the twelve Ionic cities of Asia Minor. The following grouping of the dialects of Greece and
the Colonies (by Brugmann, Germ. Gram., p. 12) is interesting, as showing the extent of varia-
tion which existed : —
1. Ionic- Attic : [a) Ionic; (6) Attic.
2. Doric : (a) Laconia with Tarentum and Heracleia ; (6) Messenia ; (c) Argolis and Mgma.;
{d) Corinth and Corey ra (Corfu) ; (<?) Megara and Byzantium ; (/) the Peloponnesian Colonies
of Sicily ; {g) Crete ; (A) Thera, Melos, and Cyrene ; {i) Rhodes, with Gela and Acragas ;
(^•) other Dorian Islands of the ^gsean Sea, Carpathos, &:c.
3. North-Western Greek: (a) Phocis ; (6) Locris ; (c) ^tolia ; [d) Acarnania; (e) Phthiotis
and the district of the ^nianes ; (/) Epeirus and, perhaps {g), Achaia.
4. ^olic : {a) Lesbos and ^olic Asia Minor ; (6) Northern Thessaly ; (c) Bceotia.
5. Elian : possibly belonging to the North- Western dialects.
6. A rcadian- Cyprian .
7. Pamphylian.
All these dialects are most purely represented by inscriptions.
2 Thus Muse was Mois-a in ^olic. Mosa in Doric, and Moilsa in Ionic, the same norm or
germ being common to all.
no GREEK LANGUAGE
be assumed, was carried by ^olian colonists to Asia Minor, where it was
further developed, not by JEolians, but by lonians.^ The first beginnings of
the higher poetry, as distinct from folk-songs, were, therefore, we must
suppose, made by the ^olians, and equally must we suppose that the ^olic
dialect had been evolved and shaped so as to admit of a certain measure of
artistic handling at a very early stage. Nor was the being first in the field the
only merit of the u3i]olians, for that branch of poetry which best suited their
emotional nature and their dialect with its broad vowels — lyric poetry — -
reached its highest development among them. Lesbos was the home, not only
of Alcaeus but of Sappho.
As to the dialect itself, it may be considered as standing midway between
Doric and Ionic ; it is softer than Doric, but wanting in the harmony of Ionic.
Amongst its many varieties the dialect of Bceotia was the least, that of Lesbos,
the most pleasing (Bergk, p. 54).
2. Doric is the speech of hardy m ountaineers . Like the people who
evolved it, it disdained any attempt at compromise, aimed at the greatest
possible clearness and precision, kept very true to the old mother-tongue, gave
forth its sharp hissing ss without the slightest regard to " nerves," ^ and showed a
marked preference for the broad vowels, a and 0. The Dorian was deliberate
in all that he did ; he took his time to make up his mind about a thing, and
when he did speak, it was in a slow, long-drawn-out fashion, that exposed him
to the ridicule of the ready-tongued Ionian. Nevertheless the Dorian could
hold his own. Reserved as he was, a foe to many words, when he spoke he
spoke to the purpose, his " laconic " utterances had their seasoning of salt.
The hrachylogia (literally, " shortness of speech, brevity ") of the Dorians and
especially of the Spartans, became proverbial, and is even attributed by Homer
{Iliad, iii. 213) to the Achaean Menelaus, as King of Sparta.^ The basis and
reason of this Dorian peculiarity, which showed itself in their love of
apophthegms (literally, " clear utterance ") and terse sayings, is to be sought in the
effort to reveal as much of the inner life as possible, with outward means as few
as possible, and so to separate the kernel of thought from its non-essential
envelope (Mliller, Die Dorter, ii. 377).
There was, however, a tender element in the Dorian nature despite its
apparent ruggedness, and this shows itself in the love of the people for
diminutives, which have in themselves, as Bergk points out, something homely
and kindly (" etwas trauliches und gemlithliches "), and this feature of the
dialect is not wanting even among the Spartans.
What secrets language discloses to be sure ! Imagine the Spartan, as we
are wont to picture him, laconic and stern, ready for the battle, with scarlet
mantle, flowing hair, and glittering armour — imagine him, indulging in
^ This is the probable history of the Iliad. The language bears so strong an yEolic tinge,
that Ficke supposed the whole poem to have been originally composed in ^olic and afterwards
lonicised.
^ This fondness for the harsh ss (probably pronounced sh) was, however, confined to the
speech of daily life. Sibilants are not agreeable in music, hence the hard ss was banished
from the written language and from the Doric lyric choruses (Bergk, p. 93, 104).
^ Of the hrachylogia of the Spartans Herodotus (p. 46) gives an amusing instance. A body
of Samians who had been expelled by the tyrant Polycrates, went to Sparta to ask for help.
When admitted to the presence of the magistrates, they made an elaborate speech, as people
very much in earnest are apt to do, setting forth at length their troubles and necessities. The
Spartans heard them to the end, and then replied coolly that they had forgotten the first half
of the speech, and did not understand the rest. The Samians took the hint, went away, and
re-presented themselves next day with a sack, and the words "The sack wants filling ! " This
time the Spartans condescended to understand the situation, but they remarked that the word
" sack " was quite superfluous.
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE irt
diminutives, little pet names ! Truly we do not need to be told that the
influence of women was great in Sparta.
It will be seen from the table of dialects given on p. 109 that the Doric was
the most widespread of all the dialects. Wherever the strong, self -restrained
Dorian appeared, the process of " Doricising " — the supremacy of the Doric
tongue and customs — inevitably followed. Hence, we find Doric holding
the first place not only in Peloponnesus, but in Italy, and Sicily, and even in
Crete, an island which seems, so far as our knowledge goes, to have been
entirely Doricised, although the population was very mixed and but a moderate
proportion actually subject to the Dorian rule.
3. Ionic is the tongue of dwellers amid the mild sea-breezes. IrL..aQftness,
gr ace, and refinement it far surpasses the harsher D oric and ^olic. Ionic
diligently prunes away all the roughness of the mother-tongue ; the long e
appears instead of the Doric and ^olic a,^ and in wealth of vowels Ionic
exceeds her sisters. In this, as in other respects, she offers the most decided
contrast to Doric.
The oldest form in which we know Ionic (or any other dialect) is in the
language of the Iliad, but, as we have seen, Ionic is here mingled with ^olic.
The language of Homer is, in fact, an art-dialect, the basis of which is the old
Ionic, but which mixes the forms of different times and different dialects, and
was never and nowhere the common language of daily life (Brugmann, Gr.
Gram., p. 13). By the language of Homer, of the Iliad, the first literary
record of Hellas (and of Europe), the whole poetry of later times was influenced.
In what is known as the "younger" or later Ionian, prose was also first
developed and perfected by such writers as Herodotus, and Hippocrates, and the
philosopher Democritus. Hence the art-forms introduced by the lonians, both
in poetry and prose, became models for all the other races, and Ionic acquired
an influence intellectually, compared to which that of Doric, with its wide
geographical area, sinks into insignificance.
4. Attic. — And now we come to the fourth dialect. As a literary dialect,
the youngest of all, but destined, like the youngest son in the fairy tales, to
outstrip all rivals — Attic.
At first, so far as our scanty knowledge goes, Attic does not seem to have
been essentially distinct from Ionic ; but as early as the time of Peisistratus
the separation is quite apparent. Bergk (op. cit., i. 72) traces — and with great
reason — what is nothing short of a puzzling phenomenon, the rise of Attic, to
the political circumstances of the little State. The widening of the Athenian
constitution and the reception of so many new citizens by Solon and
Cleisthenes, were certainly, as he points out, not without influence. Still more
effectually worked the result of these generous measures — the strengthened
tone and manly feeling that animated all the members of the newly-organised
community, which thenceforward developed with a vigour unparalleled in
history. The Athenians, in their new-born consciousness of a strength always
latent, began to be ashamed of the relationship with their voluptuous degener-
ate Asiatic brethren. Everything distinctively Ionic was set aside, and the
reaction showed itself, not only in dress, but in speech. Contractions were
made with a firm hand. For instance, a long drawling form like Athen4a was
shortened to Athena, and so on (Brugmann, Els., § 603). The feminine long e of
the Asiatic Ionic is dropped and the over-fulness of vowels strictly moderated.
The Athenians, however, did not make the mistake of going back entirely to
old forms. The old forms would not have sufficed for the new ideas with
which the air was full. The Athenians went their own way ; they steered a
^ For example, " truth " in the Ionic dialect is aZetheia, in the Doric alatheia.
112 GREEK LANGUAGE
middle course in avoiding equally excessive harshness and excessive softness,
and thus arose that grandest of all tongues, ancient or modern, the language of
Plato and Demosthenes.
The history of the dialect is, therefore, the history of the people. It appears
strange that at so late a date a dialect should arise as the result of conscious
effort and reflection, of deliberate selection or rejection of forms. Nevertheless,
we must bear in mind that those who moulded Attic had the advantage of
writing, and of free choice amongst many forms and modes of expression
already in existence. Hence Attic is pre-eminently a " literary " tongue.
Place of the Dialects in Literature.— Although, as we have seen, the
dialects differed in many points from one another, yet they had naturally,
springing from the same mother-tongue, a very great deal in common, and it is
supposed that from the beginning every Greek could understand every other
Greek (Grote, His., ii. 165).
Two factors helped greatly in diffusing a common type of language. These
weie (i) the great National Festivals, which brought together Greeks from
every part of Hellas, continental and insular, mother-cities, and out-lying
colonies ; and (2) the Homeric poems, which were invaluable for keeping
together the sympathies of the Hellenic world. Thus, Dio Chrysostom (Orat.,
xxxvi. 78) tells us that the inhabitants of Olbia (or Borysthenes) could repeat
the Iliad by heart, although their own dialect was partly barbarised, and their
city ruined.
In the Classical period, moreover, the dialects must have been familiar to
all, for boys learned the older poets by heart at school, and every race had had
its share in the making of the national literature. This equality of the
dialects is, in fact, an undoubted advantage of the Greek language. Each
dialect had a special character of its own, and a poet was able to select that
dialect which best suited his purpose. The Ionic, with its full soft euphony, was
as though made by nature for the epic ; the terser Attic for the dialogue of
the drama ; the broad i:Eolic-Doric for melic (lyric) poetry. Thus we find
Tyrtseus, the Attic poet who went to the help of the Spartans, composing his
elegies in Ionic, his stirring marching songs in Doric. Even in one and the
same work, moreover, the poet could vary his dialect — as in the Attic drama,
where Doric always holds its own in the chorus.
How the Dialects were Superseded by a Common Lang-uag-e.—
Finally, after the experimenting of the different peoples of Greece had come to
an end — after the genius of Hellenic individuality had spent itself — we find the
separate life of the Hellenic States gradually dying out, the peculiarities of race
paling and becoming absorbed in a Universal Greece. And the process that
went on in the history of the people is traceable also in the history of their
speech. The separate dialects were gradually superseded by one of their own
number which rose to be the universal language, and that one was — Attic.
Why Attic? we ask. Why should Attic have superseded the other dialects,
formerly her equals ? There were three reasons for the preference of Attic : —
1. In the first place, Athens had become the centre of intellectual life.
Here literature reached its highest development. Both in poetry and in prose
the Athenians carried forward to perfection what the lonians of Asia had
begun. The drama, oratory in its highest form, had their home in Athens.
2. Then, secondly, from the very beginning there was a kind of universality
about the Athenians themselves ; they opened their doors readily to foreigners ^
and their minds to new impressions, and this characteristic stamped itself upon
^ In the best days of Athens, the Metceci, or permanent foreign settlers, constituted about
half of the free citizens.
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 113
their language. All the other dialects retained their own peculiarities and
" provincialisms " and were sharply separated one from the other ; Attic recalls
something of each, has borrowed something from each, without losing her own
purity or individuality.
3. The third characteristic which specially fitted Attic to be the universal
language is courteousness. Attic is never rough or abrupt ; rather than wound
the feelings of others, she will seek out a gentle or an apologetic expression.^
Even what is unattractive in itself, Attic can surround with an atmosphere of
grace and beauty.
Thus, from its grand place in literature, from its " universality," from its
own undefinable charm, Attic naturally took the lead. That it came to be the
universal language of Greece was simply an instance of the " survival of the
fittest," and here the " fittest " was, as is usually the case, what has " fitted "
itself for its position by dint of hard work, for with all its grace, Attic is
distinguished by the strictest attention to rule and law, and rule and law even
in literature mean discipline. The horse must not run away with the rider.
So, when isolation had done its work, when many began to run to and fro
and knowledge was increased, a common vehicle of thought and intercourse was
wanted, and it was found ready to hand in Attic. Of all the dialects Ionic (the
most closely related to Attic) was the first to yield, as shown by inscriptions ;
the process began even so early as the end of the Peloponnesian War : ^olic
held out much longer ; Doric longest of all. Tough and true to tradition, Doric
kept alive in certain districts down to the time of the Roman Empire, but
finally it too disappeared before the presence of culture.
Thus Attic conquered the dialects of Greece. Every one who made any
claim at all to cultivation tried to express himself in that way which all
considered purest and best ; and as in society people strove to free them-
selves from homely dialect, so in writing the advantages of Attic made it the
recognised literary medium.
The Koine-Hellenistic Greek. — Finally, when by the conquests of Alex-
ander, the East was thrown open to the influences of the West, and was, so to
speak, " colonised " by the Hellenes, Attic achieved a still higher triumph, for
it became the universal language of the civilised world. This " colonisation " of
the East was a no less glorious work than the colonisation of the coasts of the
Mediterranean in the early days of Hellas had been. Not only throughout
Asia, in every part of the Persian Empire, but on the shores of the Red Sea,
and in Cyrenaica, there sprang up flourishing cities, cities which certainly owed
their origin to the thirst for conquest of Alexander and his successors, and their
prosperity to the thirst for wealth of private traders, but which became, never-
1 "To tell a lie," e.g., is in Attic phrase ouden legein, " to say nothing." This is by no means
what we might perhaps be disposed to consider it, viz., an exculpation of the moral guilt of
lying. The real meaning comes out in the sense in which it is used by Socrates in his defence.
He does not say bluntly of his accusers that they are telling an untruth concerning him. He
simply remarks, "If any one says that this is not my teaching, he says nothing" {ouden legei).
Truth is the Something which will prevail, falsehood is naught.
To take another example, a "simpleton" in Attic parlance is neither a "fool" nor a
"natural," he is euethes, "simple-minded, guileless."
Again, liberated slaves were not to be reminded at every turn of their former condition.
Hence they are choris oikountes, "dwellers apart," i.e. beyond bounds, no longer at the beck
and call of a master = gentlemen-at-large.
We are indebted to Bergk for the foregoing examples of Attic courtesy, but it is necessary
to add that the position of the choris oikountes has not been clearly defined. According to
Bockh they were either freedmen or slaves working on their own account and paying over a
fixed proportion of their earnings to their master {Staatsh., i. 365).
H
114 GREEK LANGUAGE
theless, one and all, centres whence Greek ideas and Greek knowledge, and the
Greek language as the vehicle of both, were diffused (Bergk, 82).
Later, a more extraordinary triumph still was in store for Greek — by it
Hellas conquered her Roman conquerors. The people of Italy had received
the elements of culture, the alphabet, the arts of reading and writing, through
the Greeks. Oato, the Roman censor, 234-139 B.C., the hater of Greek ideas
in his youth, found himself obliged in his old age to apply himself to the
detested language and literature. Cicero and Augustus both knew Greek and
had studied in Greece. The first grammar ever written — a grammar which
has served as the model and basis of all others — was a grammar of the Greek
language, written by Dionysius Thrax (the Thracian) for the use of Roman
students, written that the conquerors might learn the language of the con-
quered. In his time (about 80 B.C.) Greek was the fashion in Rome, and as
Quintilius tells us, children learned it before they were taught their mother-
tongue (i. I, 12 ; Mommsen, Rom. Gesch., Book i. p. 197).
Greek thus became everywhere the language of the educated classes, and so
Aristeides the orator could boast {Panath., 294) that all cities and races of men
had accepted Attic speech and customs. Compared to Attic, the rhetor says,
the local dialects were but as the stuttering speech of children — a few words
may please us in jest, but we soon have enough of it. Patriotism apart, this
was in reality the most famous Hegemony ever won by Athens — the intellectual
leadership of the world.
It stands to reason, however, that when Greek became the universal
language, not only of the Greek States, but of the educated classes throughout
the world, it must gradually have departed more and more from the original
standard. " Hellenistic " Greek, the language of those who were not Greeks
by birth, could never attain to the purity of strict Attic. We can easily perceive
that to the Greek of Phrygians, Carians, Syrians, Jews, and Egyptians, many
peculiarities would naturally attach themselves — many provincialisms, solecisms,
a.nd " barbarisms " would creep in to vex the soul of Attic purists. Hence, the
name koine, which meant at first simply the language "common" to all members
of the Greek race, came to signify in its wider acceptation the "common
tongue " as opposed to the strict Attic of the Schools. Such a transforma-
tion was inevitable. Nevertheless, the gain to the world of the koirie was
incalculable.
Let us now for a moment just gather up briefly some of the properties of
the Greek language, and see for ourselves how it was that it acquired its world-
wide supremacy.
The Result of the Experiment — Greek as an Instrument of
Thoug'ht.^-The Greek language (as we have seen) is, like every other lan-
guage, a work of Art, and, therefore, like every work of Art, it must be tested
in two ways — by its Form and Contents, exterior and interior qualities.
I. Form. — Those of us who do not conceive of language as only a vehicle
for concealing thought will say, and rightly, that a grand language is one that
shall enable a thinker to express his thoughts with the utmost clearness and
precision.
Now, the Greeks, as we know, were wonderfully clear-headed thinkers, and
it is not too much to maintain that they owed a good deal in this respect to
their language. By its very structure Greek compelled to definiteness of
thought.
The main structure, as we also know, was not the work of the Greeks
themselves, but of their and our forefathers — the old Aryans in bygone ages.
The first Graeco- Aryans conserved and preserved and imitated scrupulously the
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 115
forms handed down to them — forms elaborated by that most wondrous process
of agglutination which we have already watched in progress. (See Appendix.)
The result is that we have in Greek the most perfect specimen of a synthetic
or inflexional language, rivalled only by Sanskrit. The modern tendency in
language is always towards an analytical mode of expression ; we get rid of
case-forms and verbal-forms by using prepositions and auxiliary verbs ; but
by so doing, we lose a great power, viz., that of saying much-in-little. For
instance, the Greeks could express by one word, antiparexagein, an idea which
to express fully would require thirteen words in French : " Faire sortir une
arm^e en face de I'ennemi, et la mener contre lui" (Burnouf). It is easy to
see that the modern freedom from the restraints of flexions has been gained
only by another loss, viz., that of symmetry and a sort of living strength. No
one has put this more pithily than K. 0. Miiller. He is not blind to the
beauties of modern languages. Thus English — which, as a mixture of the
most different elements, has contrived to dispense with grammatical flexion to
a greater extent than any other European tongue — he represents as bearing
away from her sisters the palm "for all the purposes of energetic eloquence."
" Nevertheless," he adds, " no modern European who has realised the
impression produced by the wealth of forms in the classical languages, and who
has compared with these his mother-tongue, will be able to deny that in the
former, the words, clothed with flexions as with muscles and tendons, step out
like living bodies, full of expression and character ; whilst, in the newer
languages, words have shrunk up — to skeletons."
Then again, we may note that Greek stands unrivalled for the wealth and
variety of its forms. Speaking of the verb, G. Ourtius (p. 5) calls attention
to the astounding wealth of the forms in which it is developed, containing as it
does no fewer than 507 separate arid distinct forms. The position of Greek in
this respect is best seen by a comparison with the sister-languages : —
Gothic yielding 38 forms
Latin „ 143 „
Greek _ „ 507 „
Sanscrit „ 891 ,,
Here Sanscrit seems to bear off the palm, " but," says Curtius, " we should
err if we regarded all the Sanscrit forms as actually existing. Greek hardly
comes behind Sanscrit in the number of her verbal forms, and has far finer
distinctions of meaning."
Then, if we inquire how this wealth of form arose, we shall find that it
sprang from the effort to give the utmost point and definiteness to the thought
to be conveyed. Thus —
1. Greek has not only the Active and the Passive Voices — "I strike," "I
am struck " — but that most individual form, the Middle Voice — " I strike
myself."
2. Greek has not only the Singular and the Plural Numbers, but that
most particularising of forms, the Dual Number — "We two," "you two," "they
two."
3. Again, Greek in common with Sanscrit has preserved a very special
tense, the Aorist, which represents a momentary, in contradistinction to a
lasting, action — a point in time, as distinguished from a continuous line (K. O.
MUller, p. 7). Just think what life and precision the use of this " single point "
tense must impart to a narrative.
We cannot but echo the words of G. Curtius, and say of this " huge system
of verbal forms," begun, indeed, in the old Aryan home, but preserved and
ii6 GREEK LANGUAGE
modified in the new home in Greece, that it is "perhaps the most marvellous
creation of the language-making mind of man " (G. Curtius, op. cit., 7).
Again, midway between Form and Content, there stands in Greek a curious
class of words, the particles, which act as joints or pivots in a sentence, and
seem to have been invented for the very purpose of reasoning, defining,
pointing a contrast or guarding against misconstruction in the statement of
an argument.
Thus, in flexibility, variety, and definiteness of form Greek stands
unrivalled. It was all but impossible not to think clearly in it.
2. Content. — When we turn to the second and even more important test of
a language — the richness or the poorness of the material welded into precision
by the forms — we are even more astounded at the wealth heaped up by the
old Greek word-coiners. The treasure is simply inexhaustible. In this
respect as in regard to its wealth of forms, Greek is infinitely richer than
Latin — a fact acknowledged by the Romans themselves. Latin writers had
hard work to conceal the poverty of their language. Herodian, in his work on
Accentuation, gives the accents of 60,000 Greek words, and this does not
nearly represent the whole, as he omits many derived and compound words
(Bergk, i. 126).
Especially do we find in Greek in richest fulness a class of words specially
helpful to the thinker, viz., synonyms, groups of words which, with a general
agreement of meaning, yet represent the most varied and delicate shades of
that meaning. One example is worth pages of assertion. Let us therefore
glance at the Greek synonyms for the verb, " to see, to look." In tabulated form,
as arranged by Dr. J. H. H. Schmidt {op. cit.), these will not detain us long.
I. Words denoting the perceptive sense of sight, intellectual apprehension
(looking dictated from without) : —
(i) blepein = single look, revealing the mood.
(2) horan = less definite, more the " konstatirung " of facts, intellectual
understanding.
(3) Zew5sem = clear look, as of inspiration or astonishment.
(4) derkesthai = shsiTip or fiery glance of anger or courage, also bright
flashing look ; from the same root dark come dorkas = " the roe or
gazelle," so-called from its bright eyes; and drakon = drsbgon (G.
Curtius).
II. Words signifying "to look" in the sense of "to spy" (looking dictated by
necessity from without) : —
(5) athi'ein = look earnestly, enquire (an-ath7'ein = look. up).
(6) skopiazein = s^j, especially from a distance or height (sA:ope = " look-out
place ").
(7) skopein = look at with a definite object in view (seize with the eye, take
heed, look after, watch).
(8) skeptesthai = look anxiously at, think over, consider in the mind.
(9) paptainein = look to all sides in self-defence, or in order to protect
others (connected probably with ptessein = "to cower down for fear of "
(L. and S.).
(10) dokeuein = to follow narrowly with the eye with no friendly intent (as
the hound watches the boar) ; later, transferred to the mind = to think
(L. and S.).
III. Words denoting calm reflection : —
(11) Theasthai = to satisfy the eye by looking, to look as a spectator at a
theatre.
FIRST EXPERIMENT: THE LANGUAGE 117
(12) Theorem = to look at with an intellectual interest, to examine facts
with a view to reaching knowledge, to look at a thing, not as a mere
spectator but in order to something higher (hence, the name theoroi,
applied to ambassadors sent out by the State, not only to witness the
games, but to learn from other States (Plato, Lmvs, 951-953), to win
light for the mind's eye = instruction).
If we now add to the primary verbs the rich family of compound verbs
which may be formed from most of them, we get an almost infinite variety of
delicate nuances, capable of conveying to the mind of the hearer precisely that
impression which the speaker desired to convey, and no other.
Ex uno disce Omnes. — The wealth of Greek synonyms demands and
has obtained volumes by way of illustration.
We would only say now about the synonyms in particular what G. Curtius
has said about Greek verbs in general, that almost " every one shews us, so to
speak, a separate family, with its own family history, and a quite individual
stamp of character. It may be doubted," he adds, "if there is another
language which has developed this tendency towards individuality so far as
that of the Greeks" (Gk. Verb, p. 7).
Here, then, we meet with a fourth grand feature of the language. To
flexibility, precision, wealth of material, we must add that old friend whom
we already know so well as an essential factor in the Greek 'composition —
Individuality. If, finally, around all these qualities, exterior and interior, we
throw the charm of poetry (which as we know from the place-names and
composita, Greek richly possesses) and of euphony (in the musical use of
vowels and consonants) we shall be able to form an idea of the union of
characteristics in Greek which raised her to the undisputed position of queen
of tongues. Never was a language with so marvellous a capacity for adapting
itself to the needs of speaker or writer. For every conceivable idea in
Philosophy, in Art, in Science, Greek is ready with the right expression ; in
Greek every soul-thought finds its own appropriate word-body. And thus it
came to pass that when a language which should be able to express the deepest
thoughts of the soul was required Greek stood ready, and Greek was chosen.
Greek the Lang-uag-e of the New Testament. — We must bear in mind
that Greek was not the only language which might have been used by the inspired
writers. There was the language of the earlier Scriptures, which, in human
judgment, might seem to have a prior claim to announce the fulfilment of the
promises of the older Dispensation. There was also another koine in existence,
and one which to all appearance had an immense advantage over Greek, in
that it was the speech of the Roman conqueror, and so could have stamped
itself everywhere. But Hebrew, the ancient language of the people of whom, as
concerning the flesh, Christ came, was passed over — the New Wine of the New
Covenant must be put into new bottles. Latin, the language of force, of Law
and its terrors, was passed over, and the Jwi7ie of its subject-races was chosen —
that language in whose depth and reasonableness and sweetness and dignity
the Message of God to man might find fitting expression, in so far, at least, as
human instrument can be made to reveal the Divine.
And let us note that it was just the koine, the common Greek tongue, that
was chosen — not pure Attic. The Greek of the New Testament is Hellenistic
Greek, the koine of Alexandria, and it departs yet further from the Attic
standard by the profusion of Hebraisms with which it is sprinkled, for
Hellenistic Greek was the language of the Jews resident in Alexandria. In
this language, for their use, the Septuagint and Greek version of the old
Testament had been prepared, and in this language, which was understood also
ii8 GREEK LANGUAGE
by the thousands of Jews scattered by the Dispersion throughout the world, the
New Testament has come down to us.
The language of the New Testament, then, is not Attic. It is a language
that stands apart by itself, built up on a foundation in which the Jew as well
as the Gentile has a share. It is Greek, but, as E. Curtius {Der Weltgang, p. 70)
has well put it, it is. Greek which has been " naturalised in Semitic lands, has
given up her classic disdain," and so become capable of absorbing the wisdom
of the East, and of giving expression to those unique ideas of which she was to
be the channel. Hence the Hebraisms, which would be a disfigurement in
Attic, have their fitting place in New Testament Greek, nay, are indispensable
to it.
Thus, all things worked together towards the fulness of the time — just as
the knowledge of the one God was diffused throughout the world through the
Jews scattered abroad by the Dispersion ; and just as, first, the conquests of
Alexander and, then, the extension of the Roman power opened up ways and
means by which the most distant regions might be reached, even so did the
Greeks contribute their share in a wondrous manner to the development of the
new life which Christianity brought into the world.
Now that we have traced this first experiment of the Hellenes from its early
beginnings up to its full development and its mission in the great world-plan as
the Christ-bearer, we ask, Was it, then, a success ?
Yea ! the verdict is unanimous ; such a success as in language-building the
world will never see again — a grand and glorious success.
APPENDIX
How the Experiment affects us. — It may not be amiss if we venture
here upon a brief survey of the various ways in which the experiment of these
old language-builders still affects ourselves. Greek has three very strong
claims upon the regard of all thinking men and women. These may be
summarised as follows : —
(i) Intellectually^ Greek is worthy of study, not only because
(a) It has profoundly influenced the language of every civilised race ;
nor yet because
{h) It is the key to a literature which has moulded, to a greater or less
extent, all succeeding Literatures ; but because
(c) In itself it is a source of the greatest pleasure to all who can take
delight in the study of language.
In addition to the qualities with which we are already familiar, there yet
remains to be noticed one which is by no means its smallest advantage to the
modern student of words — viz., its transparency. Greek is a pure, clear, homo-
geneous language.
(2) Practically, again, for the real practical purposes of life, Greek is worthy
of study. There can be no greater mistake than to call Greek a " dead "
language. If fruit-bearing be any test of life, then Greek is alive to-day.
Did we but realise to what an extent we of the present day use Greek, some
among us would be no less astonished than was M. Jourdain by the discovery
that all his life he had unwittingly been talking prose.
The wondrous adaptability of Greek to meet the requirements of new ideas
APPENDIX 119
is still characteristic of the language. It is, generally speaking, to Greek that
our scientific men turn when they want a word-body wherein to clothe any new
thought or new discovery. The necessities of science demand of a word
precision, clearness, and the power of expressing much-in-little ; and all three
requirements are found in Greek. It is true that this borrowing from a foreign
quarter does not find favour with all. Thus, we have Mr. Ruskin {Queen of the
Air, p. 72) to the fore with his wish that "the philosophers would use English
instead of Greek words," but the very instances which he brings forward to
support his own wish prove the wisdom of the "philosophers," in following
resolutely the course which they have chosen. Most people, we think, will
admit that — pace our great critic — chlorophyll is a better word for its purpose
than " green-leaf," protoplasm both more definite and more elegant than the
" first-stuck-together," which he would like to see adopted in its place.
It would be strange indeed if the Mother of the sciences could not find the
most appropriate names for her children. Anthropology, Ethnology, and
Philology ; Botany, Zoology, and Biology ; Geography, Geology, Geometry,
Anatomy, Physiology, Pathology, with all the other -ologies and -ographies,
are words of pure Greek origin, and the terminology of each science is, to a
great extent, also Greek. Would that we could say wholly Greek ! Latin has
given us many forcible and vigorous expressions, but the mingling of the two
languages in our scientific nomenclature has led to the formation of not a few
hybrids — words which are neither Latin nor Greek^-and, therefore, certainly
not scientific.
To show the part which Greek plays in modern life and in the newer
developments of science, we have only to call to mind some of the popular
topics of the day. For instance, we cannot speak of the " hygienic condition of
working-class dwellings " without unconsciously invoking Hycjieia^ goddess of
health, daughter of Asclepios ; or Athena Hygieia, queen of pure air. We cannot
speak intelligently of the new theories of disease-germs without classifying the
latter as micro-, desmo-, sphcero-, or spiro-bacteria (although here Dr. Koch's
bacillus would probably clamour for admission amongst his Greek brethren).
We cannot use the terminology of the youngest of the sciences. Electricity
(itself a Greek word), without, whether like M. Jourdain we mean it or no,
talking Greek — dynamo, electrode, anode, kathode, rheometer, rheoscope,
telegraph, telephone ; these are pure Greek words, and others are being coined
as we write.
What, then, is the outcome of all this ? Surely that every one who can —
every one, especially, who intends to devote himself to scientific pursuits in any
shape whatsoever — should acquire a knowledge of Greek.
We are all familiar with the pretty quarrel which has been going on between
the advocates of a " classical " and of a " scientific " education. Just imagine
these two, mother and daughter, being set forth as rivals ! Surely their claims
cannot be incompatible. Surely here is a case in which we may say of either
— " This ought ye to do, and not leave the other undone."
(3) Lastly, Greek is worthy of study spiritually. If the language appeals
to us as a most perfect instrument of mind, if it is still an active working
factor in everyday life — we must, nevertheless, say that its highest claim upon
us moderns is the simple fact that in it have been delivered to us the Oracles of
God. Therefore, whilst our first argument urged the study of Greek upon the
fortunate " leisur'd few," and our second applies mainly to the professional
classes, our third comes with force to all who can by any possibility spare the
necessary time from other pursuits.
We shall doubtless here be met by the objection that in our English version
I20 GREEK LANGUAGE
of the New Testament we have a most admirable translation, one which no
individual student can improve upon.
Very probably not. We yield to no one in love of the English New
Testament, which forms not the least part of the intellectual and literary
heritage of English-speaking nations. Doubtless it Will be with the words that
have formed part of himself from his childhood upwards, and not with their
Greek equivalents, on his lips that the most accomplished scholar among us will
fall into the last long sleep. Nevertheless, whilst freely admitting all this, any
one who thinks without prejudice must see that there are certain respects in
which no translation can give a perfect transcript of the original.
§ III— THE PEOPLE
INTRODUCTION
Now that we have familiarised ourselves, so far, with the scenes amidst which
the work of experimenting was to be carried on, let us turn our attention to
the people, the experimenters themselves, and follow their fortunes in those
mountain-homes which they were destined to render more or less famous.
The attempt to do this, however, is beset with difficulty. The very oldest
records of Greece, apart from the records in stone and those silent witnesses
recently unearthed by Dr. Schliemann, are the Homeric Poems. The most
ancient portions of these may possibly reach back to looo B.C. ; but Homer,
even in those oldest lays, represents — not the beginning, but the end, the
culmination of an epoch — the fine flower of a civilisation which presupposes
centuries of development.
What of all the dark silent ages during which this development was slowly
going on ? Are we to pass them over as utterly beyond our ken, and content
ourselves with the historic period as our starting-point ?
Such a course is " safe," but hardly satisfactory. When a man has
achieved greatness in any particular way, we are none of us content to accept
either himself or his greatness simply as they stand before us. We desire to
know hoiD he became great — how he is as he is ; what influences have been at
work ; whether he has been perfected by the sunshine or the storms of life.
Nor is this desire dictated by curiosity alone. Each one amongst us has his
own life-struggle to face. Instinctively, we want to find the key to that which
has enabled our fellow-man to grapple the foe and win the fight. It is
precisely so in regard to a great people— in regard, that is, to a great aggregate
of great souls. We want to know how, why, and under what conditions they
came out victors in the combat with circumstance. Hence, we cannot be
satisfied with any history of a people which takes no account of the period of
growth, of development.
If this consideration is true of nations in general, how much more pressing
does it seem when we come to deal with a nation of experimenters !
" Do not show us results," we say, " show us in progress the trials which
gave the results ! "
If we are to do this, it is quite plain that we cannot start with Homer —
still less with Mr. Grote's " Hellenic aggregate." We must penetrate back-
wards into that dark abyss of time, when there were as yet neither Hellenes
nor Homeric Achseans.
How is the feat to be accomplished ?
The Greeks themselves tried to achieve it. Their written records begin
about 800 years before our own era, but the " facts " which they chronicle go
back to 1500 B.C. As soon as the use of writing became apparent, it was
employed in the service of the great ones of the earth. Lists of princes and
functionaries were drawn up — e.g. genealogical tables of the two royal houses
of Sparta, lists of the priestesses of the temple of Hera on Mount Euboea ; and
as true records of the period in which they took their rise, and perhaps of some
122 THE PEOPLE
two or three generations preceding that period, such registers and tables may
be trusted.
When, however, we proceed to ask whence those old genealogy-mongers
and chroniclers derived their information concerning the centuries before their
time, no answer is forthcoming.
When we find, moreover, that among the ancestors of the kings of Sparta
there figure a sun-god, Perseus, and a sun-hero, Heracles, that the Argive
moon-goddess, lo, is enumerated among the priestesses of Hera, we have found
enough to prevent our pinning our faith to the old Grecian logographers.
Early Greek history was, in fact, either " manufactured " or formed by
" manipulations " fl-om the great body of tradition found existing amongst the
people. It is not, however, to be rejected as wholly valueless. We must
distinguish between the two processes. Certain elements in Greek " history,"
such as the story of the descent of the Spartan kings from Heracles, were
palpably " manufactured " for political purposes, and need deceive no one ;
other elements, such as the tradition of the Doric invasion of Peloponnesus,
are merely poetical versions of historic events, the truth of which there is no
substantial reason to doubt. In regard to the "manufactured" elements, our
course is plain, but when we turn to those which were merely "manipulated," it
is not so clear. How much of the Greek saga-lore which commends itself to
us by its " probability " is to be received as true ? how much rejected as false ?
what is the grain of truth in a tradition? what the accretions which have
gathered round it during the centuries ? — these are questions beset, as we have
said, with difficulty. The gaps which the ancients filled up with manufactured
sagas, we moderns supply by hypotheses, but so little is known of the history
of Greece before 500 B.C., and so conflicting are the various theories by which
modern research has sought to replace the traditions of antiquity, that, as
a recent writer, A. Holm, remarks, it would be easy to make out of these
conflicting theories two entirely different histories of Greece.
What, then, are we to do amidst this diversity of opinion ? Give up the
attempt to follow either side ? Nay, for " beginnings " not only " have charms,"
but are, as we have seen, a necessary basis of investigation. To throw^ away
the whole fabric of Greek saga would be to pour out the child together with
his bath. Our Hellenes must certainly have gone through the stages of infancy
and childhood, and the only means by which we can reach back to this child-
hood are those very sagas and traditions which some would have us contemptu-
ously reject. It is better to build our historic house upon the most reasonable
hypothesis within our reach than to leave it without foundation because we
have no certified "building-stones" of facts.^
There are, however, as we have seen, hypotheses and hypotheses. What
measuring-line or what test shall we apply to them that the structure which
we rear may be as secure as is possible under the circumstances ?
" The accuracy of an hypothesis," says G. Curtius, " may be estimated thus :
Does it afford a good explanation of the facts under consideration ? If this is
not achieved, or if the facts are better explained on some other hypothesis, it
is to be rejected."
Here, then, we have a simple rule. Such hypothesis, such traditions, only
are to be accepted as serve best to explain existing monuments — literary,
artistic, architectural — or supply a root from which the state of affairs known
to have existed in historic times may reasonably have sprung. With this
^ "It is not our fault," says Niese, "that whenever we attempt to penetrate into the oldest
history, we find more material to clear away than building-stones that can be made use of "
( Ueber den Volksstamm der Grdker, Hermes, xii. p. 420).
THE GR^CO- ARYANS 123
measuring-rod in our hands, we may sail safely between the Scylla of scepticism
and the Charybdis of the impossible.
THE GR^CO-ARYANS
The Greeks supposed themselves to be aborigines ; they believed that they
were indigenous to the land. This belief is mirrored in their traditions. The
Arcadians boasted themselves to heproselenoi, " existing-before-the-moon " ; they
had sprung from Pelasgus himself, son of the black Earth. The Argives, again,
claimed descent from Phoroneus, son of the River Inachus and the nymph
Melia, the Ash-tree. The Athenians believed that they too had sprung
directly from Mother Earth, a belief of which they were not a little proud, and
which they expressed by the symbol of the grasshopper.
" Quite recently the old-fashioned refinement of dress still lingered among
the elder men of the richer class, who bound back their hair in a knot with
golden clasps in the form of grasshoppers." — Thuc. I. vi. (Jowett).
Of long wanderings undertaken in the night of time, from an original home
which in the beginning their ancestors had shared in common with the
ancestors of other nations, they had not the faintest suspicion. That these
wanderings actually did take place, however — that the Greeks were originally
a branch of the great Aryan family, the family which includes, not only the
Romans, Celts, Teutons, Lithuanians, and Slavs, but also the Hindus and
Persians — has been proved beyond a doubt by the evidence of languages.^
The site of the original home — the cradle whence these great nations
emerged as clans or tribes — is not (and perhaps never will be) definitely known.
All that we can affirm with tolerable certainty is, that the Grseco-Aryans
entered their new home in the Balkan Peninsula from the north. The
entrance may have been effected in two ways : —
(i) We may imagine with Max Duncker and Victor Hehn that they found
their way down one of the long river-valleys into Epeirus on the north-west of
Greece ; or
(2) With Schrader and Bursian, the geographers, we may make our Grseco-
Aryans halt on the north-east, at the foot of Mount Olympus, where they leave
the Macedonians behind, and penetrate southwards into Thessaly. Both
hypotheses are tenable ; but we prefer the second, which makes Thessaly the
starting-point. In its favour it has two indisputable facts : —
(a) An ethnological — out of Thessaly came ultimately all the strong races
which left their mark on other parts of Greece ; (b) a geographical — from the
nature of the land, Thessaly is admirably adapted to the stage at which the
Aryans are believed to have arrived before the Dispersion — the semi-nomadic
stage. The beginnings of agriculture had, indeed, been made — the precious
seed-corn travelled with the Aryans into Greece ; but for long they would
necessarily be dependent on their cattle for the means of support. Thessaly is
the one district of Greece which answers to all the wants of a semi-nomadic
race.
It has been said that the "careful record of providentially ordered fact" is
really more stimulating to the imagination than any fiction ; and certainly, if
we may bring what we know of the immediate wants of a wandering tribe into
1 See Hellas: the Aryan Family, for an account of the discovery of the relationship
between the sister-languages, and the various theories now held as to the original Aryan people,
the Old Home, the Dispersion, &c.
124 THE PEOPLE
connection with the existence, amid the rugged mountains of Greece, of such a
land as Thessaly, the conjunction is sufficiently striking. Into this land, then,
the Graeco-Aryans penetrated, following, as we must suppose, the Yale of
Tempe, the course of the Peneius, for the great " liquid roads" of Europe were
the guides of the wandering tribes. Leaving their cousins, the Macedonians,
at the northern foot of Olympus, the Greek Aryans would enter, from the
fertile Pierian plain, the narrow glen which forms the bed of the river between
the Wolf's Jaws, the mighty ranges of Olympus and Ossa. Savage cliffs tower
almost perpendicularly above the gorge on either side — now "contracted by some
giant pressure," approaching so closely as barely to leave room for the current
of the river — now opening out on either hand into green glades. The gorge
widens ; the Peneius encircles little islets in its course ; its banks are clothed
with noble trees, the denseness of their verdure almost excluding the rays of
the sun ; the air is melodious with the singing of the birds and fragrant with
the perfume of the humble aromatic plants which clothe the rocks. Finally,
after a march of some four and a half miles, the wanderers emerge from the
Wolf's Jaws to find themselves in the sunny Thessalian Plain.
A motley crew they are — men, women, and children, clad in their rough
sheep- and goat-skins and their shapeless coats of felt, bringing with them all
of living interest that they possess — their flocks and herds together with their
creaking waggon-houses, their scanty store of goods and chattels, and, what
they value more, their most precious treasure — the sacred ashes of the dead.^
Not a very brilliant picture, you will say, of the ancestors of the great and
polished Greek people. No ; but a true one, so far as present evidence goes.
We have no right to postulate for our Grseco-Aryans the possession of a higher
degree of material civilisation than that which is displayed before our eyes in
the prehistoric lake-dwellings of Switzerland. Whether the inhabitants of the
lake-dwellings were Aryans or not, is a question which will probably never be
fully answered ; ^ but their degree of civilisation corresponds marvellously to
that which language demands for the primitive Aryans. Like the lake-
dwellers, the Grseco-Aryan belonged to the later Stone Age — the period in
which metal is just beginning to be worked. They were acquainted with one
metal, probably copper ; but as they had apparently no tin, we must abstain
from picturing our Aryan warriors as clad in flashing bronze like their
descendants of the Homeric age.
^ The custom of disposing of the dead by incineration (or, as we now call it, " cremation ")
must have arisen, as Jacob Grimm long ago pointed out {Abh. dei- Berlin Ahad., 1849, Ueher das
Verhrennen der Leichen), amongst a nomadic people, anxious to carry with them the remains
of their dead. It prevailed among nearly all the Aryan races, associated with ceremonies
which point to a common origin. Probably, however, the practice of inhumation existed side
by side with that of burning, the latter being the mode adopted by those whose means and
position allowed it. That burning finally prevailed among the Hindus is probably due to the
growth of religious ideas — especially of fire as a purifier. As fire transformed the offering of
the worshipper, in order that, in another shape, it might ascend, to heaven, so in like manner,
it disengaged the soul from its material habitation and transported it to its new home. Thus
the deity of fire, Agni, was invoked to surround with his light and glow the soul of the
departed, and to carry it gently to its forefathers in the abodes of the blessed. These religious
ideas, however, are not found among the Greeks ; the burning of the dead had its origin with
them apparently in affection ; for, judging from the " pit-graves " at Mycenae, the practice seems
to have been discontinued when they were settled in their new home. That we find burning
revived again in Homer is, doubtless, to be explained on the same ground — the giving up of
their homes by the emigrants from the mother country. Urns containing the ashes of the dead
are easily transported {cf. Helbig, Das Homerische Epos aus den Denhnalern erldutert, 2te
Aui, p. 67.
2 Helbig considers that the lake-dwellings in the Plain of the Po were the most ancient
settlements of the Italian Aryans. See the excellent chapter on the subject in Schrader's
Prehist. Antiq.
THE GR^CO- ARYANS 125
That their chief wealth lay, as stated above, in their flocks and herds, is a
fact abundantly proved by the allied Aryan tongues, and, indeed, the relics of
a purely pastoral stage in their existence are preserved in the language and
customs of the Greeks themselves, as we shall presently see.
The domestic animals which accompanied the Aryans into Greece were not
only the cow (most valued of all) but the sheep and goat, and also the pig,
which was probably the last to be domesticated, since to rear it requires a
settled life. How important this animal has become even in prehistoric times
is evident from the allusions in the Odyssey, where the herds of swine under
the care of the worthy thrall, Eumaeus, appear as forming no inconsiderable
part of the chieftain's wealth.
Neither the sturdy mule nor the patient ass can figure in our present
picture, however ; for they were not known in prehistoric times, although in
Homer the mule is already the beast of burthen and the ass is mentioned once.
The lumbering waggons of the tribe must have been drawn by oxen, for the
horse, although known, was probably not yet tamed.
The dog was a faithful comrade then as now. So also, in one sense, was
the mouse, for it puts in an appearance with every branch of Aryan descent,
though its common name {mush, '' to steal ") betokens it faithless from the
beginning, and princely times it must have had with our forefathers, for the
cat is conspicuous by her absence.^
So much for the living creatures that had accompanied our Grseco- Aryan in
his long and dreary marches through steppe and forest, over the mountain
passes and across the streams that lay in his route.
Turning now from the animal to the master, from the tamed to the tamer,
we must premise that if we allow ourselves to form our estimate of the Aryans
merely from the degree of material culture arrived at by them, we shall make
a great mistake. The discovery of the metals may, or may not, be "accidental";
but there is another standard whereby a primitive people can be tried, a
standard from which the fortuitous element, the element of " accident," is
eliminated, and that standard is — their language.
Judged by this criterion, the primitive Aryan people, the ancestors of the
English as of the Greeks, must take very high rank indeed. They had
developed a language which at the present day, at the distance of thousands
of years, is by the regularity of its construction and the richness of its form,
the "very joy of the grammarian's heart." To develop such-a language requires,
in its own period of the world's history, intellectual power and mental discipline
fully as much as does the development in later ages of a literature.
Let us not think, therefore, that because our Greek Aryan comes before us
armed with an axe of stone instead of one of iron, that we are face to face with
a savage. Far from that ! we are dealing with a race of the highest mental
ability ; therefore, with a race that has made the most of every opportunity
that has come in its way. The Aryans have dwelt together for at least one
thousand years, and during this period they have not only built up this
wondrously-inflected language, but they have made beginnings in various arts
which only require the application of better methods to show a like wondrous
development.
■■^ The cat, of all d(>mestic animals, was the last to appear in Europe (about a.d. 150 in Italy :
Hehn), although in Egypt its domestication (and worship as sacred) goes back to high antiquity.
Until its arrival the mouse, which, as stated, undoubtedly accompanied and plagued the
Aryans, must have revelled in granary and storehouse. What a pest this little creature was
in the fields (although here it was kept in check by weasel and marten) is shown by the
appellation given to Apollo in Asia Minor and Rhodes — Smintheus = the god who protects the
fields from the plague of mice.
126 THE PEOPLE
By the aid of fire and his stone-axe, the Graeco-Aryan contrived to fell the
huge trees of the primeval forest, to hollow out of the gigantic trunk his canoe
or monoxylon ^ and to obtain timber for the construction of his plough, his
waggon, and his hut. The last was probably made of loam or of wicker-work, as
often as of timber, circular in shape (like the round tent of the wanderings,
which perhaps served as a model), and furnished with a door, though not with
a window. The hearth was probably in the middle of the room, and the smoke
escaped as best it could by the door or an opening in the roof, for chimney
there was none. While the foregoing describes the dwelling of the common
man, it is probable that, even in the primeval Aryan period, the chief and
principal men of the tribe had more spacious abodes, block houses, provided
with an entrance hall in front.
That a very much more primitive dwelling was also used in early times is,
however, proved by certain terms which have come down to us in Greek, and
which designate a "hole" or subterranean abode. The mode of constructing
these habitations has been described for us by Yitruvius as follows : — Over
an excavated hill of earth, posts were set up in conical form (tent fashion) and
fastened together at the top. These posts were then covered with reeds and
brushwood, and finally the greatest weight of earth which the structure would
bear was piled upon it. The entrance was made by cutting in a passage from
below, or by means of a ladder from above. These artificially -built underground
dwellings were used in historic times by several Aryan races, Phrygians and
Armenians, and they may be seen at the present day, not only in the districts
inhabited by these peoples, but also in the South Russian steppes — that region
which, according to the latest theories, formed the halting-place of the
European Aryans after the Dispersion. Possibly we shall not be wrong in
concluding that this was the first kind of dwelling used by the Greek after he
abandoned his waggon-house and nomad life ; and its curious form is perpetuated
before our eyes to this day in the so-called "bee-hive tombs" of Mycenae.
One of the Greek names (referred to above) for these dwellings, plioleoi —
folio, "hiding-place," shows for what purpose they may have been designed.
Safe they certainly were, whether the enemy came in human guise, or as a
beast of prey, but dismal to the last degree they must have been. Imagine a
prehistoric family sitting in the long winter evenings round their hearth in an
underground hole of this kind, dimly lit up by a pinewood torch flaring through
the circling smoke, which eddies around vainly seeking an exit, whilst the
howling of the wolves overhead makes a cheerful accompaniment to the
crackling of the logs. Yet, we take it, our prehistoric prisoners would roast
their acorns right merrily, and beguile the weary time with the myths and
legends and the songs that had travelled with them from the old home. Better
to be thus snugly ensconced in the bosom of Earth than to be crunched between
the teeth of the devourer.
Such habitations, although, as we imagine, only resorted to later in necessity
by our Greeks, must have been common enough in the earliest times. We can
realise the joy with which their inhabitants would welcome the return of
summer. No sooner has Mother Earth donned her mantle of green than they
too come above ground with the flowers. They are off to the forest ; the
summer hut of branches and basket-work is soon put together ; and good-bye
for a time to fear and gloom ! The picture is homely ; nevertheless, it lies at
the root of many an old legend that has floated down to us, and may, therefore,
find its place here.
^ Such craft, hollowed out of a single tree, are mentioned by Arrian as used on the Danube
{de Expe. Alex., i. 3). They held as many as thirty men.
THE GR^CO- ARYANS 127
As to the garb of our Aryans, it need not surprise us that they preferred
a dress of hides. In those days leather formed the best, and indeed the only,
panoply against the arrows of the enemy or the tusks of the boar ; and, as we
know, sheep-skins continued to be worn in the historic period, not only by
slaves, but generally amongst such peoples as the Western lonians and the
Arcadians. We say the Aryan sensibly preferred his leathern attire, for he
probably had a choice of material, since felt was made, and sewing, together
with spinning and weaving in j9.ax and wool, were practised. What degree of
proficiency had been attained in these arts, however, it is impossible to say.
Coverings for both head and feet were known, and all sorts of ornaments
are supposed to have been in demand, chiefly, as we may imagine, those made
of the precious copper for the women, whilst the tusks of the wild boar in grand
array would adorn the head-gear of the heroes.
As to the intellectual attainments of the Aryans — they had worked out the
conception of the lunar year ; they measured time not by the sun but by the
moon, 7nd = th.e measurer, "the golden hand on the dark dial of heaven." Thus,
they naturally reckoned by nights, not by days, a method which still survives
in our own " fortnight," " se'nnight." In all this the Aryans lag far behind the
Babylonians. In the original home, they had probably neither the clear sky
nor the expanse of plain that favoured the observations of the Ohaldaeans.
They had, however, given names to some of the stars ; and they had developed
numeration to 1000, a fact which, irrespective of any other consideration,
places a great gulf between them and the savage whose reckoning powers do
not carry him beyond his five digits. No word was coined in antiquity, any
more than now, until it was actually wanted to express a new idea. Hence,
that the Aryans possessed the word shows that they also possessed some object
on a grand scale, cattle or warriors as the case may have been, whose numbers
were systematically taken. Let us note, also, that only the Greeks, Persians,
and Hindus preserved this numeral. The other nations, whose wanderings
were, perhaps, longer, and sufferings on the way more severe, probably lost
both the idea and the name, for their highest numeral is 100.
The social- relations, political institutions, and religious conceptions of the
Aryans are all subjects of deep interest ; but they will be best treated separately,
in future chapters in connection with the Greek national development in
matters social, political, and religious. We shall only say here, therefore, that
(i) the idea of the Family, as the basis of Society and of the State, was
established ; that (2) the political organisation was most probably still the Clan
or union of families connected by the tie of blood, although there is also the
probability that several such clans may have amalgamated and jointly chosen
a king, a man of light, to be their leader during the migrations ; (3) and finally,
that they worshipped the God of the bright heavens, whom they called upon as
Dydus-pitd, " Heaven-father."
Many and most ingenious attempts have been made to fathom the character
of this old Aryan race by tracing the root-ideas that lie at the base of the words
which they coined. In this way, for instance, many gentle and tender meanings
have been assigned to the names expressive of relationship, names which run
through all (or well-nigh all) the sister-languages. Thus, the father is the
"protector," the mother the "orderer" or "manager" of the household; the
brother is "he who supports " (the sister) ; the sister " she who dwells with "
(the brother) ; the daughter is the little " milkmaid," and so on. Such etymo-
logies throw a beautiful radiance over the darkness of prehistoric night ; but
there is an uncertainty about them which prevents our using them as solid
foundation. The names for " mother," e.g., may simply be elaborations of
128 THE PEOPLE
the ma-ma which comes naturally to the lips of every babe throughout the
world.
An indication of Aryan character far surer than can be gained from isolated
words lies before us in the structure of the language itself, that language which
forms the basis of the noble languages of antiquity, Greek, Latin, Sanscrit.
From it, without risk of exaggeration or error, we can deduce at least three
grand characteristics: (i) An innate love of order — this is shown by the
regularity of construction ; (2) an innate sense of reasonableness of "the fitness
of things," proved by the mode of word-building ; here " essentials first" seems
to have been the motto ; (3) an innate sense of harmony and rhythm, welding
diverse elements into one beautiful whole.
Love of order, reasonableness, perception of the beautiful, these qualities
and the strength which wielded them, we may unhesitatingly 'ascribe to our
ancestors, the primitive Aryans. *
THE PELASGIAN AGE
Through the beautiful Vale of Tempe, then, following the course of the
Peneius, as we have supposed, wandered our pioneer tribe into the Great Plain
— to be followed, probably at no great interval of time, by yet other tribes.
Unopposed we can hardly imagine their settlement to have been ; for the
Balkan, like the Italian, peninsula, was in all probability already sparsely
inhabited — perhaps by Turanian races. If this assumption is correct,^ it
follows that those already in possession would not yield without a struggle.
Equally certain is it, that a semi-nomadic people like the Aryan would not be
easily deterred from pitching their tents — or, rather, setting up their waggon-
houses — in the rich Thessalian Plain. Olympus itself, by its soaring height —
its inaccessible mysterious summits lost in the clouds — may have recalled to
their minds the sacred mountain of Aryan tradition, and thus served as a sort
of " sign " or token that this was to be their resting-place.
However this may have been, at its great foot they encamped, and a
" sacred mountain," we know, at least, it afterwards became to' them. Here
they planted the worship of the Heaven-Father, Dyaiis-pitS, = Zeus pater, as the
name of an ancient city, Dion, shows ; and here (somewhere in that part of the
Great Plain afterwards known as Pelasgiotis) it is surmised that the first
Dodona may have been founded — the Dodona of the Pelasgian Zeus whom
Achilles invokes in the Iliad ; the Dodona which was fated to vanish before its
more famous ^?m/e, the daughter-institution of Epeirus and of history. 2
^ On this question, great diversity of opinion prevails. For a resume of the arguments, see
Hellas : Dispersion of the Aryans, p. 51.
^ The existence of this Thessalian Dodona is denied by Unger {Philologus, Bd. xx., 1863, p.
577, ff.), followed by Duncker and Busolt. It is, however, affirmed by the Homeric interpreters
of antiquity, and among modern writers by O. Miiller, Bergk, Welcker, and Bursian.
The chief proof of its existence occurs in the often-quoted passage [It., ii. 748 ff.) from the
" Catalogue of the Ships," a document generally supposed to have been interpolated in the
Second Book of the Iliad, circ. 750-600 B.C. (though probably composed earlier), but neverthe-
less a sort of Domesday Book in its way and the earliest account we have of the Greeks. Hence
it is argued that the Iliad knows only the Dodona of Thessaly, the Odyssey only that of
Epeirus. The matter is not of much consequence, it can never be conclusively proved either one
way or the other, and need not detain us here ; but we may point out (as an evidence that the
old poet of the Ships' Catalogue knew the locality), the curious fact that the phenomenon which
he describes in the verses referred to, viz., the reluctance of the Titaresius to mingle its waters
with those of the Peneius, has also been observed by modern travellers (Leake, Northern Greece,
iv., p. 291 ; Dodwell, Class, and Topograph. Tour, ii, p. no). It is due to the greater weight
of light-coloured " silvery " earth, which the Peneius holds in suspension, and over which the
clear Titaresius still " flows on, like unto oil."
THE PELASGIAN AGE 129
In the grassy, well-watered, hill-girdled Plain of Thessaly, then, the Aryans
settled down, and began the process of developing into Greeks. Their flocks
and herds supplied them with milk and flesh, wool and skins for clothing,
leather for harness and for the inside lining of their canoes. The forests
offered in abundance timber for the said canoes and for dwellings ; ash for the
spear, and yew for the bow of the warrior ; fir-wood for torches and fuel ; wild
fruits for man ; acorns for man and beast. The wild bees gave honey for the
dainties of great occasions and the preparation of the mead that heightened the
joy of the feast. The earth gave clay for the potter ; and when invited to do
so, yielded an abundant harvest of whatever was entrusted to her care — wheat,
barley, or pulse.
We cannot think, however, that the invitation would at first be given
pressingly. It was not the rich land of Thessaly that made the grand advances
in agriculture — still less in horticulture ! Such advances were left to the
peoples who saw no alternative between hard manual labour and starvation —
to tribes, e.g.^ such as those that wandered further south into a country like
Attica. So long as the Thessalian could obtain what he needed by scratching
the ground with his primitive plough, so long would he turn his attention to
more congenial pursuits. Nor need we attribute this altogether to laziness,
for in other directions the first settlers certainly had their work before them.
Portions of the Great Plain as well as the mountain- sides would doubtless be
still covered by the dense forests of evergreen oak and fir which formed the
primeval vegetation of the land. These forests and the mountain caves were
haunted by wolves, bears, and boars, from whose attacks neither man nor
beast was safe. Herds of wild cattle roamed over the hills. Fierce these
creatures must have been, for the taming of the unwearied mountain-bull
figures by the side of other doughty deeds in that catalogue of the great
achievements of man rehearsed by Sophocles in the Antigone : —
" He masters by his arts the beast whose lair is in the wilds, who roams the
hills ; he tames the horse of shaggy mane, he puts the yoke upon its neck ; he
tames the tireless mountain-bull."
The grassy pastures of Thessaly were admirably adapted for the rearing
of horses, and from first to last horse-breeding and bull-hunting were the
favourite occupations of the inhabitants of the Great Plain. ^ It is, therefore,
as hunters and herdsmen — a little later as horse-tamers — rather than as tillers
of the soil, that we must think of these early Greeks.
" Greeks," however, was not the name by which the numerous clans and
tribes of the Plain were known. Even so late as Homer, there is no collective
designation for them. The Hellenes themselves in after times were wont to
speak of the pre-Hellenic epoch as the Pelasgian, but the Pelasgi were only
one tribe out of many. The tribe to which the appellation " Pelasgi " belongs
of right seems to have settled (if we may judge from the fact that its name
clung to the district) in the north-east of the Plain, on the lower course of the
Peneius, by the lakes Nessonis and Boebeis. The names Argos, " plain," and
Larissa, or (as it is spelt on Thessalian coins) Larisa, " fortress," are supposed to
be indications of Pelasgic settlements. Strabo, the old geographer, enumerates
no fewer than four Thessalian Larissas ; the most famous of which, Larissa on
the Peneius, exists as a flourishing city to this day — a proof of the inexhaustible
vitality of certain places.
The Pelasgi, however, were not confined to Thessaly ; we trace them in the
plain of Argos in Peloponnesus, where they founded another Larissa ; in
^ Thessalian coins bear as a device a horse, or a rider with a spear ; later coins have a horse
and a bull-tamer.
« ^ I
130 THE PEOPLE
Arcadia, in Boeotia, and in Attica. Let us, however, bear in mind that the
old writers sometimes use the term " Pelasgic " when they simply mean
" pre-Hellenic." The name " Pelasgian " must be held to denote, generally,
the first stage of culture in Greece — the ages which witnessed the first
advances in agriculture, and the first attempts to defend those settlements.
To return now to the Great Plain, we find dwelling in it, or on its mountain-
boundaries, all the strong races (with one exception) that afterwards appear in
history. The exception is presented by the lonians, who are conspicuous by
their absence. The only reasonable hypothesis on which this can be explained
is, that the lonians were late-comers, who found the Great Plain already
occupied and so passed on at once to the south, where we shall meet with them
presently. In the Plain and on its mountains, in addition to the ubiquitous
Pelasgi and minor tribes (such as the Perrhsebians, ^nianes, Hestiaeans,
Magnetes, and the half -mythic Lapithse) dwelt five peoples, who, one and all,
worked out experiments worth recording. These were the Minyse, Achseans,
Arnseans (afterwards known as Boeotians), Dorians, and Hellenes. Two of
these peoples, the Achseans and the Hellenes, were destined, as we shall see, to
give their names to successive stages in the national development. At present,
however, they are, so far as we know, in no way distinguished from the sister-
tribes around.
In the sunny plains of Thessaly, then, and among its strong young races,
grew up the first civilisation : the first attempts at agriculture, at a settled
life, at city-building, at self-defence, at navigation ; the first beginnings of
chivalry ; the first experiments in friendly political union (the Amphictyony,
or League of Neighbours, which will engage our attention later on) ; finally
the first developments in Religion and its handmaids. Poetry and Music, all
associated with the hoary guardian of the land — Olympus.
THE TRIBES OF THE WEST
We have said that Thessaly brought forth many tribes which made experi-
ments grand and worth recording.
It is a strange fact, however, that a tribe which, apparently, made no experi-
ments and whose very existence has been doubted, is that which has stamped
its obscure name on the experiments of all the rest. Talk of the irony of fate !
Why should we speak of the experiments of the Greeks, when in reality we
know nothing about the Greeks, Grseci, or Graikoi, except their harsh-sounding,
creaking name, which has had the audacity to over-ride throughout Europe the
beautiful name that belongs to, or was chosen by, the race — the name of
Hellenes, " Children of Light" ?
Unmelodious as is the word " Graikoi," however, its meaning is not at all
unpicturesque, if, with Bursian, we may consider it as an honourable title,
signifying "the Old Folk." This is a designation evidently synonymous with
Pelasgi. How comes it that the Grseci acquired the name, and contrived to
extend it for all time to all Hellenes ?
Bearing in mind that we are journeying in the region of conjectures, the
answer would seem to be that the Grseci did, after all, make an experiment and
a hazardous one. They may have been the first Aryan tribe to push on to the
west and cross the great range of the Pindus, the "backbone" of Northern
Greece.
Let us follow in the track of these ancient wanderers, shadowy though they
be. Probably, following their guide, the Peneius, up to its sources, the start
THE TRIBES OF THE WEST 131
would be made from the north-west corner of the great Thessalian Plain, near
the angle where the western wall of Thessaly joins the northern, enclosing
a grassy space whence rise those huge and most extraordinary rocks of the
Meteora, springing from the earth like vast, sheer, perpendicular columns to a
height of nearly 1000 feet. Entering, then, by the natural gates of ^ginium .
(Stagiis), a cleft in the stupendous mountain wall, they would cross Mount
Lacmon by the wild Pass of Metzovo (Zygos, "the yoke"), 5063 feet above the sea-
level — in all ages one of the most important routes of Northern Greece ; that
by which Caesar entered Thessaly before the great battle that made him master
of the world. The mountain across which it leads (Lacmon) is also one of the
most remarkable in Greece : from it radiate, as from a centre, to north and
south, east and west, the mighty ranges of the land ; from it flow five great
rivers. 1 The Pass itself, even in our day, like that other great Pass of
Langada in the south which we lately crossed (p. 69), tries the nerve of the
traveller. The winds blow in keen piercing blasts, and so deep are the snows
that they sometimes bury the stems of lofty trees.
This region of terror passed, a few days' journeying would bring the
wanderers to a spot which might well repay all the difficulties of the undertaking.
Before them they would see a smiling landscape, the very "kernel and heart
of Epeirus," a smooth stretch of green meadowland, the Hellopia of Hesiod,
surrounding a beautiful lake, the Pambotis (the Nourisher) of ancient times,
Jodnnina of our day. Yery lovely the whole scene is, in the eyes of the modern
traveller, with the silvery peaks of Pindus glittering in the distance. And
very promising it must have appeared in the eyes of these men of old, for here,
it would seem, they pitched their tents. Here, at least, the oldest Pelasgo-
Hellenic settlement in Epeirus was founded. Here, then, our shadowy journey,
with a people who are nothing but a name, has brought us at last to firm
ground. Whether the Graeci were, or were not, the adventurous pioneers
among the "Pelasgi" who crossed the Pindus and found out Hellopia; whether
the Helli (or Selli), the prophets of Zeus, who served the god at Dodona, as
Homer tells us, with unwashen feet couched upon the ground, whether or not
these journeyed with the Grseci and founded the new Dodona, no mortal man
can say. All that we can claim for our hypothesis is, that it serves to explain
the origin of the name Grseci. If the Graeci were the first of the Aryan tribes
to enter Epeirus, they would be looked upon as the old people by the tribes
that followed, and would be fairly entitled to the renown that came to be
attached to the name. For Dodona is accessible from the sea-coast, and hence it
was, as is supposed, that when the fame of the oracle spread the Grseci were the
first tribe with whom visitors from Italy and the west would come in contact.
Hence it was, again, as we can easily see, that the name Gragci eventually
came to be applied popularly throughout the west of Europe to the whole of
the Hellenic tribes. ^ Hence it is also that, to this day, we English folk are
very familiar with the Greeks, and not at all at home with the Hellenes.
^ North and south from Mount Lacmon runs the Pindus-chain ; on the east its arms are the
Cambunian mountains and Olympus ; on the west the mountains of Epeirus ending in Acro-
ceraunia. From it flows to the north-west through Epeirus and Illyria the Aous ; to the north-
west through Macedonia, the Haliacmon ; to the east, through Thessaly, the Peneius ; to the
south through Epeirus the Arachthus ; and through middle Greece into the Ionian Sea, the king
of Hellenic rivers, the noble Achelous.
2 The term Graikoi is found first in literature in Aristotle {Meteor., i. 14, 22), as the oldest
name for the people afterwards called Hellenes, and it is accordingly used by the learned Alex-
andrian writers as synonymous with Hellenes. . . . From the universal adoption of the name
amongst the Romans, however, we must assume that it reached them first, not in a literary way,
but through ancient intercourse between the peoples from the mouth of the Greek tribe itself
(Bursian,' Geog. von Griechenland, i. p. 2, note (i) ).
132
THE PEOPLE
So much for the Thessalian hypothesis. As we hinted, however (p. 123),
there is also another, which makes the Aryans arrive first at Dodona in
Epeirus, and thence spread to Thessaly and the east. This hypothesis has for its
main support the statement of Aristotle that the most ancient Hellas lay about
Dodona, and that there dwelt the Selli (or Helli) and the people then called
Grseci, but afterwards Hellenes. Aristotle's authority is weighty, but as Niese
has recently pointed out, in his assertion that the "most ancient" Hellas lay
about Dodona, Aristotle is opposed by every writer of antiquity with the single
exception of Plutarch ; and there is nothing to show that the philosopher was
in possession of evidence not known to his countrymen. The record known
as the Parian marble also places the oldest Hellas with the Grseci in Thessaly.
There is, moreover, another curious fact to be considered in this connection,
viz., that the ancients did not reckon Epeirus as part of Hellas at all. The
Epeirotes were ranked as "barbarians" by the Hellenes generally. Herodotus,
indeed, includes them amongst the Hellenic peoples, and calls the Dodonseans
expressly Hellenes ; but this was probably on account of the sanctuary of the
national god in their midst. Be this as it may, in the savage nature of the
western coasts of Greece, we find that factor to which we have several times
alluded (pp. 10, 13), the barrier which kept the Hellenes from becoming
barbarised. It was no barrier to be despised. The only good harbours in
Western Greece are those offered by the Gulfs of Ambracia and Corinth. The
remainder of the coast is rock-bound. Not only to primitive shepherds of the
earliest days did it present an obstacle, but to danger-inured soldiers in
very much later times. It was off this coast that Caesar was caught in a storm
whilst making his way, disguised as a slave, in an open boat to join his army
in Italy and investigate for himself the cause of Mark Antony's delays. Here,
amidst the crashing thunder and the lightning-flashes that lit up the yawning
waves threatening to engulf on one side, and the pitiless crags that repulsed
them on the other, he reassured the terror-stricken pilot with the prophetic
"Fear not! thou bearest the fortunes of Caesar!" So wild and tempestuous was
the sea, however, that Caesar himself was obliged to turn back.
To come back, however, to the old theme. If the Aryans arrived first in
Epeirus, the same route would probably be theirs also. Possibly, in thinking
of these first Aryan in-wanderers, we should be right in adding to the horrors of
physical and of brute nature — for the country was infested with wild beasts —
contests with still more formidable human nature. If any aboriginal tribes
inhabited the land, they would be then what the dwellers in Epeirus have
always been — what they are in our own day — a fierce and wild race.
Speaking generally of the tribes inhabiting the whole western side of
Northern Greece, Ozolian Locris, Acarnania, ^tolia, Epeirus, the fact remains
that they lagged far behind the rest of Hellas in civilisation. Thucydides
speaks of the Acarnanians and ^tolians of his own age — the age of Pericles,
of Sophocles, of the building of the Parthenon — as given to acts of piracy ; and
of the Eurytanes, the chief tribe amongst the ^tolians, he says that they
spoke a quite unintelligible language, and (so the report ran) ate raw flesh.
In our own day M. Heuzey describes the inhabitants of these forest-clad
mountain-lands as faithfully preserving the old characteristics : " The last
Klephts (brigands)," he says, " will be found amongst them."
The acquaintance with the landscape of Epeirus thus enables us to under-
stand three points — Firstly : the character of the natural boundaries which
acted as barriers between Hellenism and Barbarism, and kept the Hellenes
true to their work.
Secondly : how it was that, even so late as the eighteenth century. Gibbon
THE TRIBES OF THE EAST 133
»
could write of Albania (Epeirus) as "a country within sight of Italy, less known
than the interior of America."
Thirdly : why, as stated above, Epeirus should have remained a terra
incognita to the rest of Hellas, and why, in spite of the presence of " sacred
Dodona " in their midst, the Epeirotes themselves were not admitted into the
Hellenic brotherhood. Dodona to the Hellenes was but a colony in a barbarous
land, and so it remained for ages, protected by its sacred character, a solitary
outpost of Hellenic civilisation in the north, as Ambracia (a colony of the
Corinthians) was in the south.
We have now put before the reader the two hypotheses held regarding the
earliest settlement of the Grseco- Aryans, and must leave him to apply for him-
self the measuring-rule wherewith we provided ourselves at the outset.
We shall not have much occasion to revisit the west. Rugged Epeirus, as
well as deep-soiled Thessaly, was a ''nurse of men." In historic times no fewer
than fourteen independent tribes inhabited the narrow valleys lying between
the hill-ranges which traverse the land throughout, running from north-west to
south-east. But the sons of Epeirus had no share in the making of Hellas.
Shut up in their valleys and debarred from much communication with other
lands, the civilising process went on but slowly among them, and when they
came to the front at last, Hellas had both been " made " intellectually, and
" unmade " politically.
Let us, therefore, turn our backs, with the wiser Aryans, upon barbarism
and non-possibility of progress, and retrace our steps to those clans whose
mission it was to develop both upwardly towards a higher culture and outwardly
in spreading that culture.
THE TRIBES OF THE EAST
Returning now by the gloomy Pass of Metzovo, emerging by the gate of
JEginium, and crossing the Great Plain, we fin.d ourselves once more at the
north-eastern corner of Thessaly, where Olympus stands sentinel. Here in
the earliest times dwelt two Aryan races, neighbours, but separated by the
giant mountain. At its northern foot had settled the Macedonians, or Long
Folk ; at its southern, the Minyse, or Little Folk, Between them, on the
north-eastern slopes of Olympus, dwelt the Pierian Thracians, or Mountain
Folk, of whom we shall learn more presently.
Why the Macedonians should have been called the " Long" Folk, whether
the epithet grew out from the length of their stature or not, we cannot say.
Certain it is that it proved suitable to them in various ways : they took a very
long time, as compared with the Hellenes, to develop politically ; they then
showed themselves what is often called "long-headed" or " long-sighted " in
their policy, i.e., they were astute enough to foment to their own advantage
the quarrels among the shorter-sighted Hellenic States ; finally, they stretched
forth that " long " arm by which they contrived to grasp the whole of Hellas
for themselves. Nevertheless, selfish as was the policy of the Macedonians,
there came from among them one ordained to be an experimenter on the
grandest scale, and for his sake, the sake of what was accomplished by
Alexander the Great, we must admit that the Macedonians as well as the
Hellenes had their place in the world's work, although their work began when
that of the Hellenes had well-nigh ended. Many centuries, however, have to
pass before the fruits of the tree which the Hellenes planted are ripe for the
dispersion of Alexander.
134 THE PEOPLE
THE MINY^E
Foremost among the earliest of these planters — the earliest experimenters
— were the neighbours of the Long Folk, the Minyse, or Little Folk, to whose
presence in the very north of Thessaly, as well as further south, two cities on
the borders of Macedonia, Orchomenus, and Minya (called in earlier days Halmon
or Salmon) still bore witness in historic times.
Small the Minyse may have been in numbers or in stature, but small in
energy or in mother-wit they certainly were not. , The conies, we are told, are
but a feeble folk, and yet they are exceeding wise. And the Little Folk of
Hellas, despised as they doubtless were by their mightier brethren, yet out-
stripped them all in the race. As R. O. Miiller says : " Of all the Greek
peoples, it is the Minyse who first attract our attention and that by their
strength and by a certain greatness (grandeur, Grossartigkeit) in their political
development." In this opinion we entirely concur ; but let us first note, as an
instance of the diverse modes of treating the earliest Gi'eek history to which
we have already referred (p. J 22), that whilst R. O. Miiller devotes a whole
volume to the Minyse, Max Duncker honours them by incidental notice only,
although he too concedes that they were a "noble race." As such they may
serve as a type of the earliest Greek development, the way in which the colonis-
ing of Greece from the Great Plain may have been carried out, and the rise
and spread of the sagas.
Bearing in mind, then, that we are still only pursuing our chain of
conjectures and taking with us our former measuring-staff, let us follow in the
track of the Little Folk, or rather in the wake of their canoes, for the Minyse
were, apparently, the first sailors of Hellas.
In the south-east of Thessaly lies a beautiful gulf, so completely land-locked
that, but for a narrow opening to the sea, it would be an inland lake. The
gulf is formed on this wise : Down the eastern side of Thessaly, and forming-
one of its mountain-walls, runs a great mountain-chain, beginning in the
north with the conical-peaked . Ossa, and ending in the south — so far as the
mainland is concerned — with the flatter-topped Pelion. The chain, however,
does not really end here ; it continues its course southward down the rugged
peninsula of Magnesia, acting like a great breakwater between the outer
^gsean Sea and that part of it which separates Magnesia from the mainland.
Then suddenly halting at Cape Sepias, and turning at right angles to its axis,
the Pelion-chain throws out a long projection to the west with a narrow isthmus
and broken outline. This projection, serving as a southern boundary and break-
water to the basin enclosed, does not extend completely to the mainland, but
leaves the narrow entrance mentioned, by which the "lake" is converted into
a " gulf," and communication with the sea is ensured.
Here, then, in the Pagassean Gulf (now Gulf of Volo) we have a great
natural basin, enclosed on all sides, and protected by two natural breakwaters,
from the storms of the open sea — fierce enough at times, witness the destruc-
tion of Xerxes' fleet off the outer side of the great breakwater, at Cape Sepias
— and yet provided with an outlet by which the open sea may be gained when
desired. Can we imagine any position better fitted to be the cradle of a
maritime race ?
To find the beginnings of Greek seamanship associated with the Pagassean
Gulf is, indeed, just what we might expect, and from the Pagassean Gulf it
was, according to the tradition, that the first ship was launched — the Argo—
and the first voyage made — the voyage of the Argonauts. With the object of
that mythical voyage, the quest of the Golden Fleece, we have here nothing to
THE MINY^
135
do. All that concerns us now is, the purposefulness of the gulf as an
experimental school of seamanship, and the purposeful character of the race
that dwelt on its shores as well as on the borders of Macedon — the Minyee.
The headquarters of the Thessalian Minyse were at lolcus, a city which lay
below Pelion on the northern shores of the gulf, where it runs up far into the
land towards the fertile Dotion Plain. Pelion itself, " quivering with foliage,"
is a common centre for the sagas, not only of the Minyse, but of the Achseans
and other people dwelling around. On its summit we find planted again the
worship of Zeus. To the Temple of Zeus Akraios (the god of the mountain-
tops), on the highest peak of Pelion, the noble youths of Demetrias (the city
that succeeded lolcus) were wont in historic times, to ascend with the priests in
solemn procession once a year, at the time of the rising of the dog-star {i.e. the
beginning of the hottest season), clad in fleecy sheep-skins, fresh and shaggy,
emblematic of the blessings of the dew and fertility which they went to beg
from the god.
Near the temple was the cave wherein dwelt the wise Cheiron, the
centaur of the cunning hand, the skilled chirurgeon, the instructor of Achilles,
the hero of the Achseans, and of lason, the hero of the Minyse. In reality, a
grotto, the entrance to which is now blocked by a fallen rock, does exist some
30 feet below the highest peak. Hard by the site of the ancient city of lolcus
still flows that mountain -torrent, the Anaurus, by whose banks, once upon a
time, when the stream was swollen with the snows of Pelion, sat Hera, queen
of Olympus, in the guise of a helpless old woman, to test the good-heartedness
of lason by asking him to help her over. Across the foaming torrent lason
carries his burden, loses his sandal in the stream, and then goes on his way — a
glorious youth, wielding two spears, with a leopard-skin thrown around his
shoulders, his bright locks not shorn, but rippling adown his back, as Pindar
describes him — and appears swiftly and suddenly with dauntless soul in the
market-place of sunny lolcus, to the terror of his wicked uncle, the usurper
of his rights, who recognises in the one-sandalled hero the long-predicted
avenger, and promptly despatches him. in quest of the Golden Fleece, hoping
thereby to get rid of lason and his claims for ever.
Then at Pagasse, the port-town to lolcus, the Arqo is built under the
direction of Athena herself. Mistress of Shipbuilding, as of all other arts. The
fifty heroes of Hellas embark as oarsmen, nor, as Pindar hath it, would one of
these sons of the gods be left behind in " savourless and riskless life" — each in
company with his peers would test his strength '' even were death the price."
lason, standing on the stern, makes libation from a golden goblet and calls on
Zeus " whose spear is the lightning, and on the rush of waves and winds and
nights and paths of the deep, to speed them quickly over, and for days of cheer
and friendly fortune of return. And from the clouds a favourable voice of
thunder pealed in answer, and there came bright lightning flashes bursting
through. Then the heroes took heart in obedience to the heavenly signs ; and
the seer (even Orpheus of fair renown, the minstrel father of song) bade them
strike into the water with their oars, while he spake to them of happy hopes ;
and in their rapid hands the rowing sped untiringly." ^
Then the Argo ("the swift") speeds down the Gulf of Aphetse ("the launching-
place ") in the south, whence she finally sails out into the open sea. She is
bound for Colchis, the far-distant shore of the Pontus, that region of horrors, of
the Scyths and their skull-cups, that A-xenos, " inhospitable sea," which was
destined to be changed by Hellenic energy into a Eu-xeinos, or " place of
welcome."
^ From E. Myers' beautiful rendering of that most beautiful of odes, the Fourth Pythian.
136 THE PEOPLE
Such in outline is the saga of the launching of what was popularly thought
of as the first ship of Hellas on her first voyage.
Every saga, we may suppose, contains some one grain of fact, and the one
fact here would seem to be that the Minyae were the first among the Greek
races to depart from the timid coasting round their own shores, and launch out
boldly into the open sea. We may be sure that the Ai'go was very far from
being the first ship launched from Aphetse. The Little Folk were by no means
ignorant of what lay beyond their own homes. They had only to climb to the
top of Pelion and there before their eyes they could study as in a map no small
part of the greater world outside. From Pelion they could see not only the
vast Thessalian Plain, Lake Bcebe, and the Thessalian mountains, the noble
range of Othrys, the sharp peak of Ossa, and the broad flanks of Olympus ; but
they could see as well the great masses of Parnassus, the Malian Gulf with
Mount (Eta, and the long island of Euboea ; and, most inviting of all, they
could behold, across their own beautiful gulf and breakwater, the broad open
sea, with the island-chain of Sciathus-Peparathus-Icus, and away in the far
distance to the north, the Thracian peninsula of Chalcidice with the giant head
of Mount Athos.
What wonder that the Little Folk should have been seized with the desire to
visit some of these tempting scenes as they lay before them under the sunny
blue sky ? — that both curiosity and the spirit of adventure should have impelled
them on, if not to that mythic voyage associated with their Thessalian home,
yet to enterprises requiring quite as much courage in days when every new step
had to be taken in the dark ?
The Minyse, apparently, did not long remain quiescent in Thessaly. O.
Miiller takes as their next point of departure the island of Lemnos, which
figures in the Argonautic saga ; but we are inclined to follow rather those of
the race who went south and founded the city of Orchomenus in the country
afterwards called Boeotia.
That the Minyse of Orchomenus were of the same stock as the Thessalian
Minyae is proved by the identity of their sagas. Athamas is represented both
as king of Halos in Thessaly and as a Boeotian prince, and we find the cult
of Zeus Laphystius, which is bound up with the story of the Athamantidse, to
which we shall refer later on, both in Thessaly and in Boeotia.
The Boeotian Minyae are always associated with the inland city of
Orchomenus, but recent research would seem to prove that this was not
their first settlement in Boeotia. On the eastern side of the Oopaic Lake,
on the height now called " Gulas," the remains of gigantic Cyclopean walls,
evidently those of a prehistoric castle, have been discovered. Such a site, near
the Euripus-strait, is eminently suited to a maritime people, and we shall
probably not be far wrong if we regard the Gulas-hill as the position from
which, according to Strabo, the Minyse were driven by swamp fever. From
the eastern they removed, in very early times, to the north-western shores of
the lake, and there, on the triangular face of a steep spur of Acontium they
built the strong city of Orchomenus, and, in the plain beneath, the so-called
"Treasure-house" of Minyas, which Pausanias declared to be a work no less
wonderful than the Pyramids of Egypt. This will engage our attention
presently. "* Meanwhile, let us note that at Orchomenus the Little Folk began
to develop that "large" policy referred to, which resulted in Thebes itself
becoming subject to them. That Orchomenus was a wealthy and important
city is evident from the fact that, in the Iliad, it is compared to the hundred-
gated Thebes of Egypt. Indirectly, also, we learn that it must have been a
great centre, for when Odysseus speaks in the lower world with the shades of
\
THE MINY^ 137
the departed, Agamemnon asks him whether he has heard of his son Orestes,
as perchance living at Orchomenus, or at sandy Pylus, or at wide Sparta, i.e.
the places where men most do congregate.
Part of the large policy of the Little Folk would seem, however, to have
been directed towards the conquest of the watery element in another shape —
the draining of the Copaic Plain. We have already described the nature of
the plain and the annual overflow by the Cephissus, which converts it into a
lake (p. 54). The Minyae are thought to have contrived to hasten the removal
of the floods by the construction of artificial tunnels, which they bored through
the soft calcareous rock of the mountains, thus supplementing the deficiencies
of the natural katabothra. The shafts of subterranean tunnels are, indeed,
actually to be seen to this day ; but some authorities believe these to belong to
the works begun by Crates, an engineer of Chalcis, employed by Alexander the
Great to drain the plain.
Whether the tunnels were constructed by the Little Folk or by Orates, is an
hypothesis which must be measured by our former meter. Three facts have to
be explained : (i) that several places said to have been inhabited by the Minyae
are now under water ;i (2) that the whole plain, which in historic times afforded
nourishment to some half million of men, is now almost entirely given over "to
millions of frogs and fishes " ; (3) that the reputation of extraordinary wealth
attached in antiquity to Orchomenus is only explainable on the theory of the
fertility of the plain, a fertility which is depicted on the old coins of the city by
sprouting wheat-ear.
The conclusion would seem to be that in the very earliest times active
measures were taken to supplement nature, and that the credit of this, in whatso-
ever way accomplished, belongs to the Minyae. For the saga says that the
Little Folk were only conquered by the Thebans, when Heracles came to the
help of the latter and swamped the greater part of the plain of Orchomenus by
stopping up the katabothra — a saga which is evidently to be explained by the
fact that the Thebans, when they got the upper hand, neglected the precautions
taken by the Minyae, and that thus the plain gradually sank from good to bad
and from bad to worse.
However, leaving this debateable ground of swamps, let us note that the
Minyae of Boeotia still continued their seafaring life. Orchomenus, the port to
which was probably Larymnae, was a member of the Calaureian Amphictyony,
or League, which comprised seven maritime cities — Orchomenus, Hermione,
Epidaurus, ^gina, Athens, Prasiae, and Nauplia — bound together by the cult of
Poseidon. Minyas, the hero-ancestor of the Minyae, is called a son of Poseidon,
god of fresh water as of salt, god also (as we have seen, p. 49) of the earth-
quake and of the beneficent results attributed to that agency in making outlets
for the water-floods. As we might expect, therefore, Poseidon was worshipped
around the Copaic Lake (especially at Onchestus, in the south, the seat of an
old Amphictyony, where were held in his honour games with contests in horse-
racing), and his cult was carried by the Minyae whithersoever they themselves
went. That the Minyae, in common with the Pelasgi and all the other races
of Hellas, worshipped Zeus, we have already seen.
We next trace the indefatigable Little Folk to the Gates of Peloponnesus,
where stands sentinel, in solitary majesty, the giant rock Acro-corinthus — one
of the grandest objects in Europe, perhaps in the world. What induced the
Minyae to settle here, on the bare and rocky isthmus? Not, primarily, the
^ Cf. for instance, the interesting account of the prehistoric ruins, now entirely surrounded
by water, on a rocky height opposite Copae, given by Lolling in Baedeker's Guide to Greece.
This castle may have been the first Orchomenus.
138 THE PEOPLE
safety of the position, although Acro-corinthus is the strongest place in Greece,
next to Nauplia in Argolis, and became, as we know, eventually one of the
" Three Fetters " of Greece.^ The real answer to the question will be found if
we climb to the top of the rock, and look at the scene below with the eyes of
those first mariners. Spread out beneath them they would see a wide land-
scape, embracing no fewer than eight countries, those afterwards known as
Argolis, Corinthia, Sicyonia, Achaia, and across the sea, Locris, Phocis, Attica,
and Boeotia. We may be sure, however, that it was not the expansiveness of
the view that struck these shrewd observers most. What they would specially
note would be something much nearer them — the fact that at their feet lay two
seas, separated only by the breadth of the isthmus, 3^- miles at its narrowest
part. To the east is the Saronic Gulf, leading to the ^geean, the Hellespont,
and the Pontus ; to the west the Corinthian Gulf, leading to the Ionian and
Sicilian Seas. By-and-by, moreover, when they became familiar with the
position, they would find out that the isthmus was the connecting link between
the Peloponnesus and Northern Greece. Thus Acro-corinthus rises, the central
point between the "watery ways" of east and west and the land-way from
north to south, a position uniivalled in the olden time for pui-poses of trade
and navigation as well as for strength.
To assume that the Little Folk grasped all the prospective advantages of
the spot, and saw in their mind's eye the future commercial greatness of
Corinth, would be to assume a great deal too much. What there is little doubt
they did see, however, is the convenience of the natural harbours on either
side of the isthmus at the spots where, later, the two port-towns of Corinth
sprang up, Lechseum on the Corinthian, and Cenchrese on the Saronic Gulf,
towns both of which took their names from so-called sons of Poseidon = hardy
seamen.
Here, then, the Minyse settled and founded their city, Ephyra, the " Watch-
tower," probably on the same site as the later Corinth, the tableland at the
northern foot of the colossal rock whose broad summit, with its ample space
and wealth of water-springs, served not only as a watch-tower, but as a place
of refuge for the inhabitants of the lower town in times of trouble, and as a
sanctuary for the god of their race, Poseidon. The new settlement was far
enough from the coast to be safe from the attacks of the pirates, who, as
Thucydides tells us, infested the coast of Greece, but near enough to the
isthmus to profit by all that it offered.
The Minyse, however, were not long left in undisturbed possession of the
watch-tower, for another people, as keen-sighted as themselves, the Phoenicians,
who seem to have had stations all along the coast of Peloponnesus from the
island of Cythera eastwards, had an eye to the capabilities of the isthmus as
headquarters for their purple-fishery and for trading generally. The new-
comers, either by dint of force or, more probably, by strategy, seem to have
gradually acquired the upper hand, for they not only shared with the Minyse
the settlement at the foot of Acro-corinthus, but actually ousted the worship of
the native sea-god from the sanctuary on the citadel, and introduced in its
stead that of their own patron deities, the Sun-god, Baal, and the goddess of
Navigation, Astarte, who under the names of the Greek Helios and Aphrodite,
continued to be worshipped in Corinth down to the latest times.- As for
Poseidon, his worship was transferred to the isthmus ; but even here it was
1 The other two were Demetrias, Avhich took the place of the old lolcus in Thessaly, and
Chalcis on Euboea.
^ " This is evidently the basis of facts underlying the Corinthian saga of the contest between
Poseidon and Helios for the possession of Corinth" {Pans., ii. i, 6, cf. Bursian, ii. p. ii).
THE MINYiE 139
associated with that of the Phoenician Melkarth, who, under the name of
Melicertes-Palaemon, is woven into the sagas of the Minyse and their royal
house. 1
Another eastern people (of Aryan, not Semitic descent) the Lycians, also
appear upon the scene, allured by the advantages offered by the isthmus.
They, too, bring their Sun-god with them ; he is assigned a temple outside
the city and figures in Greek sagas, no longer as a god, but — as the hero
Bellerophon.
Finally, we find in possession of the city lonians. This is not surprising,
for the Ionian race were seafarers like the Minyse, and their settlements
bordered closely on both sides of the isthmus. To them may be due the
change of name from Ephyra to Corinth, "the high-city," when the watch-tower
proper, the great rock, naturally became Acro-corinthus or Acro-polis, citadel of
the high-city.
If we bear in mind the variety of races that intermingle thus around the
great rock — Minyse, Phoenicians, Lycians, lonians, and the fifth race that
appears later, the Dorian — it will explain much in the after history not only of
the city, but of the Greek religion.
The sagas of Corinth also bear the imprint of this commingling of races.
In the story of Sisyphus, the too-wise, the prince too-clever-by-half, who thought
to outwit death himself,^ we have a picture which exhibits the features of the
keen Semitic traders, the founders of the purple industry of Ephyra, as well
as those of the old ^olian sea-kings. The myth of Bellerophon, again, the
bold sun-hero, who on his winged horse, grapples with the terrible Chimaera, is
probably foreign, Lycian, in its origin ; ^ but the form in which the story has
come down to us is as undoubtedly native and Greek. The details added —
by which Pegasus is born at the springs of ocean, produces a spring,
Hippocrene on Mount Helicon, by the stamp of its hoof, and is captured
near another spring, Peirene, on Acro-corinthus, mark it out as the
Steed of the Muses — the legend that it was Athena, Wisdom, who gave the
bridle, whereby the winged creature. Genius, might be tamed — the final
catastrophe, in which Pegasus, which has been the willing servant of Bellero-
phon so long as he employed it in warring against the powers of darkness and
disorder, deserts him, when, impelled by his own pride and presumption, he
seeks to soar to Olympus and would " fain enter into the heavenly habitations
and mix among the company of Zeus." — All such details are purely Greek.
The Hellenes deepened and beautified everything that they touched.
The Ionian influence (which we may perhaps see also in the Bellerophon-
myth in the intervention of Athena) is distinctively traceable in the legend
which says that the founder of the Isthmian games in honour of Poseidon —
a national god of the lonians, no less than of the Minyse — was Theseus of
Athens, who had previously cleared the Isthmus of the robbers that haunted
it, and thus rendered the connecting link between Northern and Southern
Greece safe for travellers.
^ For the story of Ino Leucothea and Melicertes-Palaemon, see Hellas, p. 221.
2 For the story of Sisyphus, see Hellas, p. 285.
^ Some writers consider Bellerophon as entirely a Greek myth, dismissing the Lycian theory.
In either case, the myth is Aryan in its origin. Pott [Z. filr vergl. Spr. 4, 416) compares
Bellerophon to Vritrahari, " the dragon-slayer " (Indra) of Hindu mythology. Max Miiller, on
the other hand, derives the name helleros from varvara, vellus, "the shaggy ram," symbol of the
dark cloud [Chips, ii. 172).
The Lycian framework, however, must be admitted if we accept Welcker's dictum that the
monsters — i.e. the non-naturally formed creatures of Greek mythology, such as the Chimaera,
Minotaur, Sphinx — are all of non-Hellenic origin {cf. Welcker, Or. Ootterlehre, i. p. 67).
14© THE PEOPLE
Finally, to come back to our Minyae — in addition to the Athanias saga, the
story of Ino Leucothea — we may be sure that Corinth plays a part in the saga
of the Argonauts. Here the national hero, lason, comes with his consort,
Medea, who has followed him from Colchis ; here he deserts her to whom he
owes all ; here Medea becomes that wondrous personification of wounded love,
jealousy, and revenge delineated by Euripides ; here on the isthmus, lason
appropriately meets his end by the falling-in upon him, as he rests beneath its
shadow, of — the Argo.
We next trace the Minyse in Epidaurus, and in several places along the
coast of Laconia to Tsenarum (now Cape Matapan), the most southerly point of
Greece and of Europe. Here there existed from the very earliest times an
oracle and famous sanctuary of Poseidon, with rights of asylum ; and if we
think, with E. Curtius, that this became the national sanctuary of the Minyae,
Achseans, and other races subjugated later by the Dorians, it adds new point
to the story of the slaying of the Helots precisely in it, and the statement of
Thucydides concerning the public opinion of Hellas as to the "judgment" sent
upon the Spartans in the earthquake and the fall of the peak of Taygetus (see
ante, pp. 50, 6^).
Let us note here in passing that the rugged peninsula of Taygetus, of which
Tsenarum forms the southern point, although it does not figure much in politics, is
yet rich in the oldest religious associations. Not only is there the sanctuary of
Poseidon at Tsenarum, with its supposed entrance to the Lower World, and its
oracle where the spirits of the dead were consulted, but, on rounding the
coast, we meet with another oracle not without its influence on early history.
This was the dream-oracle of Ino at Thalamse, a retired lowly spot some little
way from the coast. Here, again, we have most probably Minyan influence,
for Ino (worshipped at Thalamse as Pasiphae) figures in the sagas of the Minyan
royal house as the wife of Athamas. Leaping into the sea with her child, to
escape from her mad husband, she was transformed into a goddess, Leucothea,
and her son into that divinity, half -Phoenician, half-Greek, Melicertes-
Palsemon, who, as we saw, was worshipped on the isthmus. The cult of Ino
was widespread along the Mediterranean, and her oracle was not despised by
the Dorian Spartans themselves, and their kings slept in the Temple to receive
revelations. Again, at Pephnus, on the coast (probably the port to Thalamse)
there projects a rocky island protecting the harbour. This was regarded as the
birthplace of the Dioscuri, the patron-deities of the land. The island, although
in Laconian territory, lies on the eastern side of the Messenian Gulf, and hence,
the Dioscuri, born on neutral territory, were the gods of both peoples. On the
rock, in the time of Pausanias, stood their statues on a pedestal, washed by the
waves.
We have now followed the Little Folk in their wanderings so far as they
may be traced in the earliest times, and to complete the picture, may state
here (although we anticipate the course of the narrative) that when ejected
from their homes in the Great Plain by the event known as the Thessalian
Invasion, they took refuge first in Lemnos and Attica, according to some
accounts, or, according to others, went direct to Peloponnesus, where they
penetrated into Southern Elis, and conquered part of the domains over which
old Nestor, the honey-tongued King of Pylus, had ruled, a district known in
historic times as Triphylia, " land of the Three Tribes." ^
Bursian conjectures that the Minyse penetrated even farther north, to the
borders of Achaia. The evidence for this is to be found in place-names. The
fact that we find both in the north-east and the south-west of Greece mountain
^ The three tribes : Minyse, Caucones, and Paroreatse.
THE MINY^ 141
names like Olympus and Ossa, river names like Peneius and Enipeus, city
names like Salmone and Ephyra, appears to show that such names in the south
were echoes of the old home in the north, clung to by the wanderers, carried
with them in all their migrations, and finally given a new substantiality in
distant regions. If this be the case, these old prehistoric colonists, separated
from us by thousands of years, would seem after all to have been amazingly
like ourselves.
We have now only to follow the Minyse to the islands : we find them in
Lemnos ; in Euboea, where they are said to have founded Eretria, long the
rival of Chalcis ; we trace them, possibly in Sicinus, Andros, and Seriphus,
and probably in Melos. Thera (Santorin) is especially connected with them ;
this island figures, as we have seen (p. 46) in the Argonautic saga, and from
it went forth the colony that made the first Hellenic settlement in Africa,
Cyrene, the founder of which, Battus, and the later kings of Gyrene, traced
their descent to the royal house of Orchomenus.
Making all reserve for the political purposes which may have inspired such
traditions as the one just quoted, we may yet allow from the foregoing sketch
that the Minyse are entitled to the credit of having founded a chain of colonies
or settlements round the coast of Greece ; in Thessaly, Boeotia, Corinth,
Epidaurus, Tsenarum, Triphylia, they left their mark in place-names, cults,
and sagas.
If we ask how it happened that a race of such energy passed so completely
from the memory of their descendants that their name even was hardly
known to later times, and their colonies were regarded as settlements of the
" Argonauts," we can only say that the Minyse shared the fate of anothei-
race which, but for Homer, would have been perhaps, still less known — the
Achseans. Both succumbed to a movement originating in a stronger force,
which, as we shall presently see, forms the turning-point in this early period,
the Thessalian invasion.
Meanwhile, do not let us imagine that our journey with the Little Folk has
been fruitless. On the contrary, although we have been travelling mainly in
the dark, although we cannot dignify our sketch by the name of "history,"
yet on at least three points of interest, some rays of light have fallen : —
(i) We understand how, if the Aryans first settled in Thessaly, their
dispersion over the whole of Greece was gradually accomplished. In this
respect the Minyse may stand as a type of the whole.
(2) We have a little insight into the manner in which another process may
have been carried on — the migration, not only {a) of tribes, but of their
religion 1 — witness the cult of Poseidon, which we find accompanying the
Minyse everywhere, to Boeotia, to the isthmus, to Triphylia, to Cyrene in
Africa ; (6) of their national sagas, witness the story of Ino ; (c) of their
home-names, witness Olympus, Peneius, meeting us in opposite quarters of
Greece.
(3) Lastly, we have seen the Greek in contact with the foreign element on
the isthmus, and can form some conclusion from the Bellerophon-myth as to
the manner in which the Greeks dealt with, or experimented upon, what they
" borrowed " from the East.
1 In regard to the above remark on prehistoric colonisation, we find that 0. Gruppe takes
the same view : "In the Historic period," he says, "religions spread through the founding of
colonies, through the conclusion of political and (what were usually bound up with these)
religious confederations. . . . We need only lengthen out the picture of historical times into
the prehistoric period, in order to understand the circumstances out of which the later dis-
tribution of the Greek religions grew " {Die Griechischen Culten und Mythen in ihren
Beziehiingen zu den orientalischen Religionen, i. p. 150. ff.).
142 THE PEOPLE
AOH^ANS AND HELLENES
In the south-east of Thessaly, in the mountain province of Phthiotis, which
extends to the Pagasaean Gulf on the east, and includes Othrys and its spurs in
the south, we find again tribes who are only shadows to us, but whose names
were destined to preponderate (like that of the Graeci) over those of all the
rest. For here, in the earlier times, dwelt the clans that Achilles leads to
Xroy — the Myrmidons, the Hellenes, and the Achseans. Leaving on one side
the Myrmidons, or Ant-folk, as a mythic reminiscence of the connection
between the sagas of Thessaly and of the island of Mgina — we note that the
seats of the two other clans were Phthia and Hellas, " the abode of fair
women," names to be understood probably as denoting districts rather than
cities. In later times the name of the Phthiotic Achaeans passed over to all
the inhabitants of that part of Thessaly, the name of Hellenes to all the tribes
of the land collectively.
Here, then, in this little corner of Thessaly, we have apparently the germs
of the Hellenic nationality, and we have to ask, as in the case of the Grseci,
how it came to pass that the name of the Hellenes acquired so widespread a
significance. There are three answers to the question : —
(i) A religious answer: — The name may have been associated with that of
the Helli (or Selli), different forms probably of the same name, the prophets and
priests of Zeus at Dodona. The ruling family of the Thessalian Hellas is
represented in the sagas as devoted to the worship of Zeus. The grandfather
of Achilles is that king of ^gina and son of Zeus, the pious ^acus, who gains
for all the Hellenes the blessing of rain from Zeus on the mountains known in
historic times as Panhellenium — the heights sacred to the god of all the
Hellenes. The father of Achilles is Peleus, the favourite of the gods, chosen
to wed the Nereid Thetis, whom Zeus himself would have espoused but for that
decree of the fates which Prometheus reveals. ^ Achilles himself, in the Iliad,
keeps in a coffer a special goblet, fair-wrought, out of which no man has drunk ;
and wherewith he makes libation to no god, save to Father Zeus only. The
family of the ^acidae may, therefore, have been Helli, or in some way
connected in the oldest times with the worship of Zeus, the national god of
Hellas,
(2) A traditional answer : — The tradition of the flood of Deucalion was
localised in Thessaly together with the oldest Hellas, and from Hellen, the son
of Deucalion, the only man preserved alive, all genuine Hellenes traced their
descent.
(3) An historical answer : — Thucydides tells us that this Hellen and his
sons became mighty in Phthiotis, and were invited by other tribes to help
them ; hence their name gradually spread and preponderated.
These three answers we shall have to test presently by our hypothesis-
meter.
Meanwhile let us leave the question for a time, and pass on to note that in
this little corner of Thessaly we have the germs, not only of the Hellenic name,
but of the national epic, for the Thessalian Achaia is the home of the national
hero, Achilles. Into the physical basis of the saga of Achilles (if it had one)
we cannot enter here. In the old Aryan home, the hero may have been a
personification of the sun, as the upholders of the solar-myth theory, which is to
explain all and everything, would have us believe ; in the earliest days of the
Grseco- Aryans, Pelides, "fleet of foot," may equally have been an embodiment of
^ See under "Prometheus," in Hellas, p. 95.
ACH^ANS AND HELLENES 143
the river of his native land — Spercheius, " the rapid, the hasty " — as Forch-
hammer suggests. What concerns us now to note is that, when we meet with
Achilles, he is neither sun nor river, but a human being, the national hero of
the Achseans — i.e. of the Excellent Folk, the Noble — with a personality quite as
definite as that of any of his modern interpreters ; and, further, that the sagas
of his parentage, birth, and education, are all localised — have taken definite
shape and being — in Thessaly, and in that part of Thessaly with which we are
already acquainted as the home of the oldest sagas — the landscape round the
Pagasaean Gulf.
His goddess-mother, silver-footed Thetis, the Nereid, dwelt beneath the
stormy waters of the -^gsean Sea off Cape Sepias and the dreaded Magnesian
coast, that shoreless, harbourless coast, which, Herodotus tells us, was supposed
to belong to Thetis and her sister Nereids, and along which they kept watch
to preserve all good and true sailors from the fate that later befell the
invader.
On the summit, moreover, of broad-topped Pelion, "quivering with foliage,"
was celebrated the wedding of Pelias and Thetis, to which the gods themselves
came down, bringing with them as wedding gifts the famous horses and armour
of Achilles. To do honour to the event, the fifty daughters of old Nereus
whirled in the circling dance on the white sands of the Pagassean Gulf ; the
company of the Centaurs, each with his fir-tree staff and wreath of tender
green, made their way through the neighbouring forests ; and the Muses, in
their golden sandals, came over the hills from Pieria. There, on the top of
Pelion, they sang to the sound of cithara and lute, and predicted the birth
of Achilles and the fate of Troy ; and all was merriment and gladness, until
that uninvited guest, Eris, " Discord," suddenly appeared, and threw into the
midst of the assembled goddesses the fatal apple, bearing the inscription, " To
the most beautiful " — a catastrophe which led, as we all know, to the Judgment
of Paris, the Abduction of Helen, and the Siege of Troy.
Pelion also, according to the oldest sagas, is the scene of the youth
of Achilles, who is instructed, like lason, by Cheiron, the wise old Centaur.
Here, then, we have the germs of the story out of which grew the AcMlleid,
or Lay of Achilles, which, it is thought, was carried in the later migrations of
the Achseans to Asia Minor and there developed and interwoven by Ionian
imagination into that wonderful weft which we call the Iliad.
The story of the wedding of Thetis, indeed, is not explicitly told in the
Iliad, but neither does Homer explain how his hero acquired the epithet
" fleet of foot." A knowledge of the old sagas on the part of his hearers is
taken for granted by the poet. His part, the part of genius, is not to rehearse
the whole, but to select only what is necessary for his purpose.^ That the Iliad
was Thessalian in its origin, however, cannot we think be doubted.
How much of the story (as we now have it) of the hero to whom it was
granted to choose between a long and ignoble existence and " a short life of
glory and honour " — and who, the type of all true Hellenes, chose the latter —
how much or how little of all this migrated from the mother-country with the
wanderers, it is hard to tell. Readers who are curious as to the " primary "
Iliad, should consult the lucid chapter on the Homeric question in Professor
Jebb's Introduction to Homer.
Finally, let us note that another tribe, bearing the same name, " Achsean,"
1 The events which led to the Trojan War — the throwing of the Apple of Discord,
Judgment of Paris, &c. — were given in the Cypria, a poem belonging to the so-called Epic
Cycle, and written or compiled probably about 776 B.C. The Cypria carries the story down to
the point at which the Iliad opens.
144 THE PEOPLE
wandered south into Peloponnesus, and established itself on the banks of the
Eurotas in Laconia and of the Machus in Argos. No connection, however,
exists between the sagas of the Thessalian and Peloponnesian Achseans,
although both tribes had probably the same origin.
CADMEIANS (THEBANS)
Leaving now for a time Thessaly, " nurse of men," let us turn our attention
once more to Boeotia, and glance for a moment at the Southern Plain, the
dwellers in which paid tribute, as we have seen, to the Minyae at Orchomenus.
Boeotia is divided naturally by a low range of hills into two plains or
basins, each of which has its lake and its river — the northern, Lake Copais and
the Cephissus ; the southern. Lake Hylica and the Asopus. About the middle
of the separating chains, on a low projecting height, lay a city destined to
become very famous in Greek annals, Thebes, " the hilly," the rival and sub-
sequent conqueror of Orchomenus.
On observing how completely distinct the two great valleys are, says
Colonel Leake, each of them being surrounded by mountains, except at the
low ridge of Onchestus, one is not surprised that Boeotia should have been for
a long time divided into two great political leagues, of which Thebes and
Orchomenus were deservedly the chief places.
In antiquity Thebes, or rather its citadel, the Cadmeia, was supposed to
have been founded by Cadmus, who was regarded as a Phoenician and the
introducer into Greece of the earliest elements of culture, especially of the
alphabet. This ancient theory of a Phoenician settlement in the heart of
Boeotia has, in modern times, neither been proved nor disproved. It is open
to any one to regard the name " Cadmus " as of Semitic origin (Kedem, " the
East"), and to think with Busolt that in the legend of Cadmus and Harmonia,
we have only a free version of the Phoenician myth of the wandering Sun-god
Melkarth, who seeks the Moon-goddess Astarte, and finds her in the Far West,
where he weds her. Or we may, with Max Duncker, accept the legend as
the traditional account of a real historic occurrence, viz., the existence of a
Phoenician colony at Thebes.
Our hypothesis-meter does not give much assistance here. We may say, on
the one hand, that an inland spot is not such a site as was usually chosen by a
maritime people like the Phoenicians. They preferred to plant their colonies
along the coasts ; but then, on the other hand, it is evident that Thebes from
its position — midway between two seas, the Euboean Channel and Corinthian
Gulf, and commanding the road to the great city of Orchomenus — offered
advantages not to be disregarded by a race of traders.
Again, if we turn to the sagas— the earliest history — we find that, while the
Cadmeia, or upper city, is built by Cadmus, a Phoenician, the walls of the
lower city, seven-gated Thebes, are the work of Amphion and Zethus.
Amphion, we are told, is the husband of ill-fated Niobe, daughter of Tantalus,
king of Lydia. At the wedding of Amphion and Niobe it is that the Lydian
mode or harmony is first introduced into Greece. Here we have a saga
pointing to Asia Minor and to the Aryan, not the Semitic East. Others
again look upon Cadmus as nothing else than the native representative of the
oldest Theban state, and interpret his name according to Greek etymology,
as the Prince, the Orderer (allied to Kosmos, " the beautifully arranged
universe.")
We have not much light on the subject from Homer. He speaks, indeed,
CADMEIANS (THEBANS) ^45
of Amphion and Zethus as the founders of seven-gated Thebes ; but he also
speaks of the Cadmeians, though not of Cadmus.
All that we can say with certainty, therefore, is that round the Cadmeia
there grew up very early a cycle of sagas, pointing to a connection not only
between Thebes and Phoenicia (Cadmus and Europa) and Thebes and Lydia
(Niobe), but also between Thebes and Argos in Peloponnesus (the War of the
Seven against Thebes).
Turning now to the site of the city itself, we can find no other reason than
that of its central position, which could have commended it to those old
builders. Speaking of Thebes, Colonel Mure says, " There is, in fact, no
Greek city whose site and aspect are so little in unison with the associations
either of poetical or historical celebrity that attach to them. Thebes has no
majestic Acropolis, no brilliant sea-view, like Athens, Corinth, Argos ; no
stern bulwark of rugged cliffs and yawning precipices, like Mycenae ; no
joyous river, no snow-capped mountain that she can call her own, no festive
brilliancy of surrounding plain like Sparta." All that Thebes could boast of
was her wealth of water — her two famous springs, Dirce on the west, Ismenus
on the east — and the verdure of her gardens, which made the city a delightful
resort in summer. But in winter, the cold winds sweeping down from the
hills, the snowstorms, the floods, and the scanty supply of fviel, rendered
Thebes, as Dicsearchus tells us, anything but a delightful resort in historic
times ; and the same evils were doubtless experienced even more keenly in
early days. The exposed position of their city may, indeed, have had some-^
thing to do with the cruel and unforgiving temper of the Thebans of Greek
history ; probably it had much to do with the gloomy character of the Theban
saga-cycle. Gloomy sagas indeed these are — sagas of an (Edipus and the
"doom " hanging over his house, of a hatred between brothers inextinguish-
able even in death — gloomy, yet lit up by a sunshine more glorious far than
any that breaks through Boeotian mists, for to the sagas of Thebes belongs
the brightest ray of Hellas : the story of Antigone, her generous devotion and
her martyr death. Granted that the story, as it has come down to us, is told
by Attic genius, yet the main elements of the character of Antigone, the
picture of the Theban Cordelia leading the Theban King Lear, must have been
ready to the hand of Sophocles.
No place in Greece was richer in mythic associations than was seven-gated
Thebes. On the Cadmeia itself, one spot would be shown to the stranger as
that whereon the house of Cadmus had stood, with the ruins of the chamber
of Semele struck by the lightnings of Zeus ; another, as that from which
Teiresias, the famous seer, had made his observations on the omens and the
flight of birds ; in the lower city, he would see the spot where had flamed the
funeral pyre of the luckless children of Niobe.
Beyond the walls many places full of traditional interest would meet him :
the ruins of the house wherein Heracles was born, with a moniiment to the
children slain in his madness ; the spot whereon Cadmus had sown the dragon's
teeth from which sprang the ancestors of the future nobles of Thebes ; and the
place where, according to Theban legend, Amphiaraus, the seer, was swallowed
up by the earth. He would see, further, QEdipothia, the stream wherein
(Edipus had cleansed his hands from the blood of Laius, his unknown father ;
the grave of Amphion and Zethus ; that of the noble, self-sacrificing Menoeceus,
son of Creon ; and near to it the place where the two sons of (Edipus had
fallen in single combat, and the sacred ground across which Antigone (accord-
ing to the Theban version of the story), with her feeble strength had dragged
the body of Polyneices to the pyre of Eteocles, and by this act of sisterly
146 THE PEOPLE
devotion incurred her own tragic fate. Finally, not far off, between the city
and the Copa'ic Lake would be shown the hill Sphingium, the lurking-place of
the sphinx mastered by (Edipus. All these mythic reminiscences, and many
others belonging to the Historical period, clustered around seven-gated
Thebes.
Just as lolcus and Orchomenus may be looked upon as the first seats of
Hellenic navigation and State policy, so may it be said of Thebes that she
seems to have been one of the first centres of culture. " Here," as Keller truly
says, " the first blossoms of the culture of the Heroic age — Music and Poetry
— must have been very early put forth, for the sagas of Cadmus and
Harmonia, of Amphion and Zethus, of Dionysus and Semele, of Actseon and
Pentheus, &c., betray the existence of an old school of lyric song, and were
always amongst the most popular sagas of Greece. In the legend of the
building of the walls of Thebes — the story that the dead stones received life
from the sweet strains of Amphion's lute, and themselves moved into position
of their own accord — we have, perhaps, a reminiscence of the early striving of
Thebes after unity and a higher culture ; a striving, the memory of which may
be preserved also in the name of the consort of the old mythic king — large-
eyed Harmonia."
THE THRACIANS
In addition to the Pelasgi, Minyae, Cadmeians, lonians, &c., who had settled
in Bceotia, another so-called " tribe " must engage our attention for a few
moments on account of the importance of the experiments attributed to it — a
tribe of " Thracians " that had settled on the slopes of Helicon.
No less than three theories are held regarding this enigmatical race.
(i) That they really belonged to the Thracian people, who in early times
occupied the vast stretch of country lying between the River Strymon and the
Black Sea.
(2) That they were a tribe not of Thracian, but of Greek descent.
(3) That they were not a " tribe " at all, but merely a " guild of singers."
According to the first hypothesis, these flesh and blood Thracians — these
rough mountain-folk — are supposed to have belonged originally to a branch of
the race dwelling, as we have seen (p. 133) at Pieria on the north-east slopes of
Olympus and the very borders of Greece. When expelled by the Macedonians
(who later occupied Pieria as well as Emathia) some members of the tribe
crossed the Strymon and settled on the slopes of Pangseus ; others wandered
into Greece, where they ensconced themselves both on the western and eastern
sides of Helicon. In Phocis, their chief city seems to have been Daulis ; in
Boeotia, Thespiae. Further south, they settled in the Plain of Eleusis in
Attica. This conception of the presence of the Thracians in Greece as an
historical fact is held by the old writers, Thucydides says expressly that
Thracians dwelt at Daulis in Phocis.
The great importance of these Graeco-Thracians, however, lies — not in
themselves, for they are only shadows like the Grseci — but in the ideas which
they brought with them, ideas destined to bear marvellous fruit on Hellenic
soil, the ideas wrapped up in the cult of the Muses (which they planted at
Thespiae, where it continued to flourish to the latest times), and that of their
dual Sun-god, whose stern wintry-side became the god of war, Ares, " Mars,"
whilst his genial summer-side developed into Dionysus, " Bacchus," the god not
only of wine, but of fertility, of the overflowing bountifulness of nature. With
THE THRACIANS 147
the Pierian cult of the Muses, moreover, the old writers uniformly associated
the names of all the first bards and singers of Greece — Orpheus, Musseus,
Philammon, Thamyris, Eumolpus.
The Thracians of historic times, were, as we know, compared to the
Hellenes — barbarians, distinguished by nothing but their drunkenness. To
find, therefore, that Hellas owed to them the civilising, refining cult of the
Muses is not a little astonishing — so astonishing that writers like Max Duncker
flatly refuse to accept the hypothesis.
It will not do, however, to reject the historical basis of the tradition
merely because the Thracians of later times were barbarians. As Helbig has
recently pointed out in an elaborate examination of the question, the
Thracians of the Homeric age are represented consistently everywhere as
being on a level in culture with the Achseans, and we cannot imagine that the
Homeric bards would venture on any false description of a people whom many
of their hearers must have known by intercourse. In dress, armour, mode of
fighting from chariots, &c. , the Thracians resemble the Greeks ; the excellence
of Thracian swords is praised ; the goblet, " exceeding fair," taken by Priam as
one of his greatest treasures to form part of Hector's ransom, and given by the
old man to his kindly guide Hermes, had been presented to him by men of
Thrace ; finally, the wine which the heroes drink is Thracian wine ; and
Thracian wine is still lauded by Archilochus.
The vine, no doubt, is indigenous to Thrace and grows wild at this day in
the dense forests of the Pontus and Thrace as Grisebach has proved ; never-
theless vine-culture, such as is implied in the systematic manufacture and
exportation of wine, implies that the people engaged in it have reached the
third stage of civilisation (see ante, p. 33). They must be formed into orderly
communities and protected by law and justice before such a state of things is
possible. Hence, although we say with Helbig that Thracian culture was but
a " shortlived hothouse plant," yet we can neither deny to the Thracians the
possession of this culture in very early times, nor the possibility that it may
have influenced the culture of Hellas.
The chief objection to the theory lies rather in this, that the Greeks them-
selves were essentially a poetical people, delighting, as far back as we can trace
them, in music and song. Why, then, should their first experiment in either
be due to an impulse from without— from a strange people ?
Certainly the " sweet Linos-song," that plaintive melody which, according
to Homer, was sung during the vintage, is supposed to be of Semitic origin, the
lament for Adonis, and to take its name from the refrain — ai lenu ! "woe to
us ! " Nevertheless the impulse, or rather (as Bergk truly puts it) the
'' necessity " to ennoble life and adorn it by poetry, lay far too deeply in the
Hellenic nature for us to imagine that it came to them from without. We
cannot for a moment suppose that the first songs of Greece were either of
Thracian or of Semitic origin.
To arrive at any positive conclusion regarding the Grseco -Thracians is,
therefore, not within our power. We may follow the old writers and some
geographers of the present day, and believe that they founded cities, as Daulis
and Thespise, and waged wars, as in the struggle between Eleusis and Athens
(to be mentioned later). Or, we may assume with Helbig (and in this assump-
tion the writer is disposed to concur) that the association of the Muses and
Orpheus (and of Eumolpus also) with the Thracian district of Pieria "may
probably have.been based upon a reminiscence that once in a northern district,
afterwards reckoned as a ' barbarous ' one, there had prevailed a characteristic
intellectual movement," a movement which we may also conclude spread
148 THE PEOPLE
southwards and acted as a stimulus to Hellenic genius, preserving to the end in
the " Thracian tradition, traces of its origin."
We may note, however, in passing, that the cults of Dionysus and of Ares
are of Thracian origin, and that the transformation of Dionysus from a
Thracian into an Hellenic deity undoubtedly took place in Boeotia, and is
interwoven with the sagas of Thebes and Orchomenus. His mother, Semele,
and her sister Ino, wife of Athenias, are the daughters of Cadmus, whilst a
third daughter. Agave, is the mother of that unfortunate king of Thebes,
Pentheus, who is torn in pieces because of his refusal to recognise his relative
a god. Quite in keeping with the gloomy sagas of Thebes, moreover, is the
fierceness which, from first to last, characterised the cult of Dionysus in
Boeotia.i
THE lONIANS OF PELOPONNESUS AND OF ATTICA
In the name of the great race that now engages our attention, we have the
appellation under which the Greeks entered into the history of the world.
Just as to the rude tribes of the West the people of the Balkan peninsula
become known generally as Gra3ci or Greeks, so it is as lonians that they are
first mentioned to the nations of the East. This mention occurs in the Hebrew
Scriptures : Javan, the son of Japhet '-^ — the Ionian ; the isles of Elisha, whence
blue and purple dyes are brought to Tyre,^ probably denote the coast of Elis
and those Greek islands, such as Cythera and Eubcea, where was obtained the
murex or purple mollusc. In the East, then, the name " Ionian " denoted the
Greeks generally, a fact which can only be explained, like the name Grseci,
on the supposition that these tribes were the first met with by foreign people.
The name " Ionian " itself has received two different interpretations ; it
is thought by some to mean " the younger people," whilst others connect it
with the root t, "to go" (as in Hyperion, "he who moves on high" — i.e. the
sun). Without presuming to decide as to which was the original signification,
we can see that the latter etymology describes in the happiest way the character
of the race — the lonians were most emphatically a people " always on the
alert " ; a people with " go," life, movement, energy in themselves. They were
destined after a long preparatory discipline, and the admixture, perhaps, of a
steadying element, to take the lead in the experiments of Hellas.
The lonians are, as we have seen, conspicuous by their absence from the
Great Plain of Hellas. They appear, as Dr. Miiller quaintly puts it, " suddenly,
from the beginning {urpldtzlich), as though fallen from heaven in Attica and
^gialeia."
The explanation of this phenomenon, formerly held and worked out in the
most fascinating way by E. Curtius, viz., that the lonians were an Aryan
tribe that had settled first in Asia Minor and then crossed directly into Greece,
must be abandoned now that the evidence of language indicates the north as
the point from which Greece was entered by the united Grseco- Aryans. We
must therefore assume that the lonians were a " younger" tribe, in the sense
that they came late, found the Great Plain occupied, and continued their
wanderings at once to the south.
Here, we must imagine them as settling first on the coasts — in -^gialeia,
" the coast-land," the northern edge of Peloponnesus, bordering on the
^ See the article " Dionysus," in Hellas. •
- Genesis xi. lo.
-' Isaiah xxiii. 1-12 ; Ezekiel xxvii. 6; Daniel xi. 30.
THE lONIANS OF PELOPONNESUS AND OF ATTICA 149
Corinthian Gulf ; whence they probably fovmd their way to the sea known later
by their name as the Ionian Sea, and the Ionian Isles — ^Cephallenia, Zacynthus,
Ithaca ; in Troezen, on the eastern shores of Argolis, on the Saronic Gulf ; on
the Isthmus ; on both sides of the Euripus, in Boeotia and the island of Eubcea.
We find them, finally, in the country which they were destined to render so
famous —Attica, " the wave-beaten land " ; but their settlement here, if we are
to judge from the sagas, may possibly be a little later.
Thus, the names which the lonians gave to two of their settlements —
^gialeia, " coastland " ; Attica, " the wave-beaten " — -described them all. In
all the Wandering, Moving Folk of Hellas, developed, like the Little Folk, an
intense love for the sea. Poseidon, lord of water and of waves, was the tribal
god of the lonians, as of the Minyae, and in his honour they built a famous
sanctuary at Helice on the Corinthian Gulf.
The lonians of ^grialeia. — The earliest history of the Ionian coastland
is picturesque, but confused. We know that the people formed a dodecapoUs, or
union of twelve separate communities — a feature peculiar to the Ionian race ;
that they offered common sacrifices to Poseidon at Helice ; that the leading
city was Mecone (connected with the myth of Prometheus), the later Sicyon,
connected with the saga of Adrastus, the only hero who returns alive from the
War of the Seven against Thebes.
lonians of Troezen. — To the south-east of the Isthmus, bounded by it on
the west, and enclosed between the two great peninsulas of Attica on the east
and Argolis on the west, lies the broad and beautifvil Saronic Gulf ; in its
midst the rock-bound island of ^gina — leading out to the open sea^ — and the
island-streams. Down the western side of the Saronic Gulf the lonians wandered
and settled, some at Epidaurus (where according to tradition, they found
foreigners, Carians, in possession) but the major body probably in Troezenia,
the south-east corner of the Argolic peninsula, where they were snugly shut
in from Epidaurus by mountains.
The reader will recollect the grand view which we formerly enjoyed with
E. Curtius from the citadel of Troezen : the bold volcanic peninsula of Methana ;
the beautiful plain and hills ; the blue sea and islands — that view the charms
of which the saga summed up in the name of Euopis, "fair face" (p. 67). Now
we call attention to a little island close to the coast of Troezen, separated from
it only by a narrow strait, Calaureia (Poros), the seat of a very ancient
cult of Poseidon and the centre of the ancient Amphictyony, or League, to
which we have already referred and which includes the maritime cities of
Hermione, Epidaurus, ^gina, Athens, Prasise, Nauplia, and Orchomenus.
No better spot than the sheltered roads of Calaureia, convenient both for
Northern Greece and for Peloponnesus, could have been selected for the
meeting of different races, the laying aside of distrust, and the offering in
common of sacrifices to the great invisible Ruler of the Sea. Yet one
circumstance strikes us as strange. Calaureia lies off, and really forms part
of, Troezenian territory, and yet Troezen does not appear in the League — a
curious fact difficvilt to explain. Possibly, as Bursian suggests, the possession
of the island may have been in very early days the object of a prolonged
struggle between the neighbouring cities of Troezen and Hermione (as Athens
and Megara struggled for Salamis). The quarrel may finally have been
decided by the intervention of other States, and an arrangement that the
island should be neutral ground. The exclusion of Troezen may then have
arisen from her too close proximity and jealousy of her growing sea-power.
In any case, Troezen possessed in her harbour, Pogon, " the beard " (so called
from its shape), compensation enough. From first to last, the Troezenian coast
I50 THE PEOPLE
has been associated with deeds of seamanship and daring ; at Pogon the
combined fleets of the Greek States assembled in the great struggle for
freedom, just before the battle of Salamis ; and Poros, the ancient Calaureia,
has played a prominent part in the great struggle of our own days, the Wars
of Independence.
Leaving, however, the Peloponnesian lonians for a brief space, let us take
a glance at the future home of a part of the race, Attica, the great peninsula
of Middle Greece, the triangle which, with its base fixed among the hills, its
apex pointing southward, runs down joyously among the waves that dash upon
it on all three sides and gave it its name — "the wave-beaten." Truly, a fitting
home for the Moving Folk, the restless, energetic coast folk !
The lonians, however, were not apparently the first inhabitants of the land
— they had been preceded by the ubiquitous Pelasgi. Arriving in the
country, from the north, with these first immigrants, their flocks and herds, and
climbing with them, for " prospecting " purposes, to the top of one of the
numerous Attic heights, let us look at the scene below with their eyes. What
do we see ?
First, hills in abundance— hills to the east, hills to the west, hills every-
where — for Attica, tiny land as it is (one-eighth the size of Yorkshire),^ is
bounded and intersected by no fewer than seven distinct mountain ranges — to
say nothing of isolated. heights and crags. Lying amongst the hills are three
plains — one, a small one, in the north-east, isolated and cut off by the hills ;
another, on the west of a range running down from the north mountain
boundary to the sea, a third to the east of this range more towards the centre
of the peninsula and under our eyes. This central plain is covered by a
poor, thin soil, and in it rises a group of four low heights ; on either side of
the group flows a little river.
Nothing very tempting here, we think. What is this insignificant cir-
cumscribed space compared to the vast sweep of the Thessalian Plain, or the
majesty of the Spartan valley with the grand range of Taygetus?
Ah, but look again — look beyond ! See how the central plain opens on to
the sea, how it ends — in a peninsula with a magnificent natural harbour and
smaller ones to boot ! Look beyond these — on the west — to the blue Saronic
Gulf, bounded by the grand outline of the Argolic mountains and the great
mass of Acrocorinthus. Or, look to the east, to the glittering ^gsean, with the
mountains of Euboea, and the long chain of islands, visible as far as Siphnus
and Paros ; and stretching beyond right to the Asiatic coast ! Compared with
the brilliancy, the expansiveness of such a scene as this, it is the Spartan valley
and the Thessalian Plain that alike become monotonous and circumscribed.
Contemplating the breadth and scope and constant variety of the scene, we
can understand better the many-sidedness, the freedom from prejudice, of the
race that grew up under its influence. For the little central plain before us is
the Plain of Athens ; the two rivers are the Ilissus and the Cephissus ; that
oblong rock in the middle is destined to be the " queenly Acropolis," the centre
of the intellectual world ; that other rock to the west, " crawling like a huge
dragon " tow^ards the first, is the Areiopagus, Mars' Hill of coming years ; the
low height west of this again will one day be black with human beings as an
ant-hill with ants, for this is the Pnyx of the future, the place of assembly of
the free sovereign people of Athens ; finally, that fourth hill, the last of the
group, will not be passed over, it will be consecrated, as the Museium, to the
memory of a sweet singer of the olden times — the " Thracian" Musseus.
^ Yorkshire has an area of 5983 square miles ; Attica, including the Island of Salamis, one
of 740 square miles.
THE lONIANS OF PELOPONNESUS AND OF ATTICA 151
Inspiring as the scene is to us, it must nevertheless have seemed desolate
and unpromising enough to these first " prospectors " — a sandy plain, four little
hills, two streamlets. If there were any " men of many cows " among them,
they must have stood aghast at the prospect. In these days they were not even
in a position to appreciate adequately the grand maritime advantages of the
situation, for, as we know, long centuries elapsed before they profited fully by
them, and the Peirseus was not utilised as a harbour till the time of Themis-
tocles.
Notwithstanding, whatever objections may have been brought forward
against remaining in Attica were overruled. Probably the " many-cow-ed
men," the wealthy members of the tribe, retreated north into Boeotia,
*' congenial land of kine." The others settled in the central plain ; and here,
round the queenly rock — Cecropia, later the Acropolis — grew up in time a city,
violet-crowned —
" Built nobly ; pure the air, and light the soil ;
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence, native to famous wits,
Or hospitable."
Here, in less than one line, a poet has summed up what would take
ordinary mortals a page to describe. In Milton's
" Pure the air and light the soil "
we have both the magnet of attraction to those within and the drawback which,
fortunately, left the land unmolested by foes from without. As Thucydides
tells us, whereas the more fertile parts of Hellas were, because of their
fertility, more exposed to attacks from without, " Attica, of which the soil was
poor and thin, enjoyed a long freedom from civil strife."
Pure, indeed, is the air of Athens, and the climate of itself sufficient to
make existence pleasurable. We have already dwelt on the advantages
enjoyed by Athens in that respect over other parts of Greece : its 179 days in
the year when the sun is not hidden even for a moment ; its 157 days when
the sky is overcast perhaps for half-an-hour ; its grand total of 336 sunny days
as compared with the 79 of the chill north (p. 23). This wondrous immunity
of Athens from cloud and fog is explained scientifically by the fact that, no
sooner do the moist west and south-west winds come into contact with the dry
heated air streaming upwards from the Athenian Plain, than the watery vapour
which they hold volatilises and disperses, instead of condensing. The result is
that clouds are very seldom formed over Athens itself. Nor till the air-currents
reach the colder heights of Pentelicus, and specially of Parnes, does the sudden
cooling effect a condensation of the vapour, and mist-caps hang over the peaks
of the mountains. Athens thus often resembles a " sunny island in an
environment of cloud."
Let us note, moreover, that with all this sunshine, the climate is not
enervating, like the oppressive heat of Messenia. Look again at the position
and shape of Attica — as we have just seen it — a triangular peninsula, with
the sea beating on every side except the north, and it will become evident that
all the winds that blow have free access to it — cooling the heat of summer,
moderating the cold of winter. The Athenians must have been very well
acquainted with their rough relative, Boreas, " the North Wind," and had many
a tussle with him before they could conceive such a myth as that of his
carrying off their princess, Oreithyia, "the Mist-maiden."
Attica, again, is a hilly land, and although none of her mountains are very
152 THE PEOPLE
lofty, yet there is not one that is not rugged enough to tax in the ascent both
kings and limbs.
Thus we may faii'ly say that the climate of Attica was, as Plato averred,
well calculated to develop a race that should be lovers both of war and of
wisdom. Its bracing influence it shares with other parts of Greece — its
sunshine it has in unique abundance, and without regard to these physical
factors we shall hardly understand the unique character of the Athenian people.
" Whosoever has an eye to the peculiar beauty of the landscape," said E.
Curtius, once, on returning from a visit to Greece, " such an one will thank
his Creator for the first Attic sunny day that shines into his book- studies." In
that sunshine he will understand how Athenians developed an "all-round"
culture, whilst nations less happily placed, were devoting every energy to the
procuring of the bare means of subsistence ; in that sunshine he will see them
pass their daily lives — "legislating, worshipping, witnessing dramatic per-
formances " beneath the open heavens ; in that sunshine, finally, he will see
placed the finest works of art, where all could see and enjoy them without fear
of rain or injury from damp, ^ works of art which act as educators of the
people, and which with us are hidden away in galleries and museums.
The Athenians of the Historic period — sons of Erechtheus wandering in
aither, as Euripides calls them— were never weary of singing the praises of
their climate. To it the ancients generally attributed the clearness of the
Attic intellect, and the (presumed) superiority of the Athenians over their
befogged Boeotian neighbours.
Then if the bright, joyous climate was the attraction of Attica, do not let us
forget that even the supposed drawback — " light the soil " — was really, as we
have said elsewhere (p. 25), a blessing in disguise. Thanks to its poverty, as
Thucydides tells us, no other people coveted the land. From the earliest times,
Attica experienced few such troubles as befell the richer districts — Thessaly
and Boeotia — and kept in peace its old inhabitants. Hence the belief of the
Athenians that they themselves were autochthones, indigenous to, or sprung
from, the soil. Hence also the cause, or one cause, of their developing the
peaceful arts of life sooner than the other tiibes. The beginnings of agriculture
are associated with the saga of the deep-soiled Triptolemus and plain of Eleusis
— the only really fertile part of the land — and Thucydides expressly mentions
the fact that the Athenians were the first of the Hellenes to discontinue the
practice of carrying weapons for offence and defence in every-day life.
On turning, now, to the early history of Attica, one must own to a feeling
of disappointment. When we have recalled the native myths of Procne and
Philomela (the Nightingale and the Swallow), of Cephalus and Procris (the
Morning-star and the Moon), of Boreas and Oreithyia (the North-wind and
the Mist), and the legends of Ion and the Kings, with which the native myths
are interwoven, we have run through the catalogue of the early peiiod. Com-
pared to the sagas of Thebes and Argos, those of Attica are poor indeed. We
must suppose, in addition, that many of the Attic sagas were the work of
later hands. There are few allusions to them in Homer, and these few, in
Preller's judgment, would have been fewer still but for the " literary industry "
of Attic writers in the time of Peisistratus (the sixth century B.C.).
However, that the saga-treasure of Attica was poor, is to be attributed to
the immunity from disturbance which the land enjoyed. Where there are no
violent changes to chronicle, there are, as a matter of course, few traditions,
and little " history." Nevertheless, Attica would seem, after all, not to have
^ To this statement must be made an exception as regards works in ivory, which were
necessarily placed under cover.
THE lONIANS OF PELOPONNESUS AND OF ATTICA 153
been so entirely free from invasion as her people imagined. The legends may
be divided into two groups : (i) those associated with the names of Cecrops and
Erichthonius, and (2) those connected with the changes typified by ^geus and
Theseus.
I. The Attic sagas, like those of Argos, certainly go far enough back.
They begin with the first man, but whereas the Argive Phoroneus is only the
offspring of a tree, the Attic Cecrops springs, at first hand, like the gods them-
selves, from Mother Earth. This " fact " the Athenians set forth in the body
— half-human, half-serpent — wherewith they depicted him, denoting thereby
the secret and mysterious working of the powers of Nature, the result of whicla
is expressed in the name Cecrops, supposed to refer both to fruit and harvest.
Cecrops, however, is not only the representative of agriculture, but of the two
great elements of Attic life — religion and politics. It is he who plants the
worship of Zeus Hypatos (Highest God) on the citadel, and introduces the
cult of Athena as Polias, guardian of the city. It is Cecrops, finally, who
concentrates the many scattered hamlets of Attica into twelve cities, evidently
a later Ionian addition to the saga, in imitation of the Dodekapolis of
^gialeia. It is more probable that, at this very early period, the inhabitants
of Attica dwelt in scattered independent communities, united together in
threes and fours by a sacred tie, the cult of some special patron god. All
worshipped Zeus, the Father ; and in addition, the people of the western plain,
the most fertile part of the land, were devoted to Demeter, goddess of the
grain-giving earth ; the people round Cecropia, the Acropolis of the central
plain (the later Athens), worshipped Athena (the Dew-giver) ; and the dwellers
in the third plain, the district of Marathon in the north-east, formed them-
selves into a Tetrapolis, or league of four cities, devoted to Heracles and
Apollo, and later to Dionysus.
It is rather surprising, at first sight, to find the Athenians claiming another
JJy'inann, a second serpent-bodied ancestor, Erichthonius or Erechtheus. The
anomaly is explained by the later myth which made Cecrops an Egyptian — a
myth which, like that of the Egyptian origin of Danaus in Argos, arose at the
time when resemblances between the myths of Egypt and those of Greece began
to be traced. It then became necessary to have a native genius, about whose
Attic birth there could be no doubt, and this native genius is represented by
Erichthonius — Erechtheus — originally one and the same individual, but separated
by later myth-makers into two personalities — Erichthonius the grandfather,
Erechtheus the grandson.
Both are " doubles " of Cecrops, representatives of Agriculture, and devoted
to the cult of Athena. " Erichthonius" has been interpreted as " Rich land"
(G. Curtius), and the saga makes a brother of Erechtheus, " Butes," the
Herdsman, the inventor of the art of guiding the plough and driving oxen.
Erechtheus is said to have been brought up by Athena in her temple of the
Acropolis ; he founded in her honour the Panathenaic Festival, believed to be,
with the Eleusinian, the oldest in Greece. The temple of the Erechtheium,
erected on the Acropolis by the Athenians to their serpent-bodied ancestor, was
supposed to be watched over by a guardian serpent, for whom was placed every
month in historic times a honey-cake.
With Erechtheus also is connected the saga of the " Eleusinian War," a
tradition which developed more and more, and assumed ever grander proportions.
Into the western plain of Eleusis, the most fertile part of Attica, according to the
saga, a tribe of the " Thracians," whom we saw settled on the slopes of Helicon,
had penetrated, and it was not until after a prolonged struggle, which the
tradition centred in the persons of Erechtheus of Athens and Eumolpus of
154 THE PEOPLE
Eleusis, that the western plain submitted to the central. Victory over the
former could only be obtained by a voluntary sacrifice — the youngest daughter
of Erechtheus offered herself as the victim. On her death her sisters, who
could not live without her, slew themselves, and thus the whole family of the
Erechthida3 came to an end, martyred in the cause of the Fatherland.
As we have seen, the presence of "Thracians" in Eleusis is extremely
doubtful. The story by which Erechtheus subdued Eumolpus, the " Sweet
Singer " of Eleusis, may have originated in the religious rivalry between the
agriculturists in the central plain under the protection of Athena, and those in
the western plain under that of Demeter.
That a genuine historic kernel lies at the root of the story is, however,
borne out by the numerous remains of walls and towers on the hill-chain
(^galeos) which divides the two plains ; this was apparently the ancient Attic
boundary, and may have been the scene of many a battle. The independence
of Eleusis in early days may also be inferred from the power they possessed in
historic times — the direction of the great Temple of Demeter and Persephone,
and the right of coining money.
The earliest names in the first group of sagas were increased by later
additions — Ogyges (who also appears in Boeotia), a representative of the
Deluge ; Actaeus, of Attica ^ itself ; Cranaus, of the rocky soil of the land
(hence Herodotus calls the first Athenians Cranai) ; Amphictyon, of political
renown ; further, Pandion and Ion.
Returning, however, to the genuine nucleus, we can see that the legends of
Cecrops and Erichthonius, the genii of Harvest and Good Land, must have
sprung up amongst an agricultural people, and both, as we have seen, are
devoted to Athena. The daughter of Cecrops, the three Dew-sisters —
Pandrosus, the All-moistening, Herse, the Dew, and Aglaurus, the Glistening —
are the first priestesses of the goddess, herself the Dew-giver, and consequently
in a climate such as that of the Athenian plain, the Grain-giver.
2. Another element is, however, presently introduced into the old saga. A
rival to Athena, goddess of Agriculture, appears in the shape of Poseidon,
Lord of the Sea, and Cecrops is called upon to be umpire in the dispute as to
which has the better right to the land and the homage of its people. He
decides in favour of Athena, pronouncing her gift to Attica of the olive-tree a
more valuable one than that of Poseidon, the sea or the horse, the emblem of
the galloping waves.
According to a later version of the story, in which the twelve Olympic gods
themselves adjudicate upon the matter, Cecrops appears before them, and
argues that the sea is open to all, but that Athena had given the olive specially
to Attica {cf. p. 34), hence that the people of Attica were bound specially to
honour her and cultivate the land. The cultivation of the soil was, indeed,
long regarded by the Athenians as their special mission ; and, as we know, this
fixed idea proved later an obstacle in the way of Themistocles and his warlike
preparations.
This new element in the old sagas — the contest between land and sea —
pointing to the infusion of a new element into the old agricultural Pelasgic
life, centres round the names of -^geus and Theseus, ^geus is probably a
personification of Poseidon himself, i.e. the ^gean Sea ; Theseus, like Minyas,
the hero-ancestor of the Minyse (p. 137) is his son. Theseus in the saga comes
from Troezen, the " fair-faced," stronghold of the lonians in the earliest as in
later times. He is therefore held to be a representative of the race and of
1 From akte, " a peninsula," the rocky coast over which the waves break.
THE lONIANS OF PELOPONNESUS AND OF ATTICA 155
the settlement in Attica, the land of Athena, of the lonians, the people of
Poseidon.
The saga associates this occurrence with Theseus, as the national hero, but
" Theseus " is a comparatively late name ; and if such an invasion took place,
it must have been in very early times, for, as we know, the people of Attica
imagined their land to have been always left undisturbed amidst the migra-
tions of the tribes. Certainly there seems to have been a close bond of union
between Athens and Troezen in historic times — both possessed the saga of a
dispute between Poseidon and Athena about their respective lands ; the oldest
coins of Troezen bore the Athena head on the one side, the trident of the sea-
king on the other ; it was in Troezen that many Athenian families took refuge
during the Persian War.
If Theseus himself, however, as the Ionian of Troezen, points to one invasion
of Attica, the story of his heroic deeds would seem to presuppose another.
Theseus conquers the Amazons who have encamped on Areiopagus ; he slays the
fire-breathing bull of Marathon ; he overcomes the Minotaur, the man-devour-
ing bull of Crete, and thereby delivers the people of Attica from the tribute
of children demanded by the monster and levied by Minos, King of Crete.
Who is meant by " Minos," and what the bondage was under which the
Pelasgian inhabitants of Attica, tillers of the soil and goatherds, groaned until
set free by Theseus, type of the energetic seafaring lonians, we shall find out
presently.
Meantime let us note that " Theseus," as the national hero, is the embodi-
ment of all that is good and noble in the Athenian character. It is he, as
Thucydides tells us, who accomplishes that great work, the union of the twelve
Attic communes into one State, whose centre is Athens, where was henceforth
the one council for the administration of the affairs of the whole land, and the
one prytaneium or town-hall, with its sacred hestia, the hearth of the great
family of the State. All this Theseus is represented as doing (and this is an
intensely characteristic feature) — not by the strong hand of force, but — by the
aid of Peitho, " persuasion," the might of reason and eloquence.
Theseus has often been compared to Heracles, but the comparison is hardly
to the point. It is not the struggle with nature (personified in Heracles)
that Theseus represents so much as the struggle with circumstance. He thus
stands forth as the ideal of the Athenians themselves in their striving after
freedom, independence, and unity, and in this sense he was developed more
and more by later writers. In the hands of Sophocles he becomes the chival-
rous protector of the weak, in those of Euripides he is a thorough democrat,
whilst the masses of the people knew him in both characters, for his temple
was an asylum for fugitive slaves.
To sum up, the first group of Attic sagas, in the names of Cecrops and
Erechtheus, symbolises the first stage of Attic life, the Pelasgian stage, which
witnessed the beginnings of agriculture and of settled city life. ,
The second group, under the names of ^geus (Poseidon) and Theseus,
gathers together traditions early and late ; indicates the presence amid the
Pelasgians of a new race-element, the Ionian, with the collateral ideas of the
development of navigation and of a true political life.
If, again, the original Attic sagas are themselves somewhat meagre, we
must not forget that it was Attic genius which gave to many of the sagas of
the other people of Hellas that imperishable beauty which has preserved them
to our day. What charm or interest would the stories of CEdipus and Antigone,
of Iphigeneia and Medea possess for us now, but for the form into which they
were thrown by the gre^t tragic writers of Athens ?
156 THE PEOPLE
Finally, we may not overlook another fact of the utmost importance, viz.,
that the special religions of Attica, those of Athena and Demeter, are the
purest and most beautiful of Hellas. At Eleusis grew up that cult of the two
goddesses — Demeter and Core, the mother and the daughter — which was
destined to have so profound an influence not only on Greece, but on the whole
ancient world — that most beautiful of the Nature cults, which, more than
any other of the old religions, satisfied to some extent the longings of human
souls, and prepared the way among the Gentiles for a higher and a truer
hope.
The further development of the saga of Theseus begins, as we have hinted,
with the development of the Athenian people. Here, therefore, we leave
them. We leave them to struggle into the consciousness of national life, of
their own powers, of all that awaited them — to find out by actual experiment
how wondrously in every detail their land corresponded to their needs. Surely,
when we reflect on its maritime position, its harbours, its stores of finest
marble, of plastic clay, its invigorating breezes, its pure air and genial sun-
shine, we must say once more — hundreds of times as it has been said before —
never was land so suited to its people, never were people so suited to their
land, as Attica to the Athenians, the Athenians to Attica.
PELASGI, DANAANS, AND ACH^ANS OF PELOPONNESUS
As we saw in our last chapters, Pelasgi from the Great Plain had settled
both in Boeotia and in Attica. We must now follow the fortunes of other
bands of the same race, who, like the lonians, went still farther south, and
crossed the isthmus into Peloponnesus, Some of these Pelasgian wanderers
penetrated into the great mountain-land in the centre of the peninsula — the
Switzerland of Greece — Arcadia. Here, pent up among their hills, they
speedily forgot the outer world and their migration therefrom ; and here we
may leave them— to develop into numerous tribes of brave and hardy moun-
taineers, with all the virtues and all the failings incident to their secluded
life (see ante, p. 6). As experimenters, the Arcadians do not concern us at
present.
Leaving also another band to develop under the name of " Achaeans " in
the valley of the Eurotas, we now direct our attention to a third company of
Pelasgi, who found their way into the hill-girt easterly plain of Peloponnesus,
the Plain of Argos.
This plain, which became, as we shall presently see, a famous centre of
legendary history, is really, like so many of the Greek plains, a deep basin
encircled by mountains on all sides except the south, where it is open to the
sea. In bygone ages the " plain" must have been a bay, the innermost re-
cesses of the Gulf of Argos, penetrating far into the land. In progress of time
the bay gradually became filled up by the earthy deposits brought down from
the hills by the torrents and rivers, the great land-builders of Greece,^ and
thus, formed by layer upon layer of detritus, the plain appeared. To this, its
watery origin, the low, swampy ground on the coast, the " egg-shell of its
birth," still bears witness ; and to it may perhaps be attributed also the saga
of the contest between Poseidon and Hera for the possession of Argos.
Poseidon is worsted — i.e. the sea recedes, and Hera becomes the tutelary deity
of the land, with the further consequence that Poseidon takes his revenge by
^ See Part I., '' Rivers as land-builders," antey p. 59.
PELASGI, DANAANS, AND ACH^ANS OF PELOPONNESUS 157
drying up its rivers, and the plain becomes the " thii-sty Argos " of Homer and
of history.
The earliest inhabitants of the plain of whom we have any record are, as
stated above, the ubiquitous Pelasgi. Here, in the sunny, fertile, hill-protected
district — to which they gave the name peculiar to the race, Argos — they
pitched their tents, at the foot of a gigantic rock (the eastern part of Lycone, a
spur running out from Artemisium) which stands above the plain to a height
of nearly 1000 feet. This became, again, their Larissa, or citadel — like
Ephyra, the Watch-tower, a safe refuge in times of danger — and round this
stately acropolis grew up the settlement which developed later into the historic
city of Argos.
Round the Larissa grew up also in time a cycle of sagas. Naught knew
the authors of these of any old Thessalian, much less of any old Aryan, home.
Like their Arcadian bi'ethren, they believed themselves to be Autochthones ;
they imagined themselves to have sprung up in the land. Later, the Argives
of history claimed to be the oldest of the Hellenes — an assumption in which
they were supported by the fact that the historical recollections of the Hellenes
reached no further back than " ancient Argos." The sagas of Argos divide
themselves naturally into three groups or periods: —
1 . Here first grew up the saga of Phoroneus, the Urkonig, the primaeval
king of the land, son of the Inachus, its chief river — hence also its great
land-builder and fertiliser — and the nymph Melia, the Ash — a genealogy
pointing to that old belief according to which man is the offspring of a tree.^
Phoroneus — from his name (?.e., hearer) the representative of the productive
soil of the land — is, therefore, according to Argive tradition, not only the first
king, but the first man ; and not only so, but he is the first introducer of
civilisation, the bringer of fire (like Prometheus), ^ and the founder of the
special cult of the land, the worship of Hera on Mount Euboea. His wife is
called sometimes Kerdo (the prudent, she who gains), sometimes Telodike (the
spreader of justice), sometimes Peitho (the power of persuasion) — all names,
as Preller points out, indicative of new features in the development of settled
order and intercourse among citizens. The son of Phoroneus is that Apis, from
whom some writers supposed Peloponnesus to have taken its name of Apia.^
Finally, we note in this first cycle of Argive sagas that a daughter of the
old river-god Inachus, is lo (the Moon), that pitiful heroine, whose wrongs,
sufferings, wanderings, and final arrival in Egypt play so important a part in
Greek mythology. Let us note also that this same lo, under the name of
Kallithyia (the lovely enthusiast) figures, as the first of the Priestesses of
Hera in that long list which was used by the Greek chronologers, and we
shall have some idea (as observed at the outset) how the oldest Greek
" history " was written.
2. In the second group of sagas we meet with the people of the plain at
a higher level of civilisation — they are no longer called Pelasgi but Danaans
— that is, the people of Danaus, the Giver, the man who taught them how to
dig wells, how to irrigate the land, and, by supplying her lack of moisture,
induce Mother Earth to give up her fruits. The prime necessity of irrigation
in a land like " thirsty Argos," and the relation of the Danaids, the fifty
daughters of Danaus, to the springs and rivers of the land, we have already
pointed out (see ante, pp. 58, 59). Danaus, however, is not only the first well-
^ See paragraph 1 1 on the "Origin of the Human Race," Hellas p. 91.
2 Pott derives Phoroneus from phero — to bear. Kulm compares the name with the Indian
Bhuranya — the down-rushing, i.e. the lightning.
^ See, however, ante, footnote to p. 31.
158 THE PEOPLE
digger, but the first builder of the city of Argos, the hestia or *' sacred hearth "
of which had been founded by Phoroneus.^
In the saga, moreover, he figures as an Egyptian, the descendant of lo,
and although this part of the story is an addition of later times, the whole
points to the infusion of another element — an element of progress — into the
old Pelasgian life. Homer calls the people of Argos indifferently Danaans
and Achseans.
3. The next saga, that of Proetus, gives even more unmistakable evidence
of progress. This evidence is still before our eyes.
Climbing to the top of the Larissa, and looking across the Inachus, we see,
rising in the south-east of the plain, a group of small flat hills, originally islands
in the old sea-floor. On the most westerly of these, low and easily accessible,
are the remains of a very ancient fortress, the " well-walled Tiryns" of Homer
— the first city in the plain, fortified by art, not like the Larissa on the height,
defended by nature — some twenty-five feet thick, built of stones so enormous
that, as Pausanias says (with some exaggeration truly), " a team of mules
could scarcely move one of them," the mighty walls of Tiryns have defied the
storms of the ages.
Men have come — Pelasgians, Phoenicians, Lycians, Achaeans, Dorians,
Romans, the Frank and the Turk — and men have gone, but the old walls of
Tiryns bid fair to hold on for ever.
The question naturally arises. Who built these walls ? The later Greeks
themselves did not believe them to have been the work of their ancestors.
Walls so stupendous could only have been reared by daemonic agency.
Hence the saga : Proetus is a descendant of Danaus, driven from Argos by
his brother Acrisius, he takes refuge in Lycia, where he is hospitably received,
and returns triumphantly to his birth-land with a band of warlike Lycians,
who restore him to his rights. Acrisius, " the king of the heights," retains,
indeed, Argos and the soaring Larissa ; but for Proetus, " the Eager-for-War,"
Lycian Cyclopes (one-eyed daemons) build the well-walled city of Tiryns, on
the eastern side of the Inachus. So then, according to the story, the great
fortress of Tiryns was erected by foreign help to defend the brother in the
plain from the brother on the height. Is there a grain of truth here ? We
shall examine the question presently.
Meanwhile, to return to the old city of Argos, it now appears as the centre
of the most famous group of sagas belonging to this second cycle — those con-
nected with the great Sun-hero and slayer of the Powers of Night, Perseus,
the story of whose mother, Danae, cast adrift on the sea with her babe by her
cruel father, Acrisius, has been so touchingly told by Simonides. ' Into the
wondrous adventures of this altogether mythical hero, we cannot enter here.
Suffice it, that Eastern elements mingle abundantly with them — that Perseus
rescues from the dragon of Darkness an Ethiopian princess, whom he marries ;
that their child is Perseus, the founder of the Persian royal dynasty, a " fact"
acknowledged by Xerxes ; that Perseus, on his return to his native land, un-
wittingly kills his grandfather, Acrisius ; that he can no longer dwell in the
city of the slain, and consequently exchanges Argos with his cousin, a son of
Proetus, for Tiryns ; that, finally, he builds (again with the help of Lycian
Cyclopes), the third great city of the plain, Mycenae, and becomes the founder
of the Perseid royal house, from whom there springs another Sun-hero, the
greatest of all — Heracles.
Some writers represent the latter as having been born at Tiryns — the
^ For the importance of the " sacred hearth " to a city, see Hellas under '* Hestia," p. 163.
PELASGI, DANAANS, AND ACH^ANS OF PELOPONNESUS 159
mightiest of heroes within the mightiest of walls. This mistake, however, is
not one which the oldest sagas could fall into. Like the god of Light, Apollo
himself, whose mother is Leto, the dark Night, and who struggles into life
with difficulty ; and, like his prototype Perseus, who is also born in darkness
underground, and encounters misfortune as soon as he breathes, so Heracles'
the great Hellenic example of energy overcoming danger and difficulty, is born
an exile, at Thebes, on (Eta.
As the son of an elder branch of the Perseid family, Heracles should him-
self have succeeded to the throne of Mycenae instead of Eurystheus, the weak-
minded cousin whom he serves. Eurystheus, however, will not acknowledge
even the claim of Hyllus, the son of Heracles, and is slain by him in battle ;
whereupon the sceptre of Mycenae is seized by Atreus, member of an alien
race, known later as that of the Pelopidae.
Such, in brief, is the early legendary history of Argos. Useless for pur-
poses of real history as are the details of such traditions — details in which, as
already observed, the Moon and two Sun-heroes figure as historical personages
— it is yet necessary that we should make ourselves acquainted with them, for
the descent of the mythical Heracles from the no less mythical Perseus is the
pivot on which by tradition the state of affairs in historical Greece is made to
turn. It was the claim of certain individuals to be the genuine descendants
of Heracles, and therefore the representatives of the Perseids, the real royal
line of Argos as opposed to the descendants of Atreus and his son Agamemnon,
the representatives of the Pelopids, or usurpers in Argos, which led to the
result called the Return of the Herakleids or the Dorian Invasion of Pelopon-
nesus, an event which is generally regarded as in itself an historical fact —
whatever in reality may have been its cause.
Who then, is this Atreus, the usurper, the founder of the new lines of
rulers in Mycenae? According to later sagas, he is the son of Pelops, who,
again, is the son of Tantalus, King of Lydia, that ancient evil-doer who, in the
Odyssey, is seen expiating his wicked deeds in the lower world. But Homer
knows nothing of Pelops ; he only speaks of Atreus and the Atridae, his sons
Agamemnon and Menelaus. Still less does Homer know anything of the
fearful crimes of the race, or the " doom " hanging over it. All this was
invented at a later date.
According to another tradition, Atreus was the uncle of the weak Eurys-
theus. As Thucydides tells us, on the death of the latter, " because he seemed
a valiant man, he received, with the consent of the people, lordship over
Mycenae and all that belonged to Eurystheus."
Atreus then took up his abode at Mycenae, the third city of the plain,
whose mighty walls still stand, like those of Tiryns, to bear witness to the
power of their builders. Great interest centres round the old feudal strong-
hold, round which circle the third group of the legends of Argos. From it
comes forth Agamemnon, shepherd of the host, clad in his flashing bronze,
and stands in the national sanctuary, the Heraeum, on the slopes of Euboea, to
administer the oath of fealty to the princes, who join the league against Troy,
as Homer tells us he stood in later days in the Plain of the Scamander —
*' with head and eyes like to Zeus " — a veritable king of men, marshalling the
ranks of the mail-clad Achaeans. And in this dark fortress grows up the sweet
bud Iphigeneia, lured away to be the bride of Death ; in it her lady-mother
Clytaemnestra nurses her terrible vengeance, in it she meets requital at the
hand of her son Orestes. In this same dark mountain-fortress we have, in
short, " the spot chosen for the central stage of Greek tragedy," and round it
cycle the sagas immortalised by an .i^schylus, a Sophocles, a Euripides. In
i6o THE PEOPLE
our own day the eyes of the world have again been drawn to this " nook
of horse-pasturing Argos " by the researches of Dr. Schliemann, which will
engage our attention immediately.
Meanwhile, leaving Mycenae with its lion-watchers, guardians of the old
citadel through the ages, we ask, as we asked concerning Tiryns, Who built
it ? And we ask further, Whence comes the flashing bronze of Agamemnon ?
And yet again, How have our hide-clad Pelasgians become metamorphosed
into mail-clad Achseans ?
By superhuman agency, say the sagas. Not only have the mighty walls
of Tiryns and Mycenae been raised by wheel-eyed Cyclopes from Asia, but the
forging of the flashing armour is also the invention of friendly daemons,
Dactyls and Telchines, who likewise hail from beyond the seas — the Dactyls
from Phrygia and Crete, the Telchines from Cyprus and Rhodes. At first
sight these fables afford no clue, yet when looked into they will be found to
possess their grain of truth. The name "Dactyls" means "fingers," and
" Telchines " is connected with " magic." The magic power by which the raw
ore is converted into shining bronze is therefore simply the power of the
fingers, and the clever manipulators who own these fingers come from the
East.
Moreover, the ancient traditions of Argos concerning the beginnings of a
higher civilisation culminate, be it noted, in the legends of Nauplia, the only
seaport of the plain, a few miles to the south of Tiryns, and one of the most
ancient cities of Argos. Here arose the saga of Nauplius, the crafty " double "
of the Corinthian Sisyphus (p. 139) and his son, the noble Palamedes — inventors,
according to the tradition, of lighthouses, of navigation itself, of weights and
measures, of the games of draughts and dice, of reckoning, of letters — the
personification, in short, of many of the arts which the later Greeks them-
selves believed to have been introduced from the East.
Strange to say the grand old Gibraltar Rock, which served as citadel to
Nauplia, with its magnificent outlook over the Argive Plain and the coast of
Laconia, bears to this day the name, in Venetian form, of the unfortunate
hero, Palamidi. Hardly less strange is it that Nauplia, the traditional cradle of
the oldest civilisation, should have become the first capital of liberated Greece
— the Greece of our own day !
Yet, again, the very first picture drawn for us by the father of history is
that of the Asiatic bazaar held at the mouth of the Inachus.
Thus myth, saga, and tradition preserved in history alike arouse our
curiosity to find out the grain of truth hidden beneath them, the relations
existing between early Greece and the East.
THE OLDEST MONUMENTS OF GREECE
Before discussing the question of the connection of early Greece with the
East, let us take a glance at the oldest monuments of the land. Not until we
have made ourselves thoroughly familiar with these in their detail will it be
possible for us to grasp the bearings of the subject upon the problem of the
making of Hellas. And let us also pause to pay a passing tribute to one who
has done more than any man of the century to elucidate the question, Dr.
Heinrich Schliemann. Mr. Gladstone, in his Preface to Schliemann's Mycenae,
speaks of the author as " the spoilt child of fortune." A truer characterisation
of the man would be, perhaps, that " hand-to-hand fighter " with fortune. The
THE OLDEST MONUMENTS OF GREECE i6i
son of a German Lutheran pastor, Schliemann was early left an orphan to
struggle in the battle of life as best he could. Not until he had reached a
mature age did he find himself free to carry out the dream of his life — the
unearthing of Homer's " Troy." With rare courage, and that rarest of modern
qualities, unswerving faith in a great idea, Schliemann set to work, and in
the face of the scoffs of scholarly Europe, the ridicule of that large majority of
easy -goers who hate an earnestness which they cannot themselves understand,
and the very considerable obstacles put in his way by official greed and
ignorance, he brought to light relics and treasures, which, if not recognised
universally by the names bestowed upon them, in his enthusiasm, by their
discoverer, are, nevertheless, of the utmost importance in the history of
culture. The " Burnt City " on the hill of Hissarlik may or may not be
Homer's " Ilion." The "Great Treasure" discovered therein may or may not
have been secreted by a people who had grappled with the " Achseans"; the
occupants of the pit graves of Mycenae, with their astounding surroundings,
may or may not have belonged to the great house of Atreus. All these are
points on which every one is free to judge from the evidence for himself. One
thing, however, is certain, that any one who would penetrate into the mystery
of prehistoric times must stand with Dr. Schliemann on the excavated hill
of Hissarlik, and look down into the yawning chasm below ; must visit the
wondrous grave-circle of Mycense ; must explore the hidden chamber of the old
fortress of Tiryns ; must do all this in the spirit, not of a carping critic, but of
a learner. Readers who are desirous of full information will, of course, go to
the fountain-head — the works published by Schliemann under the titles re-
spectively of Troja, Mycense, Tiryns, Orchomenus, all of which, except the last-
named, have been translated into English. Those who wish a more condensed
account of Dr. Schliemann's discoveries will turn to Schuchhardt's recent
summary, of which there is also an English version published.
Here we cannot attempt more than a very brief resume of the more salient
points, taking them in connection with the various stages of culture which they
illustrate, and glancing also, as we proceed, at the work of other explorers in
the same field.
The First Stage in Culture, the Nomadic Stage, had been passed through by
the Greeks, as we have seen, before they entered their historic home. The
" Monuments " of this period are those contained in Language. (See Appendix
and Part II.)
The Second Stage of Culture. We must ask the reader now to travel back
with us again to that period from which we started — the later Stone Age of
Europe, in which we saw our Grseco- Aryans defiling up the glen of Tempe clad
in sheep- and goat-skins, armed with stone weapons, using stone implements,
and treasuring as of great price little ornaments of one metal, copper. The
best realisation of this period is afforded us by the first (lowest) prehistoric
city on the Hill of Hissarlik, in the Troas. Another embodiment of it is,
however, presented to us on Greek soil, on the low rock of Tiryns. In the
north-west corner of the Upper Citadel (shortly to be described) exist traces of
an older settlement in the shape of rough walls and clay floors, lying deeper
than the adjacent part of the palace. The vases and jars found here resemble
closely the earthenware peculiar to the first city on Hissarlik. The potter's
wheel is not, indeed, unknown, but by far the greater part of the vessels is
hand-made, of reddish-yellow, tolerably well-burnt clay, without a handle, but
provided with holes through which a string can be passed wherewith to lift the
vessel. The attempts at ornamentation are very primitive — e.g. the upper
edge of the vessel will be adorned with a series of round indentations, which
1 62 THE PEOPLE
seem to have been made by the finger, whilst another favourite device is the
so-called " fish-spine " pattern.
Let us not despise these rough efforts. In the pottery of an ancient
people we see its first attempts at civilisation. Man has been defined as a
^' cooking animal," and these clumsy vessels prove to us, at the least, that he
very early recognised a difference between himself and the brute creation.
In early times man was not only a " cooking " but a *' washing (to some
extent), cleansing, thrifty, looking-ahead, food-preserving animal." All this
tallies very well with the picture previously sketched of the life of the earliest
Pelasgian settlers in Thessaly. The people were comfortably off in their way,
they had everything " within themselves," as we say, and needed not to barter,
save for articles not obtainable by their own exertions. Amongst such articles
we must class the rude knives and arrow-points of obsidian found in enormous
quantities under the ruins of the palace at Tiryns and also at Mycense, for
obsidian, a stone much prized by reason of its hardness, is found apparently
only on the islands of Melos and Cimolus. Evidently, therefore, there must
have existed a system of trading, of barter, and exchange even in these hoary
days. In addition to the earthenware vessels and jars, and the obsidian knives
and arrow-points, the oldest settlement at Tiryns has yielded a very curious
object in the shape of a bead of blue cobalt glass. Whence came this ? A
question to be discussed presently. We can hardly imagine our Pelasgian
herdsmen to have been initiated into the mysteries of glass-manufacture.
Finally, let us note that to suppose the inhabitants of the oldest Tirynthian
settlement to have been of the same race as the inhabitants of the oldest
Phrygian city on Hissarlik is by no means a necessary deduction from the
similarity, the "family-likeness" existing between the objects found at both
places. Similar " finds " have been made in various parts of Europe, Germany,
Hungary, Italy, France. The " natural " primitive forms of the first necessary
utensils and implements required by man are probably peculiar to no race in
particular.
Third Stage. If the oldest Tirynthian settlement may be taken as illus-
trating the period of the history of Argos personified in Phoroneus (p. 157),
the embodiment of the stage typified by Danaus (p. 157), the stage of social
order, is to be sought for rather on one of the islands of Greece — that most
remarkable island which we now know only in its separate fragments, Santorin
(Thera), Therasia, and Aspronisi. The reader will recollect the visit we lately
paid to the scene (p. 46), the large half-moon-shaped Thera with its stupendous
volcanic walls on the east, the two smaller islands on the west, between them
the oval gulf, whose waters of unknown depth cover the mighty crater which
once towered above the centre of the one island now scattered into three. By
the falling in of the crater which hollowed out the gulf, the whole population
of the land left unsubmerged was buried beneath the lava streams. The
existence of this " prehistoric Pompeii," however, was not suspected until
brought to light by a curious accident. During the construction of the Suez
Canal and Port Said, pozzolana, a volcanic product, which, powdered and
mixed with lime, makes a most durable and water-proof cement, was in great
request. It abounds in Santorin and Therasia, and the extension of the
quarries on the latter island it was, that first led to the discovery in 1867 of
the buried village. The work was stopped by great blocks of stone, which
were afterwards found to form part of walls. ^ These walls, at first supposed
to belong to tombs, proved to be those of dwelling-houses, provided with doors
^ For the account of the discovery and the description of the " prehistoric Pompeii " we are
indebted to M. Fouque's great work Santorin et ses Eruptions.
THE OLDEST MONUMENTS OF GREECE 163
and windows, and constructed of squared lava blocks, the interstices between
which were filled by a reddish ash, the charred remains probably of a vegetable
earth used as mortar. The objects found within were of lava, flint or terra-
cotta, and as remarkable for their form as for the material of which they were
made. The skeleton of a man was discovered, not extended as in a grave, but
crushed together by the fall of a roof in the catastrophe which buried the
village for 4000 years. Barley and other grains lay on the floor in heaps, or
were stored in large jars ; the bones of sheep and goats gave evidence of
domesticated animals. Not a vestige of metal was to be seen, not a trace even
of nails in the woodwork.
The investigations subsequently pursued on the sister-island of Thera gave
similar results, except that here the houses were found to differ in the standard
of refinement attained — some containing objects of luxury, and their walls
being adorned by frescoes, whilst others held only coarse articles, and their
walls remained in native roughness. In Thera were discovered, let us note, a
saw of very pure copper and two little rings of equally pure gold, which had
evidently formed part of a necklace. Of the domestic utensils, the coarser
implements are of lava, the finer of obsidian, stone being employed for all
purposes in which we now use iron. These stone tools are not polished, but
most delicately wrought, the workmanship being as careful as that of the
objects of the same kind so common in Mexico, where they were made even
at the epoch of the Spanish Conquest. Judged by the pottery standard, the
civilisation of these prehistoric dwellers on Thera must be rated as relatively
high. The vases made by the wheel are, mostly, remarkable for beauty of
form ; some, indeed, may already be classed as works of art. The colours are
lively, and the decoration, which consists of geometrical lines, figures of animals
and leaves and flowers, shows an extraordinary delicacy and refinement.^
The primitive people who had made these advances were poor fishermen.
From the evidence of the appliances found in their dwellings — oil-presses of
lava, disks of lava resembling the weights used by weavers for stretching
their work upon the frame, &c. — it is evident that they were not behind in
other arts.
These humble, prehistoric folk, labourers and fishers, knew, according to
M. Fouque, how to extract oil from the olive ; they cultivated the cereals, and
ground them into flour ; reared flocks of goats and sheep, and (judging from a
pasty substance found) made cheese ; they fished with nets, lived in comfort-
able dwellings, manufactured cloth, and knew how to surround themselves
with objects pleasing to the eye.
The catastrophe which overwhelmed the island is supposed, on geological
evidence, to have occurred about or before 2000 B.C. Even if, on other grounds,
we place it somewhat later, and regard the vases of Thera as belonging to
1800 B.C., the result is striking and satisfactory. We find evidence that man
is no longer merely a " cooking " and a " provident " animal, but something
very different. Not only does the cultivation of the olive prove that he had
reached the stage of law and social order, but we have also testimony to the
springing up of the germ latent in him from the very first — the " necessity "
impelling him onward to beautify and adorn life.
In this connection we shall, perhaps, be justified also in assigning to this
third period the primitive musical instruments found at Mycenae — the lyre of
bone, and the flute constructed of bone, terra-cotta, and stone. Not only the
^ " . . . e^ d'une finesse de goiit extraordinaire sont aurtout fournies par Vendroit convert de
peintures et 'par les poteries."
1 64 THE PEOPLE
eye, but the ear, had ah'eady begun to strive after harmony — through both the
ideal is already claiming its place above the material.
Whether the dwellers on Thera were of Greek or Carian extraction, is a
problem which we must be content to leave unsolved. We call the reader's
attention, however, to one point, which, like the glass bead found at Tiryns^
excites our curiosity, viz. the existence on the island of metal articles — the
bronze saw and the gold rings. How is their presence among the articles of
stone — of obsidian, flint, and lava to be accounted for ?
Fourth Stage. The fourth and final stage of prehistoric culture — personified
in the sagas of Argos under the names of Atreus and Agamemnon — presents
us with a striking contrast, at once brilliant and extraordinary, to all that has
gone before. In place of the rude dwellings of tillers of the soil, we have
before our eyes the palaces and tombs, alike richly decorated, of powerful
princes ; in place of groups of trembling shepherds climbing to the heights of
lofty rocks, or hiding in underground holes for safety, we have armed warriors,
strong citadels, and fortified enclosures surrounded by walls that have with-
stood the storms of the ages, side by side with the simple vessels and imple-
ments of homely peasant life ; objects not only dazzling but luxurious and
artistic meet our gaze — insignia of royalty, the jewels and ornaments of prin-
cesses, the gold-bedecked weapons and mighty golden goblets of heroes — all
wrought with the finished technique that marks an advanced stage of culture.
Most of these wonders culminate and find their fullest presentment in
Argos, and especially in Mycenae, but the civilisation which they typify was
by no means confined to Argos. All along the eastern coast of Greece — from
the valley of the Eurotas, the traditional home of the Achseans of Peloponnesus,
to lolcus (Volo) in Thessaly, the traditional home of the Minyse — it has left
indisputable traces of its existence.
The Mycense rich in gold, the wealthy Orchomenus with its revenue com-
parable to that of the hundred-gated Egyptian Thebes of the Iliad, are proved
to have been at one period strictly deserving of the epithets bestowed upon
them and lasting factors in the making of Hellas. It is the Mycensean
culture, modified by circumstances shortly to be detailed, which we see in
Homer.
Let us, then, begin our survey of the " Mycenaean " civilisation with the
city, which, from the variety and fulness of its monuments, has given its
name to the epoch.
MYCEN^^
Making our way now from the Isthmus and Corinth by the pass through
Mount Tretus, in which the roads from Nemea and Cleonse meet, we enter the
very narrow northern corner of the Plain of Argos, and there, to our left, on a
spur projecting from Tretus towards the west, we see the stately and, after
more than 2000 years of desolation, still imposing ruins of Mycenae, the " well-
built," " wide-wayed," " rich-in-gold " city of the Iliad, the dark old fortress
described for us so picturesquely by Dean Stanley.
The main object of this citadel in the farthest " nook of horse -pasturing
Argos " would seem to have been to dominate, not merely the upper part of
the plain, but the roads leading to the north — to Phlius and Sicyon, Nemea,
Cleonae, and, above all, Corinth — through the pass which we have just quitted.
The power that had command of these mountain passes and roads had access
also to thi-ee great gulfs, the Corinthian, Saronic, and Argolic, with all the
commercial advantages belonging thereto.
MYCENiE 165
That this sea-empire was the object aimed at by the builders of the old
fortress has been made tolerably clear by Captain Steffen, who has demon-
strated the existence of an ancient Cyclopean highway, narrow and protected
by towers, which led by three arms to Corinth, and whose raison iXUre was
evidently the keeping open of the communication between that city and
Mycenae. Whether the latter was founded by invaders from Corinth, deter-
mined to gain the Argolic Plain and Gulf, as Steffen and Busolt think, or by
some powerful Argive prince, bent on forcing his way to the Western Sea
and the Islands, as held by Schuchhardt, really matters little. The connection
itself, however, in whatever way accomplished, is a point of importance inas-
much as the command of a double or triple sea serves to explain the power
and pre-eminence of Agamemnon, " King of men," and the wealth of Mycenae,
better than does the reason assigned by Thucydides, viz. the fertility of the
lands about the city.
Mycenae, according to the latest researches, consisted of three parts : the
Acropolis or higher city, the lower city, and a suburb to the west.
The Acropolis was, of course, the rocky height projecting from the
mountain behind Tretus. It lies between two majestic peaks of Mount
Euboea — one on the north, 2500 feet high, the other on the south-east, and is
defended naturally by two deep glens or gorges — one on the north, the other
the bed of a torrent, protecting the whole southern exposure. The rock
presents the shape of an irregular triangle, with the apex towards the east,
whilst the base, beneath which stretched the lower city, faces the west.
The east and west sides of the cliff slope to the plain in a succession of
terraces, natural or artificial.
The Walls. — On the Acropolis lay the palace of the chieftain, defended
by strong circuit-walls, which follow the winding edge of the rock, and are
preserved on all sides except the south, where probably the natural defence
afforded by the precipitous fall of the rock to the gorge below may have
rendered protection by art unnecessary. These walls, constructed of hard
limestone quarried from the neighbouring mountains, are from thirteen to
thirty-five feet high, and on an average sixteen feet thick. They exhibit no
less than three different styles of architecture, belonging to various periods.
The workmanship of the nucleus (and by far the greater part) resembles that
of Tiryns, although not so massive, consisting of roughly shaped blocks piled
on one another and bonded together by small stones and clay. Then we have
polygonal blocks, fitted together with great skill, and, lastly, quadrangular
blocks in regular layers. In the north wall are the remains of a gallery,
probably constructed on the same plan as those at Tiryns, shortly to be
described. The fortifications included several towers.
On the west is the chief entrance to the fortress, the famous Lion Gate,
and a smaller door or postern gave admittance on the north-east. The approach
to the former was so planned that a narrow passage between the wall and a
tower had first to be traversed. Hence, an enemy must have met with a
warm reception on either side before he could effect an entrance. Over the
gateway is a triangular gap formed by the gradual approximation of the two
side-layers of stone. This space is filled by a slab sculptured in relief with the
device fi-om which the gate takes its name — two lions, one on either side,
standing on their long outstretched hindlegs, and resting their forepaws on an
altar placed between them ; on the altar stands a column. The meaning and
probable origin of these symbols will engage our attention shortly.
The Lower City and Suburb. — Between the two glens mentioned, and
stretching to the south-west, lay the lower city, where ckister the people
1 66 THE PEOPLE
round the height on which dwelt their liege lord. The lower city appears to
have been, like the citadel, strongly fortified, but the bounds evidently became
too strait for an increasing population. The walls of the old town may still
be traced ; beyond them lies what must have been a vast and well-built
suburb. It is to this Lower Mycenae, probably, that the Homeric epithet
" wide-way ed " applies. The lower city presents many objects of interest —
Cyclopean sub-structures of houses, remains of a cyclopean bridge, and — most
remarkable of all — no fewer than seven of the wondrous underground dome-
shaped sepulchres, called generally from their form " beehive " tombs, and for
the same reason by the country-folk around phoui^oi = ovens. Two of these
are found within the walls of the old town, five beyond them.
So little was the purpose for which these underground buildings were
designed understood, that until very recently the name popularly given to the
largest and most important of them, the " Treasury of Atreus," was regarded
by many archaeologists as correctly expressing their object, viz. the conceal-
ment of the royal treasures. There can be no doubt, however, that these
wonderful buildings, modelled apparently as we have seen (p. 126) upon the
abodes of the living, were the abodes of the dead. For the bee-hive tomb at
Menidi in Attica, recently discovered, contained the remains of six persons.
Let us for a moment glance at the " Treasury of Atreus," premising that the
treasures found in the pit-graves of Mycenae, shortly to be described,
sufiiciently explain why wealth should have been traditionally associated also
with the beehive tombs not only of Mycenae but of Orchomenus.
The Treasury of Atreus, the only complete prehistoric building of Greece,
lies about 400 yards to the south of the Lion Gate, within the walls of the old
town. It consists of three parts : (i) a dromos or approach ; (2) a large dome-
shaped chamber ; and (3) a smaller square side-chamber cut out in the slope of
a ridge, which crosses the lower city, and beneath which the Treasury is built.
Entering the dromos (which is laid out in the form of a trench, but flanked
by supporting walls) the first object that arrests the attention is the doorway,
eighteen feet high, over which are two stupendous slabs, one of which is
supposed to weigh from 130 to 135 tons. Let the reader conjecture, if he can,
how this enormous block was quarried, transported, and raised to its present
position. The entrance is further adorned by half-columns of peculiar shape.
The building itself consists of concentric layers of stones, placed horizontally on
one another and gradually narrowing as they ascend until the top is closed by
a single slab.
Within, the stones are smooth and polished, but outside they are rough,
and covered by great masses of smaller stones and earth, which serve to keep
the circular layers of masonry in position.
The "beehive" thus reared, fifty feet in height and fifty in diameter,
produces an impression of combined strength, simplicity, and unity, for there
IB no separation visible between walls and roof.
From the third row upwards, holes, in which the remains of bronze nails
have been found, are bored in the stones. The object of the nails was for long
supposed to be the fastening to the walls of polished metal plates, thus making
of the subterranean tomb a veritable brazen house, like that which, in the myth,
the suspicious Acrisius builds underground, and wherein he hides his daughter
Danae, the mother of the hero Perseus.
That such a mode of decoration, the clothing of the walls with shining metal,
suits the Homeric description of the palace of King Alcinous with its thres-
hold of bronze and its brazen walls, its halls with gleam, as it were, of sun or
moon, is evident ; but that it was used in the " Treasury of Atreus " is doubtful.
THE PIT-GRAVES OF MYCEN^ ^[67
Dorpf eld is of opinion, rather, that the position of the nails points to ornaments
in the shape of bronze rosettes so arranged as to form a definite pattern, after
the same style as the decorations of the " Treasury of Minyas " at Orchomenus.
The door, however, was probably clothed with metal or marble slabs. The
large hall may have been used for funeral and sacrificial rites, but the small
side-chamber evidently represents the tomb, properly so-called.
As we turn away from the " Treasury " of Atreus — rightly characterised
by Adeler as the " climax " of prehistoric architectural skill — the question rises
involuntarily to our lips : " How many ' experiments ' had to be gone through,
how many failures surmounted, before the primitive earth-and-brushwood
hiding-places (pholoi) of the Aryan herdsman took shape in stone and reached
so amazing a ' climax ' ? "
THE PIT-GRAVES OF MYCEN^
Now that we are familiar with the city of Mycense, and such of its
monuments as have been known to travellers for centuries, let us follow
Dr. Schliemann in those explorations which have brought before us the rulers
and probable builders of the old citadel, its walls and its tombs.
The ** Pit-Graves " of Mycenae. — Closely linked to Schliemann's
enthusiasm for " Troy," there must have been in the man, as we can easily see,
an equal love for Mycenae. Given the truth of the existence of that Troy in
which, and its fate, he so firmly believed, the existence of Agamemnon, and his
association with Mycenae, must be granted too. Tradition says that, on his return
as victor from the ten years' siege of Troy, Agamemnon had been treacherously
murdered by his consort, Clytaemnestra, according to the Odyssey, as he sat at
the banquet of welcome ; according to another version of the story followed
by ^schylus and Euripides, in the bath, before he had broken bread in his
own halls. Tradition said also that the " King of men," together with his
immediate followers and the captive prophetess Cassandra, daughter of Priam,
who had all likewise been done to death by Clytaemnestra, lay buried at
Mycenae, where their tombs (or the place where they were supposed to exist)
were pointed out to Pausanias. From the account of the latter, most modern
travellers — Leake, Dodwell, 0. MuUer, and E. Curtius — imagined these royal
tombs to have lain in the lower city. Not so Dr. Schliemann. By a happy
inspiration, or a lucky instinct, whichever we choose to call it, he took
Pausanias' meaning to be that the royal tombs were in the higher city, on the
fortress height. And there, in the summer of 1876, while debarred from
pursuing his investigations in the Troad by the interminable delays of the
Turkish Government, he resolved to seek for them.
To his now practised eye the south exposure of the fortress-hill to the right
of the Lion Gate appeared, from the greater depth of the accumulations on its
surface, the most likely spot whereon to commence operations. Nor was the
" spoilt child of fortune " deceived. First there came to light several stelae
or tombstones, sculptured and unsculptured, and next was laid bare a low
ring-wall, enclosing a circular space, and consisting of a double row of upright
slabs joined together and covered by cross-slabs fitted, in so as to form
(apparently) a sort of stone bench. Schliemann's first conjecture was that in
the circular space and surrounding benches he had unearthed the old Agora or
Assembly-place of Mycenae, but a foot-measure very prosaically dispelled the
illusion, the wall is much too high to have been intended for the purpose of
seating the worthy burghers of Mycenae. Its object, however, was soon defined.
1 68 THE PEOPLE
for within its enclosing ring, beneath the tombstones and some twenty-five feet
below the soil, were found, cut in the rock, the royal tombs of Mycenae, five
in number. To these a sixth, afterwards discovered (also on the southern side
of the citadel) by M. Stamatahis, the Commissary appointed by the Greek
Government, has since been added.
Imagine the thrill that must have passed through the mind of the man with
" faith in an idea," when he suddenly found himself face to face with the
supposed objects of his search — three human skeletons laid on beds of pebbles
and covered with all the outward tokens of royalty, for on each lay a golden
diadem, and eight golden plates representing the appearance of half diadems,
and five golden ornaments in the shape of crosses formed of laurel leaves. ^
Imagine, further, what amazing confirmation the idea must have received on
entering the next tomb,^ for here again lay three bodies, this time " literally
laden with jewels." On the head of one was a splendid golden crown, de-
scribed by the discoverer as covered with shield-like ornaments which, being
in repousse work, protrudes, giving to the crown an indescribably magnificent
aspect, still further augmented by thirty-six large leaves attached.
On the head of another was a second diadem, less magnificent, but beauti-
fully wrought with rosettes, also in repouss^ work. Moreover, corresponding
precisely in ornamentation with the two diadems, were found again the
mysterious half-oval gold plates taken by Schliemann for the halves of diadems,
but now supposed to be supplementary ornaments, worn on the breast or sus-
pended from the girdle point downwards, and forming with the crown to which
they correspond, the parure of the princesses of Mycenae. That the occupants
of these two graves were women is thought to be proved by the smallness of
the bones and teeth, and the feminine nature of the surroundings. These
comprised an immense number of thick, round gold plates, about the size of
the palm of the hand, decorated in fine repousse work with the most varied
devices, the sepia (octopus or cuttlefish) with head and eyes visible and its
eight arms continued into spirals, a flower, a beautiful butterfly, leaf -patterns,
star-flowered, and splendid spiral ornamentations. These plates are supposed
to have been fastened on the robe of the wearer by means of glue, so that a
Mycenaean lady en grande toilette must literally have shone and glittered from
head to foot with gold. Nor was this all : there are massive ornaments, also of
gold, evidently belonging to necklaces, to which purpose the quantity of amber
beads found was probably also applied, more crosses of laurel leaves, golden
" hair-holders " and bracelets, and gems of amethyst and sardonyx engraved in
intaglio with figures of men and animals, exhibiting a skill which is perfectly
marvellous and makes the beholder wonder how such minute details could
possibly have been executed without the aid of magnifying glasses. To
describe all the wonders of this third tomb, the golden ornaments representing
butterflies (as symbol of immortality?), grasshoppers (symbol of autochthony ?),
^ Tomb I., according to the computation adopted in the museum at Athens, where the
Mycensean treasures now lie. This arrangement differs from that given by Schliemann, who
reckons as I. the tomb first discovered, but the excavation of which, owing to difficulties in
the working, had to be deferred, and was examined last. The relative numbers are as
under : —
Museum No. I. = Schliemann's II.
II. = „ V.
III. = „ III.
IV. = ,. IV.
V. = „ I.
VL= „ VI.
III., IV., and VI. are thus the same in both.
'^ No III. on both methods.
THE PIT-GRAYES OF MYCENiE 169
griffins (symbol of fidelity ?), the sphinxes (symbol of wisdom ?) would occupy
too much of our space. The reader will find them all described, and many
illustrated, in Dr. Schliemann's work. There are, however, certain objects
which cannot be passed over so lightly, and which, although merely mentioned
here, we shall have occasion to refer to again. These objects, also of gold, are :
(i) Two female figures of the same type, one with a flying dove on her hand,
the other with a dove on either arm ; (2) the model of a little temple with a
dove at each corner ; (3) two other figures of a different type, representing a
woman seated and with the arms crossed on the breast ; (4) two pairs of little
golden scales, evidently never intended for any practical purpose.
The First and Third Graves (Schliemann's Second and Third), then, are, we
may presume, the tombs of the princesses of Mycenae, but let us note that the
objects in the third are much richer than those in the first. From this it is
argued that both graves do not belong to the same period.
The Fourth Grave. — It is, however, in the fourth grave that the interest
culminates. Its importance is already signalled by the fact that directly over
it, within the ring-wall before described (p. 167), was found a round Cyclopean
altar, buried like the tombstones and the grave-circle by the accumulations of
the ages. Its position denoted that those who lay beneath were worthy of
special honour. The grave is a large one, 24 ft. in length by 18 J in breadth.
In it were five bodies, again " literally smothered in jewels." The occupants
are supposed to have been three men and two women. The remains of the
latter were adorned with diadems and ornaments of the same kind as those
already described. In connection with these, therefore, we need only say that,
in addition, the funeral furniture of the ladies of the castle included also their
** household gods " in the shape of thirty-four copper vessels and cauldrons for
heating water, &c., some of which had seen service, some were unused.
Passing now to the equipment of their lords, we come to objects of exceed-
ing interest in every way, for the face of each was covered by a mask of thick
gold-plate. These masks, in rough repousse work, are not (like the wooden
masks found in Egyptian tombs) all of one ideal type, but evidently portraits,
the first efforts to depict the human face divine, for each one presents us
unmistakably with a different physiognomy, therefore presumably a like-
ness. A fourth mask, depicting a lion's head, is evidently the device upon a
shield, the framework of which has mouldered away. Each body, again, was
covered with a golden breastplate, and accompanied to its last resting-place by
what its tenant had valued most on earth, his weapons of offence and defence.
On the ground in a heap lay arrow-points of stone, the hard obsidian articles
of wonderful interest, as attesting the age in which their owner had lived.
Beside them, and presenting the most striking contrast, were twenty bronze
swords and many lances. The sheaths had evidently been of wood, ornamented
on either side by elaborate golden bosses or buttons in intaglio work, which lay
around literally in hundreds.
By far the greatest wonders of the whole Mycenaean collection, however,
are the following : —
I. A sceptre (or augur's staff) in gold and rock crystal, which, as described
"by its discoverer, must " have been of marvellous beauty." It consists of a
golden cylinder formed of four-leaved flowers, each leaf encrusted with a piece
of rock-crystal, and splendid golden handle representing a dragon and ter-
minating at both sides in a dragon's head, the scales on the dragon's body and
its eyes being likewise represented by pieces of rock-crystal. These little
mosaics, be it noted, are so delicately cut and fitted into the hollows prepared
for them, that, although cylinder and handle have come apart, only one piece
I70 THE PEOPLE ^
of crystal has as yet fallen out. We can, indeed, believe with Schliemann,
that had Homer beheld this treasure, he would have characterised it as "a
wonder to look upon."
2. However, if Homer had apparently never seen anything of this kind,
with the next class of marvels he would have been perfectly at home — the
golden goblets. The wondrous goodly cup embossed with studs of gold — with
its four handles, on each two feeding doves — which old Nestor had brought
from home, and which was so heavy that another man could scarce have lifted
it, finds its parallels here, for one of the Mycenaean goblets weighs 4 lbs., and
is embossed with magnificent rosettes of gold ; whilst on the handles of another
sit two doves, peering down into the goblet below, as though they too fain would
*' feed." A third goblet of silver is exceedingly interesting from its decorations,
which are in the inlaid work shortly to be described, and represent — note ! —
the lotus plant.
3. Next we have an ox-head of silver, with horns of gold and a rosette
on its forehead, depicted with a fidelity to nature and a freedom so astounding
that a celebrated archaeologist {Stephani) did not hesitate on the first discovery
of the treasures to ascribe it to the Greeks of the third century B.C.
We ask the reader's attention also to the fact that this grave contained no
fewer than fifty-six smaller ox-heads, with a double-axe between the horns — a
symbol, the meaning of which we shall discuss shortly.
4. We have, fourthly, a large alabaster vase, in Schuchhardt's opinion
the most remarkable of the whole collection, inasmuch as, although in style
Mycenaean {i.e. over 3000 years old), "from its form and technique it might
have come directly from any modern salon."
5. Lastly, come objects which yield in interest to nothing previously
mentioned, the inlaid bronze daggers. These were discovered, indeed, by
Schliemann, but neither he nor any one else suspected their true importance
until this suddenly came to light in the museum at Athens during the process
of cleaning. When the oxide layer, which had formed on them through the
centuries, was removed, there suddenly stood revealed pictures in colours,
ingeniously formed of the most diverse metals. One dagger represents a
great lion-hunt — on the left are five men, on the right three lions, depicted
with the utmost life and vigour. The first lion is rushing fiercely on his
opponents ; the second has taken to flight, but looks back warily to see how
his comrade is faring ; the third evidently thinks the situation hopeless, for
he is careering away as fast as his legs will carry him. The lions and nude
parts of the hunters are in gold, the garments and shields in silver ; other
parts of the picture, such as the shield rims, are in black. Not content with
one elaborate scene, the reverse side of the dagger gives another, in which a
lion is pursuing five gazelle-like creatures, and has just caught the last.
We mention in this connection another extraordinary inlaid dagger found
in the fifth tomb. Here cat-like animals (panthers?) are chasing ducks in
a swamp ; stealthily they creep along, whilst the ducks try, half flying, to
escape ; below are fish, and — note again ! — papyrus reeds. The animals,
plants, and bodies of the ducks are of gold ; the wings of the ducks and the
river of silver ; the fish are of a darker metal ; and on the neck of one of the
ducks is even a red drop as of blood ! ! Who shall say, after this, that the
shield of Achilles, with its herds harried by lions, its siege and battle, and
wounded red with blood, its pastoral and vintage scenes, its black grapes on
silver poles, is the mere outcome of the poet's imagination ? Homer must
have been familiar with specimens of inlaid metal-work very similar to that
on the daggers of Mycenae.
THE PIT-GRAVES OF MYCEN.^ 171
Tlie Second Grave (Schliemann's Fifth) need not detain us long. It is the
smallest of all, and contained but one body, on the skull of which was the
narrow golden circlet worn by men as a diadem. When found in halves,
these circlets are supposed to be armlets (from the fact that one was dis-
covered in position wrapped around the arm bones), anklets, or worn round
the knee, ornaments peculiar to men.
The Fifth Grave (Schliemann's First), to which we now pass on, presented
evidence yet more striking of the honour and care bestowed by these dwellers
in the night of time upon their dead. If the first and third graves had
yielded up the ornaments of their silent tenants, if the fourth grave gave
us the portraits of the departed, the fifth grave held within it a sight more
significant still. The grave was occupied by three bodies, evidently — from
the accompaniment of masks, breastplates, swords, and daggers — those of
men. On removing the ponderous mask of one, the face was seen " with all
the flesh wonderfully preserved," both eyes were perfectly visible, and the
mouth had its quota of thirty-two perfect teeth. The preservation of the
flesh for a period of 3000 years can have but one explanation — the body had
been embalmed — a circumstance to which we shall have occasion to refer
again.
Another curious fact about this third body is that, although of large pro-
portions, it was found " forcibly squeezed " into a very small space, so that the
head was pressed down upon the chest. Can we doubt what meaning lay in
this simple fact of the " squeezing," as seen by the eyes of the heroic explorer?
Here, undoubtedly, must be the key to the whole mystery — Agamemnon
foully murdered and thrust into a dishonoured grave — reparation made in the
golden surroundings by the filial piety of Orestes. Pity that a solution so
dramatic and so entirely in accordance with the " ought to be " of sentiment,
should be, if not entirely dissipated, yet left altogether unconfirmed !
The Agamemnon hypothesis requires that all the bodies should have been
buried at one time, and in haste ; and this at first was favoured by the notion
that no entrance to the royal graves existed — that the bodies, therefore, had
all been deposited at one time, and the openings blocked up. Further ex-
amination, however, of the graves themselves has led Dr. Dorpfeld and others
to the following conclusions: (i) that the graves were not blocked up, but
provided with slabs removable when necessary ; (2) that the " squeezing " and
compression of the body is attributable to the falling-in of the ceiling of the
tomb ; (3) that so far from the bodies having all been deposited at the same
time, the difference in the technique of the objects contained proves the
reverse, Graves I., III., and IV. giving evidence of far greater wealth and
luxury than II., V., and VI. The last, discovered by Stamatahis a year later,
is very simple ; it contained the remains of two persons, doubtless men, who
were adorned with neither mask, breastplate, nor armlet.
However, if we are thus restrained from giving too definite a form to our
picture, no one can deny that the picture exists, call it by what name we will.
Clytaemnestra and her accomplice, ^gisthus, overawing the simple peasants of
Mycenae in regal pomp — she in the magnificent -parure, the crown of golden
leaves with the girdle hangings, the robe of Tyrian purple bestrewn, bestarred,
bespangled with gold ; he in the shining cuirass and diadem, the slim golden
armlets, anklets, kneelets, with the sharp bronze sword in its glittering sheath,
and the dagger worth a petty chieftain's ransom by his side — these are very
real and understandable figures as they walk through the role assigned them by
tradition.
Compared to the wealth revealed by the " pit-graves " of Mycenae, the
172 THE PEOPLE
Homeric " luxury " is simplicity itself, a fact which has doubtless already
suggested to the reader the question : How, then, can we be certain that the
civilisation of MycensB is either prehistoric or pre-Homeric ?
The answer to this question is both positive and negative.
(i) The Negative ansivet' is furnished by two facts : —
(a) The Mycenaean pit-graves contained no iron.
(b) They have yielded no fihuloe (the "safety-pins" of antiquity),
objects hitherto found in well-nigh every deposit on classical
soil.
Homer is acquainted with iron ; and Jibuloe (pewnce) are both in Iliad and
Odyssey the customary dress-fasteners.
(2) The Positive answer is furnished by the large number of obsidian arrows
found (p. 169). No argument could be proved in this way by the presence of
a single stone arrow, inasmuch as this might have been kept as a relic or an
g^mulet. But stone arrows in heaps are held to be conclusive, as pointing to
their still general use by the people.
Homer, on the other hand, knows only bronze arrow-points.
Hence, on both sides, positive and negative, the evidence warrants our
regarding the pit-graves of Mycenae as both prehistoric and pre-Homeric. ^
The ancient Palace on the top of the citadel-rock, excavated by the Greek
Archaeological Society in 1886, exhibits the same ground-plan as those of
Hissarlik and Tiryns. From the style of the pottery found, and of the mural
decorations (which are very curious, and will be described in a later section),
the palace dates from a period a little later than that of the pit-graves. To
this later period belong also the beehive tombs, the " climax " of prehistoric
architecture.
TIRYNS
Leaving now the extreme north of the Plain of Argos and Mycenae, the
fortress designed to protect the passes to Corinth, we turn our steps in the
opposite direction, and, crossing the Inachus, arrive at the fortress designed to
protect the extreme south against invasion from the sea, Tiryns. The reader
will doubtless recollect that here we found the prehistoric remains of the first
stage of civilisation on Greek soil. Those illustrating the last are full of
interest.
The rock of Tiryns — about 900 feet in length by 200-250 in breadth —
is, as we know, the lowest of the " island " heights in the plain, rising above
the sea-level to a height of from 30 to 50 feet only. Hence strength in the
fortifications became here an object of more special importance even than at
Mycenae, with its greater height and its protecting gorges. And strength, the
object aimed at, the old builders of Tiryns certainly attained. The circuit
walls, which follow the edge of the rock, are built of limestone blocks banded
together by a strong clay mortar, and so colossal in size that — as in the case of
the stupendous slabs roofing the doorway of the Treasury of Atreus (p. 158) —
we are filled with amazement and curiosity as to the way in which the trans-
porting and the placing of them in situ could possibly have been accomplished.
From measurements made by Professor Adeler, a weight of from 12,000 to
13,000 kgms. is obtained for a single block, "the transport of which to its
exact place on a high and narrow site is only possible with the aid of many
technical devices — inclined planes and scaffolding — and a host of workmen."
^ "All investigators are agreed that these objects are pre-Homeric." (Helbig, Dai
Homerische Epos, p. 50.)
TIRYNS 173
From the immense size and weight of the stones employed, the walls of Tiryns
are a monument of human ingenuity, equal in importance to the Pyramids of
Egypt. To these factors they owe their preservation, since the local would-be
depredators found it easier to quarry for themselves than to attempt the removal
of the material quarried ages before.
Let us imagine then these stupendous walls, from 25 to 50 feet thick,
rising around the low rock of Tiryns to a height probably of some 60 feet,
and defended by towers at intervals, and we shall be able to measure the
change which has taken place in the idea of "security" since the days when
our Aryans burrowed for safety in the bosom of Mother Earth.
It is not, however, the size and weight of the stones, or the majestic pro-
portions of the walls alone that excite our astonishment. Other factors besides
strength had their place in the plans of these ancient builders, for the
explorations made in 1885 by Dr. Dorpfeld have proved that the walls on the
southern and eastern sides of the Upper Citadel surrounding the palace are
not solid, but contained passages or corridors, connected with the palace by
staircases, and opening on to a series of vaulted fire-proof chambers, which
probably served as store-rooms and magazines — doubtless also, on occasion, as
dungeons. To this arrangement of chambers in the walls we shall refer again,
only calling the reader's attention meantime to the whole system as an
astounding example of prehistoric fortification. ^
The space within the circuit walls comprises (a) the highest part (on the
south), the site of the palace ; (b) a middle section, connected with the first by
a narrow staircase, and probably occupied by retainers ; and (c) a lower part
on the north, probably serving as a place of refuge for the populace from the
plain in time of war.
Round the old palace itself has waged a fierce war of words — some authori-
ties denying its prehistoric character, others again as stoutly maintaining it.
There can be no doubt that the latter party has won the day. The palace at
Tiryns may not agree in all details with the palace of Odysseus, as described
by Homer, but there can be no question as to its age — it belongs unmistakably
to the later Mycenaean period, the period terminated, as we shall presently
see, by the Dorian invasion.
The ground plan of the palace can be clearly traced, for its walls, from
half a metre to one metre in height, are still standing, " numerous bases of
pillars are still in their place, and in the doorways still lie the huge stone
thresholds."
The walls of the palace were adorned by paintings, and in the Men's Hall
was discovered a magnificent alabaster frieze, with decorations of rosettes and
half -rosettes, and a spiral border in the Mycenaean style. The central points
of the rosettes and the border were of another material — probably smalt — (a
beautiful blue glassy substance, found also in beads and ornaments at Mycenae).
The contrast between the reliefs in white alabaster and the inlaid brilliant
blue smalt must have been highly effective.
There are other places and objects of great interest in prehistoric Greece ;
but not to weary the reader with archaeological details, we shall ask his atten-
tion briefly to two points only :
I. At Nauplia, the seaport of Argos, there exist sepulchres of a type
differing both from the pit-graves and the beehive tombs. They are cham-
bers hewn in the rock of the citadel hill, and approached by a narrow passage.
At Sparta also, on the eastern slope of Hymettus in Attica, similar graves,
1 The best and clearest description of the wall of Tiryns is that given by Schuchhardt, to
which we refer the reader.
174 THE PEOPLE
three rock chambers united by passages, have been found. The contents of
both are similar in style, though inferior in richness to those of the pit-graves
at Mycenae.
2. Beehive tombs of the same type as those of Mycense exist near the
Heraeum on Mount Euboea (the eighth of these buildings in Argos) — at
Pharis, near Sparta, at Menidi in Attica, at Volo (lolcus) in Thessaly, and at
Orchomenus in Boeotia, giving a total of twelve as yet discovered in Greece.
The two last, from their presence in or near the two chief cities of the Minyse,
have a special interest for us, and our expectation is in no way disappointed,
for the " Treasury of Minyas," the heroic ancestor of the Little Folk, may
indeed be described in the words of Pausanias as " a wonder inferior to
nothing in Greece or elsewhere." It consists, like the Treasury of Atreus, of
dromos (approach), " beehive " hall, and side-chamber. The great hall, which
was decorated with metal rosettes, arranged on a five-star system, has long
been partly demolished ; but the side-chamber (or tomb proper) contains a
treasure indeed in the shape of a ceiling, most exquisitely sculptured in the
greyish marble of the Boeotian mountains, with rosettes, palm-leaves, and
spirals, again reminding us of Mycenas and Tiryns. The elegance of the
design and the delicacy of the workmanship are such as to render this ceiling
a real work of art.
Gathering up now the results of our investigation, we find that if the pit-
graves have yielded objects giving evidence of great wealth and a high degree
of artistic finish, the structures in existence demonstrate that a skill in build-
ing in stone, acquired only after long practice, had been reached in three styles
of architecture — in fortresses, palaces, and vaulted tombs. Again the question
arises. How ckn we be certain that these buildings are prehistoric ? And again
the answer is twofold.
(i) The Negative Answer points to the absence of any similar buildings in
historic Greece. Nothing like the beehive tombs or the walls of Tiryns was
so much as attempted in later times,i and the Greeks of history were, as we
know, as much puzzled to account for the presence of these monuments in
their midst as though they had suddenly been deposited in situ by the magic
of Aladdin's lamp.
(2) The Positive Argument is supplied by the facts that the pottery and
other objects found in the tombs and palaces, and the mural decorations
correspond so closely in style to the *' finds " of the pit-graves, as to stamp the
whole (although, as stated, the latter belong to an earlier stage of that whole)
with one unmistakable impress — the pit-graves and the buildings mentioned,
from Laconia to Thessaly, alike represent that stage of prehistoric culture
known as the Mycen^an Epoch.
There only remains for us now to find out (if we can !) how the wide gulf
separating " Danaus " from " Atreus " and " Agamemnon " — the chieftain clad
in skins from the warrior cased in bronze — was bridged over.
INFLUENCE OF THE EAST ON EARLY GREECE
We have seen that the legends and myths of Greece traced back the great
buildings of Argos and the invention of metal-working to certain beings
endowed with supernatural powers, wheel-eyed Cyclopes and magic-working
Dactyls and Telchines, who, it was believed, had come from the East (p. 160).
^ The beehive tombs have hitherto been found only on Greek soil ; Asia Minor has yielded
none ; Italy only late copies derived from the old Greek models.
INFLUENCE OF THE EAST ON EARLY GREECE
175
Judging even from the geographical bearings of the case, these traditions, as
we have hinted, evidently contain a kernel of truth. For not only is the face
of Greece, and of Argos in particular, turned towards the East, but between the
East and Greece lie the many islands which form a whole series of connecting
links or bridges. To find that the earliest recollections of the Greeks point
to the East is, therefore, perfectly natural, and just what we have reason to
expect.
There is, however, a certain class of persons, rabid Philo-Hellenes, who,
even at the present day, will say, "Well, and what of that? Granted that
there was very early intercourse between Greece and Asia, how could such
intercourse have had any real bearing, any real influence, upon the making
of Hellas ? "
To answer this question effectually, we must take a brief — a very brief —
glance at the founders of the most ancient civilisations of the world. Only in
this way can we find out for ourselves whether they had anything of value to
offer to the Greeks or not. An ounce of fact is worth a ton of conjecture.
Egfypt. — The facts concerning the civilisation of Egypt, the oldest of all
civilisations, are supplied by that wonderful world of the dead, the tombs of
the valley of the Nile. The most ancient of these, the graves of the old
inhabitants of Memphis, gather round the three great Pyramids at Ghizeh,
near Cairo ; whilst those of a younger generation lie at Saqquara, some three
hours by road to the south. Amongst the latter, near the serapeum discovered
by Mariette, is the grave of a distinguished Egyptian called Ti.^ This grave,
some six thousand years old, is adorned by pictures, in colours as vivid as
though they had proceeded but yesterday from the hand of the painter, and
accompanied by naive explanations of their purport. in hieroglyphics. It is
as though the arts of the painter and the scribe had combined to leave no
possible doubt in the mind of any future generation as to the state of things
in Egypt in the lifetime of the man in whose honour the tomb was adorned.
The titles of Ti reveal the fact that even at this period there were ministers
of war, privy councillors, lord chamberlains, and other grandees and function-
aries of state. The pictures show us the wealth of the great Ti, and the extent
of his demesne ; scribes are noting down the numbers of his flocks and herds —
cows, goats, geese, ducks, and pigeons, antelopes and gazelles pass in review
before us ; we see his servants busied in their various callings, feeding the
animals, milking the cows and rescuing them during the rising of the Nile ; we
see the various agricultural processes — the ploughing with oxen, the sowing
and planting, the reaping of the grain, the tying of it into bundles, the primi-
tive mode of thrashing by the ox and the ass. Other slaves are occupied as
rowers in great ships, or in domestic duties — butchers are slaughtering, the
baker is kneading and baking, the cook is busy, and jars of wine and barley-
beer stand ready for the refreshment of the mighty Ti and his household.
Workmen are engaged in different trades : at the head of them stands the
carpenter, and we watch him — armed with axe, saw, hammer, chisel, polishing-
iron and drill — as he proceeds from the felling of a tree to the making of
elegant furniture. The sculptor in stone and wood, the painter, the turner,
the polisher, the tanner, the shoemaker, the potter — yea, and the glass-blower,
ply their callings before our eyes. Nor in this ancient life was " all work and
no play " the rule, for games of draughts have their turn. Finally, we see the
great man himself enjoying quiet domestic happiness with his wife, or taking
part in the bold and exciting sport of hunting the hippopotamus.
1 We owe the following picturesque risum^ in part to a lecture given by Brugsch
now many years ago, Die ^gyptische Grdberwelt.
176 THE PEOPLE
All this points to a prolonged period of rest and quietness, to a strong
government affording the protection necessary to the development of the
various arts of civilisation, and all this we find existing in Egypt some thirty
centuries before our era.^ The architecture and sculpture, even of the earliest
Egyptian monuments, show obedience to certain fixed rules and canons of art.
This alone presupposes a civilisation extending backwards for ages. Of the
roots and beginnings of this civilisation there are but few traces. They are
hidden in the night of Time. Nor was this civilisation fated to pass speedily
away. We trace it in the much later graves of the Middle Empire in richer
development. The paintings on the tombs at Beni Hassan (about 2371-2325
B.C.) exhibit the change in great fulness. Agricultural processes again pass
before us in detail, as before ; but we now see in use no fewer than five
different kinds of plough, one of which is similar to that still employed by the
fellaheen of Egypt ; among the domesticated animals sheep appear beside the
goats, cows, and asses ; we see the process of irrigation ; and the harvest, not
only of grain, but of grapes, the lotus, and the vine is being gathered in. The
most varied manufactures in each detail of their varied processes are being
carried on — the preparers of flax, the spinners, weavers, fullers, the carpenters
and joiners, potters and glass-blowers, shoemakers and barbers, smiths and
goldsmiths are at work. Implements of war — bows and arrows, battle-axes,
lances and javelins — are in preparation. The pleasures of the chase are
entered into with the greatest zest — we see the hunt pursued by the aid of dogs
and of lions, tamed for the purpose ; the hunters returning with the results of
their sport — gazelle, porcupine, and hare ; we watch the snaring of birds, the
catching of the gazelle with the noose, of the wild ox with the lasso.
Pleasures of another kind are not wanting — gymnasts, tumblers, jugglers,
wrestlers all put in an appearance ; games of different kinds with ball and
hoop are going on, while evidence of tastes more refined is furnished not only
by flutes and harps of various shapes, but by the representation of artists
engaged upon a picture.
In short, if the age of the Pyramids showed us a strongly rooted civilisa-
tion, the product of centuries of growth, the age of the Middle Empire still
testifies to strength, and to increased luxury and material progress. As
Brugsch well observes, war and commerce have been at work ; each has
brought new ideas in its wake, a thousand things show that the world is
broader, that man has become more many-sided, his life more complex. In
agriculture and sculpture, in the manufacture of fine linen, of beautiful glass
and elegant ornaments of gold, Egypt stood unrivalled. And this at a time,
be it observed, when the peoples of modern Europe were either wandering from
place to place, their only aim to find pasture for their herds, or hiding in
forests, in dens and caves of the earth — "as hunt-ed rather than hunt-ers."
If we turn to the Semitic nations, we find the same evidence. The begin-
nings of the Babylonian civilisation cannot be placed later than 3000 B.C., and
in its results the Semitic culture rivalled the Egyptian. The Babylonians
developed independently the arts of architecture and sculpture, and also of
irrigation ; in various industries they were pre-eminent — in ornamental weav-
ing, in the compounding of sweet ointments, in the cutting of precious stones.
Chiefly, however, do their scientific attainments strike us with wonder. Their
computation of time was very exact ; they had discovered the year of 365 J days ;
they had fixed the week of 7 days and the day of 12 hours, the hour of
60 minutes and the minute of 60 seconds. Their system of measures was also
duodecimal; thus, the cubit =24 finger-breadths. Although aided by very
1 The epoch of the building of the Pyramids is, according to Lepsius, 3905-2903 B.C.
INFLUENCE OF THE EAST ON EARLY GREECE 177
simple instruments, they had arrived at awStronomical observations so exact that
modern science finds but little to correct.
To return now to our perfervid Philo-Hellenes. Wilamowitz, the eminent
Homeric critic, has given to the world the following dictum on the subject of
Eastern influence as affecting the development of early Greece, a dictum to
which we invite the reader's careful attention. " The peoples and states of
the Semites and of Egypt," he says, "which had been decaying for centuries,
could, in spite of their ancient civilisation, give nothing to the Hellenes but a
few handicrafts and technical devices — apparel, ornaments, and wares devoid
of taste — repulsive fetishes for still more repulsive idols ; in one word, raw
material, perhaps, for the employment of Hellenic genius, but never a spark
of genius." ^
There is a real kernel of truth in this outburst, as we shall presently see ;
but we must not allow it to blind us to facts. When we remember the degree
of progress revealed by the second and third stages of Greek culture recorded
in our last chapter, we cannot but see that, pace the Philo-Hellenes, the East
had something of value to offer to Europe — technical skill, the knowledge
which gives man power over brute force, the material resources which served
the Greeks as stepping-stones to higher things. Let us then see, in the first
place, how this knowledge and skill, afar off in Egypt and Babylon, may have
been brought nigh to Greece.
Many ingenious attempts have been made to place the earliest Greeks
directly in communication with the oldest home of civilisation — Egypt. One
of these, brought forward by Lepsius and E. Curtius, we shall notice pre-
sently from its exceeding interest in detail. Not only this, however, but all
succeeding attempts have failed. With Wiedemann we must confess that, on
present evidence, Herodotus is right when he says that the Greeks first settled
on the Nile under Psammetichus in the middle of the seventh century B.C., and
that with this period the direct intercourse between the two countries began.
As with Egypt, so with the countries on the Euphrates and the Tigris. The
name of the Greeks or of Ionian cities has not been found as yet in cuneiform
inscriptions before the Persian era.
If the civilisation of Egypt and Babylon, then, was brought to Greece, it
must have been by some intermediary. Where shall we find this connecting
link ? Again we call geography to our aid, and, glancing across the island
streams, we see that they, one and all, have their goal in that great peninsula
which looks out in the most friendly way towards Europe — Asia Minor. From
Asia Minor, then, the first material impetus to progress must have come, as
later came the greatest spiritual impulse the world has ever received. The
first impulse reached Greece apparently in many ways. Let us examine them.
The great mass of the peninsula of Asia Minor is composed of a plateau,
3000 to 5000 feet above the sea-level, surrounded by a fringe of coast-land.
So entirely different in character are these two parts, the plateau and the
coast, that the land, as it were, consists of two countries, an Asiatic interior
framed by an European coast, each of which has its own distinctive physical
geography, its own population, and consequently its own histor}-.
It is, of course, the coast-land bordering on the ^gsean, and facing Greece,
which mainly interests us. In its physical features it resembles Greece so
closely that we readily perceive both, with the connecting islands, to have been
at some remote epoch in the history of the globe parts of one great whole.
Asia Minor, however, differs from Greece in one very important particular,
^ In the original *' wohl VXr) fiir die Bethdtigung des HeUenischen \6yos, aber Jcein Filnkchen
Xdyoi."
M
178 THE PEOPLE
viz., its position in regard to neighbouring countries. Greece, as we know,
is cut off from the rest of Europe by the almost impassable barrier of the
Balkan mountains, whereas in Asia Minor communication with the interior,
although difficult, is not only possible, but seems to have been steadily
maintained from very early times.
(i) The Interior. — In the north-east of Asia Minor, the country later
known as Galatia, to the east of the river Halys, at the spot now known as
Boghaz Keui, have been found the ruins of a great city, the most extensive in
the peninsula. Its remains, its wall, embracing a circuit of four or five miles,
and the fact that here the oldest and most important roads of the peninsula
meet, show that this city must have been at a very early period a great centre,
probably " the metropolis of a great empire." The city at Boghaz Keui is, in
all probability, the " Pteria" of Herodotus ; but this does not concern us here.
What touches our argument is that in the heart of Asia Minor there existed,
apparently, a ruling city of true oriental type, in which met the two great
ancient roads — that from east to west, Susa to the ^gsean Sea, and that from
north to south, the Black Sea to the lands of the Euphrates.^
The inhabitants of Pteria have been identified with the Hittites of
Northern Syria, from the similarity existing between the early monuments and
hieroglyphic inscriptions of Asia Minor and those of the latter country, but the
hypothesis is not yet held as proven.
The ancient empire, of which Pteria is taken as the capital, began to decay,
probably about 900 B.C., being pressed on the east by Syrians and Assyrians
and on the west by the Phrygians. Who were these Phrygians ?
(2) The Coast-land. — The western coasts of Asia Minor, bordering on the
^gsean, were occupied by races supposed to belong to the great Aryan family
— Phrygians, Mysians, Lydians, Lycians, and Oarians. Some of these peoples
were later pushed up by new-comers into the interior.
(a) The Phrygians, say the old writers, were a people who had crossed
the Hellespont from Europe, leaving behind them in Macedonia a part of
their race, who contrived to dwell, under the name of the Briges, as near
neighbours of our Pierian Thracians. These statements were confirmed by
the most recent research.
These Phrygians, then, were undoubtedly an Aryan race (see Appendix) ;
and their language, as seen in old inscriptions, presents many affinities with
the Greek. This fact was, indeed, recognised by Plato ; in the Cratylus he
points out that the words for " fire," " water," " dog," are alike in both
languages ; but, as might be expected, he attributes the resemblances, not
to the true cause, a common origin, but to borrowing of one people from the
other. That the Briges of Europe and the Phrygians of Asia were originally
the same people, is proved by the connection of their myths and sagas. The
rose-gardens of King Midas were placed in Europe on the slopes of Mount
Bermion, the home of the Briges, whilst the tomb of a King Midas has been
discovered in Asia Minor near Prymnessus.
(h) Mysians, Lydians, and Lycians. Of the early history of these peoples
^ The "Royal Road," so called because the service of the great king passed along it, ran
from Susa to Ephesus, taking this unknown city in the way. " But," says Professor W. M.
Ramsay, " it is an accepted fact that in several other cases roads of the Persian empire were
used by the Assyrian kings long before the Persian time, and, in particular, that the eastern
part of the 'Royal Road,' from Cilicia to Susa, is much older than the beginning of the
Persian power." — Histor. Oeog. of Asia Minor, p. 27.
Again, " an important road probably existed, connecting Pteria with Assyria by the an ti-
Taurus region," ibid., p. 35.
INFLUENCE OF THE EAST ON EARLY GREECE 179
very little is known. It is probable that they amalgamated freely with the
native races.
(c) Carians. Here we have to do with a bold, warlike, enterprising race.
Their presence is traceable not only in Asia, but on the islands of the ^gaean,
and possibly on the mainland of Europe. They are often associated with their
" doubles," the Leleges ; but we shall probably not err if we regard the latter
as aborigines, conquered by the Carians.
If, now, following the example of the later Hellenes, we were to regard
these peoples of Asia Minor — Phrygians, Lydians, Lycians, and Carians — as
" barbarians," we should greatly err. The progress made by the nations on
the Euphrates and the Tigris, Babylonians and Assyrians, must have
penetrated throughout Asia Minor long before it reached Europe. Then, too,
there is to be taken into account that influence of which we are still so
ignorant — the degree of culture developed by the old " Hittite " empire of
Pteria, traces of which are supposed to exist in the " Great Treasure " of the
hill of Hissarlik. Hence, if in the Homeric poems the Phrygians and other
Eastern peoples appear as on the same level of culture as the Greeks, in the
still earlier days of which we are speaking, it is more than probable that they
were much in advance of the latter, as the natural result of their greater
proximity to the seats of the oldest civilisation.
There only remains for us now to trace the island-bridges by which this
ancient civilisation and its bearers reached Greece. If we climb once more
the heights of Pelion with those old prospectors, the Little Folk of Hellas, one
of these routes lies before us (p. 134), the most northerly of all. Beneath is
the Pagassean Gulf, the scene of the launching of the " Argo " — beyond it the
open sea — with the bridge of Sciathus, Peparethus, Icus, Polyaegus, Lemnos,
Tenedos, ending in Phrygia and the Troad. The route that took the Achaean
wanderers later to Lemnos and the Troad, doubtless brought the Phrygians in
earlier times to the Pagassean Gulf and Greece.
A glance at the map will show that the Lycians and Carians had for
selection no fewer than three or four different island-bridges, further south,
which would conduct them to Eubcea, Attica, or Argos. What precisely were
the routes taken, it is impossible to say. The choice would depend on the
relative advantages of anchorage and the probable perils of rocks, winds, and
waves ; but that both the Eastern peoples and the Greeks were familiar with
these island-bridges long before the time of the Great Migrations, there is no
reason to doubt.
We now pass on to another and a very essential factor in the scattering
abroad of the early seeds of civilisation — this time a Semitic, not an Aryan, race.
The Phoenicians, or Canaanites, dwelt in the fertile coast-land of Syria,
bordering on the mighty range of the Lebanon, the White Mountain, which
towers behind with its snows and its giant cedars. A land of fruit and flowers,
of the palm-tree, the pomegranate, and the olive, is Phoenicia, but her bounds
soon became all too strait for her sons. Great prospectors, like the Little
Folk, they very early espied, lying as it were "a shield upon the waters,"
the great island of Cyprus, and thither they first diverted their little barks.
These sea-faring Canaanites were known to neighbouring nations, to the
Hebrews and Greeks, as the "Sidonians," from Sidon, the fisher-town, their
first great centre. Tyre = Sor, " the Rock," the city (on a rocky island) in the
sea, rose into power later. To the Egyptians, Phoenicia was known as Kaft,
the Phoenicians themselves as Fenchu, whence the Greek Phoenician.
Everywhere went these old Canaanites, Sidonians, or Fenchu, unconsciously
to themselves fulfilling with narrow aims their task in the world's development
i8o THE PEOPLE
— to Egypt and Babylon, to Gades, through the Pillars of Heracles to our own
isles and the Baltic, possibly also to India. Let us follow them in that more
restricted voyage which now specially concerns us.
Cyprus, as we have said, with its waving forests, offering timber for their
vessels, was the first goal of the Phoenicians, and here with their indefatigable
industry they developed the natural wealth of the island, the copper from
which it takes its name, and planted the great cities of Paphos and Amathus.
Wherever the Phoenicians went, they took with them the cults of their great
deities, Baal Moloch, their greatest god, Melkarth, the city king,^ and Astarte \
the latter became in a special sense the " Cyprian" goddess, blended with the
Greek Aphrodite (Venus). There is no historic trace in Cyprus of any
inhabitants before the Phoenicians. As early as the fifteenth century B.C. the
island figures as a dependent province of Egypt. In an inscription Ammon
says to Dhutimes III., King of Egypt (about 1450 B.C.), that he has subdued
for him Kaft (Phoenicia), Asebi (Cyprus), the Isles in the Great Sea and the
Isles of the "Tenan." Whether these " Tenan" are the Danaans (Greeks), as
some maintain, or not, is a point which it would, perhaps, be rash to attempt
to decide.
Rhodes, the next goal of the Phoenicians, lies at the entrance to the
^gsean Sea. The island is thought to have been previously colonised by the
Carians ; but however this may have been, the Phoenicians have left unmistak-
able tokens of their presence upon it. The graves of lalysus, their chief colony,
have yielded objects of Phoenician manufacture of great interest, now in the
British Museum ; and at Cameirus, the Semitic name of a mountain, Atabyrion
(Tabor = height), and the worship upon it of Baal in the form of a bull, a
worship accompanied by the offering up of human sacrifices, bore witness, even
in later ages, to the Phoenicians and their fanatical rites.
Crete, which was probably their next station, became apparently the
Phoenician headquarters in regard to Hellas, for here at Cnossus and Gortyn
were localised the myths of Minos and Europa. Minos may be taken as the
representative of Phoenician dominion and city life ; his man-devouring bull,
the Minotaur, is Baal Moloch again ; and Europa is Astarte, worshipped here
under the name of Hellotis, " my goddess."
From Crete we can easily follow the Phoenicians to the island of Cythera,
where their temple to Astarte passed, in later ages, for the oldest sanctuary of
Aphrodite in Hellas. The importance of the cult here is proved by the name
Cythereia, given to the goddess in Homer.
From Cythera we trace the Phoenicians to Thera, Melos, and Thasos among
the islands ; and on the mainland to Taenarum ; round the formidable Cape
Malea up the Argolic Gulf to Nauplia ; round the peninsula and up the Saronic
Gulf to Corinth ; and thence round the point of Sunium to Marathon and
Eubcea; finally, perhaps, to the Pagassean Gulf and lolcus in Thessaly. If
the reader will take the trouble to follow the course of these ancient mariners
round the mainland on a map, he will see that it corresponds closely with the
localities in which evidence of the " Mycenaean " culture has been found.
^ Melkarth or Melgart (J/(?ie^• = king, hariha — ^txty) appears originally as a mere epithet for
Baal, the ruler of the city. The two names drifted asunder, and later both Phoenicians and
Greeks identified Melkarth with Heracles (Hercules). {Cf. Rawlinson, Phoenicia, p. 330.)
Some historians regard Heracles as originally a Phoenician deity, but this is to lay stress far
too great on certain Asiatic elements imported later into the Heracles saga-cycle. The view
taken by most modern writers that Heracles is a genuine Hellenic god, who maybe put by the
side of Melkarth, is undoubtedly the correct one. {Cf. E. Meyer, Oesch. des Alterthums,
p. 192.) Heracles embodies some of the most intensely distinctive features of the Greek
national character.
INFLUENCE OF THE EAST ON EAKLY GREECE i8i
Such were the various nations, Aryan and Semitic, who may have brought
the seeds of a more advanced civilisation, its virtues and its vices, to the
primitive shepherds of the Greek mountains. Now let us examine the
evidence on which rests this great factor in the making of Hellas — intercourse
with the East.
Up to the present time this evidence is rather indirect and circumstantial
than direct — it can be found neither by inscriptions nor by coins — nevertheless,
it may be regarded even now as conclusive, and every day is adding to our
store of proof. The evidence before us falls under four heads : place-names (a
witness not to be unduly pressed), traces of foreign cults introduced into Greece,
the ancient local sagas, and the " oldest monuments," a phrase which, in the
sense of evidence, includes the frail, insignificant glass bead found in the oldest
settlements at Tiryns equally with the mighty, time-defying walls which have
enclosed and preserved it.
I. Phryg*ia. — The evidence that the Greeks were early familiar with the land
of Troy and of Priam is briefly as follows : —
(a) The cult of the Gh^eeh Rhea is undoubtedly Phrygian in its origin.
Father Zeus, the greatest god of Hellas — Dyauspitar of India, Jupiter of
Rome — is in the beginning without father, mother, or descent. When the
time came for the great anthropomorphic development of the Greek religion,
and the gods were fashioned in the likeness of man, the Greeks had no native
gods worthy or great enough to take the place of father or mother to the
Heaven-Father. The Aryan Ouranos (Uranus = Indian Yaruna) had sunk in
Greece to a mere shadow. Later, he was revived by Hesiod and his school,
and became the grandfather of Zeus; but Homer knows nothing of Uranus.
He knows, however, that Zeus had a father, Kronos, and a mother, Rhea.
This Rhea the Greeks honoured from the Phrygians. She is their Cybele, the
Mountain-Mother, the Great Goddess, whose cult was of immense importance
in Asia Minor. The little golden female figure seated, with the arms folded
across the chest, which we saw in the pit-graves of Mycenae (p. 169), corresponds
exactly to the cult image of the Great Mother on Mount Sipylus, near Mag-
nesia in Asia Minor.^
{h) The celebrated relief on the Lions' Gate Sit Mycenae also (p. 165) points
to Phrygia. Professor W. M. Ramsay, to whose intimate knowledge of Asia
Minor we owe so much, has found in the fagade of the great rock-graves of
Phrygia older and severer forms, evidently prototypes, of the same device.
The column in the middle may be the symbol of Apollo Agyieus, the Way-god,
to whom the Cassandra of JEschylus so pathetically appeals ; ^ the lions are
intimately connected with the cult of Cybele, the Great Mother.
(c) Professor Adeler traces the form of the beehive tombs to the subter-
ranean dwellings of Phrygia ; but, as we have reason to believe, such dwellings
were common to the Aryan peoples in prehistoric times,^ not confined to
Phrygia. He also finds Phrygian influence in the brick walls of the palaces
of Tiryns and Mycenae, for " the clay-beds of the broad valley of the Hermus
are inexhaustible." Here again, however, we prefer to go farther afield, and
•connect the brick walls of Greece with those of Babylon.
(d) The story of Niobe, wife of Amphion of Thebes, and daughter of
Tantalus, the old king, according to some, of Lydia, according to others, of
Phrygia, is intimately connected with Mount Sipylus and the Hermus valley.
^ For an account of Rhea- Cybele, see Hellas.
' "Ah, Way - god ! Way-god! whither hast thou brought me?" {M^q\\., Ag. 1065.) For
the functions and symbols of Apollo, see Hellas.
' Gf- PP- 126 and 167.
^82 THE PEOPLE
We may note here, by the way, that the famous statue of " Niobe " on Sipylus
is now held to be a cult-image of Cybele, the Great Mother.
(e) The peculiar form of cross found so commonly among the gold ornaments
at Mycenae is to be seen, according to Milchhoef er, on the fagade of the grave of
Midas (see ante, p. i68).
2. Lycia and Lydia. — The evidence here is very slight.
(a) The myth of the Lycian Cyclopes who built the walls of Tiryns for
King Proetus (p. 158). Professor Adeler, however, thinks that he has twice
discovered, indicated in relief, ceilings of round beams peculiar to Lycia, and
seen to this day in the huts of the region.
(b) The sagas of Niobe and Tantalus are often associated with " Lydia " as
well as with " Phrygia " by the old writers.
(c) The three-star and four-star ornaments found at Mycenae are seen again,
according to Milchhcefer, on Lydian coins.
3. The CarianS. — Of the influence of this people in early Greece there is
proof (presumptive) so strong that, shortly after the discovery of the Mycenaean
pit-graves, the theory of a Carian origin of the latter and of the graves at
Sparta was brought forward by Kohler. We have already said (p. 179) that
the Carian race was widespread over the islands. This is affirmed by
Herodotus, and the statement is confirmed by Thucydides, who also mentions
that in the ceremonial cleansing of the Island of Delos by the Athenians in
426 B.C. more than half the graves were discovered, from the mode of burial
adopted, to be those of Carians. Aristotle, again, held that Hermione and
Epidaurus, on the coast of Argolis, had been peopled by Carian settlers ;
and from the fact that one of the two citadels of Megaris was named Caria,
Pausanias draws the conclusion that it had been built by Car, the eponym,
or name-giving founder of the Carian nation.
Whatever we may think of etymology as a basis, there can be no doubt
that the Carians were a warlike, enterprising people, probably with a touch of
*' dash " about them which the primitive Greeks admired and imitated, if we
are to believe the story that they borrowed from the Carians the waving crest
on their helmets and the devices and handles of their shields.
Now let us note that the Carians worshipped Zeus as Stratios, whose
symbol, as seen on their coins, was the double axe, emblematic not only of the
god of war, but primarily of the wielder of the lightning and the thunderbolt ;
let us call to mind the fact mentioned by Herodotus, that in his day worship
was paid in Athens to the Carian Zeus ; let us bring these two facts into
connection with the fifty-six little ox-heads bearing a double-axe between the
horns, found in the pit-graves of Mycenae, and we shall have no difficulty in
seeing how Kohler arrived at his " Carian " hypothesis.
This latter seemed to be strengthened also by the fact that the bodies in
the pit-graves had evidently been — not burned, according to the Homeric and
(as it was believed) the Greek custom — but embalmed after the fashion of the
East. Wide and deep-reaching conclusions were drawn from this : here, it
was thought, lay the evidence of a difference in religious belief. In Egypt
and the East the preservation and safety of the body are linked to those of
the soul ; in Homer, the body must be burned (or committed to earth) before
its late tenant can find rest. We can only say on this point that there is
no evidence as to what the Carians believed about death and the soul ; and
that, so far as the Greeks are concerned, the question of burning versus bury-
ing seems to have been, as Helbig points out, very much one of sentiment and
of convenience. In their nomad days they burned their dead, in order that
the precious ashes might go with them ; when settled, they probably prac-
INFLUENCE OF THE EAST ON EARLY GREECE 183
tised burial, as is seen from the legends of the finding of the remains of Pelops,
Ariadne, Theseus, and Orestes ; when forced to leave their native land, burn-
ing resumed its old place, and then became " the fashion," as in Homer ;
afterwards burial and burning are found together.
As a whole the "Carian" hypothesis is too narrow for present knowledge
and altogether inadequate to bear the weight even of the pit-graves' evidence,
to say nothing of that wider evidence which reaches from Sparta to Thessaly.
Carian influence is a factor, certainly ,^in the Mycenaean culture, but only one
out of many factors.
4. The Phoenicians. — The proof of the presence of the Phoenicians on Greek
soil is afforded by all four classes of evidence. To begin with the weakest : —
(a) Place-names. — The name Tsenarum = smelting-house or furnace, and
Malea = Malah = height, are thought to be Semitic in origin.
(h) Sagas. — The legends of Cadmus in Thebes (p. 144) ; of Sisyphus in Corinth
(p. 139) ; of Nauplius and Palamedes in Argos (p. 160) ; of Europa and Minos and
his Minotaur ; and in Crete (p. 180), of the Marathonian bull and the tribute of
children paid by the Athenians to Crete (p. 155) are one and all held to
give unmistakable evidence of Phoenician influence.
(c) Cults. — The influence of Baal Moloch, the Phoenician chief god, is
traceable in two ways : —
(i) In the practice of human sacrifices in Boeotia, Corinth, and else-
where ; and
(2) In the addition to the Greek pantheon of Baal under the name of
Kronos.
The reader will recollect that a mother had been found for Zeus in the
Phrygian Cybele ; for a father the Greeks looked to another nation : the
consort of the Grseco-Phrygian Rhea-Cybele is the Grseco-Phoenician Kronos-
Baal. Thus the genealogy which we find in Hesiod was completed : —
Uranus = G^ A (Heaven and Earth)
Kronos (Baal) = Rhea (Cybele)
Zeus
The Phoenician Melkarth became blended at several points with the Greek
Heracles, and the same transition is noticeable between the Syrian goddess
Astarte and the Greek Aphrodite (p. 180). The little golden figures found in
the pit-graves, representing a female with a dove on the shoulder or head
(p. 169), are images of Astarte, and the little building with doves at the corners
(of which there are several examples) probably depicts the temple of the
goddess at Paphos.
Monuments. — Let us pass in review many of the objects found in the pit-
graves of Mycenae — the inlaid daggers representing the lion-hunt and the
ducks among the papyrus-reeds, the silver vase with the lotus-flower decora-
tion, the ostrich Q^g., the objects of glass — and we shall instinctively think
of Egypt. And our instinct will be right. In an Egyptian grave of the
sixteenth century has recently been found an inlaid sword decorated in the
same style as those of Mycenae. And not only the daggers, but the masks,
the breast-plates, and the embalming point to Egypt and its customs trans-
mitted through some intermediary. But who could this intermediary have
been, who could have brought these objects and these customs from that
far-off land, the land of the papyrus and the lotus, with which Greece, as we
1 84 THE PEOPLE
have seen, had no direct intercourse, save and except the universal carriers and
"go-betweens," the Phoenicians? Who, further, brought the amber-beads
found in such profusion, and proved by analysis to be the amber of the Baltic,
save the Phoenicians ?
When we come above ground the same evidence meets us — on all sides it
is agreed that to Egyptian influence is due the beautiful ceiling with its
rosettes and palm-leaves at Orchomenus (p. 1 74)^ the splendid frieze of alabaster
and smalt at Tiryns (p. 173), possibly also the half -pillars guarding the door of
the Treasury of Atreus (p. 166). The influence of Babylon, again, is traceable
in the brick walls of the palaces of Tiryns and Mycenae, and in the custom of
clothing walls and doors with polished metal, a custom which spread to Egypt
but began in Mesopotamia, and possibly grew out of the desire to hide the
bareness and meanness of the brick structure — a course forced upon a land
which has neither stone nor marble.
Finally, we come to a piece of evidence more astonishing (because more
unexpected) than any yet considered. The system of fortification — represented
at Tiryns — the immensely thick walls, hiding within them corridors and
chambers, are found, according to Dorpfeld, nowhere else save in the Phoenician
settlements on the northern coast of Africa — Carthage, Thapsus, Hadrumetum,
Utica, and Thysdrus. Thus the architects of the mighty walls of Tiryns were
no other than these same Phoenicians whom the Greeks despised, and whom
we ourselves are accustomed to regard as traders and carriers and nothing
more.
The foregoing brief survey has shown what the so-called Mycenaean culture
proves — the fact, namely, that the primitive Greeks were exposed to the most
manifold and many-sided influences. Egypt, Babylon and Assyria, Phoenicia,
Phrygia, Lycia, Caria, and the islands all are represented in it. That this
culture did not grow up in Greece is proved not only by the discovery of so
many Eastern types and objects, but by the fact that no local differences are dis-
cernible. The true Hellenic culture of a later date astonishes us by its variety
and distinctiveness — the Ionian style of architecture, e.g., is not the same as
the Corinthian, whilst the Doric differs from both. In the "Mycenaean"
culture, on the contrary, no matter on what part of the Eastern coast " finds "
have been made, they bear, one and all, the same stamp. It is evident, there-
fore, that we have to do with an art which had fully developed abroad and
simply been transplanted to Greece. This art is unique in its way, for in it
Egypt and Babylon have met and been fused into one. The " Mycenaean "
culture is the culture of Asia Minor.
Had, then, the Greeks themselves no share in it ? Undoubtedly ! but —
under the tutelage of their masters and teachers, the Phoenicians. Here is
sometimes brought forward the old objection that the mere passing intercourse
with traders, who came to hold a bazaar for the sale of their wares and departed
again in a few days, could by no possibility have had the far-reaching effects
attributed to it. Granted ! — the Phoenicians, however, were something more
than traders. They were not only the great merchants of antiquity, but they
had also as a nation an astonishing aptitude for invention — of a certain sort.
" They kept an ever-watchful look-out for the inventions of others," that is,
" and immediately applied them to themselves, with some grand improvements
on the original idea." The Phoenician, as trader and inventor, would seem,
indeed, to have been a character not unfamiliar to us in modern life. Never-
theless, this very aptitude for appropriating and assimilating inventions was
all-essential in those whose world-task was the transmission and diffusion of
inventions, and in the Phoenician it was combined in a most remarkable way
INFLUENCE OF THE EAST ON EARLY GREECE 185
with other characteristics no less essential for the task — energy and deter-
mination. The Phoenicians became the greatest miners and metallurgists,
artificers and manufacturers of the ancient world, and they came to Greece in
all these varied roles, as well as in that of the merchant. They brought,
indeed, the gay robes and glittering ornaments that dazzled the eyes of the
simple Pelasgian shepherd and won from him his wool, skins, and timber ; but
they had other objects in view. The seas around the eastern coast of Greece
were rich in the murex, that shell-fish whose sac yielded the purple which dyed
the famous robes of Sidon and of Tyre ; the mountain-veins of Greece, con-
tained not only copper and iron, but gold. These were commodities required
to feed the great factories of Syria, and they were not to be obtained easily.
The murex knew his value, and gave his captors some trouble ; he could only
be taken in the winter months — the season unfavourable to navigation — and
then the extraction of the precious drop of colouring matter had to be made
from the fresh shell-fish on the spot. The bulky mountain ores had also to be
smelted and refined before the metal sought could be carried away — processes
which necessitated a* more or less protracted stay in Greece. That this pro-
tracted stay actually took place, that the Phoenicians actually settled at various
points along the coast — at Tsenarum = " the smelting-house," Nauplia, Corinth,
&c. — is held to be proved above all by the deep root struck by their cults into
the native religion (see ante, p. 180). This is not the work of a day nor of a
passing visit. Again, the gold mines of Thasos, the later reputation of Melos
and Thera for gay robes, &c., with other witnesses of the same kind, bear testi-
mony to a lengthened residence on certain of the islands near the mainland.
Thus it came to pass that the Greeks saw going on before their eyes the
wonderful processes by which the strangers with their magic fingers came into
possession of the much coveted ornamental knives, sharp swords, shining metal
vases, and purple mantles.
The Phoenicians are known to have been in the ^gsean Sea in the fifteenth
century B.C. (see ante, p. 180) ; the date of the Mycenaean treasures is generally
taken as about 1250 B.C.; we have thus a period of some 200 years during
which the Greeks had the opportunity of " going to school " to the Eastern
civilisation. That they availed themselves of it there can be no doubt. As
Helbig well puts it, "the Greeks, a primitive but highly-gifted people, capable
of development, gave themselves up at first without reserve [ruckhaltslos) to
the charms of the East. They were quite content for a time to sit down at
the feet of their masters, and reproduce Eastern models.
Can we, then, attribute to the Greeks themselves any of the precious art-
works of the pit-graves ? One thing is certain, that some of the articles must
have been made on the spot — the masks, for instance, and probably other
details of the funeral equipment. Again, the very frequent recurrence of sea-
subjects in the decoration on vases and gold plates — the algae and cuttlefish
(p. 168) — show that tho'makers of the objects so adorned were a seafaring race.
This epithet applies to Phoenicians and Carians as well as to Greeks ; but then
we remember that the cuttlefish plays a prominent part in one of the earliest
Greek myths. Thetis, the mother of Achilles, changes herself into a cuttlefish
to escape the hated union with a mortal, and the part of the coast which she
was supposed to haunt commemorates this (or the abundance there of the
animal in question), for it bore the name — Sepias = Cape of the Cuttlefish.
While we must consider the most beautiful objects in the pit-graves — the
sceptre of rock-crystal, the splendid diadems, the inlaid daggers, the glass, the
alabaster vase, the golden goblets, the rings and engraved gems — as articles of
vertu evidently imported to grace the palace of a prince, we may safely regard
1 86 THE PEOPLE
many of the more simple objects as the product of native skill wrought under
Phoenician direction.
If the theory of Greek labour is admissible even in the workmanship of the
treasures in the pit-graves, it becomes absolutely necessary to account for such
a phenomenon as that before us in the walls of Tiryns. The " Carian " hypo-
thesis here completely falls to the ground. As Adeler observes ; " The walls of
Tiryns cannot have been built in a hurry, in the sight of the enemy, or as the
first stronghold of an invasion based on maritime supremacy. The colossal
walls tell every one able to read the language of stones that their erection can
only have been effected in a long period of peace, by a ruler with unusual
resources of power, and who had trained workmen under his permanent
control." The beehive tombs and the palaces tell the same tale — we see in
them, as in the walls of Tiryns, native energy and native resources directed by
foreign trained skill.
With the foregoing evidence before our eyes, we can now see the true
answer to the scornful question of Wilamowitz, " What had the East to offer
to Greece ? " Much, we reply, that cannot be so contemptuously dismissed. In
early ages, the elements of material civilisation — working in metal, building in
stone, artistic weaving and dyeing, numerous plants and animals which con-
duced to the comfort and convenience of life, the olive, the fig, and other
fruits, the patient ass and the mule, many trees and flowers, the rose, the
laurel, the myrtle, the plane — that beautified and transformed the European
coasts of the ^gaean.^ In later days the East is still in some ways the
giver, Greece the receiver — from Egypt she borrowed her system of field
measurements, as has] been shown by Cantor, and much of her knowledge of
medicine, as is plain from the researches of Le Page Renouf ; from Babylon
were derived the Greek division of time and Greek weights and measures, as
has been conclusively proved by Adeler and Boeckh ; through Phcenicia, finally,
she received that greatest benefit of all — the alphabet, the grand transmitter
of progress.
It will not be overrating the importance of all this to the Greeks, if we
say, in brief, that it saved them centuries of toil. Other men had laboured,
the Greeks entered into their labours. This is only what we should have
expected. There is no waste in the Divine Economy. The beginnings of
civilisation had been made, and well made, in the old empires of Egypt and
Babylon ; there was no need for these foundations to be re-made. They were
brought over by the great carriers of the world, the Phoenicians, to virgin soil,
to a fresh, young, vigorous nation destined for higher work. By one great
leap, as it were, the Greeks acquired the old material bases of civilisation,
which had been the slow growth of ages. They were thus set free after a
preparatory discipline to begin that higher development which was the mission
of their race. In no other way can we account for the stage of culture
attained in Greece at so relatively early an epoch. Climate unravels many
mysteries, but climate alone will not unravel this, however much it may have
helped (p. 20). Genius is the key to the development of a race, but even
genius has to be assisted over material obstacles, or it will spend itself in
conquering these obstacles, and Greek genius was reserved for different work.
When we reflect that the Greek Aryans left the Old Home at the same level of
culture as the other branches of the family — that the Greeks had laid the
foundations of art, literature, science, philosophy, and a true political life,
whilst our own ancestors were as yet savages, tattooing their bodies by way of
1 See Part I., Section I.
INFLUENCE OF THE EAST ON EARLY GREECE 187
ornament, and with no social development beyond mere tribal life — we cannot
but see that, making all allowance for genius, the Greeks must have been in
possession of some advantage not enjoyed by the northern peoples. This
advantage can have been nothing else than very early initiation into the arts
already developed by the peoples of the East.
To admit this in no way detracts from the merit of the Hellenes as
experimenters, for the same opportunities had been put before all the other
Aryan tribes that settled round the -^gaean. Thracians, Phrygians, Lycians,
Carians, all began the race on equal terms with the Greeks ; one and all
stopped short, the Greeks alone used the material as a stepping-stone to the
ideal, and so fulfilled their world-mission.
While, however, we admit to the fullest extent the influence of the East
in material things, we must draw the line firmly when the attempt is made to
extend this influence unduly into things intellectual and spiritual. We join
hands at once with Wilamowitz, and cry " Halt ! " when a Gruppe endeavours
to prove that the Greeks received, not only the material bases of culture, but
their religion itself from the Phoenicians.^ Such a theory is at variance alike
with the evidence of the Greek language and religion, and with the standing
witness of both Greek and Phoenician character. The Greeks had fortunately
lived long enough alone in their mountain cantons, before the arrival of the
Phoenicians, to develop their entire individuality — their language, and with it
their religion. The basis of both language and religion they brought with
them from the old Aryan home. Dr. Schrader has proved, from the purity of
the Greek nautical terminology, that the Hellenes were sailors long before
they knew the Phoenicians (see ante, p. 1 1, note) ; and in like manner it could be
demonstrated, from the purity of the Greek religious vocabulary, that they
were believers in the Divine long before the Phoenicians could have exercised
any influence whatever upon them. To imagine that a race like the Hellenes,
gifted with vivid imaginations and intellectual powers of the highest order,
sat for ages in material darkness until a Phoenician mission-ship (save the
mark !), following in the wake of the trading ships, conveyed to them the
divine spark, is a notion in itself ludicrous enough ; but its baselessness
becomes doubly apparent when we turn to the earliest available records, and
there find the opinion entertained of the Phoenician character by the Greeks.
In Homer the name "Phoenician" is coupled with the epithets "deceitful"
and "greedy" in a way that speaks for itself. In the story invented by
Odysseus for the benefit of the swineherd Eumseus, he tells of a Phoenician
practised in deceit — a greedy knave, who had already worked much mischief,
and who added thereto this, that while professing friendship for Odysseus, he
intended all the while to sell him into bondage. The hero makes this fictitious
Mephistopheles a "Phoenician" evidently as a matter of course; and in the
next book of the Odyssey, in the real history which Eumseus gives of his own
life, he too brings forward the Phoenicians as the authors of all his troubles.
It is a Phoenician maid-servant, aided by her accomplices, Phoenician sailors,
" famous mariners, greedy merchant men " by whom he is stolen from his
parents, and comes into the vile estate of slavery.
These side-lights in Homer are suggestive enough, and they tally minutely
with what we know of the Phoenician national character. Even Homer, it is
^ This theory owes its only importance to the fact that it has been put forward by Dr.
Gruppe in his recent work already referred to. Die Griechische Kulte und Mythen. Gruppe'a
power as a "destructive" critic is undoubted ; but we question whether any "constructive"
theories so feeble as several of these advanced in the book were ever set forth by a writer of
the same ability.
1 88 THE PEOPLE
true, has an occasional good word for the Phoenicians, and we ourselves
cannot withhold a certain meed of praise from them. When we see these first
mariners in their frail barks, venturing out " into the wild and boundless
Atlantic, with its mighty tides, its huge rollers, blinding mists and fogs,
without chart or compass, guided only by the stars " — when we see them thus
accomplishing their world-task as transporters of civilisation, in the teeth of
every conceivable danger, we are filled with the admiration which resolution
and boldness always inspire. Nevertheless, as Deutsch, who is in some
respects an admirer of the Phoenicians, is obliged to admit, they exhibited as a
nation " total disregard of the rights of the weaker, unscrupulousness, and
want of faith."
Moreover, the Phoenicians themselves were not civilised in the true sense ;
they were simply carriers of civilisation, bearers to ruder nations of the
achievements of Egypt and Babylon. True, they were great adapters, and
had themselves developed, and made wondrous progress in, the material arts,
as we have seen ; but their character, as they stand before us in early history,
is mainly that of intermediaries, mercenary " go-betweens," borrowers of ideas
to be worked out for material ends. The object of all their hazardous adven-
tures seems to have been to fill their pockets as fast as possible, and then return
to their own land. If they made more than a passing visit to Greece and the
islands, it was because what they came for could not be obtained in a hurry.
They wanted gold, and therefore they were content to remain on Thasos and
develop the mining industry there ; they wanted dye-stuff for the Tyrian
factories, and therefore they took up their abode on Cythera and the adjoining
coasts on the mainland, where enormous heaps of shells still testify to their
industry. Wealth, and wealth alone, was the object of their visits — timber,
metal, wool, the purple dye, slaves, they came to seek, and were determined
to get, by fair means or by foul. The Greeks knew perfectly well what brought
the Phoenicians among them — not the desire to found a city which should
become the mother of all the fair and peaceful arts of life, the desire (or,
rather, the passion) which lay at the root of Greek enterprise. The motive-
power of the Phoenicians was the thirst for gain in its sordid nakedness.
Hence, the Phoenician settlements never became, like the Greek colonies,
centres of light. The Greeks certainly developed a love for riches as keen as
that of the Phoenicians themselves ; but there was this intrinsic difference
between the two races, that the eye of the Greek mind was the ideal, the eye
of the Phoenician the material.
From such teachers the Greek could learn in a material sense — the
Phojnician could teach him how to forge his sword and dye his mantle — he
could teach him nothing about the nature of God. The Phoenician religion
exhibits, as might be expected, in a marked degree the national characteristics.
We readily grant that to attempt to summarise or to focus the religious life of
a nation in a line or two is a proceeding as dishonest as it is unjust ; even the
most degenerate religion has some element of good lingering in it. But with
all allowances, M. Renan, so far as we can discern, does the Phoenician no wrong
when he describes their religion as "materialistic and self-interested" ("selfish"
would be nearer the truth) ; nor is Canon Rawlinson mistaken when he brands
it as being amongst all polytheistic systems the most sensual and the most
cruel — in its effects the most degrading.
Such was the nation, such the religion, that, according to Gruppe's theory,
first kindled among the Greeks the desire to seek after God. The whole theory
is as baseless as it is repugnant.
T It is contradicted, as stated above, by the evidence of language, both of
THE "ACH^AN" AGE 189
the old Aryan mother-tongue, as we shall presently see, and of the Greek
language. Gruppe himself is obliged to confess that the " agreements between
the Greek and Phcenician languages relate generally to the sense " — there is no
trace of direct borrowing of religious terms by the Greeks from the Phoenicians,
as would certainly have been the case had the Greeks borrowed their religion
itself from the Phoenicians, for in ancient days to borrow a "word" was to
borrow an "idea." In a footnote he adds, "The number of loan-words proper
is trifling." Such loan-words, let us note, are simply names : lapetus ( Japheth),
Cadmus, Adonis, &c., names of little or no import in a religious sense.
2. It is contradicted by the attitude of the Greeks towards their supposed
spiritual guides. The Greeks may have given themselves up " without reserve "
to the charms of Eastern art ; but certainly, as regards their belief, the very
reverse is the case. Instead of sitting meekly at the feet of the Phoenicians,
we find them exercising the greatest caution in accepting Phoenician religious
ideas. The Greeks introduced the Phoenician Moloch under the name of
Kronos ; but they did not introduce the holocausts of children which formed
part of the Phoenician cult of Moloch. They blended the Phoenician Astarte
with their own Aphrodite, but they rejected much that was repugnant in her
cult; they introduced Adonis, the Phoenician representative of dying and
reviving nature (the " Tammuz " of the prophet Ezekiel ^) ; but there is no
trace in Greece of the orgies which made the Lebanon cults of Astarte and
Adonis a byword and a reproach even to the heathen world.
And as they acted in regard to Phoenician cults, so do we see the Greeks
acting in regard to the cults of other nations with whom, in the earliest days,
they came in contact. They introduced, as we know, the Phrygian Cybele, the
Mountain-Mother ; but they rejected the associated cult of Attys, with its
shrieking priests and rites of self -mutilation. Everywhere we find in early
Greece evidence of the constant use of a certain faculty — krino = I sift, I test,
I judge — destined to become one of the main factors in the national develop-
ment. Is this sifting, testing, judging the attitude of those who have no
religious standard, no criterion of their own ; no previous conception of what
befits the dignity of the Divine Being, and what is likely to please Him?
Yerily, in things spiritual, the Greeks owed to the East — nothing.
Owed nothing ? Nay, we go much further than this. We say that what
Greece borrowed from the Phoenicians in religious matters was the reverse
of a blessing to her ; that if the Phoenician religion or Phoenician national
characteristics had been suffered to predominate on her shores, it would have
been an unmitigated calamity, not only for Hellas but for Europe.
How this predominance was prevented we shall see in our next chapter.
THE "ACH^AN" AGE
The so-called " Achaean " age is the period of the great Mycenaean culture
— the age of " Atreus " and " Agamemnon " in Argos, of " Theseus " in Attica.
It represents a Middle epoch between the early Pelasgic stage and the true
Hellenic development. In it the dominant race is that of the Achaeans — not
of Thessaly but of Peloponnesus.
This is the age described for us by " Homer." Although we shall probably
be right in thinking that the nucleus of the Iliad took its rise in the period
which it professes to paint, yet, inasmuch as the development of the poem took
place very much later, we need not be surprised to find that, to a great extent,
^ Ezekiel viii. 14.
I90 THE PEOPLE
the conditions of a younger period are transferred to the ancient days of the
Mycenaean culture. The state of society, therefore, pictured in the Homeric
poems, is not in reality that of the thirteenth century — the age of Mycenaean
greatness — but of the poets who tell the story. " Homer," we must remember,
is a collective name — the Iliad did not flow in one great stream from one
author's brain. Certainly this greatest of literary puzzles bears the stamp of
one master mind, but the proofs of a diversity of origin in many parts — of
alterations, omissions, and additions at different times — are too evident to be
ignored (see § Y.). The date of the Iliad as a whole may probably be
fixed at the ninth century B.C. ; but the so-called " Catalogue of the Ships,"
which now finds a place in the Second Book of the Iliad, and from which we
derive our information as to the various " nations" or clans that took part in
the Trojan war, is evidently the work of a later hand, a Boeotian poet, and
must be assigned to the latter half of the eighth century B.C. Although the
''Catalogue" can claim to be nothing more than an interpolation inserted by
a Boeotian for the glorification of his own countrymen, it is still the most
ancient document giving any account of the various peoples of Greece, and in
this sense of great value. Nevertheless, as a description of the Greece of some
centuries before, it is not to be relied upon. Both in the " Catalogue" and in
other later portions of the Iliad certain of the political conditions which pre-
vailed in historic times are simply transferred to the grand old days of the
Mycenaean supremacy, the traditions of whose magnificence lingered on in the
memories of the people.
The Pelasgi, for instance, have so completely disappeared, or become
merged in stronger races, that we find them mentioned as a distinct people in
the Iliad only incidentally, as dwellers not in Europe but in Asia, and as
fighting not with, but against the Greeks, on the side of Priam and the
Trojans. The Minyae also are on the eve of vanishing ; they appear at lolcus,
but in Boeotia they are restricted to two cities — Orchomenus and Aspledon.
The Boeotians appear as already settled in Boeotia, Phocians in Phocis, Achaians
in Achaia, Locrians, ^tolians, Eleians in their respective historic homes.
From this evidence some writers are now anxious to do away with the
" Achaean " age altogether. Homer may be a great poet, but as an " his-
torian," the sooner, in their opinion, he is put out of court the better. Says
Dr. Pohlmann: "The Achaean 'Argos' is, like the whole 'heroic' political
world, nothing to us but an empty phantom ; " and in this he is supported by
Niese, who argues that the sagas wrongly see in the Homeric Greece the
*' pre-Doric." Dr. Niese, however, it is who elsewhere laments that he can so
seldom find good building-stones to replace the traditions which he carts away
(p. 12 2, note). Those who see in the Homeric Greece the necessary link between
the Greece of the sagas and of history, may therefore reasonably ask to be
allowed to retain their old opinions until such time as more substantial build-
ing-stones have been discovered. We may see with Dr. Busolt that " the
Iliad and the Odyssey arose" (or rather took their present shape) "at a time
when the wanderings of the tribes had been accomplished " — that Argos is, as
in the days of the first real history, the leading community in Peloponnesus —
that Sparta is mentioned as a leading city more in the Odyssey, the later poem,
than in the Iliad, which also accords with actual historic development. All
this we may see clearly without being thereby driven to reject the Homeric
tradition. The " Homeric tradition," in fact, rightly understood, is the key to
the whole subsequent Hellenic development. And what then is this Homeric
tradition ? Simply the expulsion of the foreigner — the revolt of Greece against
the East.
THE "ACH^AN" AGE 191
No one has expressed this better than Preller. He says : "The more
deeply we penetrate into the oldest history of Greece, in so far as it is pene-
trable at all, the more do we arrive at the conviction that the distinction
between the Pelasgian and the Hellenic epochs consists mainly in this — that in
the former foreign influences preponderated, in the latter the true independent
Hellenic spirit began to stir, and freed itself from those foreign influences, a
result which, without continuous and violent struggles, was not possible." The
era of the struggles is Homer's Achaean age. The revolt of Europe against the
East did not begin with Marathon — the yoke had been thrown oflt ages before.
The scene of the inevitable conflict would naturally lie where Eastern influence
most preponderated — along the Eastern coast, and especially in Argos — the
recollection of the deliverance there gathered around certain chieftains, and
one episode in the struggle, the chastisement of Phrygia, has come down to us
in the pages of Homer, associated with the name of " Agamemnon."
Not Phrygia alone, however, not Caria alone, but a foe far more subtle
than either, had to be ejected — the Phoenician, the carrier of a curse as
well as of a blessing to Hellas. What brought about the final catastrophe?
When race-antipathy exists — and we have seen that it showed itself between
Greek and Phoenician — a spark suffices to set the smouldering jealousies in a
blaze. The Greek, no doubt, had had to pay dearly for any insight he obtained
into Phoenician technique — he had been taken advantage of by the " greedy
knaves " ; he had seen Greek maidens decoyed on board Phoenician ships, and
sold into slavery of the worst kind. To a nation that a few centuries later
could create and appreciate the love of a Hector and an Andromache, and
paint a Nausicaa, Phoenician manners and customs must, even at this early
stage, have been repugnant. Add to race-antipathy and social antipathy the
rivalry which must inevitably have set in as soon as the Greek became
conscious that he was a match for the Phoenician, and the causes of the
expulsion of the foreigner are not far to seek. Out the Phoenician had to go
— very probably sans ceremonie — and that not only from Argos, but from
Attica and any other part of the country wherein he had planted himself.
The leading spirits in this great movement may have been the family of the
Atridse (or Pelopidse, as they were styled later) in Argos, and Theseus
in Attica.
The foregoing is Max Duncker's interpretation of the rise of the power
of the Atridse in Argos. They probably took the lead in what we may
characterise as a prehistoric anti-Semitic movement, and secured their own
position by securing " Greece for the Greeks." The fortress of Tiryns,
although devised by Phoenician wits, had probably to be used as a stronghold
against Phoenician wits showing themselves too clever by half in the adjacent
seaport, Nauplia. Whether the hypothesis be true or not, historically, it is
certainly true to human nature.
Looking now at the question broadly, the " Homeric tradition " of an
" Achaean " age seems to be supported by the following reasoning : —
1. There is no gainsaying the fact that the "Achaean" age represents a
" Middle " epoch, when on the one hand the Pelasgi and other prehistoric
peoples are fast disappearing, and when, on the other, neither lonians nor
Dorians have as yet come to the front.
2. Such a Middle epoch is required on the archaeological evidence before
us ; the great buildings of Tiryns and Mycenae could have been built neither
by Pelasgian shepherds nor by hardy Dorian mountaineers, who despised such
defences. They bear the strongest testimony to the rule of native princes
of some refinement, and possessed of great wealth and power, precisely cor-
192 THE PEOPLE
responding in influence and rank to Agamemnon, king of men, as described
by Homer.
3. The Mycenaean " finds " have been made, and the great buildings of
the epoch exist, precisely in the spots indicated by Homer as centres of wealth
and power — Mycenae, Tiryns, Amyclse, Orchomenus.
4. Such a Middle epoch, again, is expressly required to explain the
great gulf existing between Pelasgia and historic times, as evidenced by the
pit-graves. The latter give the strongest testimony to Eastern influence — an
influence which the Historic Greeks knew nothing of, save in the shape of
myth and saga. This absolute break is attributable to one factor only — the
expulsion of the foreigner.
That this took place during the " Mycenaean " period may, perhaps, be
gathered from the fact that the richest amongst the pit-graves of Mycenae
(I., III., IV.) are thought to be earlier than the more simple ones (II.,
y., YI.). After " Atreus " had expelled the Phoenicians, he would be obliged
to content himself with a lesser degree of magnificence.
5. The story of the Siege of Troy offers nothing at all improbable in itself ;
rather, on the contrary, does it present us with just such a combination of
events as we might expect. The carrying off of the wife of a European
chieftain by an Asiatic princeling — an expedition to avenge the insult — there
is nothing in this that exceeds the bounds of probability. True, superhuman
elements permeate the Homeric narrative in every direction, but this is the
poet's way of telling the story ; the superhuman does not make void the human
in it. The idea that the Siege of Troy is only a version of the Solar Myth, in
which Achilles represents the sun, Helen the dawn, Troy the region of dark-
ness, we can only dismiss, with Professor Jebb, as "fantastic." The story
would seem to have had its nucleus in some real historic occurrence, which
early formed the subject of a poem, and gradually widened in its significance
until it had acquired the importance of an event of the first magnitude. In
this way the " Achaean " name also gradually extended, until it embraced all
the heroes and races of Greece who gather around Troy, which is defended^
not only by Phrygians, but by the allies of Priam, all the chief races of Asia
Minor. In this way, finally, the Iliad itself widened out, and became the
JN'ational Epos — Greece versus Asia.
As for the scene of the contest, Ilion or Troy, we have seen that a dis-
tinguished archaeologist is willing to accept the city of Homer as a fact.
Professor W. M. Ramsay regards Troy as the first settlement on Asiatic
soil made by the Phrygians (p. 178). Whether the Burnt City, discovered by
Schliemann, on the Hill of Hissarlik, is the " Troy of Homer " or not, is a
question which will never be definitely answered, for the simple reason that
the " Troy of Homer " probably never existed in all its details save in imagina-
tion. The plain of the Scamander, and the mountains that bound it, are
described in the Iliad with wonderful fidelity. Nature does not vary ; but how
are we to expect a faithful description of a place which the poet had never
seen? The old fortress of Ilion was burnt, and probably built over, long
before those who told the story of its fate had set foot in the Troad. Further,
we have here not to do with one poet, but with several, each of whom, while
adhering to the general picture, doubtless exercised the freedom of his calling
as to details.
Bearing these factors in mind, then, one cannot but admit that Dr. Schlie-
mann has discovered the city of Priam, in so far as it ever will be discovered.
The city on Hissarlik undoubtedly answers many requirements of the story.
With its gigantic citadel-walls, its old palace, its treasures of gold and silver^
THE THESSALIAN INVASION 193
it merits right well the appellation of a royal fortress ; whilst its position near
the sea explains both the secret of its wealth and the maritime supremacy
which the Phrygians enjoyed for a time. Let us note, too, that although the
golden treasures first discovered on Hissarlik are quite different in style from
those of the pit-graves, and probably much older than the latter, yet that the
ornaments found in subsequent excavations belong to the Mycenaean period, a
proof that the destruction of the city did not take place earlier than that
period, which, again, tallies with the Homeric tradition. We may note,
further, that the ground-plan of the city on Hissarlik corresponds with those
of Mycenae and Tiryns. Finally, the evidences of its fate are not to be dis-
missed as valueless. The city on Hissarlik was destroyed by fire, so, according
to the tradition, was Homer's Ilion.^ The real pith and marrow, however, of
any historical interest which the Achaean age may possess for us is, that it
offers the first recorded protest of the Greeks against Asiatic influence. The
expedition of United Greece against Asia is the first recorded evidence of the
shaking off of the yoke of the East. The Hellenic child has become a youth ;
he no longer requires a schoolmaster ; he feels stirring within him his own
innate powers. Henceforth, the Hellenes will pursue the course marked out
for them by Providence, and develop themselves " entirely out of themselves."
We now pass on to another and a different epoch. Just as the Pelasgian
age had faded before the Achaean, so this in its turn must give place to the
Hellenic, as the grey dawn vanishes before the beams of morning, brightening
out into the clear light of day.
THE THESSALIAN INVASION
The event which is held to constitute the turning-point between the Mythic
and the Historic periods of Greece took place in that land which we now know
so well as the cradle of the great Hellenic races. Sixty years after the Trojan
war (so Thucydides tells us), there appeared in the Great Plain a race destined
to give to the latter its historic name — the Thessalians — a warlike people, who
are supposed to have crossed the Pindus range from Thesprotia, in the wild
land of Epeirus.
This incursion may well have been induced by causes from without — the
first impetus may have been given beyond the limits of Greece. The Thessalians
may themselves have been driven out of Epeirus by a descent on the country
of the Illyrians from the north ; and these lUyrians, again, may have been
forced southwards by the pressure of a general wave of emigration from Central
Europe.2
Whatever its origin, the Thessalian invasion begins that long series of wars
and wanderings of the tribes, which finally resulted in the new order of things
— the Greece of historic times.
Ensconcing themselves in the south-western corner of the plain — the pro-
vince to which their own name was first applied, Thessaliotis, then known as
^olis, with its chief town, Arne, a district inhabited by the ^olians — the
new-comers gave the original proprietors pretty plainly to understand that
there was no choice before them but slavery or exile. The true Hellenic spirit
1 The whole of the evidence touching the two rival claimants for the site of Troy, Bunar-
haschi and Hissarlik, is ably summed up in Schuchhardt's work, to which we refer the reader.
2 Helbig is of opinion that an incursion of the lUyrian Veneti took place about the same
time on the eastern coasts of the Apennine peninsula, forcing the Latins and Etruscans across
the mountains to their historic homes on the western side. {Op. cit. p. 94.)
N
194 THE PEOPLE
was, however, now awake, and an exodus of the more noble-minded among the
^olians ensued. Those who preferred the fat pastures, " the flesh-pots and
the garlic," of the Great Plain, and remained behind, paid dearly for their
sloth. Henceforth they bore the ignoble name of Penestse = dingers to the
soil, laggers behind,^ and sank into the position of serfs or bondmen to the
new Thessalian lords. The same fate gradually overtook all the peoples of the
fertile plain of the Peneius. Certain tribes, however, either inhabiting moun-
tain districts not so much to be coveted, or more sturdy in their resistance —
the Magnetes, Achseans, Perrhaebi — passed into a state of feudal dependence
merely on the Thessalian princes, retaining their own tribal name and vote in
the Council of the Pylian Amphictyony.
The tribes known to history as preferring exile to serfdom and dependence
were the ^Eolian Arnseans (the later ' Boeotians) and the Dorians,^ and it is a
curious fact that with the exodus of these tribes went apparently most of the
energy and intellect of the population. The Thessalians of history do not
concern us any more than the Epeirotes, as *' experimenters." With the
Achaean age Thessaly's Blufhenzeit is past and over. We therefore leave the
lordlings of the plain to their horse-breeding and bull-hunting, their flocks and
herds and feasting, their merely sensuous existence, and follow the fortunes
of the nobler sort.
THE ARNiEANS (Ba:OTIANS)
Forth then wandered the Arnaeans. Although they have been driven out
of Thessaly we shall mistake their character if we imagine them to be wanting
either in energy or in courage. As the sequel shows (and even 0. Miiller
remarks, as may be gathered from the names given to their dukes or leaders
in the Iliad), they were a warlike race. Crossing Othrys and CEta they found
their way through the Cephissus valley into the country destined to become
known as Boeotia, Land of Oxen, but then called, as we have seen, Cadmeis.
Here they settled, first on the west of the Copai'c Lake at Chseroneia and
Coroneia, built in memory of their old home at new Arne (which disappeared
later, probably engulfed by a sudden rising of the lake), and founded in
honour of their national goddess, Athena Itonia (from Iton, one of the oldest
cities of Achsea Phthiotis), a sanctuary, which continued to be the religious
centre for all the Boeotian states down to the latest times.
Imitating the tactics which had made themselves exiles, the Boeotians then
gradually extended their warlike operations until they were in possession of
both plains — the southern with its capital, Thebes, the northern with its once
great centre Orchomenus. In historic times we hear no more of Cadmeians,
Thracians, lonians, Pelasgians, or Minyse in Boeotia. The brave Little Folk
were the last to succumb, but at length they too disappeared before the rising
power, and fled, as we have seen, to Attica, Peloponnesus, and Thera (p. 141).
The other dispossessed peoples, driven from their homes, crossed the sea, and
assisted in founding the JEolian Colonies of Asia Minor. Let us point out
with Duncker, to the credit of the -<^olian Boeotians, that such of the old
^ So Thirlwall, who regards Penestse as == Menestse, or remaining on the soil. Penestae,
however, is generally interpreted as the " Poor Folk."
^ Here we follow Helbig and Schoemann. The latter says : "As the invasion (of Pelopon-
nesus by the Dorians) is said to have taken place sixty years after the Trojan war, or about
1 104 B.C., it seems reasonable to bring it into connection with the immigration of the Thes-
salians, which had taken place shortly before."
THE DORIANS 195
inhabitants of the land as remained were not enslaved. They must have been
admitted to the new commonwealths, for in Boeotia there were in historic
times neither Penestse, as in Thessaly, nor Helots, as in Laconia.
The Boeotians, however, remained masters of the situation, and of the
mist-hung valleys of the land, where we leave them for a few centuries to
develop gradually into Thebans, Platseans, Thespians — in short, the various
distinct and independent peoples or " states " met with in history — of whom
at one time the little country boasted no fewer than fourteen.
THE DORIANS
The other noteworthy migration from Thessaly is that of the Dorians,
a clan destined to grow into one of the mightiest and strongest races of Hellas,
and to leave the imprint of its own resolute character on some of the most
important of the experiments of the coming centuries. Like the Little Folk,
we find the Dorians in their Thessalian home close neighbours of the
Macedonians, for Herodotus tells us that they dwelt about the foot of Olympus
and (Eta. As we find, in the extreme north of the plain, three cities (Azoras,
Pythion, and Doliche) which formed a special district under the name of
Tripolis = land of the three cities, inhabited in historic times by Perrhsebi, we
may, having regard to the threefold division customary among the Dorians,
not unreasonably conclude this to have been the original seat of the race.
Forced out of their highland home, then, the Dorians settled first in
Dryopis, a little valley between Parnassus and CEta, from which they expelled
the ancient inhabitants (who wandered south into Hermione in Peloponnesus),
and to which they gave their own name — Doris. This valley, the historic
" metropolis " of a famous race, merits for various reasons a passing glance,
which need not detain us long.
Ascending from the south, the Plain of Amphissa — whence one narrow
pass, formed by the ravines of two torrents, leads over the northern heights of
Parnassus — and descending on the other side, where formerly stood the city of
Oytinium, the traveller finds himself in a valley, more than three and a half
miles in breadth. Crossing this, he climbs the rugged slopes of CEta, whose
oak forests gave to the district, in the oldest days of the olden time, the name
of Dryopis = Oakland, or woodland. On this, the northern boundary of the
valley, he takes his stand. Before him now stretches the majestic range of
Parnassus, its multiform summits covered with snow, which often lies till
August, its sides deep-trenched by the gullies worn by the winter-torrents, its
wooded foot broken into magnificent glens, at once wild and picturesque.
Between these two ranges, (Eta and Parnassus, shut in by them on north,
west, and south, lies the little valley, opening out on the east into Phocis.
Its surface is varied by gentle undulations, and watered by two mountain-
streams,^ which, flowing eastwards, join the Cephissus, and help to swell the
volume that floods the Copaic Plain. Such is the woodland valley of Doris,
wherein the exiles settled.
The most important consequence of the occupation of the valley by the
Dorians is, probably, to be found in the extension and deepening of the cult
of Apollo, their national god, at Delphi on Parnassus. The extraordinary
^ One of these rivers was anciently called Pindus, a name given also to a city of Doris ;
and to a confusion between these and the great mountain range Bursian refers the statement
of Herodotus that, after leaving their first home, the Dorians settled for a time " on
Pindus." (Herodotus, i. 56 ; Bursian, op. ciL, i. p. 153, note 3.)
196 THE PEOPLE
grandeur of the Parnassian glen, its mysterious clefts and towering heights
had, as already described (p. 66), very early marked out Delphi as the
home of a mysterious religion. According to ^schylus, the Delphic shrine
was first possessed by Gsea (Earth), then by Themis (Law), and Phoebe
(Light), before it finally passed to Apollo. Hence the transference of the
Parnassian shrine from other deities to Apollo may possibly have been effected
by the Dorians. Two facts, at least, point in this direction : (i) that there
existed a connection between Thessaly, the early home of the Dorians, and
Delphi, and that pilgrimages were made periodically from the latter to the
beautiful Tempe-gorge, whence came the laurel of Apollo ; (2) that Apollo,
although a god of the Greeks universally, was in a very special sense the god
of the Dorians ; that the Delphic Oracle in historic times guided all their
movements, and that the might of the Oracle grew with the increase of the
Dorian might. We are, therefore, justified in ascribing the first germ, at
least, of an institution which exercised so extraordinary an influence not only
in Greece, but far beyond the limits of the little land, to the Dorians, a race
whose respect for law and authority was unbounded.
We must hasten on, however, for the Dorians are not fated to remain as
an undivided people in the Parnassian valley.
Amongst them, according to tradition, there lived three princely exiles —
Temenus, Aristodemus, and Oresphontes — great-grandsons of Hyllus, the son
of Heracles and Deianeira. These Heracleids, or descendants of Heracles,
were also, as we remember, Perseids, descendants of Perseus, and the rightful
heirs (so they averred) to the sovereignty of Argos — a sovereignty usurped by
the Pelopids, and now vested in a grandson of Agamemnon, Tisamenus, son of
Orestes. And not only had they this claim upon Argos, but Sparta also
should have been theirs, by reason of a promise made by Tyndareus, king of
the land, to Heracles, who had helped him to regain his throne when
dispossessed of it by his brother. And not only could the Heracleids claim
Argos and Sparta, but the Messenian dominions of old Nestor of Pylus and
the land of Elis were theirs also, by right of the fact that Heracles had made
war against and conquered both lands. Thus the Heracleids had a clear and
most undeniable right to the best parts of Peloponnesus, according to the
sagas.
These exiled Heracleids had been protected by the Dorians on account of
the ancient friendship subsisting between Heracles and their king, ^gimius,
to whom the hero had rendered valuable services. Accordingly, sixty years
after the Trojan war, the Dorians did a generous deed. They left their
beautiful valley to avenge the wrongs of these dispossessed princes, and re-
instate them in their inheritance. This is what the saga informs us, but
physical geography tells a different tale — it says that the Dorians consulted
their own best interests in this new movement. The Dorian valley, beautiful
as it looks in summer, is a fearful place in winter. It needs no great stretch
of imagination to fancy what the depth and intensity of the snows of Parnassus
and CEta must be. In summer the lofty summits of the mountains constantly
attract and break the clouds, thus subjecting the district to long and violent
storms, whilst in winter the shadows cast by them reduce to a minimum the
amount of daylight enjoyed by the inhabitants.^ The beautiful Dorian valley,
^ Colonel Leake tells us that all the ancient cities of Doris, and Phocis, and Boeotia, which
occupy strong and otherwise advantageous situations under the northern sides of Parnassus and
Helicon, experience the same inconvenience — the mountains deprive them of the sun's rays.
Thus, in the Boeotian Lebadeia, the sun in winter disappears even from the lowest quarter of
the city at 2 P.M. : at Tithorea, in Phocis, at i p.m. {Northern Greece, ii. p. 119.)
THE DORIANS
197
in fact, corresponds in its physical conditions only too closely to those districts
among the Swiss-Italian Alps which we associate with cretinism and other
evils, and the Dorians showed the strong common sense which always dis-
tinguished them in quitting it as soon as possible.
This is evident from the fate of those Dorians that remained behind — a
people more different from their fortunate brethren who migiuted to the south
it is impossible to conceive. The Northern Dorians take no share in experi-
menting, play no part in history. Shut up among their mountains, cut off
from the sea by CEta and the Malians, they led a miserable existence, and
came to be known as the Limodorieis, or Hunger- Dorians.^
We are apt at first to attempt to explain this marvellous contrast by
throwing overboard the tradition of the blood-connection between the Dorians
of Northern Greece and those of Peloponnesus. But an explanation so arbitrary
we have no right to make. Even G. Busolt accepts the tradition. " That the
march of the Laconian Dorians began from Doris," he says, " must be recog-
nised as an historical fact, because it is recorded by Tyrtseus." Again, it was
the little Dorian valley, and not the great Dorian States in Peloponnesus, that
possessed the original right to a vote in the Amphictyonic Council. About
this there can be no doubt. Moreover, the Peloponnesian Dorians always
regarded those of the north as their kinsfolk. They considered themselves as
apoikoi = away from home, and the woodland valley of Doris as their metro-
polis, or mother-city ; and we know that in after ages, when the little state
was harassed by its neighbours, the Phocians and wild mountaineers of (Eta,
the Spartans sent once and again to its assistance.
To what, then, must we attribute the contrast between the two branches of
the race ? Simply to climatic conditions. But is not this to reduce human
nature to a very low level indeed? — to suppose that man can deteriorate
through the action of outward circumstances is to place him on an equality
with a vegetable.
Not so ; man, generally speaking, has the remedy in his own hands. He
has the power of locomotion towards better hygienic conditions. He can
emigrate, as did the Peloponnesian Dorians. If he choose slothfully to stay
on in his sorry plight, and neglect Nature's laws, the penalty must be paid —
in himself as an individual, and, if all are like-minded with himself in the
sum-total of individuals, the race. Nature knows no distinction between a
vegetable and a vegetating member of the human species. Centuries spent in
a sunless valley, under the conditions which must have obtained in the earliest
days of Greece — insufficient supply of food, periodical famines — such causes are
quite enough to account in time for the difference between the Northern and
the Southern Dorians. We make no apology for pausing to take note of the
fact. If the experiments of the Greeks are to be of any use to us in our own
experiments, here is one that concerns us,^
The historical development of three branches of the Dorian race — the
^ This name, however, is said by some writers to refer not to the Parnassian Dorians, but to
Dorians driven by famine from the Peloponnesus to Rhodes and Cnidus. See Bursian, op. cit.,
i. p. 154, note I.
2 Says an eminent physician of our own day : ** Nervous depression, depending upon months
of sunlessness — negation of light powerfully lowering nervous tone — is too little regarded as an
element of de-vitalisation in England " (Duckworth). Are the influences of the sunlight and
pure air sufficiently thought of amongst us ? If we realised their power in maintaining the
fibre of a people, would the dwelling-houses of our working-classes, the backbone of the nation,
be in their present condition ? Would we go on erecting for them, from economical reasons,
lofty barracks, so high and so close together that each becomes a "mountain" to its neighbour,
effectually shutting out the sunlight and the air ?
198 THE PEOPLE
Spartan, Messenian, and Northern Dorians — forms altogether one of the most
curious of ethnological phenomena, and deserves to be studied like other
phenomena, with an eye to cause and effect.
Returning now to these members of the race who were not content to
vegetate in Doris with the oaks of the valley, we can easily see that they had
very good reason for trying to better their lot without the fictitious motive
assigned by the legend.
Leaving the Dorian valley, then, by the Pass of Cytinium, the natural
road to the south, the Dorians arrived at Naupactos, in Locris, on the
Corinthian Gulf, one of the earliest starting-points of navigation, as its name
shows. Here they were joined by a detachment of ^tolians, who also fur-
nished Oxylus, the " three-eyed " guide of the legend. The expedition then
crossed into Peloponnesus by the narrow strait between Rhium and Antir-
rhium, near Naupactus, which forms the entrance to the Corinthian Gulf. All
the details of the route taken are perfectly natural, and probably historical.
According to the legend, Oxylus coveted Elis for himself, and therefore
conducted the strangers through Arcadia, in order that they might not see and
envy the fertility of the longed-for district. But, as Duncker suggests, the
^tolians probably formed the larger part of the invading hosts, and therefore,
as a matter of course, had for their share the fat lands which lay nearest. The
Dorians had to go farther, and be content with what they could get. The
legend represents them as fighting their way through Arcadia, where they
cannot effect a settlement, until the Heracleidse make a compact with
Cypselus, king of the Arcadians of Trapezus and Basilis on the upper
Alpheius, which compact is ratified by the marriage of Cresphontes, one of
the princes, to the daughter of Cypselus.
Once the Dorians had obtained a footing in Basilis, on the borders of
Messenia, it is easy to see how they pushed their way southwards into the
Plain of Stenyclarus, where they settled, gradually extending their conquest
over the whole of Messenia to Pylus, whence they drove out the descendants
of old Nestor, the ruling princes, who fled to Attica.
From Basilis, it was equally easy for the Dorians to penetrate into Laconia
by following the course of the Eurotas into the plain of Sparta ; but this would
have been reached also from Messenia by crossing Taygetus. In any case, in
Sparta they settled, gradually subduing the whole of Laconia ; whilst a third
Dorian band went still farther east, and made the conquest of Argos. Here
were the headquarters of Tisamenus (the son of Orestes, and grandson of
Agamemnon), who, in virtue of his descent from Menelaus (through his mother,
Hermione, the daughter of Menelaus and Helen), reigned, not only over Argos,
but over Laconia as well.
With the mythic story that the leaders of this invading expedition were
three brothers — Heracleid princes — with the legend of the three altars erected
by these Heracleid princes to Zeus, the father of their great ancestor ; the
three signs vouchsafed ; and the casting of lots for the threefold division by
which Argos, the special inheritance of the Perseids, fell to Temenus, the
eldest Heracleid, Messenia to Cresphontes, and Laconia to the two sons of
Aristodemus, who had died by the way — with all this we need not concern
ourselves here. We may accept the Doric invasion itself as an historical fact,
whilst we throw overboard the mythic accretions which gathered round it, as
snow gathers round a snowball. The whole story of the connection of the
Dorian leaders with Heracles must have been invented to account for the state
of things existing in Peloponnesus in historic times. We simply bring our
Dorians into Peloponnesus, and there we leave one section to develop into
THE DORIANS 199
historical Spartans in their joyous plain — wide-spreading, eurychoros — (what a
contrast to the narrow, sunless valley of Parnassus !) ; another section to settle
in the bright and beautiful plains of Messenia ; and a third to ensconce them-
selves in the ancient, safe, soaring Pelasgian Larissa of Argos, whence in the
slow course of time they will gradually reduce to subjection the whole plain, to
semi-subjection Sicyon, Phlius, Troezen, Epidaurus, and the island of ^gina.
We say " the slow course of time," for the conquest of the old kingdom of
Agamemnon and its dependencies must have been accomplished very gradually,
by no means suddenly, as say the sagas. In the first place, the Dorians were
vastly inferior in numbers to the settled inhabitants of the land. In the
second, the art of besieging and carrying a fortress by storm was not yet
known. All that the invaders could do was to encamp before a city, and,
by intercepting its supplies, starve it into submission, necessarily a lengthy
process. By this plan the Larissa of Argos probably fell. The plain had been
allotted, according to the saga, to Temenus ; and the point of vantage from
which he subdued it, and on which he built a citadel whence to carry on
operations, was the low height on the marshy coast, afterwards known as the
Temenium.
The grand old fortresses of Mycense and Tiryns naturally were able to
offer a more successful resistance, and down to the time of the Persian wars
they preserved a measure of independence.
Lastly, a fourth detachment of Dorians, under Aletes the Rover, descended
upon Corinth, and planting themselves on a height near the coast, the hill of
Solygeius, as their Argive brethren had planted themselves on the Temenium,
forced the inhabitants to admit them into the city, of which they speedily
became masters.
The view from the grand old watch-tower (Ephyra = Acrocorinthus), includ-
ing as it does the snowy peaks of Parnassus, would next appear to have sug-
gested to the Dorians the desirability of pushing onwards across the isthmus,
and so joining their new possessions to the old metropolis in the north. This
design they proceeded to put into execution, and marched against Ionia, which
at that time extended northwards of the isthmus, from the Corinthian Gulf
on the west to the Euboean Sea on the east, including both Attica and Megaris.
Fortunately for our experimenting, however, the Dorians here met with a
check, and perceived that they had at last found their match in the Attic
lonians. They were obliged, therefore, to give up the grand scheme, retire
from Attica, content themselves with the retention of Megaris, and thence-
forward confine themselves within the peninsula.
And what, says the reader, became of the chivalrous Achaeans of Homer ?
Their Bliithenzeit, like that of the Thessalians, was over, though only for
a time. They retired, according to one tradition, under Tisamenus, son of
Orestes, to the north of Peloponnesus, where they took possession of the
narrow coast strip, formerly known as ^gialeia, the coast-land, thenceforward
called after them Achaia. From this district they ejected the lonians, who in
their turn joined their cousins by blood in Attica, whence they passed over to
help in founding the Ionia of Asia Minor.
The fate of the great masses of the Achaean population of Laconia who
would not, or could not, save themselves by voluntary exile, resembled that of
the dwellers in the Thessalian plain. Those who submitted quietly to the
new regime were allowed to live on in a state of feudal dependence as perioeci
= dwellers, around the Dorian headquarters ; they enjoyed personal freedom, but
had no political rights. Those who offered a stubborn resistance were reduced
to the condition of slaves, the thrice-unhappy Helots, who were supposed by
200 THE PEOPLE
the ancients to have been originally the inhabitants of Helos, the old fortress
in the marshes by the sea at the mouth of the Eurotas.
This condition of things which prevailed in Laconia obtained only in a
modified degree in the other Dorian states, where the conquerors seem to have
mingled better with the old inhabitants of the land.
Such, in brief, is the story of the "dorising" of Peloponnesus. There still
remained Pelasgi in Arcadia, Achseans in Achaia, Minyas in Triphylia, ^tolians
in Elis, lonians in Troezen and elsewhere, Dryopes in Hermione ; but Doric
customs gradually prevailed more or less throughout the whole peninsula.
Thenceforward it was the Doric race chiefly that made the experiments and
the history of Peloponnesus.
THE GREAT MIGRATIONS
The invasion of the Great Plain by the Thessalians gave, as we have seen,
the impetus to a widespread displacement of the Greek races. The dispos-
sessed Arnseans ejected the Pelasgi, Minyae, and other peoples from Boeotia,
the expelled Dorians thrust out first the Dryopes from Doris, then the Pylians
from Messenia, and the Achseans from Laconia and Argos ; finally, the
Achseans in their turn ejected the lonians of the coast-land. Nor were the
smaller peoples left unaffected by the great wave of change. Epidaurus
Trcezen in the south. Magnesia and Phthiotis in the south alike felt its effects.
We have asked, What became of the dispossessed peoples, those who could not
brook slavery or dependence, those for whom no rooiii could be found on any
part of the Old Home ? and we have answered the question generally in the
statement that they passed over to Asia Minor. Let us now follow the
fortunes of the emigrants, of those who went out in the cause of freedom to
found a new Hellas across the sea.
First, let us premise that the movement proceeded in three main race-
streams — the ^olians going to the north, the lonians to the middle, the
Dorians, last of all, to the south of the western shores of Asia Minor.
I . The ^olic Migration is said to have consisted in the first instance of the
Achseans driven out of Peloponnesus; but the Achaeans, as they wandered
north through Boeotia and Thessaly, were joined by bands of the ejected or
threatened folk of the latter countries. Descendants of Agamemnon are said
to have led the expedition, and it is probable that the emigrants sailed either
from Aulis in Boeotia (as the fleet of Agamemnon is said by tradition to have
done) or from the Pagasaean Gulf (see p. 134). One detachment conquered
the great island of Lesbos, another won the city of Cyme on the mainland, the
chief of the ^olic settlements ; and by degrees the country rendered famous
by the Iliad — the Troad, the inland region of Mount Ida and the island of
Tenedos — was occupied. Let us just note in passing that these northern
settlers included among their number Magnetes and Achaean Phthiotes,
peoples, that is, from the land where the germ of the saga of Achilles had
sprung up, peoples bordering on the Pagasaean Gulf and Mount Pelion, the
scene of the wedding of Peleus and Thetis (p. 142). The Magnetes founded
cities called Magnesia, both on Mount Sipylus and on the Maeander ; the
Phthiotis Achaeans settled amongst their Achaean brethren from Peloponnesus.
As for the Boeotian emigrants, it is worthy of note that Thucydides calls the
people of the islands Lesbos and Tenedos, "relatives of the Boeotians"— a
relationship which may be recognised in the dialects. Finally, let us say here.
THE GREAT MIGRATIONS 201
that the name -^olian, ** the mixed folk " (Pape), first used to designate such
of the colonists as were neither lonians nor Dorians, gradually came to be
applied to the people of various districts of the mother-country — Thessaly,
Boeotia, &c. — in the same sense.
2. The Ionic Migration. — To Attica, " hospitable " Attica, the only Eastern
country left undisturbed by invading hosts, fled crowds of refugees — lonians
from the coast-land, from Trcezen, from Corinth — and Attica received them
all. And not only her own kith and kin did she receive with alien races —
Minyse and Pelasgi from Boeotia, Lapithae from Thessaly, Pylians from Pelo-
ponnesus. So far did Attica carry her hospitality, indeed, that she extended
to the new-comers the rights of citizenship, as Thucydides tells us, and thereby
grew in strength, as well as in numbers. Recent writers — e.g. Duncker —
infer that Attica knew how to get a return for her hospitality, inasmuch as
she set the fugitive Pelasgi to construct for her the great wall round the
Acropolis of Athens, the Pelasgicum, part of which remains, like the walls
of Tiryns, to this day. We incline, however, to the older and more natural
interpretation, which makes the Pelasgicum the work of the original Pelasgian
inhabitants of Attica — a work, probably executed on behalf of the new Ionian
lords, typified under the name of " Theseus, the Settler."
That the Athenians were not narrow-minded in their reception of the
fugitives generally, seems to be proved by the saga which makes a Pylian
prince become King of Attica.
The people of Attica, it would seem, were sore pressed by their Boeotian
neighbours, who in the first flush of their victory over the old inhabitants of
the Land of Kine, thought to cross Cithaeron and make an easy conquest of
the wave-beat land as well. Xanthus, the Boeotian leader, challenges Thy-
mcetas, the last of the Theseids, to single combat. Too old himself to face the
foe, Thymoetas promises his kingdom to the hero who shall take his place.
Melanthus of Pylus (descended from a brother of old Nestor, the honey-
tongued) steps forward, slays Xanthus, and becomes King of Athens. The
gist of the story is, of course, the throwing open of the highest office to the
best man, no matter what his nationality might prove to be. It is a son of
this Melanthus, Codrus, who in that most beautiful old legend defeats the
Dorians when, as we have already seen, they are suddenly brought to a stand-
still, defeats them by the generous sacrifice of himself. We may note here
that several of the noble Athenian families were Neleids, i.e. traced their
descent to the sons of Nestor, the son of Neleus, amongst others the Alcmaeo-
nidse and the Peisistratidse, names well known in the later history of Athens.
Naturally, the barren rocks of Attica could not possibly maintain the
increased population, and another wave of migration set in. Under Neleus,
one of the sons of Codrus, a mixed multitude departed from — mark ! — the
Prytaneium or Council Hall of Athens, taking with them fire from the Hestia
or sacred hearth of the state. This mixed multitude, therefore — Ionian in
the great mass, but mingled with many other elements, Minyaean, Cadmeian,
Phoenician, according to Pausanias, Dryopian, Pelasgian, Molossian, and
Arcadian, also, according to Herodotus, went forth as children from the mother
city, Athens. Hence, when Herodotus tells us that the lonians of the twelve
cities came from Athens, he says what is probably historically true, although
the new settlers were, as he himself points out elsewhere, very far from being
all natives of Attica, or even lonians by birth.
As Mr. Grote rightly says, the results were not unworthy of so mighty a
confluence. The emigrants peopled the Cyclades, the circling islands of the
.^gaean, conquered the great islands of Samos and Chios, and founded on the
202 THE PEOPLE
Asiatic coast ten cities, which rose to be amongst the mightiest in Hellas.
These twelve states, Samos and Chios, Miletus, Myus, Priene, Ephesus, Colo-
phon, Lebedus, Teos, Erythrae, Clazomense, and Phocsea — formed the Ionian
Dodecapolis, or league of the twelve cities, the centre of which was the
Panionium, the meeting-place of all the lonians, the sanctuary of the god of
the race, Poseidon Heliconius, on the promontory of Mycale south of Miletus,
where common sacrifices were offered, and councils held on occasion of
danger.
To the twelve Ionian cities was added another, which has retained power
and pre-eminence to the present day. Smyrna, originally an -(^Eolic settlement,
seized treacherously by the Ionian exiles from Colophon whom the Smyrnaeans
had hospitably but unwarily taken into the city. Let us add that notwith-
standing the heterogeneous elements of which " Ionia " was composed, the
fusion was tolerably complete. The Ionian ascendency was acknowledged,
and the Ionian name prevailed from the Hermus to the Mseander. We shall
not, however, be disposed to wonder at the statement of Herodotus that in
lona no fewer than four different dialects were spoken.
3. The Doric Migration took place last of all. The emigrants seem especially
to have aimed at securing a footing on the great island of Rhodes, which was
already occupied by Carians and Phoenicians. Here they succeeded in founding
three cities — Lindus, Cameirus, and lalysus. These three settlements, with
the island of Cos, and two cities on the south-west corner of the mainland,
Cnidus and Halicarnassus, formed the Dorian Hexapolis, or union of six states,
the centre of which was the temple of Apollo, near the Triopian headland. The
Hexapolis was afterwards reduced to a Pentapolis, through the refusal of one of
the citizens of Halicarnassus to submit to the rules imposed at the Triopium.
All victors, it would seem, were required to consecrate the prize won in the
games (a tripod) to the god. This man, however, instead of depositing his
meed of honour in the temple, carried it home and hung it up in his own
house, whereupon the other five cities shut out Halicarnassus from the union.
The story is significant as casting a little sidelight on race characteristics.
Halicarnassus was colonised, it is true, by Dorians, but they were Dorians
from Trcezen, a state which, as we have seen (p. 149), was originally Ionic, and
remained Ionic to the last, spite of its Doric masters. The great mass of the
Troezenian emigrants must have been lonians under Dorian leaders, for the
Ionic element prevailed in Halicarnassus. The Ionic dialect was used — the
history of Herodotus, a native of Halicarnassus, is written in old Ionic — and
Poseidon, the patron-god of the Ionian race, was worshipped beside Apollo, the
patron-god of the Dorians. Hence, in the conduct of the man of Halicar-
nassus — the self-will which led to the disregard of the sacred ordinance of the
Apollo temple, and shocked the sentiments of the law-abiding Dorians — we
have probably a specimen of the bold, restless, innovating spirit which formed
at once an essential feature of the Ionian character, and an ever-present source
of danger.
In connection with the Dorian migration must be mentioned in more detail
the final wanderings of the Little Folk, already sketched (p. 134). As we have
seen, they were expelled from Boeotia, and, according to the saga quoted by
Herodotus, from Lemnos also. Suddenly the homeless wanderers make their
appearance in Laconia, encamp on Mount Taygetus, and light fires, possibly as
signals of distress and of their desire to sit down as suppliants at the great
hearth of the state. The Lacedaemonians naturally send to inquire into the
cause of the beacon flames ; and on hearing that the " descendants of the
Argonauts " have arrived in their land, hear also in the news an appeal to their
THE GREAT MIGRATIONS 2aj
piety ; for the Tyndaridse, Castor and Pollux, the brothers of Helen, protectors
and patron-genii of Laconia, had sailed in the Argo, and shared in the great
deeds of Jason (p. 135). The Lacedaemonians, therefore, receive the Minyae
kindly, give them land and settled homes. Not content with this, however,
the Little Folk remember that they were once free and self-governing, and
presently they demand a share in the sovereignty. This is too much for
Dorian pride, and the ringleaders of the audacious Little Folk are promptly shut
up in prison, to pay the penalty of their presumption with their lives. Their
wives, however, as the daughters of Spartan citizens, are allowed to bid them a
last farewell — an opportunity which the ladies, true to their Spartan instinct,
utilise by changing clothes with their husbands, who escape as women, and
again encamp on Mount Taygetus. Here they would have paid dearly for the
device, but for the fortunate coincidence that there happens to be among the
Spartans a malcontent in high position — one discontented with the existing
state of things. This is Theras, the maternal uncle of the two young kings,
Eurysthenes and Procles, the sons of Aristodemus (p. 141). He has acted as
regent during their minority, and to retire now into private life is more than
he can brook. He therefore conceives the brilliant idea of putting himself at
the head of an expedition, and founding a new settlement elsewhere. He
begs that the Minyse may be allowed to accompany him, and the powers that
be, glad to escape a double peril, consent that Theras shall carry out his
project. The greater part of the Minyse cross Taygetus and conquer their
share of Triphylia, land of the Three Tribes (p. 141), and the remainder set sail
with Theras, and all who like to join the expedition. They are bound for
Calliste, that beautiful isle, submerged by volcanic action, which we know so
well (p. 46), which they speedily occupy, reducing its Phoenician population
to submission. Calliste takes the name of the oekist or founder of the New
Home, and thus Thera is peopled by the descendants of those ancient voyagers,
the Argonauts, by whose instrumentality, according to the saga, she had been
called into existence (see p. 135).
We have given the whole story in its fulness, as told by Herodotus,
because in its naive way it illustrates one great factor in the origin of the
colonies which sprung up during the period with such amazing rapidity. Not
over-population alone can account for this — the colonies were an outlet for
bold and turbulent spirits — the discontented energy which would have played
havoc at home was happily and profitably utilised in creating a new sphere
abroad for itself.
The first great result of the Thessalian invasion was this immense widening
of the bounds of Hellas. A second consequence, which flowed naturally from
the first, was an absolute break in the development of civilisation and culture
on the old lines. We have seen that before the invasion of the Dorians, the
people of the eastern coast of Greece had attained to no small degree of refine-
ment and luxury. This is proved not only by the recently discovered palaces,
richly decorated and fortified in a way that presupposes the existence of some-
thing worth protecting, but by the treasures and other objects found in the
pit-graves, the beehive tombs, and rock-chambers of Greece. Further, we
have seen that this culture, even although imported, must of necessity have
been acclimatised in Greece for several centuries. Lastly, we have seen that
it was widespread, that it has left unmistakable evidence of its existence at
Amyclse in Laconia ; at Mycenae, Tiryns, and Nauplia in Argos ; at Athens,
Spata, and Menidi in Attica ; at Orchomenus in Boeotia ; and in Thessaly, at
Dimini, near Yolo, the ancient lolcus. How comes it, then, that a culture
204 THE PEOPLE
thus rich and diffused, could have died out to all appearance so utterly that its
very existence became a mere tradition?
The answer is to be sought in two different causes : (i) in the fact that
those who had been the main supporters of this culture, the princes and nobles
of Peloponnesus, left the country ; (2) in the character of those who succeeded
them in the direction of affairs. Think what the Dorian Spartans — the best
type of the Doric race — were, as we know them in historic times, dwelling in
an open, unfortified city, and in houses with roofs and doors constructed only
by the aid of the axe and the saw — that is, with no attempt at ornamentation,
despising all luxury as effeminacy, forbidding the use of gold. Think of the
^tolians of the north as we know them also in history at the time of the
Peloponnesian wars — robbers and brigands, speaking a non-understandable
tongue, feeding on raw flesh. Were these the type of conquerors likely
to foster art and industry, and appreciate the beginnings already made ?
Nay ! before we know Dorians, centuries of prosperity had helped to mould
and soften them ; but at the time of the invasion we can only picture them
as mountaineers, noble in their nature indeed, but as regards manners and
customs, very much on a level with the Grseco- Aryans, whom we saw defiling
through the gorge of Tempe with arrows and battle-axe of stone. Helbig, we
venture to think, is not far wrong when he sees in the Spartan mode of life
certain "survivals" of the old Aryan habits. The famous "black soup" and
the primitive dress of the Spartan maidens may alike have travelled to the
valley of the Eurotas from the old Aryan home.
According to the same authority, the immense difference between the
Mycenaean and the Hellenic art is explainable only by some historic event
which interrupted the progress of development on the old lines. That event
is the Dorian invasion. The very western situation of Dorians and <^tolians
in their old homes, forces us to the conclusion that they stood on a primitive
basis of culture — a basis not affected by influences from beyond seas ; and let
us note that the excavations at Olympia confirm this. They show nothing that
can be compared with the Mycenaean treasures, — " much rather do the oldest
finds hitherto made there point to a later epoch." The western side of Greece
lagged far behind the eastern — Dorian supremacy was at the first hurtful to
eastern refinement. Thus, in the mother-country, the progress of Art and
Industry was interrupted everywhere except in Attica, and even there it
languished, for the influences of the East were almost entirely banished. The
Phoenicians have now been driven not only from the mainland, but out of the
islands. The Greeks are thrown back upon their own resources — the with-
drawal of foreign models and types forced them to look at home — a blessing
in disguise, for by-and-by Greek art, true Hellenic art, will emerge like a
Phcenix from the ashes of the old Mycenaean borrowed art. The one must die
before the other can be born.
But how about the emigrants, those who sought a home in New Hellas?
Did they take the Mycenaean culture with them ? Undoubtedly, but in the
struggle to win New Hellas, the Mycenaean culture received a rude shock.
Think of the peoples of Asia Minor, as we have learned to know them —
Phrygians, Lycians, Carians — one and all on an equality with the Greeks as
regards arms, equipment, and warlike capacity. Can we imagine them giving
up that " blessed land," as it has been called, on the ^gaean coast and its four
great fertile river-valleys, without a struggle? Nay, the New Homes were
won sword in hand, the contest must have been severe and protracted, extend-
ing over long years. Under such circumstances, luxury sinks into the back-
ground, and hence it is that when we meet with the old civilisation again in
THE GREAT MIGRATIONS 205
the pages of Homer, it is incomparably simpler than when we last saw it
in the pit-graves of Mycenae. " Prunk " and ostentatious show have dis-
The earliest history of the colonies on the west coast of Asia Minor is
scanty and confused ; one fact, however, stands out with startling prominence,
viz. : the rapidity with which the new settlements caught up and sur-
passed the mother-country. Many factors conduced to this result; one of
these has been active over and over again in our own modern experience
of colony-founding. Circumstances which place all on a common level of
necessity are not only sharp spurs and goads to invention, but they tend to
bring forward the best men. The clear-headed man of resource, the man of
tact and judgment, the man of staying power, the man to whom his comrades
naturally turn at a pinch, becomes the real leader of the party, even although
the man of birth and breeding may nominally hold the reins. La carriere
ouverte aux talents ! is one clue to the success of New Hellas — one reason why
she outstripped for a time the old country.
Another clue is, however, to be found in the nature of the land on which
the colonists had settled. Midway between three continents and three great
seas, the peninsula of Asia Minor had, long before the advent of the Greeks,
been, as it were, a focus of the older civilisations or meeting-place of many
races. We have already had evidence of the way in which the country had
been opened up from very early times (p. 178), of the roads which intersected
it, affording facilities of intercourse between the old imperial centres and the
sea-board of the ^gsean. On the peninsula met all races — Turanian, Semitic,
Aryan — each contributing its quota to the common stock and the point of
attraction for all — the point to which all naturally gravitated — was the western
sea-coast.
Imagine now our restless moving coast-folk, our people possessed of un-
limited " go " (lonians), energy, and resource, suddenly placed in this unrivalled
position, forced by dire necessity to work at the highest pressure, and we
shall have no difficulty in understanding how they became one of the greatest
motor-powers the world has ever seen ; we shall understand also how the
energy spent itself — literally burnt itself out — and made way, finally, for the
" steady-going," slow old mother-country to come to the front.
Some writers have attributed in great measure the astonishing development
of the Ionian states to the transplanting of the race to a southern climate.
Thus, Schoemann compares it to the forcing of a hot- house plant. Certainly,
we have the testimony of Herodotus that the lonians had " the finest sky and
climate of the world" — but so had the mother- country ; and, as a matter of
fact, it has been proved that it is a little colder on the littoral of Asia Minor
than in the ports situated on the directly opposite coasts of Greece. The
climate of Asia Minor is modified not only by the islands strewn before the
coast, but by the remarkable contour of the latter. The lonians of ^gialeia
must have felt quite at home on the Asiatic coast, for it is split up on a large
scale by manifold arms of the sea, bays, and gulfs, precisely as is, on a smaller
scale, the land they had left. Naturally, such a configuration of the land
affects the climate. On the coast of Asia Minor, local causes break up a
thousand-fold the atmospheric currents ; every headland, every strait has its
wind specially feared by the mariner, and the sudden alternations of tempera-
ture are such that the vegetation is not, as we should expect, sub- tropical.^
1 "Palms are first met with at Patmos, hence the modern name of the island, Palmosa "
{Reclus).
2o6 THE PEOPLE
Thus in the New as in the Old Home, work was the law for the Greek —
the only difference being that he came to the work of the New Home with
matured powers, and pursued it under intensely stimulating conditions.
Among these stimulating conditions must undoubtedly be placed the effects
of natural phenomena and of scenery. All that we have said on this head in
regard to the mother-country applies with equal, or even greater, force to the
coast-land on the opposite side of the ^gaean. Separated by the waves, the
countries are really one — the same broken, enormously extended coast-line,
the same clear blue sky and foam-crested sea ; the same alternation of hill and
dale ; the same volcanic fissures, the same mysteriously disappearing rivers ^
are characteristic of both. Life, change, brightness are the prevailing features
of the landscape.
We must, however, pass on more rapidly. The blessed land with its
fertile river -valleys — the valleys of Caicus, the Hermus, the Cayster, and the
Maeander — did not content the colonists. Soon the seas to the east and the
west were explored. Miletus led the way in exploring the dreaded Axenus,
"the Inhospitable Sea," and changing it into a Euxine, "Sea of Welcome" ;
round its shores and those of the Propontis, she herself planted no fewer than
eighty daughter-cities. The other colonies — ^olic and Doric — were equally
possessed by the colonising spirit. The mother-country was likewise forced on by
the causes which had led to the great migrations, and so by degrees there sprang
up a blooming wreath of Greek cities, not only round the ^gsean and the Black
Seas, on the coasts of Thrace and Macedonia, but, very early, in the great
islands of the Mediterranean, Crete, and Sicily, round the shores of North
Africa and South Italy (Magna Grsecia), extending as far as the Ligurian coast
and Massilia (Marseilles).
Let us note that in many of these countries, notably on the islands, the
Greeks had to fight not only against the natives, but against the Phoenician
settlers who had preceded them. The fact that at this time the Phoenicians
were themselves hard pressed at home by the Assyrians, and could not send
help to their colonies, undoubtedly made the progress of the Greeks easier than
would otherwise have been the case.
If we add, now, to this grand extension to east and west, the final opening
up of Egypt to the Greeks, we shall see that we have entered upon an entirely
new epoch.
It was when the Greeks came face to face with the " barbarian " in the
wider sense, that the need for a common name forced itself upon them.
"Achaean" no longer lived as a national designation, save in the pages of
Homer. " ^olian," " Ionian," " Dorian," were each and all too narrow — the
extension of any one of these to denote the whole was simply impossible.
Putting aside race-jealousies, race-differences remained — the Dorian was not
an Ionian — the Ionian could never be a Dorian. And yet, race-resemblances
were stronger still — the Dorian felt himself kin to the Ionian, the Ionian to
the Dorian, but between both and the barbarian a great gulf was fixed. Those
who were of the same blood, spoke the same tongue, offered sacrifices in com-
mon to the same gods, these were of the same race, these were brothers. How,
1 The Masander has hardly risen when it disappears into a fissure in the limestone rock ; it
goes through the same manoeuvre a second time ; then enters a vast plain through which
it meanders (makes the tours and detours which have rendered its name proverbial), almost
covered by reeds, the reeds which told the secret of Midas and his ass's ears. Leaving the
plain, it flows between gorges, and then into a magnificent champaign, which stretches, but
for short rocky intervals, to the sea. At the mouth of this great river lay Miletus, the mother
of many daughter-cities {Reclus).
THE GREAT MIGRATIOJSTS 207
then, should this sacred tie be represented? How expressed? The poets
found the answer. They remembered the old story of Deucalion, the Noah of
Greek tradition (see ante, p. 142). They recalled his son, Hellen, and they gave
him to be the eponymous ancestor of all Greeks. Jj^olians, lonians, Dorians
were all content to be numbered together as brethren under the beautiful name
of Hellenes, Children of Light.^
^ Connected with se^as = brightness, selene, and derived from the root «va?' = bright, shining
I (G. Curtius). Others associate it with sella, heUa = hedos = sea.t. The term is first used as a
collective name for the Greeks in Archilochus and the Hesiodic Catalogue (about 600 B.O.).
In the sixth century it was quite common.
§ IV.-RELIGION
INTRODUCTION
Turning now to that second main factor which goes to the building up of a
people — its belief or beliefs as to the Unseen — and reverting to our preliminary
inquiry into the special characteristics of the Greeks as a people (p. 64), it will
be remembered that foremost amongst these characteristics this feature pre-
sented itself, viz. : that the Hellenes were an intensely "religious" people — a
statement which, even at the present day, will not pass unchallenged in certain
quarters.
That the religion of the Greeks was one which drew its inspiration, not
from the Father of lights, but from the enemies of all good — is a proposition
which, sheltering itself beneath the venerable segis of Milton, has struck deep
root in the national mind : " Say what you will about the beauty of the Greek
language and literature and art" — (so runs the under-current) — " but don't talk
to us about religion in connection with these old pagans, or of faith in connec-
tion with their deities. The idea is preposterous."
Is it? Perhaps, my reader, we are looking at different sides of the shield.
Let us call an independent witness, an eye-witness, a contemporary of these
same " old pagans," one who knew the Hellenes, not, indeed, in their vigorous
prime, but at a time when, although conquered politically, they were still the
intellectual leaders of the world. This witness, who knew these " old pagans "
in the flesh, shall decide between us, and you will accept his testimony, for he
believed in the one God with an earnestness which perhaps equals your own.
Well, some 1850 years ago, this witness landed at one of the ports of
Athens. He was alone, but he was not solitary, for he was a man of cultiva-
tion, and, for the first time in his life, he found himself in the great centre of
culture — " the metropolis of wisdom" — the home of art and science, the city
whose language and customs had become, as we have seen, the standard for
all civilised nations. Therefore, he had in abundance food for reflection as
he wended his way through the crowded thoroughfares and made his mental
notes.
Everything connected with religion possessed for our witness a special
interest, but, even had this not been the case, his attention must have been
drawn to the subject at the outset by what he saw around him. Probably
among the first objects that caught his eye on landing would be the temples
of Artemis Munychia and the Thracian goddess Bendis, conspicuous on the
hill of Munychia, the acropolis of the Peirsean peninsula, round which lay the
harbours of Athens. In the chief port itself, amid surroundings which bore
witness to the activity, naval and commercial, of bygone days, he would find
testimony again that, in all the bustle incident to a great emporium, religion
was not thrust aside. Temples and shrines there were not a few : a sanctuary
of Aphrodite Euploia, " giver of good voyages," and an open colonnade-sur-
rounded space sacred to Zeus and Athena, " the Preservers," wherein the
seafaring folk and merchants were wont to offer sacrifice after their return
home for delivery from the perils of the deep.
208
INTRODUCTION 209
By whichever way again our witness may have entered Athens — whether
from Phalerum, or, as is more probable, from the Peirseeus by the road be-
tween the remnants of the Long Walls shattered by Sulla, the route taken some
fifty years later by Pausanias — in either case the religious element in the
character of the people amongst whom he had landed must have forced itself
at once by outward signs upon his notice. ^
Arrived in the city itself, these signs multiply beyond our present power
of rehearsal. There in the Agora, the great market-place (into which a broad
street running from the Peiraic Gate would directly bring the traveller), rises
the Altar of the Twelve Gods, the visible symbol from which old-world currents
of religious thought diverged, and the central point from which distances were
measured. Round the Agora are magnificent buildings, detached, each one
representing in the time of the independence of Athens, a thought, an idea.
The Stoa Basileus, or royal hall, which would be the first, in all probability,
to meet our witness's eye, was devoted to the interests of public worship and
law, and in it the King Archon held his court ; on its walls were, not paint-
ings, but the laws of the ancient Athenian legislators, Draco and Solon. Near
the Stoa Basileus (probably opposite to it) was another Stoa, known by the
name of the deity whose statue and altar stood before it, Zeus Eleutherius,
" the Giver of Freedom " ; on its walls had hung (until robbed of them by
Sulla) the shields of brave Athenians, consecrated by their wearers to the
god of freedom. On the northern side of the Agora (the largest and most
beautiful of the halls) was the Poecile, or painted Stoa, representative of art,
for its walls were adorned with famous paintings by the hand of Polygnotus
and others, emblematic also of victory, for these paintings depicted triumphs
— the legendary capture of Troy and defeat of the Amazons, and the very
real struggle at Marathon. Not far from the Stoa of Zeus lay the ancient
temple of Apollo Patrons, the tribal god of the lonians, and symbol of Athenian
citizenship. 2 Next came three buildings associated with the political history
of the city — the Bouleuterium, or senate house, where the Council of Five
Hundred met for deliberation, and which had its altar of Hestia, " symbol of
unity," 2 and statues of Zeus and Athena, *' Givers of Counsel," and to Demos,
" the Sovereign People " ; the Tholus, or round house, which was destined for
the daily sacrifice, as well as the daily dining together of the Prytanes, or
presidents ; lastly, the Metroum, or Temple of the Mother of the Gods, to
whose sacredness was entrusted the preservation of the national records and
civic archives.
Thus, the old market-place of Athens is encircled by a cordon of great
ideas — religion, art, freedom, citizenship, rights of the people, and unity.
Patriotism is exemplified in the statues of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, stand-
ing apart in a place of honour in the Orchestra, a semicircular space reserved
for the festival choirs ; the fatherland by the statues of the Eponymi, or
heroes, whose names had been given to the ten tribes of Athens ; eloquence is
represented by the statue of Demosthenes ; poetry by that of Pindar ; philo-
sophy has frequented the hall of Zeus in the person of Socrates ; and the Stoa
Pcecile in that of Zeno. Peace, with Wealth as a child in her arms, is also to
be found here, and here also are altars in honour of Mercy and of Energy.
^ The description which follows is based on Bursian, op. cit. i. pp. 268, et seq.
2 To this temple Athenian boys were brought on being enrolled in their respective
phratries.
3 The national hearth of Hestia, however, on which perpetual fire burned, was in the older
Prytaneium, or town hall, to the north of the Acropolis.
O
210 RELIGION
Leaving the Agora on the east, the traveller would arrive at the Acropolis,
or citadel hill, the very heart and kernel of Athens.
It is defended and approached on its only accessible side, the western, by
the Propylaea, the most magnificent entrance-gates in the world (Wordsworth,
Athens and Attica, pp. 93, et seq., 3rd ed.).
With mingled feelings, indeed, must our traveller have gazed on the Pro-
pylaea, since all their magnificence is intended for the honour of the goddess
whose superb temples and colossal figure tower on the hill above. Yea, the
very character of this goddess must have been to our witness a strange puzzle.
Here is no debasing, degrading cult — this goddess is no Ashtaroth of Sidon,
no Mylitta of Babylon, All that surrounds Athena the maiden, Athena the
fighter-in-front, Athena the guardian of the city, Athena the worker, is grave,
earnest, dignified.
Passing the beautiful little temple dedicated to her as Victory, the traveller
would arrive at the immense theatre, hewn out of the hillside, with its seats
for thirty thousand spectators, and he would also observe in the immediate
vicinity the two temples of the god in whose service dramatic performances
had originated, and in whose honour they were continued — Dionysus.^ Pass-
ing on, still to the east, the next great object to attract his notice would
be the Olympieium, or Temple of Olympian Zeus. Begun by Peisistratus
centuries ago, the building is still incomplete ; but the magnificence of its
proportions bears witness to the ideas entertained as to the honour due to the
father of gods and of men.
Such were some of the sights that would engage the attention of a stranger
in Athens in the first century of our era. It would detain us too long were
we to attempt to particularise the other objects that would meet his gaze — the
numerous sanctuaries, the Theseium, shrine of the national hero, rising on the
hillside north of the Agora with a dainty grace, " as tho' formed by fairy
hands " ; the Outer Oerameicus, with the splendid tombs and monuments of
those among her sons whom Athens had delighted to honour ; the Pnyx, the
assembly-hill of the once sovereign Athenian people, with the bema of its
orators ; the haunts of philosophers — the Academy of Plato, despoiled, alas !
of its groves by Sulla — the Lyceum of Aristotle — all these sights, and very
many more, our witness must have seen.
That he saw them in the same way in which such sights were seen half a
century later by a Pausanias, that he took note of each in the spirit of an
antiquary or of an artist, we cannot for a moment suppose. Not only was
his mind pre-occupied, filled with his own mission, but that very mission, by
its claims, put him out of sympathy with much that he saw. The united
effect of the whole pressed in upon him ; what he beheld of exquisite form and
beauty moved him, but the thought that underlay it all moved him more
deeply still. '* And when he saw the city wholly given to idolatry," his spirit
was stirred within him, and day by day he went, with that hidden fire in his
breast, to the place where most of all the Athenians loved to congregate — the
Agora. And there he stood in that busy centre of the intellectual world's
metropolis, with its knots of buyers and sellers, each frequenting its own
special hyklos or circle ; its loungers, whiling away time in gossiping under the
shady plane trees ; its debaters and philosophers, slowly promenading up and
down the adjacent colonnades, the hall of Zeus Eleutherius, or the painted
Stoa ; its worshippers on their way to neighbouring sanctuaries, for, strange
as it may seem, did not the Athenians still worship a god of the Zealous?
^ See the article *' Dionysus " in Hellas.
INTRODUCTION 2H
(Paus. i. 24). There stood the stranger, and as he looked at the Altar of the
Twelve Gods, the fire within burned, and he spake to the passers-by, to all who
would listen to him. And by-and-by he finds an audience. Marketers pause
on their errands, the loungers prick up their ears — here is something new at
last ! — and the philosophers come scornfully out of their halls to hear what this
curious " picker-up of seeds" has to say. And when they discover that they
have no " picker-up" but a " sower" of seeds to deal with, that his seeds cast
some strange ideas into their minds, their curiosity grows, and they lead him
to a quiet corner where the matter may be discussed at leisure.
Strange place to which they take him ! It is the low hill overlooking the
Agora, the hill that seems to " crawl like a huge monster " towards the Acro-
polis. The hill whereon, in bygone days (so ran the legend), the gods them-
selves had held the first court of justice, for the trial of Ares, one of their own
number ; whereon, too, Athena had pleaded the cause of Orestes against the
Furies, of Mercy against the Avengers of Blood (Paus. i. 25) ; whereon, in
later days, the highest tribunal of Athens held its sittings under the watchful
eye of these same avengers of blood, accuser and accused stood face to face,
and causes of life and death were tried.
Up the rock-hewn steps the stranger is led, and placed in the midst of the
crowd on Areopagus, the hill of Ares. Before him is the Acropolis-rock, its
magnificent Propylaja and crown of temples glittering in the sunshine, the
colossal helmeted figure of Athena Promachos, " the fighter," in front, the
champion of Athens, spear in hand, towering above. Beneath him is the
gloomy shrine of the avenging guardians of Areopagus, the Eumenidse (the
well-meaning goddesses), whose real name no Athenian durst pronounce aloud.
Here stood our witness, Paul the Ambassador, the courageous Apostle of the
Hellenes, and spake winged words — words which have sped their flight down
the centuries, and have their significance for us as well as for those to whom
they were first addressed.
What, then, does he say ? He has been some time in Athens ; he has seen
with his eyes the degenerate present and the past of Athenian life ; he has
thought, prayed, and pondered over it. He has, as he implies, formed a theory
about the whole matter. What, then, does he say in his first recorded public
utterance? "Ye pagans, ye idol-worshippers, ye utterly-devoid-of -religion
Gentiles ! " If he does not, it is not because he knows that (despite the scorn-
ful . indifference of the majority) there are those among his hearers whose
interests are bound up with the preservation of the existing state of things,
that any incautious words might lead to his being thrown over the rock. No !
Paul the Apostle is not the man to care for considerations of the kind. That
he addresses them in another way is the outcome of his ponderings, of his
" theorising." " Ye men of Athens," he says, in the most gentle, courteous
manner, " I perceive that in all things ye are God-fearing ; " literally, " I can
see with the eye of the mind (theoro) that in all things ye are more God-
fearing (deisidaimonesterous), i.e. than other peoples." In all things — civic life,
art, amusements even — yoUv zeal for religion doth appear.
Let us just note how admirably adapted is the expression deisidaimon, used
by St. Paul, to meet the facts of the case. The word has two meanings. It
signifies fear in a good sensed a pious, manly reverence of the Higher Powers,
our own " God-fearing," and ir^ this way it is used by Aristotle and Xenophon ;
it also means fear that has degenerated into cowardice, servile fear, our "super-
stitious," and in this sense it is^iised in his characters by Theophrastus.
In which sense does St. Paul,jtise the word ? Undoubtedly in its honourable
sense. He acknowledges that tjaere is a noble element in their religion, the
212 RELIGION
zeal for God ; but the second sense is also extremely applicable to them — the
Athenians are at once religious and superstitious — and he does not hesitate
to tell them that they have perverted and misdii-ected this noble element.
Nevertheless, it is on this element of their character that he proceeds to found
his great argument. He reminds them of the altar " to the Unknown God,"
which he had seen, and he goes on to associate with it the very woik which
had been entrusted to them as a people. God, he says, had " determined the
times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation" — to what end?
in order " that they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after Him
and find Him."
This was the explanation of the history of the Hellenes, the key to that
mingling of good and evil which presented a problem so sorrowful and so
puzzling to the Apostle as he went his way thoughtfully (theorising,^ trying to
look beneath the surface) through the streets of Athens. When this conviction
or revelation dawned upon him, what a ray of light it flashed back upon the
centuries ! All that was good and noble in the development of the Hellenes —
in the history of mankind — had sprung from this " seeking after God," of Him
who is true and noble ; all that was base and ignoble from the swerving aside
from this quest.
Very many are the attempts which have been made to account for the
strange phenomena of what we call " religion " — belief in the Unseen — and its
inseparable follower in early days, mythology. The "origin" of religion has
been sought for in every conceivable source, material, sensuous, intellectual,
spiritual ; but not one theory out of the many propounded offers an adequate
explanation of two facts which stare us in the face, viz. : (i) that in all ages
men have been believers in the Unseen ; and (2) that the Unseen has exercised
over their lives an influence far transcending that of the seen, the visible. ^
Just as in no laboratory, chemical or physiological, has yet been solved the
mystery of physical life, of that which gives energy to the physical forces,
so by no system, material, psychical, or philosophical, has been solved the still
greater mystery of spiritual life, of that which gives energy to the spiritual
forces. The first appearance of the one upon the earth is as mysterious, as
inexplicable, as the appearance of the other. The only solution of either is —
the great First Cause. He who gave to man a reasonable soul and human flesh
gave the initial life to both. As we all know, there are those who say that to
postulate the law of a " primal revelation " of God is to start on the inquiry
into the history of religion with " self-created difficulties."
There is a little flaw in the reasoning here — it is not the " primal revela-
tion " which creates the difficulties, but what we choose to read into the primal
revelation. To assume that primitive man started with a full and complex
revelation of God in all His attributes — His Wisdom, Justice, Holiness — is
indeed to surround ourselves with difficulties which are perfectly insuperable.
The history of the ages, the common experience of mankind, the testimony of
^ For the extreme significance of theorein see ante, p. it 7. The word is used three times
in connection with St. Paul's reflections: (i) Acts xvii. 16, theorounti = oh^er wing the idolatry
of the city ; (2) v. 22, theoro = B,s a result of my observatioj.s I perceive that you are very God-
fearing ; (3) V. 23, anatheoron = a.s I meditated again and again on your sebasmata = ohjecta of
worship, i.e. temples, altars, images. -•
2 A resume of these various attempts has recentlyi^aeen put forth by 0. Gruppe, in his
work Die Griechischen Culten und Mythen in ihren Beziehungen zu den Orientalischen
Religionen." With the ulterior aim of this book we ha^e no sympathy ; but the ability of the
writer is beyond question. With the utmost fairness ai d impartiality he passes each system in
review, and shows both its strength and its weakness.
INTRODUCTION 213
nature, will set themselves in array against us, and demand our warrant for the
assumption. Everywhere we see the Perfect slowly evolving out of the leas
perfect or the imperfect : the dawn preceding the day ; the acorn sending
forth the shoot, the shoot growing into the sapling, the sapling into the oak ;
the babe developing into the child, the child into the youth, the youth into the
man. The same law meets us in the history of nations, we see them passing
from the rudenesses, the harshnesses of primitive life, step by step, stage by
stage, into the gentler conditions of civilisation. So in the spiritual life. The
same law is laid down by the Master as the law of His kingdom, whether in a
single soul or in that aggregate of souls, which we call a church or a nation :
" First the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear." 1
To imagine, therefore, the primal revelation to have consisted in the full
knowledge of God as He is, is to postulate an impossibility, to reverse the
course of Nature and of Providence, to set ourselves against the order of the
universe — the Divine Law of Progress.
*' Ah ! " perhaps you will say ; " but Revelation tells us that man was made
in the image of God — that implies perfection at the outset."
Undoubtedly ! perfection in the same way that the little green bud encloses
the perfection of the rose, the insignificant acorn that of the oak ; man had
within him from the first perfection — latent. As made in the image of God,
he possessed godlike capacities and aspirations ; but the " perfection " had to
grow — first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear.
A careful consideration of the passage referred to, " Let us make man in
our image^ after our likeness" (Gen. i. 26), will help us here. The question
whether, " in the great fiat announcing man's original constitution," anything
different was intended by the use of the two words " image " and " likeness "
(rendered respectively eikon and homoiosis in the Septuagint) has often been
discussed. What we have seen of the extreme significance of synonyms, and
the careful employment of them by the sacred writers to express different
shades of meaning, will have prepared us to pause and ask, " Have we here a
real distinction, or is the one word merely used to strengthen the other ? "
Archbishop Trench (^Synonyms, p. 52, nth ed.) reminds us that Gregory of
Nyssa devoted a whole treatise to the examination of the question, and that
h^, with many of the early Fathers, afiirmed a real distinction : " The great
Alexandrian theologians taught that the eikon (the ' image ' of God) was
something in which men were created, being common to all, and continuing to
man as much after the Fall as before (Gen. ix. 6) ; while the homoiosis (the
'likeness' of God) was something toward which man was created, that he
might strive after and attain it."
What then was this " primal revelation " of God to man — this little spark
of light which was to guide them in the upward-looking ? That we cannot say.
Most certainly it was one perfectly adapted to the capacity of the first of our
race — most probably it may have consisted in three ideas : ( i ) that man had a
great unseen Father ; (2) that this unseen Father loved justice ; and (3) that
He hated injustice and would punish it. So much perhaps we may postulate
— bearing in mind that "justice " and "injustice " were ideas which, equally
with the knowledge of God, had to grow and develop.
Let us note, again, that this very limitation of knowledge is implied in the
word used by St. Paul. The nations were " to seek the Lord if haply they
might feel after Him and find Him." The word rendered "feel after" —
pselapheseian — is used by Plato to denote a groping in the dark (Phsedo, 99 b),
and in the Septuagint it is applied to the "feeling" of Jacob by his father
1 St. Mark iv. 28.
214 RELIGION
Isaac in order to find out whether he were his very son Esau or not.^ Hence
the word, while it implies a state of darkness, implies also earnestness, that
tentative spirit and concentration of effort which the blind bring to bear on
what they have in hand. This was the discipline which the Great Father
imposed upon His children, and as we have seen, it was a discipline calculated
to bring out the noblest energies of their nature.
If we will but take the trouble to think it out, we shall see that the
development of the Great Idea of God carries within itself the development of
all other noble ideas. "In order to understand God," as has been well said,
" not one, but all the powers of our nature are necessary " (Hartung, Religion
der Romer, i. p. 4). We shall see joyfully with Schleiermacher and his disciple,
Max Mliller, that the sense of God was quickened in primitive man by a pre-
sentiment of the Infinite — that in gazing on the glories of the dawn, he may
have been led to picture to himself the " golden sea " beyond, and so to appre-
hend the Divine behind the things of sense (Schleiermacher, Letters on
Religion, pp. 213, 73, 61 ; Max Mliller, Origin of Religion, p. 32, Germ. ed.).
We shall see again, with Schleiermacher and another disciple, Otto Pfleiderer,
that man was impelled to seek for God by his own craving for the Beautiful,
for a harmony which should bring unity into the jarring discords of human life.
We shall also be perfectly at one with Burnouf and Peschel in this, that the
seeking for God is also a seeking for Knowledge, a longing to penetrate into
the mystery of the hidden First Cause in the phenomena of nature (Jahrh. f.
Pr. Theol. ; Burnouf, Science des Religions, p. 207). We shall agree again with
von Hellwald that man, seeing around him in nature a ladder, as it were, a
graduated scale of organisms and intelligences, must needs go on to think out
for himself, above and beyond all that he sees, a Perfection which cannot be
surpassed — {Culturgescliiclite. i^. p. 34). Finally, we shall, with Kant, be very
sure that the seeking after God implies the listening for the Voice of God
within — the claims of Conscience and of Duty ( Met. of Ethics).
In each and all of these — although not one of them is sufficient of itself to
originate the Idea of God — we have a spiritual lever of the very highest order.
The presentiment of infinity, of immortality — the yearning for beauty and
harmony — the endeavour to seek out the great First Cause — the striving
towards the Ideal Perfection — the recognition of the imperativeness of Duty :
all these intuitions, aims, and efforts are summed up in the simple words
" seeking — feeling after God," and it is surely in the pressing towards these,
dimly and darkly, that the true greatness of a people consists ?
" 'Tis not what man does which
Exalts him, but what man would do ! "
and in so far as the peoples of antiquity were faithful to the Divine purpose
concerning them, precisely in so far did they reach true greatness.
"This seeking after God," says Nagelsbach (xiv.), "is the living pulse-beat
in the religious development of antiquity." These are noble words ; but we
may go further still, and see with St. Paul that this great seeking was designed
to be the very Motive-Power of the peoples, — that which was to raise them
above the level of the beasts which perish — that which should give the impetus
to every great achievement.
As a simple matter of fact, in the case of the Hellenes the seeking after
God was the motive-power in their grandest achievements : hymns to the
divine powers were their first attempts at poetry ; images which should
portray the unseen deities, their first efforts in sculpture ; sanctuaries, which
^ Gen. xxvii. 12, 21, 22.
INTRODUCTION 215
by their beauty might tempt the gods to sojourn with them, their first grand
experiments in architecture. Their science had its roots in religion, for it was
in measurements for the building of altars that geometry took its rise, in the
awestruck, reverential observation of Nature that natural science sprang up.
Their philosophy itself was built upon the Pythagorean doctrine that man is
destined to be an image of God ; their highest perception of Beauty culminated
in the Idea of God.
One more thought from St. Paul's grand speech. He says that although
the nations had for their discipline this " feeling " after God — yet that God was
not far from any one of them. In Him they lived and moved and had their
being. Is this our idea of the old world ? On the contrary, we often hear it
said that the Hellenes are the great example of what a nation can do by its own
efforts — the efforts, that is, of " unassisted " nature. In the sense that the
Hellenes were " unassisted," like the Jews, by a full revelation, the remark is,
of course, true — not otherwise. To suppose that no divine help was vouch-
safed to them — that the Hebrews alone enjoyed light — the Hellenes sat in
utter darkness, what is this but to degrade our God into the tribal God of one
race, to shut out the ruler of the world from the immense majority of His own
creatures — nay, to accuse Him of the most astounding heartlessness ? Can we
conceive of the great Father — Eternal Love — deliberately assigning to His
children the task of seeking Himself, and then hiding Himself from them,
paying not the smallest heed to their efforts ? Far from us be so unworthy a
thought ! If it was His good pleasure that the knowledge of Himself should
be gained — so far as man could gain it — by effort, we may be very sure that
He took an exceeding interest in that effort ; that whatsoever things of beauty,
whatsoever things of truth, whatsoever things of good report among us to this
day were " evolved " in it and by it, were first " inspired " by Him. The
Hellenes themselves shall be His witnesses.
Our inquiry, then, into this great experiment — the quest for God ! truly,
the grandest and noblest in all history — resolves itself into this : How far did
the Hellenes succeed in finding God 1
The Basis of the Experiment. — "When we go back to the highest antiquity
of Greece," says Welcker (i. 129), '' the greatest fact that meets us is the idea
of God as the Supreme Being, associated with a worship of Nature, which
never wholly disappeared, but out of which there early began to develop a
family of gods, sprung from Zeus (the supreme god) and outside of nature."
We have thus as the basis of the Greek religion three great ideas : —
(i) Worship of the highest God as the Supreme Being ;
(2) Worship of gods — the powers of Nature ;
(3) Later, God and the gods united into a family.
" Of these three," continues Welcker, " one seems so entirely to exclude
the others that (perhaps on this account only) the first and the second have been
less known and considered than the third, which predominated in the course of
times better known."
These three root-ideas, like the roots and framework of the language. Were
brought to Greece by the Greek Aryans from their original home.
The very oldest authority for the knowledge of the Greek religion is
Homer ; but there is an Aryan book in existence much older than Homer, and
that is, as we know, the Veda of the Hindus. In the Rig- Veda (the " Song of
Knowledge "), the oldest of the Yedic collections, we can examine for ourselves,
if not the beginnings, at least an earlier stage of this religion which all the
members of the Aryan family — Hindus, Persians, Greeks, Romans, Teutons,
Celts, and Slavs — carried away with them to their historic homes.
2i6 RELIGION
" In the history of the world," says Professor Max Miiller {S(msc. Lit., 63),
"the Veda fills a gap which no literary work in any other language could fill.
It carries us back to times of which we have no records anywhere, and gives us
the very words of a generation of men of whom otherwise we could form but
the vaguest estimate by means of conjectures and inferences. As long as man
continues to take an interest in the history of his race .... the first place in
that long row of books which contains the records of the Aryan branch of man-
kind will belong for ever to the Eig- Veda."
Nevertheless, as stated, the Veda does not take us back to the beginning.
Chronologically, it is impossible to place its earliest songs ; they may belong to
the fifteenth century b.c, or they may be very much older. If we assign to
the Eig- Veda a position "probably midway between the earliest separation of
mankind and the Christian era," as has been suggested by a recent writer
(Cook, Origins, 19), we shall have a standpoint — not indeed of definite chrono-
logical worth, but one that will at least assist us in thinking out the various
problems which present themselves in connection with prehistoric times.
What then do these songs — perhaps a thousand years older than Homer —
tell us of the early religion of the Aryans ? They show us indeed the cult of
the powers of nature — the Sun, Dawn, Fire, &c. — which accompanied the
Greek Aryans into Hellas ; but they also give evidence of the worship of that
Highest Power which Welcker takes to be the oldest " fact " in Greek history.
"In the Veda,'' says Professor Max Miiller {op. cit., 528), "the idea of God,
though never entirely lost, has been clouded over by errors. The names given
to God have been changed to gods, and their real meaning has faded away
from the memory of man. Even the earliest hymns of the Veda are not free
from mythological phraseology."
"Nevertheless," says the same authority (op. cit., 559), "there is a mono-
theism that precedes the polytheism of the Veda, and even in the invocations
of their innumerable gods, the remembrance of a God, one and infinite, breaks
through the midst of idolatrous phraseology like the blue sky that is hidden by
passing clouds."
" They call Him " (so runs one of the Yedic hymns) " Indra, Mitra, Varuna,
Agni — that which is One the sages call by many names " {Rig- Veda, i.
164, 46).
The question then naturally arises : Is it not possible to find out which of
the many gods of the Veda was the original God of the whole Aryan race, of
that great family of whom the Hindus form but a branch ? 1
The answer to this inquiry is much complicated by two difficulties : ( i ) that
of fixing precisely the relative age of the Yedic hymns. The whole collection
is pervaded by certain phrases — verses and half-verses — which probably belong
to the oldest period, but are repeated as " reminiscences," or echoes throughout,
giving an air of extreme antiquity to those hymns even whose claim to it, on
other grounds, is doubtful.
(2) Then, if this mingling of earlier and later elements makes it puzzling
from a literary standpoint to discern old from new, there is a fresh difficulty as
soon as we come to look at the religious content of the hymns. The form of
belief presented to us in the Eig- Veda — a form which (following the initiative
of Professor Max Miiller) is now called " Henotheism " or " Kathenotheism " —
consists in this, that each god invoked is praised in his turn as the highest ;
that the attributes, and even the names, of the others are ascribed to him, and
^ This question has recently been examined afresh by P. von Bradke, in his able Dyaus,
Asura, Ahura, Mazda, und die Asuras, Halle, 1885. To this work we are largely indebted
for the following sketch.
INTRODUCTION 217
thus he towers for the time being over all the rest. The tendency to place the
deity addressed at the moment at the head of the gods, so that mortals anci
immortals, earth and sky, bow before him, is probably due to the desire on the
part of the worshipper to say what he imagines will be pleasing to the being
whom he invokes. In the Rig- Veda this tendency is so pronounced as to need
no demonstration ; every page witnesses to it (von Bradke, Dyaus, 10 et seq.).
How then shall we find a way out of this confusion of ideas — a path
through the apparently trackless forest, the Ur-wald of Rig- Veda ? Simply
by following that guide who has already disclosed to us so many secrets — Com-
parative Philology. The question : Who is the original god of the Aryan
race ? cannot be decided on the testimony of the Hindus alone ; that of the
sister-nations must be taken into account as well. Turning to the evidence of
Language, we find that two only among all the divine beings of the Veda have
any claim whatever to universal regard. The first of these, Yaruna, the
All-Embracer, undoubtedly occupies that place in the Rig- Veda which best coin-
cides with our idea of what is implied in the word " God." Yaruna it is who not
only upholds the world-order, guiding sun, moon, and stars in their course, but
who also watches over the moral world, punishing sin indeed, but pardoning
the penitent and protecting the righteous. The hymns to Yaruna are among
the most pathetic, as they are the most beautiful, in the Veda. Instinctively
we say : Yaruna is, must be, the Aryan Jehovah ; and Language gives some
support to the belief, for it seems to prove that Yaruna was known as a divine
being before the separation. The equation : —
Skt. Varuna ; Gk. Ouranos,
however, even if phonetically correct,^ limits the knowledge of Yaruna to two
peoples. More is required to establish the supremacy of a universal God.
We turn then to the second name, Dy^us (God of Light), and find for it
the following equation : —
Skt. Dy^us.
Gk. Zeus (gen. Dios).
Lat. *Iovis (Ju-piter).
Teut. Tiu, zio-.
The correspondence of Dy^us-Zeus-Iovis-Tiu is accepted by every philolo-
gist ; these names all proceed from one and the same source, viz., the old Indo-
European word for God, "^Dyeus. On the strength of the evidence of language
then, Dyaus and not Yaruna is the original god of the Aryan family, wor-
shipped when as yet there were neither Hindus nor Teutons, Greeks nor
Latins, but all were simply brethren in the Old Home. That the four branches
who carried away the name represent both the Asiatic and European Aryans,
is significant, and hardly less so is the fact that in two at least of the European
nations (the Greek and the Roman), representing again the most highly gifted
members of the Aryan family, Dyaus = Zeus = Jupiter was regarded in historic
times as the Supreme Being. We turn then with longing to the old Indian
Song of Knowledge, and ask what it has to tell us of the Being whom our
forefathers worshipped thousands of years ago.
Concerning Dyaus, however, the Veda has but little to say, and that little
indirectly ; there are no hymns dedicated to Dyaus alone. In the centuries
1 The exact phonetic equivalent of the Greek "Ouranos" would be "Varana," not
"Varuna." Hence the equation given above is considered doubtful by Ludwig [Der Rig - Veda,
ilhersetz mit Commentar u. Einleitung, iii. 312). However, it is accepted by Professor Max
Miiller {Biography of Words^ 146), and Hillebrandt and James Darmesteter both infer an
Aryan "Varana" from the existence of the Zend "Varena" (A. Hillebrandt, Varuna u.
Mitra, p. 13 ; J. Darmesteter, Ormuzd et Ahriman, p. 69).
2i8 RELIGION
which have elapsed since the separation, Dyaus has become but a shadow — a
process which goes on, for his place is taken first by Yaruna, then by Indra,
and finally he is eclipsed altogether.
The word "Dyaus" is derived from the root div, '* to shine," and means
not only "God of Light," of the bright heaven, but " heaven" itself. In later
ages it changed its gender, became a feminine, and was used to denote merely
*' the sky." This extraordinary transition we shall explain presently. Mean-
while, let us note that the fact of Dyaus signifying both "heaven" and
" heaven's Lord," has been brought forward by O. Gruppe in the work to
which we have already referred (p. 212), as a proof that in the primeval
period there was no god, and consequently no religion whatsoever {op. cit., § 8).
In this he is opposed by the most eminent philologists, and Gruppe himself is
obliged to admit the significance of that other fact, that, on their first entrance
into history, we find Dyaus worshipped as a divine being by four branches of
the Aryan family, who know nothing of him merely as " the sky." Moreover,
in the Introduction to his version of Rig-Veda (published after the translation
was completed), A. Ludwig {op. cit., iii. 312), one of the most eminent com-
mentators on the Veda, expresses his conviction that the significance of Dyaus
has been "hitherto strangely undervalued" {arg unterschdtzt), and acknow-
ledges that in several places where he himself had used the " more colourless"
expression " heaven," the word " Dyaus " (that is, as the name of " God in
heaven ") would have been more in place.
Now, it is a very curious thing that, as Professor Roth long ago pointed
out {Die hochsten Gbtter der arischen Volker in Zeitsclirift der deutsch-morgenldnd.
GeseUs., vi. 68), the Indian Aryans did not understand by " heaven " the visible
sky. " The Indian conception of Nature in the oldest period," he says, " has this
peculiarity, that it distinguishes sharply between air-space {Luftraum) and
heaven (Himmel). This distinction is extremely ancient {uralt), as the whole
mythology of the Veda shows, and at the root of it lies the separation of air
and light. The light has its home, not in the air-space, but beyond that in
the infinite realm of heaven ; it is not bound to the bright sun-orb, but is
independent of that, an eternal power. Between the world of light and the
earth lies the kingdom of air, in which gods bear rule, in order to keep free
the path of the light to the earth, and thus ensure the entrance of its quicken-
ing might, and at the same time provide a way for the heavenly waters, which
also have their home in the world of light. ... On this conception rests the
separation of the whole world into three divisions — heaven, air, earth — in
the highest of which dwells the highest god."
This conception is, as Roth points out, uralt, " of extreme antiquity," and it
occurs also among the Greek Aryans. The idea of a fifth element was familiar
to them, and the association of the " aether and the splendour of Zeus " is met
with in Homer {Iliad, xiii. 837 ; cf. Welcker, i. 299). We might therefore,
perhaps, be warranted in transferring the idea of a realm of light, as the
abode of the god of light, and distinct from the material sky, to the primeval
period.
It is better, however, not to avail ourselves of the coincidence. Such an
idea seems to belong rather to the secondary than to the primary stage of
religious thought. If it existed in the earliest ages it would give us a very
high idea of our forefathers' power of thought. It is, however, the visible sky
from which we prefer to start as associated with their earliest ideas of the
divine.
How then came our forefathers, the united Aryans, to associate the idea of
God with the sky ?
INTRODUCTION
219
The answer would seem to be : (i) by reason of its stability. Sun and
Moon are great powers, but they disappear, they come and go ; whereas the
heavens exist in permanence — night and day they are before the eye. (2)
Again, Sun and Moon are great powers, but even their might is eclipsed by
that of the Sky-god, who can shroud himself and them in the darkness of
the tempest, and in whose hands are the thunderbolt and the lightning.
Thunder is thus the personification of irresistible Might. (3) Yet again,
although the sun must early have become an object of veneration as the
source of light and heat, yet the sun is by no means an unmixed blessing —
with his fiery beams he can produce both drought and pestilence. On the
other hand, in the blue depths of heaven, embracing the earth on every side,
and covering it as with a shield, primitive man could see naught but friend-
liness and goodwill. (4) On the bosom of the heaven, moreover, float the
precious rain-bearers, whose treasures bring food to sustain the life of man.
Gathering up these thoughts, we find that the heavens alone offered to
primitive man that combination of ideas which met his needs. The heavens
endure for ever ; they give the rain ; they drop down fatness ; they shield the
earth ; the Being who inhabits them wields the thunderbolt — he is mightiest
as well as kindliest of all. He is God and Lord of all.
Nor did the heavens fail man in that secondary stage when advancing
thought reached beyond the material. They become the instruments through
which the Being who inhabits them controls the moral world and works out
his judgments. The heavens surround man on all sides, in no way can he
escape from them ; the sun is the Eye of Varuna as of Zeus ; the stars are
his spies, keeping watch during the night, disappearing during the day — who
knows whither ? — to report to Yaruna all that they have seen of the doings
of men.
Finally, if in a still later stage of development man began to meditate on
the nature of this Divine Being, could he (as Roth has beautifully said) find a
better, a higher, finer, stronger comparison for the Unknown God than the
Light?
That the primitive Aryans had anything but a faint glimmering of all this
cannot be maintained, as will be evident whenever we begin to trace the pro-
gress of the Greek branch. Nevertheless it is well at the outset to endeavour
to realise to ourselves how the idea of God as the World-ruler could be de-
veloped — we do not say originated — by the processes of Natural Religion.
Given the " one point of light," the idea of God, of a Being within the
heavens, all the rest follows naturally. Nay, we may go further. Even if we
imagine that, as a result of the wanderings from the primal home of mankind
to that second home where the Aryan family developed, the very idea of
" God " had to be re-won, as it were, de novo from the divine prompting
within ; the deep blue heavens in their purity and beauty are calculated,
beyond any other work of nature, to awaken in man the slumbering perception
of the divine.
" The invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are clearly
seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power
and Godhead."
There only remains for us now to prove from the Yeda that our forefathers
had this one point of light: Did they worship merely the "wide vault of
heaven," as Gruppe and his school maintain, or did they worship a Being
within that vault ? This is the vital question, and it can only be settled by an
examination of the manner in which Dyaus is spoken of in the Vedas. As we
have seen, he is there reduced to a mere shadow, and it is only from the
220 RELIGION
*' reminiscences " of him which the Hindus have carried away with them from
the Old Home that any conclusion can be arrived at. These " reminiscences "
are contained in the epithets applied to Dyaus. They have recently been
made the subject of a very thorough investigation by von Bradke (see p. 216,
footnote), whose conclusions we shall now briefly lay before the reader.
In the Vedas, Dyaus is called Pita = Father, Janita = progenitor or creator,
and Asura = the Living or Self-Existent One.
I. Of these the name "Father" is his peculiarly. It belongs to Dyaus by
right, as Rajan = king, does to Varuna, or Virtrahan = serpent-slayer, to Indra,
and evidently dates from a time when kings were not. Dyaus-pita, Dyaus the
Father, is an echo of the old patriarchal days when the authority of the House
Father or the Clan-Father was supreme. It is as the Great Father that our
fathers bore him in their thoughts to their historic homes : —
Skt. Dyaus-pita ; Gk. Zeus pater ; Lat. Jupiter, and to the extreme signifi-
cance of the expression we shall return presently. Meanwhile, let us note
that closely connected with Dyaus are the Devas or Bright Ones of the sky.
Skt. deva (from div — to shine, as much as Dyaus") ; Lat. deiis ; Lith. diewas ;
O.I. dia ; O.N. tivar, god.
" The word deoa^' says von Bradke, "although usually translated by God,
is but imperfectly so rendered ; deva approaches most closely to the idea which
we unite with the word * holy one ' or ' angel.' " From the etymology of the
word, the devas appear to have been connected with, or dependent on Dyaus,
and were probably thought of as his sons or his bodyguard. Dyaus, as Ludwig
has pointed out (op. cit. ^12 et seq.), is also expressly said to be the father of
the deities Agni, Parjanya, Indra, Surya, and Ushas — father, that is, in the
sense that from him they derive their power. He also stands above Mitra and
Yaruna, for it is he who has brought their rule into being.
It is essential to note that, in the older Yedic hymns, the name Dyaus-
pita stands alone. The mythological union of Father Sky and Earth-mother
under the joint name of Dyavaprithivi is of later date. Goddesses, be it
observed, are not numerous in the V^eda. The great power Aditi, the Infinite,
appears to have been an afterthought, called into life in later days to account
for the existence of the Seven Adityas, the Eternal, Immortal beings who
dwell in the world of light. The mother, therefore, was born after her sons.
The addition of Mother Earth as the complement of Father Sky is a touch of
the same character.
(2) The epithet "Asura," however, is quite as significant as that of Pita.
It is derived from asw (as) = life, in all its fulness, vigour, and freshness,
especially the life of the soul. " The term Asura," says Grassmann
(Worterhuch zum Rig- Veda sub " Asura ") "is only used of incorporeal, spiritual
life, generally associated with the idea of wisdom, and denotes God, and
especially a highest God." Aswa, therefore, may be rendered "the Highest
Being, He who has life in Himself." It is a grand word, and its full signifi-
cance in the mind of the old hymn-makers is best seen in the word asuryam,
a neuter substantive denoting the position or qualities of the Asura. Among
many other passages von Bradke gives the following. In a hymn to Indra, it
is said : —
" Thou becamest the Distributor of all blessings, when thou didst take the
place of the Asura " (asuryam, vi. 36, 1).
Again, " To thee, O Indra, was fully accorded by all the gods the same
Asura-power as that of Dyaus, when thou, in union with Yishnu, didst stay
Yritra, the serpent, who had imprisoned the waters " (of the sky, vi. 20, 2).
INTRODUCTION
221
Grassmann renders the words " Asura-power " as "the whole fulness of
God," and this it is which the old poet imagines to have been given by consent
of all the gods to Indra as a reward for his valour in slaying the dragon of
Drought. He can conceive of no higher honour to be bestowed upon the
usurper, Indra, than that he should be raised to the sovereignty of Dyaus.
We get then for Asura the significance of " highest divine ruler." But
here the " henotheistic " difficulty to which we have already referred (p. 216),
comes in. Several gods — Yaruna, Indra, Agni, Soma, &c. — are addressed as
*' Asura." How then can we determine who was the first, the original Asura ?
Is it possible to bring any clearness into the haziness of the Veda? Von
Bradke thinks it is. In the old padas or refrains, the " reminiscences " which
constantly recur with but slight variation throughout the Vedic hymns, he
sees a way out of the difficulty. " If," he says, " we find a refrain constantly
recurring in which ' Asura ' is applied to a particular god, we may conclude
that in this a relic of an older period of Indian literature is contained." And
from the careful comparison of these refrains, he has come to the conclusion
that Dyaus was the first Asura, the Asura, the Living, Self-Existent One.
How far these expressions — the Father, the Living One, the Ruler, which
travelled down with the Indian Aryans from remote antiquity — are compatible
with the notion that our forefathers worshipped the " vault of heaven," we
must leave to the judgment of the reader. It is, to our thinking, a fact of
extreme significance that in the hymns addressed to the later dual deity,
Dyavaprithivi = Father Sky and Mother Earth, the word asura is never used,
fond of it as the Vedic poets are in general. It seems as though the poet
were aware of a terrible declension, and could not bring himself to give to the
visible sky the epithet which had belonged to the "incorporeal" God of the
heavens.
Finally, in consequence (so von Bradke supposes) of the current use of
Dyavaprithivi with its pronounced feminine ending, the word dyaus itself
became feminine, and sank to mean " the sky." The place of Dyaus, the old
heaven-god, of Varuna, his delegate, was fully taken by Indra, the personifi-
cation of material good, himself destined to be superseded by the deities who
still rule the Indian pantheon.
For the further history of the words " deva " and "asura," which is exceed-
ingly interesting, we refer the reader to von Bradke's work. Here we would
only remark that the Ahura Mazda, Lord of Knowledge, the Omniscient, the
Highest God of the Persians, is held to be one and the same in all essential
characteristics with the Asura Varuna. Asura = Ahura. If this be so, then
the conclusion is forced upon us that the Indo-European Dyaus, the Father,
is the primary, the initial point of light, whence proceeded the four secondary
developments of the idea of God — the Hindu Varuna, the Persian Ahura
Mazda, the Greek Zeus, the Roman Jupiter.
In addition to the worship of Father Zeus, however, we must assume, on
the evidence of language, that there passed into Greece with the Aryans the
cults of nature-powers, worshipped purely as such — sun, moon, dawn, and fire.
Not, however, in the fully developed forms which we meet with in Homer
(Max Miiller, Introd. to the Science of Religion). Even in the Veda, in hymns
composed after the journeying of the Hindu Aryans from the Old Home, and
the settlement in the New, personification is by no means complete. " In the
Veda" says Professor Max Miiller {Chips, ii. 75), " the whole nature of these
so-called gods is still transparent, their first conception in many cases clearly
perceptible. There are as yet no genealogies, no settled marriages between
gods and goddesses. The father is sometimes the son, the brother is the
2 22 RELIGION
husband, and she who in one hymn is the mother is in another the wife. As
the conceptions of the poets vary, so varies the nature of these gods."
Religious and Moral Ideas. — Passing now to the examination of the other
ideas, moral and religious, which the Aryans may have taken with them to
their historic homes, we are obliged again to have recourse to the evidence of
Comparative Philology. The state of society pictured in the Vedas represents
a secondary period, an advance of some centuries on the primitive notions that
existed in the Old Home. The Vedas alone, therefore, will not suffice. As in the
case of Dyaus-Zeus, the sister languages must be called in to bear witness to
what the united Aryans thought and believed. As to the number of witnesses
necessary, we agree with Professor Max Miiller that the testimony of one
member of the Asiatic and one of the European group of languages suffices to
establish a conception as belonging to the primal period.
Following this rule, then, we find that the first fathers of our race were
familiar, before the separation, with the conceptions of sin, punishment,
sacrifice, holy (dedicated) things and faith (Max Miiller, Biog. of Words).
In what sense precisely these words are to be understood of the primitive
period is a point in which great caution is necessary — it is so easy to read
modern ideas into any old conception. We may be content with knowing
that one and all point to that sense of the existence of a Great Father, Ruler
of the world (of the Microcosmos of each individual soul), which we are justified
in taking as our starting-point. From the very beginning, as far back as we
can trace him, man is found with a knowledge of the difference between right
and wrong. Man, "the two-footed animal," certainly meets us in the Vedas,
but so, thank God! does Man " the Thinker."
Of the way in which sin was regarded in the early period, we can form
some idea, at least, from the Veda. Granted that all moral convictions must
have strengthened and developed during the interval that had elapsed between
the separation and the composition of the Yedic hymns, the germs of the
Yedic ideas certainly existed previously. In the Veda, then, Yaruna (the
delegate, as Ludwig calls him, of the original Heaven-father Dyaus) is con-
stantly depicted as resolutely opposed to dgas, " sin " : " The way in which this
energy of Yaruna in the moral world is represented," says Professor Roth
(op. cit., p. 72), "and the humble acknowledgments of sinfulness and penitence
which the old poets make before him, must be insisted upon with so much the
more emphasis, because, as a rule, we are inclined to regard the religious life
of a people as merged in its myths and cult-ceremonies, and to measure it by
the latter." The fact is. Roth adds, that, as the hymns show, it was a great
sorrow to these old Aryans to find themselves sinful, and to know that man
was daily trespassing against Yaruna's commands. There is no hymn to
Yaruna in which supplications are not addressed to him for pardon of sin,i as
they are addressed to the other gods for wealth and fame.
The extent to which the idea of sacrifice, again, was developed among the
Indian Aryans, must be studied in a work like Ludwig's Commentary before
it can be duly estimated. The sacrifice became the centre of Indian life, the
pivot round which all things sacred and mundane revolved. The contrast,
^ *' Varuna," so runs one of these old prayers, " we turn aside thy wrath by Sacrifice, by
Prayer, by Drink-offerings. Thou who hast the power, wise, ever-living King (Asura), forgive
us the sins which we have committed. O Varuna, loose us from our bonds — the lowest, the
middle, the highest — then shall we in thy service, Aditya, freed from sin, to Aditi (the
Infinite) belong" {Rig-Veda ; Grassmann's translation, i. 24, 14, 15).
The bonds or ropes by which sin is often represented in the Veda, remind us of another
Indian name for moral evil — "amhas," the throttler, related to "ahi" = the serpent = choker,
throttler (Max Miiller, Science of Language, i. 435).
INTRODUCTION
223
sharp and striking, between the Greek and the Indian national character,
however, forbids our attempting to infer too much from the Indian religious
development. All we deduce from it is that ideas, the same in kind, if not in
degree, must have existed among the primitive Aryans. Let us recollect that
by the term " primitive Aryans " we designate a people who, from the evidence
of the language which they built up, must have dwelt together, on the very
lowest estimate, for a thousand years. Let us recollect, moreover, that an
authority like Whitney scouts the notion of such a period as a thousand years
being sufficient for the growth of the old mother- tongue. He regards six
thousand years as perhaps too short a time, and adds that even to hazard a
conjecture on the subject is " foolish" {Life and Growth of Language, p. 192).
What ideas can not have been developed in the course of one of several —
thousand years? Do not let us place on too low a level the stage arrived at
by Man the Thinker, when he marched out of the Old Home with his four-
footed comrades.
Ludwig tells us that he finds in Rig- Veda, the Song of Knowledge, under-
lying all later ideas, three conceptions of great value and worth. These are —
Rita, the World-order, Satyam = Truth, and Brahma = Prayer. On this simple
and beautiful foundation was reared the fabric of the Brahmanic religious
system, a system so exacting in its complexity that human nature finally
revolted from it, and sought relief in the purer, gentler doctrines of the
Buddha.
Is there anything underlying the oldest Greek thought known to us at all
analogous to Rita-Satyam-Brahma — World-Order, Truth, Prayer — the three-
fold basis of the Veda ?
Yes ; we think there is. Our Grseco-Aryans also brought with them into
their New Home a triad of equally noble and helpful ideas : TTieiais = Settled
Law, Z)^yfce = Justice, and Eteon^thd^A, which is (in contradistinction to that
which is not). Truth.
These words developed on Greek soil, but they belong in their essence to
the old Aryan stock ; therefore we cannot do better than examine them here.
(i) Mean is derived from the old verb es = to be, and corresponds to the
Indian Satyam, and our own " sooth." 1 Eteon is used by Homer in a
significant way. For instance, Odysseus, when the Achseans are anxious to
abandon the war and return home, stands up in the Assembly and advises
them to wait and see whether Calchas the Seer, who had predicted that the
city should be taken in the tenth year, had spoken truth {eteon) {Iliad, ii. 300)
or not. Again, when Odysseus is landed on his longed-for native isle, he looks
about him in bewilderment, and says: "Tell me whether I am in very truth
{eteon) come to mine own dear fatherland" {Od., 13, 328).
(2) Themis, and (3) Dike, Law and Justice, are a well-nigh inseparable
pair. The best definition of both is that given by H. Schmidt {^Synonymik, i.
§18; c/. also Lehrs, Pop. Aufsdtze, pp. 95, 105). Themis, he says, is the
Eternal Divine Law, unwritten, existing from the beginning ; it dwells in the
consciousness of man, and in the order of the Universe, moral and physical,
inseparable from both. Over this eternal, sacred natural law, Zeus (in Aryan
days Dyaus, the Heaven-father) watches ; kings are but his deputies to guard
the themistes for him.
The world-order represented by Themis, however, is apt to be broken
through by man with his free-will, and therefore to every rank and every age
is shown what is due according to this order = a definite circle of rights and
^ Gk. Eteos, "true; Skt. satyas, "true," satyam, "truth"; 0. Norse sannr, "true"; A
Sax. soth, "sooth" (G. Curtius, Pott, &c., &c.).
2 24 RELIGION
corresponding duties. This showing is Dike = Justice — literally, the Way
pointed out.
Dike and Themis both proceed from the Highest Orderer of things ; Themis
sometimes means to rule with royal i^ower (themisteuein) — Dike, never ; even in
the earliest days she stands contrasted with force.
Such was the significance which these ideas attained to in Greece. As
stated, we mention them here in advance, because they are in their essence
Aryan ideas. The Greek Themis corresponds to the Indian dharma, and the
Roman /as, all meaning " law," settled and established. Into the far-reaching
theories built by Leist and others on the primitive conception of dharnia-themis-
fas = divine law, as constituting the earliest strata of the common law of the
Aryan peoples, we need not enter here. What we have to note is simply that
the Greek Aryans, like their Indian brethren, carried away from the Old
Home certain germinal ideas which became wondrously fruitful. Each people
kept in mind and developed out of the common stock such ideas as suited best
the national character. Among the Indians these germinal ideas developed
into a belief in Truth, in the World-order, in the power of Prayer ; among the
Greeks they likewise brought forth Truth, together with a supreme regard for
Law and the Way pointed out — Justice. Let us note as illustrating further
the character of the two peoples, that whilst the Indians later deified Faith =
Sraddha, the Greeks regarded both Law and Justice, Themis and Dike, as
divine.
One more thought and we have done. The word Meros, " sacred," originally
signified "strong," "fresh," "vigorous" — a meaning which it still occasionally
holds in Homer (Iliad, i. 238). That it was eventually restricted to religion
arose, doubtless, as Dr. Schrader points out, from the ''uplifted feeling" of the
worshipper — the sense of strength which his religion brought him.
How then shall we picture to ourselves our primitive Aryans setting out
from the Old Home ? Wandering over the face of the earth, dull and indif-
ferent, obeying appetite alone, proni ac ventri oboedientes, burdened with the
fear of phantoms, magic, and superstition in its thousand forms? Plenty
of phantoms, and a goodly load of superstitions the "two-footed animals"
undoubtedly bore along with them ; but beside the two-footed animals
marched the Thinkers, bearing a nobler burden — already loyal to Law,
following the " Way pointed out," looking up to the blue depths wherein dwells
the Heaven-father by day, guiding their course under his eye by the stars,
" the light-str ewers," by night.
THE PREHISTORIC PERIOD
Arrived in the broad plains of Thessaly (p. 123), or, if you prefer it, in the
narrow valleys of Epeirus (p. 123), the first care of the Grseco- Aryans is, in
either case, to establish the worship of the Heaven-father, Dyaus, whom we
are now to know as Zeus at Dodona. Whether this original Dodona is to be
sought for in Thessaly or in Thesprotia really matters not.
And not only the first-comers into Greece, but offshoots sent out as colonies
from the parent stem, and the fresh Aryan clans pouring into Hellas, seem to
have had the same care for the worship of Zeus. In historic times it is found
in every part of Hellas — not alone, for it is associated, as we know, with the
nature-cults — but as something distinctly apart from and higher than these.
This we shall prove shortly.
The beginnings of Greek religious history are very dark. The oldest
THE PREHISTORIC PERIOD
225
" monuments " can give us some help, but Homer little or none. Ages elapsed
before that great genius to whom we give the name of " Homer " appeared
and crystallised into clear and definite forms the religious ideas of his time.
Yet these ideas had a real existence in Greek thought from the very first, and
they expressed themselves in two ways : in the great unwritten literature of
names, and in the localisation of certain cults in certain places.
a. Witness of Names. — Turning to Welcker who, more than any other
writer, has entered into sympathy with these old '* seekers after God," we ask:
" What then are the very oldest names connected with the Greek religion ? "
(Welcker, i. p. 129).
He has his answer ready : "At the remotest limit of Greek antiquity,"
he says, " we are met by the words theos and dcBmon, both denoting God, and
the names of Zeus and Kronion. There is nothing older for us in the Greek
religion." Let us see what these mean.
1. The word Theos was formerly associated with the series deva, &c.
(p. 220), derived from div, "bright." But on linguistic grounds this etymology
is doubtful. Brugmann has lately endeavoured to connect the word with
Sans, gho-rd-s^ " commanding reverence " [Ber. d. kgl. Sachs. Ges. d. Wissenschaft,
p. 41, 1889 ; quoted by Schrader, op. cit p. 415, note).
2. Daimon. — The other expression for God used by Homer and Hesiod,
and also by ^schylus, is daimon, " spirit," a word of great significance. It
springs from the root of daio, " to divide " ; and hence is thought by many to
denote God as the Allotter, the Distributor, He who apportions to man his lot
on earth. Welcker, however, reminds us that to divide is also to order and
to know : " We know only what we have divided and analysed " (Schiller to
Goethe) (i. p. 139). Hence the word may also mean "He who knows" — a
signification which seems to us peculiarly appropriate to a people like the
Greeks.
Later, daimon, daimones was used to designate subordinate deities; the
term is also applied by Hesiod to the spirits of the men of the Silver and
Golden Ages, and in this sense these daemons are to be carefully distinguished
from the gods. Finally, it is employed to denote the Manes, shades of the
departed.
Nevertheless, in each and all of these significations, the word always bore
with it the idea of mind, as opposed to matter — the spiritual in contradistinc-
tion to the material.
3. Zeus, as we know, is Dyaus, the God of Light of the bright heavens.
4. Kronion is considered to mean the Ripener, the Completer (Preller,
Gr. Myth., p. 51).
Thus, at the very outset we meet with four words exhibiting a spiritual
conception of the highest being.
I. He is theos, he who " commands reverence," and (2) the dcemon, he who
" knows" all things, or (if we prefer the other rendering) who "apportions "
all things. (3) He is Zeus, god of Light ; and (4) Kronion, the Completer.
And to this conception of Zeus, as the Highest Being, the Greeks always
remained faithful. " To every Greek of deep feeling, " from the earliest period
onward," says K. 0. Miiller (Eum. 189), " Zeus alone is properly God in the
highest sense of the word."
It is, however, quite evident that in dealing with the beginnings of things
we are apt to read our own ideas into these beginnings. Words often say a
great deal more to us than they did to the men who coined them, and no words
require more careful handling than those which describe the Unseen. When,
for instance, we find the early Aryans and the early Greeks calling their
P
99^ KELIGION
highest god Dyaus-pita = Zeus-pater, Light-father, we, on whom the ends of
the world have come, can hardly avoid transferiing to the name our thoughts
about the " Father of Lights, in whom is no variableness, neither shadow
of turning," and we proceed to attribute to these eaily Aryan and Greek
upward-lookers ideas which the greatest human thinkers never thought out for
themselves, " God is light, and in Him is no darkness at all," says St. John
(i. 1, 5). "We ought not to deceive ourselves," comments Professor Max
Miiller, "and try to find in the primitive vocabulary of the Aryans those
sublime meanings which, after thousands of years, those words have assumed
in our language" (ii. 492).
Let us be thankful for our one starting-point, our one ray of light.
What we may safely read out of these names — not into them — is that the
primitive religion " was as far removed from coarse fetichism as from abstract
idealism " (M. Miiller, Chips, iv. 233).
ih) Localisation of Cults. — So much for the testimony of names. Now, if
we turn to the other witness for ancient times, the localisation of certain cults
in certain districts, we shall find a very significant protest against any rash
idealism. This will become clear if we pause to consider for a moment which of
the five great ideas that thinkers tell us were so potent in developing the con-
ception of the Divine (p. 214), was most potent at this early stage. Was it the
overwhelming sense of the Infinite ? or the attractive power of Beauty ? or the
keen desire to Know ? or the striving after Perfection ? or the Moral Impera-
tive within ?
Facts say : Not one of the five. These motive-powers undoubtedly are
already in existence, dimly struggling here and there for utterance in some
noble nature ; but they are not yet dominant, their time is not yet come,
they will burst into activity at a later stage. "That was not first which is
spiritual," says our witness, " but that which is natural, and afterward that
which is spiritual." ^ This is the Law of Development, and the Hellenes, with
all their genius, were no exception to the Law.
The great motive-power of these earliest seekers after God must undoubtedly
have been — the sense of dependence. Let us picture to ourselves these early
Greek Aryans in their struggle with Nature in a country such as we have found
Greece to be. Think of the periodical drought — think of these primitive
settlers, who have not yet learned how to make a pontos, a pathway across the
" broad back of the sea " — think of them shut up within their huts and exposed to
all the horrors of famine. In what possible way can we conceive of them
approaching their God except as the Food-giver, the Rain-giver, the Father in
the bright sky ?
Do you say that this is a very " materialistic," a very " earthly " view to
take — very " degrading" to the Hellenes?
Nay ; do not let us be wiser than Wisdom. Our witness tells us again
that this very thing is the great Father's express testimony to Himself. " He
left not Himself without witness, in that He did good, and gave us rain from
heaven, and fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness." ^
How shall we, who pray " Give us this day our daily bread," call the same
prayer "materialistic" in the mouths of those poor children of Nature, on
whom the yoke of Nature pressed with a force which we, in our luxury, can
barely realise ? Since the Advent of Him who has given us an understanding,
we pray first " Thy Kingdom come ; Thy will be done " ; but in the beginning
of necessity it could not be so. The old prayer which has come down to us,
^ I Cor. XV. 46. ^ Acts xiv. 17.
THE PREHISTORIC PERIOD 227
*' Rain, rain, dear Zeus, on the fields of the Athenians," is but the pre-
Christian prayer for daily bread.
It will not surprise us, therefore, to find that Zeus, as the Rain-giver, was
worshipped on the summits of lofty mountains around whose peaks the precious
rain-clouds gather. Well-nigh every mountain in Greece and the islands was
sacred to Zeus — Olympus and Pelion in Thessaly ; Oeta in Trachis ; Helicon,
Cithseron, and Laphystium in Boeotia ; Parnes and Hymettus in Attica ;
Lycaeus, Ithome, Arachnaeum, and Apesas in Peloponnesus ; Ocha in Euboea ;
Panhellenium in ^gina ; Mtna, in Sicily ; Ida in Crete, and so on. So
universal was the custom, that an old writer, Melanthes, could say in a treatise
on the Sacrifices, that every mountain was the Mount of Zeus, since it had
been the custom of the ancients to sacrifice to him as the Highest (Hypatos) on
the heights (cf. Welcker, i. 170).
" As the Highest 1 " says the reader. " Surely we have here a motive very
different from ' as the Rain-giver ' ? " True ; the only question is, how far we
are warranted in placing this motive as a power and a force in the earliest
times. We may see, with the venerable Welcker (§ 32), that the custom of
worshipping the " Highest on the heights " has its roots also in other and far
nobler feelings than the sense of dependence. Where, indeed, may God be
sought better than on those lofty peaks which, seen from below, appear to lose
themselves in the invisible ?
Leaving behind turmoil and misery, earth and its cares lessening in the
distance, the worshipper, as he climbs the steep ascent of some mountain-side,
sees in the laborious path before him the very emblem of the heavenward road,
and in the solitudes above, overarched by the blue sky alone, the fitting shrine
of the Infinite. God is nearer to man on the mountain-top than in the
valley. Mountain worship is consecrated to us by the most sacred associations
(St. Mark vi. 46, ix. 2); it was from a mountain that, amid thunderings and
lightnings, the Law was given to the Chosen People ; it was on a mountain
that were first uttered the wisest and sweetest words that ever fell upon the
ears of man, the Great Sermon, the prayer of prayers, unveiling the Father
Himself.
" How then," says an indignant reader, " can you degrade the early
worship of the Hellenes — the seeking for God — into a mere seeking for the
bread that perisheth?"
Dear reader, '^ first the Natural, afterward that which is Spiritual." We
willingly admit — nay, we should be guilty of gross injustice to a people like
the Hellenes if we did not admit — that here and there was to be found among
them, even in the earliest days, an Abraham climbing the mount of Sacrifice
with the one aim, the simple desire to do the Will of God in so far as that Will
was known to him. Such pure and noble souls have existed in all ages. Woe
to the race of man, had this not been so. But what warrant have we for
supposing that Abrahams abounded ? Was this the case even among the
Chosen People ? Turn to their record and see for yourself. The souls which
seek for communion with God are those which gradually leaven the mass, not
the mass itself.
Do not, however, let us exchange sentiment for sentimentality. What is
there degrading in the prayer for rain ? Look at one of the most beautiful
and one of the most ancient pictures of ancient Greece that have come down
to us : Ambassadors are sent out by all the tribes of Greece — from East and
West they come ; and crossing the sea in their little skiffs, direct their course
to the island of ^Egina. Why ? Because there dwells ^Eacus the Just, a
man renowned throughout all Hellas for his piety — a man who is not only
228 RELIGION
beloved by Zeus Hellanios but is his son, so the legend runs. A sore drought
afflicts the land, and iEacus is asked to intercede with Zeus Hellanios, the god
of the island, for all the tribes of Hellas. He climbs the summit of the loftiest
mountain on the island, and there, doubtless surrounded by the representa-
tives of all the peoples, and after sacrifice and purification, he lifts his hands
and prays for rain. His prayer is heard, the rain descends in showers upon
the thirsty land, and the mountain is thenceforward known as " Panhellenium,"
the mountain of all the Hellenes. ^
Call the story a myth and a legend if you will. We are not concerned
to defend its every feature. What we are concerned about is its kernel, and
that is the spirit in which the old Hellenes pursued their worship of the
" Highest on the heights." Is there anything " degrading " in this picture of
the old patriarch interceding 'as priest and king, not only for his own people,
but embracing in his sympathy all who, later, were called Hellenes ? We
think not. Man must live, and could he, in those early days, by his own
efforts ? Can we of the present day, with all the resources of science, bring
down a single shower of rain or a blink of sunshine ? There's the rub.
The sense of dependence then must be recognised as constituting in early
days the great motive-power in the seeking after God, and it shows itself in
various ways.
Thus, Dicsearchus (Descr. Gr., ii. 8 ; Bursian, i. 97 ; Mezieres, pp. 35, 40,
117) tells us concerning Pelion, in historic times, that on its highest summit
stood a temple of Zeus Acraeos, to which every year, at the rising of Sirius,
there went, led by the priest, a procession of the chief men of the district, clad
in the skins of newly-slaughtered sheep. This custom is one of those which
may safely be traced back to times when as yet there were no temples, simply
an altar of Zeus on the heights. Why did the procession take place at the
rising of Sirius? Because the rise of the Dog-star announces the approach
of the fifty dog-days, the hottest time of the year. Why were the worshippers
clad in sheep-skins ? Because the fleece is the emblem of the rain-cloud.
Why the skins of newly-slaughtered sheep? Because the "slaughtering"
probably took place in sacrificial rites which preceded the ascent. The whole
ceremony is evidently a rite of intercession for rain. 2
Then, turning to those other cults which accompanied the Aryans into
Greece, we find the same lesson. Take the little district of Attica : on its
eastern side — which, as we know, is covered by a thin scanty soil and exposed
to a four-months' yearly drought (p. 152) — the patrons of the land are the
bright powers of heaven, Zeus the Rain-giver, Athena the Dew-giver.^ On its
western side the plain of Eleusis — the only fertile part of Attica, whose deep
clay soil can hold and retain moisture enough for the nourishment of the pre-
cious seed-corn — we find the worship of the Chthonian deities, the deities, that
is, of earth — Demeter, Mother Earth herself, and Persephone, the plant-world,
offspring of Mother Earth.
Another district, even smaller, shows an equally striking contrast. In the
little coast-strip of Achaia, in the territory once appertaining to ^geium, there
lies on the west a fertile corn-land. Here prevailed the cult of broad-bosomed
Gsea, Mother Earth under another name. On the east rise the mountains,
^ Now known as to oros = the Mountain simply, or as the Mount Elias.
2 For the ceremony used on Mount Lycseus in times of drought, see Paus. viii. 38, 3.
3 This whole subject and the connection of Athena with the three Dew-sisters, Aglaurus,
Pandrosus, and Herse, and the mysterious Errephoroi, the child-priestesses of the goddess, is
admirably treated in the Physikalische Geoyraphie von Griechenland, of Neumann and Partsch,
p. 25 et seq., to which we refer the reader. See also Hellas, pp. 122 and 266.
THE PREHISTORIC PERIOD
229
unsuited to agricultural pursuits, and here the patron deity was Artemis Agro-
tera, goddess of the chase (E. Curtius, /W., i. 477). Can anything be more
instructive as to the great motive-power in early times ? Again, as illustrative
of the close connection between the land and the nature-religion which arises
in it, we may note that Demeter, Earth-mother, bore at Thelpusa in Arcadia
the name of Erinys, Fury (Paus. viii. 42 ; cf. Welcker, 2, 492), an epithet which
indeed the local legend explained in its own way, but which is only deciphered
by the storms and floods of an Arcadian winter. At Phigalia, in the same
country, she was known as Melaina, the Black Demeter. Here she is said to
have retired into a cave, mourning the daughter of whom she had been robbed
— Kora-Persephone, the lost vegetation of summer. If we would know why
Mother Earth put on her black robe at Phigalia specially, the reason is not far
to seek, for Phigalia is a wild and lonely spot, lying among the hills, and pos-
sessed of no fruitful plain such as the other Greek cities could boast of. Here
Mother Earth might well lament for her lost offspring. In historic times, the
barrenness of the spot and the frequent famines resulting therefrom combined
to send forth more Phigalians to foreign service than came from any other
canton of Arcadia (Paus. viii. 42 ; Curtius, Pe/., i. 318 et seq.).
Closely connected with the sense of dependence is the instinct of self-pre-
servation, the feeling of the need of protection. This too, as we might sup-
pose, finds expression in the religion of early times, especially in the worship
of Poseidon. The cult of this deity, as god of fresh water,i may or may not
have accompanied the Aryans into Greece. In either case, it received its chief
impetus when the Greeks came face to face with the dangers of the sea, the
flood, and the earthquake. Everywhere (as we have already seen, p. 149)
along the sea-coast, and in districts exposed to earthquake-shocks, such as
Achaia, and to floods, as Boeotia and Arcadia, Poseidon was worshipped —
simply as an outcome of the instinct of self-preservation — a fact which puts to
flight two ingenious theories about the "origin " of religion. There have not
been wanting those who maintain that "religion" in its beginnings was a
device of rulers to keep the ruled-over in check by the terrors of the world to
come ; whilst another school of philosophers tells us that religion was '* evolved "
as a pretty pastime when society had advanced so far as to possess a leisured
class in want of something to fill up its time and thoughts.
The absurdity of both theories is evident when we bring ourselves face to
face with early times. Religion proceeded neither from a ruling nor a leisured
class — it is the child neither of statecraft nor of luxury, but of stern necessity.
It springs from the most universal, most imperative needs of human nature.
Statesmanship made use of religion, luxury embellished its outward forms ;
but religion itself was in existence before either the one or the other. The
facts disclosed by the nature of the land, and the other fact that human nature
has ever been the same, are of themselves sufficient to teach us this, that in
Greece, at least, religion sprang up among the people. It was simply the cry
of the human heart for help against evils with which it was powerless to cope.
Imagine a man tossing in his little skiff helplessly amid the breakers, or
brought face to face with the horrors of the flood or the earthquake, would
such an one want any teacher to bid him cry to the Power that had raised
those giant forces and could control them ? We trow not. The chieftains or
the wise men of the clan might invent a name for the Power — to invent the
Power itself, or the instinct which turned to it for help, was beyond them.
We take our stand, then, on a very humble but a very real instinct as the
^ See under "Poseidon," Hellas, p. 204; also footnote on Poseidon Phytalmios = Plant-
nourisher, p. 235.
230 RELIGION
basis of the Greek religion, the instinct which bade the people look up to the
blue heavens as the dwelling of the Great Father, the Giver of all good things.
Zeus worshipped icithoid Temples or Images. — Another fact, and one of
extreme significance, is that Zeus was worshipped in the earliest times without
either temple or image. This is a custom which we may safely regard as a
" survival " from times long antecedent to the Aryan Separation or " Aryan "
separate existence. We are apt at first, in our fear of idealising truth into
what is not truth, to imagine that the freedom of the early period from image-
worship is to be accounted for simply by the inability of the people to make or
carve images. But that a deeper feeling was at work here, that the early
Greeks really had a pious awe of attempting to depict the Unseen God, is, we
think, proved by history.
On Ithome, a Peloponnesian mountain with a magnificent, far-reaching
prospect, Zeus, the national god of Messenia, was worshipped without temple
or image. When the Messenians returned from their last banishment, they
brought with them, Pausanias tells us, from Naupactus, a statue of Zeus.
This, however, significantly enough, they did not venture to place by the altar
on Ithome ; it was kept in the house of a priest, chosen annually. The long exile
of the race (nearly 800 years had elapsed since the capture of Eira and the end
of the second Messenian war) had evidently not dimmed their recollections
of the manner in which their forefathers had worshipped the God of heaven
(Paus., iv. 33. 27 ; cf. Bursian, 2, 165).
Again, in Arcadia, on Mount Lycseus, the Mount of Light (whose summit,
commanding almost the whole of the Peloponnese, formed a fitting throne for
the god of Light), there existed down to the latest times neither temple nor
image. This is significant, as the mountain was the centre of the worship of
Zeus in Arcadia, and the Arcadians, from their conservative character, may
safely be trusted to have kept the traditions. A rude mound of earth served
for the altar, and before it, on the east, stood two pillars bearing golden eagles,
emblems of the god of the heavens (Paus., viii. 38 ; Bursian, 2, 235).
But, although the early Greeks had neither temple nor image of their
highest god, they regarded, as we know, certain objects as symbolical of him.
These were the Lightning, the Eagle, and the Oak-tree. The lightning sceptre
of the king of heaven requires no explanation as a symbol ; neither does the
eagle, the bird which can wing its flight into the blue depths of heaven beyond
the reach of human eye. But why the oak? From its majestic appearance
as monarch of the forest? Undoubtedly this may have been partly the
reason of the choice, but there was another and a deeper reason, to which E.
Curtius's eloquent description of Lycseus, the mountain which we have just
visited, as the centre of this Arcadian Zeus-worship, shall give us the clue
{Pel., i. 299): "With his head resting in and collecting the clouds — with his
slopes everywhere hospitable, clad with oaks bearing edible acorns and nourish-
ing plants — with numerous streams springing in all directions from his mighty
feet — Mount Lycaeus was the most glorious image of the indestructible and
beneficial power working in nature, and therefore, according to Pelasgian
belief, an image of Zeus himself, who constantly makes his blessings to drop
upon the land, and gathers around him the dwellings of men." What better
symbol of the Great Father could these poor children of Nature, pressed by
hard necessity, find than the tree which, without care or forethought on their
part, made provision for them in time of dearth, the tree which, as Hesiod
expressly tells us {Op.), Zeus had given to the pious and good, " to bear
acorns on its summits and bees " (makers of the wild honey, which formed the
one luxury of prehistoric times) "in its middle." "The lofty oak of Father
THE PREHISTORIC PERIOD 231
Zeus," as Homer calls it in one passage, was indeed what he calls it in another
{Iliad, vii. 60; v. 693), ^en^a//es = literally, "beautiful all round," good in
every sense. The oak was the emblem of beneficence, and therefore it was, in
all probability, that the messages of the Father to his earthly children were
believed to be whispered amid and by the rustling leaves of the oaks of
Dodona to those who could understand and reveal his will.
And just as Father Zeus, before the days of visible representation of
images and statues, had his emblems or symbols, so the minor deities had
theirs. Some of these emblems — evidently the results of progress of later
days, such as the olive of Athena, the laurel of Apollo, the myrtle of Aphrodite,
the trident of Poseidon — are either significant and beautiful, or interesting.^
In early times, however, symbols of a much ruder nature appear to have been
used. Hera, e.g., was represented by a plank, Apollo by a pillar, and Pausanias
mentions that he saw in the market-place of Pharse, in Achaia, thirty square
stones, each of which bore the name of a deity. These stones, he infers
(7, 22), were survivals from times when the Greeks paid the honours due to
the gods before unhewn stones instead of statues. ^
Evidence of the Monuments. — To the belief that in the earliest times Zeus
ruled alone, and was worshipped without image or temple, the recent excava-
tions both in Greece and Asia Minor bear witness. Neither at Mycenae,
Tiryns, nor Hissarlik (Troy) is there a trace of any building devoted to
worship (Adeler in Schliemann's Tiryns, v.), although the discovery of altars
puts beyond doubt the existence of religious feeling.
Further, there is no indication of idol-worship of home-growth in the pit-
graves belonging to the earliest Mycensean period (Nos. III., lY., and Y.)
(Schuchhardt, p. 320). The little golden temple models and images with doves
point to Astarte and Phoenicia, the sitting figure of Oybele to Phrygia, the
ox-heads to Caria. On the other hand, in the pit-graves of the next period
(Nos. I., II., and YI.), which may be from fifty to a hundred years later, clay
idols, evidently of home manufacture, occur sparingly ; whilst on the Acropolis,
in the palace, and in the poor graves of the lower city, all belonging to the
latest Mycensean development, such idols abound (Schuchhardt, p. 322).
Again, on the walls of the palace at Mycenae there is a very curious
painting, representing three figures with asses' heads, carrying on their
shoulders a long staff, which is passed from one to the other. These figures
are probably satyrs, forest demons, supposed to be on their way to the chase ;
from the staff will be suspended any game which they may catch. ^ On this
fresco Schuchhardt has the following comment (327) : "These beings had a
much greater significance in the older period than later, for it is becoming
^ The trident of Poseidon especially has tested the ingenuity of interpreters. All shades
of meaning have been read into its three prongs, from the triple sovereignty of the world down
to the harpooning of fish.
2 The existence of these symbols in the earliest times has of late years acquired a strange
importance in the use which has been made of them by the upholders of the "fetish" theory
of the origin of religion — the supposition, that is, that religion took its rise in the fear and
dread of, and consequent honour or worship paid to certain objects believed to possess magical
powers.
With fetish-worship in general we are not concerned here, but the notion that fetish-
worship prevailed amongst the early G-reeks is one that cannot be too clearly contradicted.
Closely connected, moreover, with " fetish- worship " by certain upholders of the theory is
" ancestor-worship," and the existence of this also in early Greece must be emphatically
denied.
^ Similar forms, generally with birds' claws and asses' heads, bearing the products of the
chase, are engraved also on the so-called " island gems " which belong to the Mycenaean culture.
(Milchhofer, Anfdnge der Kunst, No. 44 g.)
232 RELIGION
more and more evident that the religion of the Greeks proceeded from
Monotheism, from the worship of Zeus, the sole ruler, to whom all other
nature-powers, in just such forms as these mixed beings, were subject."
So far as the mountain and forest gnomes and pixies are concerned, we
concur in this interpretation ; but it must be borne in mind that the Greeks
never caricatured the great nature-powers. A Homer might think himself
free to make fun of laughter-loving Aphrodite attempting the heroic, and of
blustering Ares playing the coward ; but no painter or sculptor would for a
moment have thought of depicting either the one or the other save in that
" human form divine " which best realised his own conception of beauty or
of manly vigour. We are inclined to think that this fresco, together' with a
tablet also belonging to the palace, and representing two women sacrificing,
are the work of foreign artists.
Summary. — The first period of the prehistoric religion of Greece, so far as
we can trace it in names and monuments, may be well summed up in the
eloquent words of E. Curtius (Hist., trans, by Word., i. 51): "The Pelasgi,
like their equals among the branches of the Aryan family, the Persians and
Germans, worshipped the Supreme God, without images or temples.
" This pure and chaste worship of the godlike Pelasgi is not only preserved
as a pious tradition of antiquity, but in the midst of Greece, when it abounded
with images and temples, there flamed as of old on the mountains the altars
of Him who dwelleth not in temples made with hands. . . . Long, too, the
people retained a pious dread of representing the Divine Being under a fixed
name, or by symbols recognisable by the senses. For besides the altar of the
' Unknown,' whom Paul acknowledged as the Living God, there stood, here
and there in the towns, altars to the ' pure,' the ' great,' the * merciful ' gods ;
and by far the greater number of the names of the Greek gods are originally
mere epithets of the unknown deity."
Aristotle himself recognised in the popular religion of his time relics of
something better. The myths, he said, contained the oldest ideas of God and
of nature ; but this ancient wisdom had been lost and forgotten ; fragments
only remained, for the conceptions of the primeval age had been pushed into
the background by anthropomorphic representations (Metaph., ii. 8).
NATURE WORSHIP
We now come to the second stage in the Greek religion, that stage of which
explanations so many and so diverse have been offered. The best solution of
the mystery will be found, we venture to think, in bringing to bear upon this
particular experiment the definition of experiments in general given by a great
philosopher. " An experiment," said Bacon, " is a question put to Nature."
Link this with St. Paul's pselaphan, " the groping in the dark," and we shall
understand how the myths arose.
The question put by the old patriarch in his blindness, as he touched the
unknown figure kneeling before him, " Art thou indeed my son, my. very
son?"i was repeated in its essence by these first thinkers to each great
eilementary power in nature — the great and strong wind, the earthquake, the
fire, the sun, the moon, and the dawn.
" Art thou indeed divine ? Art thou the child, the very child, of Zeus, our
Father. in the heavens ? "
^ I Kings xix. 11 et seq.
NATURE WORSHIP
233
And the answer seems to come back, " Yea ! " and was believed, for it had
in it an element of truth.
The Active Principle of Nature. — We fail to see indeed how, in the early
stage of human thought, any other answer could suffice. Let us imagine a
visitor arriving upon our earth from some planet governed by natural laws
other than those in operation here. Let such an one watch the sudden tran-
sition in a southern climate from the gloom of winter to the luxuriance of the
spring-time, the trees hiding themselves beneath their " leafy tresses," the dark
earth sending forth green shoots, the shoots sending forth in turn buds and
blossoms, snowy or many-coloured, the blossoms changing into glowing fruit.
What conclusion could our visitor come to than that earth, trees, blossoms, were
divine ; that a divine force, i.e. a force infinitely surpassing anything which he
himself could devise or accomplish, was at work within ? It is only our own
familiarity with such phenomena that blinds us to the constant miracle going
on before our eyes.
Religion and Mythology. — The rise of mythology, then, seems to have been
an absolute necessity, a phase which must be passed through if human faculties
were to be developed to the full. It formed a part of the discipline of the
seeking. Men were to use the powers of the intellect and of the imagination,
to listen to the impulse which bade them seek for the great First Cause of life,
to follow out the instinct which made them love the beautiful — in a word, to
put forth on every side a tentative hand and feel after God, if haply they might
find Him.
That these seekers made grievous mistakes, that they often took sweet for
bitter and bitter for sweet, is not this just what is to be expected from gropers
in the dark ?
" Yes," says a reader ; *' but where is the necessity for the groping ? Why
did not the Great Farther reveal Himself fully to the world at once ? "
Who knoweth the mind of the Lord, or who hath been His counsellor?
May not the reason have been simply that the world was not prepared to
receive the revelation ? Man must come to the very limit of his own powers
before God can step in, and that limit was not reached until every human
faculty had been developed to the utmost. This is a necessary consequence of
the free-will wherewith God has endowed His creatures at the outset. God
respects and respected man's free-will, and therefore, if we may venture to use
an " anthropomorphic " expression, God stood aside, gave man freest scope for
all his powers, and watched the progress of the experiment.
The attitude of God throughout is one of waiting. As St. Paul says : " The
times of this ignorance God overlooked." ^ He passed over the mistakes, the
misrepresentations of Himself, for the sake of the fifty, or the forty, or the
thirty, or the twenty, or the ten real seekers after Him to be found among the
nations of antiquity .2
To suppose, however, that God, the Moral Ruler of the universe, could suffer
Himself to be put aside entirely by His creatures, were to make a mistake as
grievous as any committed by those early myth-makers. Such a conception of
our God, the Judge of all the earth, is impossible. God was not far from any
one of those to whom He gave the right of free-will and freedom of choice and
of action, and again and again, in the history of antiquity, we see His power put
forth unmistakably to readjust the moral balance disturbed by the pretensions
of the creature, and vindicate His own cause — the cause of justice and of truth.
God never withdrew Himself entirely ; the stream of religion — of that which
unites man to his God — flows throughout the whole of antiquity just as
^ Acts xvii. 30. 2 Gen, xviii. 23, et seq.
234 RELIGION
certainly as does the stream of mythology. Generally the course of each is
distinctly marked. Sometimes the two streams join and flow together, for
God could use a myth in ancient days to convey a divine truth, as, later, He
could use a parable.
What we propose to do in the following pages is to follow, as best we can,
the course of the divine stream, the stream of true religious thought among
the Greeks, and to separate it as far as possible from the encroachments of
mythology.
This being our object, the myths can receive here only such attention as is
necessary for our purpose. The reader, however, will find the subject fully
treated in the companion volume, to which (or to some other work, such as
Mr. Murray's admirable manual) we refer him for details. Apart from reli-
gious considerations altogether, Greek mythology represents a great and, in
some respects, most beautiful experiment or series of experiments, and one,
the study of which is indispensable, not only because it is the record of a stage
of human thought which, from the nature of things, can never repeat itself,
but also on account of the manner in which it has been interwoven into the
literature of all succeeding times — our own literature not excepted.
Anthropomorphism. — Now there were two ways in which it was open to
primitive man to represent the beings whom he conceived of as existing in
Nature — he could give them the forms which he saw around him in the animal
world, or he could enshrine them in the image of man.
The Greeks, as we know, chose the latter, and indisputably the nobler
alternative. They alone of all ancient peoples had a presentiment of the fact
that man was made in the image of God. It was because they dimly felt the
truth of this that they reversed the saying, and made their gods in the image
of man. The Moloch of the Phoenicians was represented with a human figure
indeed, but a bull's head. The Egyptian Ptah, the supreme god, "the only
unbegotten begetter in the heaven and on the earth ; the god who made him-
self to be god, who exists by himself," as he is described on a pillar of Memphis
(now in the Museum at Berlin) (De Rouge, Revue ArcheoL, i860, i. 357).
This deity of creation and the beginning is depicted on the monuments with a
beetle on his shoulders in place of a human head. The highest god of the
Greeks alone appears in all the majesty of the human form in the grand Ideal
of Pheidias, the Zeus of Olympia.
We are yet, however, a long way from Pheidias, and the question may not
unreasonably be asked : Did not the Hellenes themselves pass through that
phase of animal worship which is seen in the religions of other peoples?
Animals, with their keen senses, their early independence, their wonderful
powers of self-preservation, must have excited in no small degree the admira-
tion of primitive man — himself so utterly defenceless against the forces of
nature, against even the sharp " snow-arrows" of the winter.
We know, it may be urged, that among the things unearthed by Dr. Schlie-
mann at Mycenae [Mycenge, p. 105, et seq.) are little images of cows, signet-
rings stamped with a cow-head, &c.i We know also that in the Iliad, Athena
and Apollo are represented as sitting in the form of vultures on the lofty oak
of Father Zeus to watch the combat between Hector and Ajax (Iliad, vii. 60),
and in the Odyssey, again, Athena flies up to the roof -timbers of the hall of
Odysseus in the form of a swallow to watch the slaying of the suitors (Od., xxii.
240). Again, may not certain Homeric epithets, e.g. glaukopis (owl-eyed, or
bright-eyed), as applied to Athena, bo-opis (cow-eyed), as applied to Hera and
1 The cow is the symbol of the horned moon, and as such of To, the Argive priestess of Hera,
or it may be of Hera herself.
NATURE WORSHIP / 235
others — have had their origin in this way ? Must we not deduce from these
facts that the Greeks associated animals in some way with their gods ?
Undoubtedly, but only as symbols, or as forms, which the gods could
assume at pleasure. We must not confound a temporary " metamorphosis "
with an " incarnation." Of an animal-worship such as existed in Egypt there
is not a trace in Greece. From this degradation the Greek was saved, by a
principle which, although only expressed in words to our knowledge at a very
much later period, must nevertheless have been active from the first. To the
early as to the later Greek, " man " was " the measure of all things." That an
upward-looker could consent to measui'e himself by the animals was impossible.
In that Ode of Sophocles, the grand ode from the Antigone to which we have
so often already referred, man is described as showing his supremacy, not only
by making his way across the stormy deep, not only by inventing language and
oratory, but by taming the never- tamed ox of the mountain. The Egyptians
might bow down to the bull Apis — the Hellene threw a yoke over his neck.
The Egyptians continued their animal worship to the end. The Hellenes
emerged even from the " metamorphic " stage as a butterfly from its chrysalis.
The gods are metamorphosed in Homer — never in ^schylus or in Sophocles.
Extent of Personification. — The tendency to personification was at all times
a living force among the Greeks. They personified, at this early period, every
element, well-nigh every physical feature in nature, as at a later period they
personified every quality of the mind, every virtue of the citizen.
It is not our intention to linger over Greek achievements in this way ; but
a brief resume may be acceptable to those who have as yet formed no precise
idea of the extent to which personification was carried.
" The immortals " were not the creation either of Homer or of Hesiod.
Some of them, as we have seen, travelled into Greece with the Aryans from
the Old Home ; others grew up among the mountains, in lonely forest glens,
by river-banks, and on the sea. To enumerate all the wondrous beings by
whom the Greeks fancied the world peopled would outrun our space, since
every phenomenon, every changeful feature, even in earth, sky, and sea, had
its appropriate, divine representative. Let us, however, take a glance at these
bright beings, and let us note in passing that they are more numerous than
would appear from Homer. The Father of Poetry is no catalogue-maker, he
is an artist who simply takes what he needs out of the existing whole for the
purpose in hand. For our purpose, however, a catalogue is necessary, and we
shall not scruple, therefore, to introduce into it beings whom we know from
sources other than Homeric, since the mere fact of their not being mentioned
by Homer does not warrant us in assuming that they were not known to him.^
(i) To begin, then, with the heavens, the serene upper air is the abode \rj^^
of the Heaven-father, Zeus ; the gleaming lower air, agitated by every passing
wind-current, is represented by his consort, " gusty-tempered," white-armed
Hera ; the pure, bright aether by his daughter, bright-eyed Athena. The dawn
is rosy-fingered Eos, brilliant in saffron robe and chariot, drawn by glancing
steeds ; the faint light that steals across the sky to announce her approach is
her husband, Tithonus, a grey old man, weary of the burden of an immortality
robbed of youth, the changeful twilight now living, now dying, has its repre-
sentative in the love of the Dioscuri, the twin-brothers who dwell alternately
beneath the dark earth and in the golden house of heaven.
The sun, wandering on high in his splendour, is Hyperion ; riding across
^ In our catalogue we have followed the interpretation which best suits the current myths
about the divinity in question. There are, however, in several cases, nearly as many inter-
pretations as commentators (see Hellas, under the diflferent articles).
236 RELIGION
the heavens in his glittering chariot, he is Helios. Shooting forth his glowing
arrows, now in goodwill, now in wrath, he is the pure sunlight, the far-darter,
golden-haired Apollo. Struggling against the powers of desolation and the
monsters of darkness, he is the demi-god Heracles, or the hero Perseus, or the
Lycian Bellerophon. Scorching, devouring his own offspring, he is Tantalus ;
perpetually ascending and descending, he is Sisyphus ; chained to his daily
task, he is Ixion ; sinking into the western waters, he is Endymion.
The vault of heaven itself, firm and steadfast, is the ancient Aryan Uranus ;
the dark heaven, calm and peaceful, is the gentle Leto, " ever ready to forgive
and forget ; " the glittering starry firmament is Asteria.
The bright lady of the heavens, the moon-orb, is Selene ; the wandering,
changeful moon is unhappy, persecuted lo ; the silvery moon-rays, darting
through the clear air, are shot by the huntress Artemis ; the faint moon-beams,
peering down on lonely cross-roads and through the straggling forest boughs,
betoken the nearness of awesome Hecate.
Each star has a story to tell : the Great Bear is an Arcadian princess ; the
Little Bear is her son ; near them watches the fierce hunter Orion, with his
fiercer dog Sirius, eager to chase the seven Pleiades, who go on with their
circling dance, secure that he can never reach them. One of the Pleiades has
fallen from her place and wanders through the heavens with dishevelled locks
as a comet ; she is Electra, mother of the Dardanian race, distraught with
grief at the fall of Troy. Iris, the rainbow, with head in the heavens and
feet on earth, is the Messenger of Zeus ; Hermes, the wing-shod musical
Breeze, is his Herald ; in the black thunder-cloud the Erinyes stand ready at
his command to pursue the evil-doer, and lash him with their scourge, the
writhing lightning. The roaring wind and conflict of the elements is furious
Ares, bane of mortals, god of war ; the balmy west wind, wedded to Chloris
the flowery Spring, is Zephyrus ; an audacious fellow with streaming locks is
Boreas, the north-wind, carrying off the Mist-Maiden Oreithyia ; still fiercer
and more rapacious are the never-to-be-satisfied, always-ready-for-mischief
Harpies, the Whirlwinds.
(2) Then if we turn to the Sea — that realm which is distinctly Hellenic —
what a superabundance of vigorously-conceived images rise from out its misty
depths ! The monarch of all, choleric and unrelenting as the deep itself, is
Poseidon, the dark-haired Earth-Shaker ; the sighing of the sea is his consort,
" much-moaning Amphitrite, the gentle Nereid compelled against her will
to wed the gruff sea-king. The Dawn, rising out of the foam with splendour
far surpassing that of rosy-fingered Eos on earth, is Aphrodite, goddess of
Beauty.
The mobile play of the waters, ever-changing, never at rest, is Proteus of
many forms. The calm, friendly deep, willingly lending his broad back for the
service of men, is Nereus, the Aged Man of the Sea, trusty and truthful ; the
waves, sparkling in the sunlight, and the other charms of the peaceful sea, are
his fifty daughters, Amphitrite the Sea-Queen, silver-footed Thetis, mother of
Achilles, Galatea, beloved of the giant, one-eyed Polyphemus, and the hapless
Acis — and their sisters, who dance on the silvery sands, and dwell beneath the
deep in glittering caverns.
The keeper of the Sea- Winds is ^olus, who has his home in a steep rock-
bound isle, where his six lusty sons, the strong gales, and his six daughters, the
milder breezes, keep up a perpetual feast of boisterous merriment. The shrill
blast that whistles through sails and cordage and betokens the coming storm,
is Triton, son of the sea-king, as he blows on his shell-horn, and orders out
winds and waves to the contest. The white foam that crests the waves after a
NATURE WORSHIP 237
storm has passed is Ino, the daughter of Theban Cadmus, now a goddess,
Leucothea, with her son Palsemon, the succourer of mariners.
The doleful moan that strikes terror to the heart of the sailor, cowering
in the night in the hold of his ship, is the voice of the unfortunate Glaucus,
as he makes the circuit of the ^gaean in his huge battered old body, and
laments that he cannot die.
The wild, cruel sea, with its mysterious depths and grey dimly-lit caverns
tenanted by creatures fierce and uncouth, is pictured in Phorkys and Keto and
their offspring. The whirlpool, gurgling and sucking in its prey, is Scylla —
once a lovely maiden, now a six-headed monster — yelping and fishing for her
food ; gulping down the black water and spouting it forth with a mighty roar,
it is Charybdis. The sunken rocks on which many a vessel has struck are
the playground of the Sirens, who have lured the wi bless mariner on to his
destruction.
(3) Nor is Earth herself — that glorious land of mountain and forest — less
fertile in bringing forth images of truth and beauty. The Great Mother,
Earth, has many representatives — broad-bosomed Geea, parent of gods and
Titans and Men ; law-abiding Thetis, mother of the Horae, the Seasons,
bringing in, in their order, both blossoms and fruits ; turret-crowned Rhea (the
Phrygian Oybele, the Mountain-Mother), mother of cities, "mother of the
gods " par excellence, of the reigning deities of Olympus : — all these we see,
and others besides, paling before the highest embodiment of motherly love,
golden-haired Demeter — now black-robed, narcissus- wreathed, mourning for her
daughter — now glorious in her beauty, light-glancing, crowned with the wheat-
ears, the " corns of wheat" that testify to the triumph of life over death.
By her stands Cora-Persephone, the Daughter, the Maiden, herself a
rosebud, snatched away by loathsome Hades, king of terrors, '' famous for
horses " — those dread horses that are blacker than the night and swifter than
the wind — who bears her below to the regions of darkness, to re-appear again,
violet-tressed, a marvel to gods and men, in the beauty of spring.
By the Mother and the Daughter stands vine-garlanded Dionysus, son of the
Lightning, god of the fertility of autumn, with his sleeping bride Ariadne, the
dying blossoms of the spring.
In the forest to the Hellene every object was full of life. Every tree
had its Dryad or its Hamadryad, growing with its growth, sometimes dying
with its death, trembling or indignant at the touch of the woodman's axe.
The fallen pinetree tells the story of Pitys ; the silver poplars with their
shining leaves say plainly that they are Heliades, daughters of the sun ; the
roses red and white — the anemones too — have sprung from the blood of Adonis
and the tears of Aphrodite ; the hyacinth and the juniper send forth their
fragrance because they were once beloved of the glowing sun-god ; the humble
mint owes its perfume to the fact that it was trodden underfoot of a goddess.
When the trees of the forest rustle, the Nymphs are dancing hard by ; when
the wind pipes shrilly overhead, they are fleeing from the odious goat-horned
Satyrs ; when there is perfect stillness, and the lonely traveller, threading his
way amid the thick underwood, hears no sound but the crackling of the leaves
beneath his feet, the eerie feeling that creeps over him is the work of Pan,
who will shortly make him take to his heels in a pan-ic. When he has
fairly got beyond the reach of the frolicsome shepherd-god and emerged into
the open, he is still surrounded by the unseen. The mountain-echo still
laments for Narcissus, the meadow-nymphs for Eurydike.
Every cave has its guardian-nymphs who, clad in purple, sit weaving the
green mantle of earth. Every running brook, every spring, has its deity — its
238 KELIGION
purifying, sparkling, exhilarating muse ; every river its lordly reed-crowned
prince, benign and beneficent, or blustering and boisterous, as the case may be,
and the character of his stream will clearly reveal.
If we wend our way to the homes and haunts of men, we do not leave
the Nature-power behind : Hestia glows in the pure flame on the hearth ;
Hephaestus directs the labours of the craftsman ; Prometheus, at the cost of
ages of suffering, has won for the children of men the means of enduring
existence. The Oharites, the three lovely Sister Graces, are there to make that
existence a sweet and joyous thing, to refine by their presence the pleasures
of life.
Such were some of the ways, great and small, in which the Hellenes
depicted the Unseen, as they conceived it to exist on every side. Nor does
our little catalogue by any means exhaust the list. There still remain
many personifications of physical phenomena necessarily passed over here,
for which we must refer the reader to the companion volume on mythology.
There remains also that still more wonderful class of personifications, — those
relating to conscience and the moral world, which, as belonging properly to
our present subject, will engage our attention later on. Meantime, our
catalogue, brief as it is, is significant enough. It has shown us : —
(i) The wide range of personification and the extremely varied nature
of the Greek myths. It follows from these two characteristics that no one
key, no one mode of interpretation, will fit all the myths ; neither the " Dawn,"
nor the " Solar," nor the " Storm-cloud," nor the " Survival," nor the
*• Geographical," nor any other single theory ever put forward will give us a
clue to the entire meaning of the Greek mythology. We want every one
of these theories in its own place ; but no single one is applicable to all the
myths or to more than a limited section of them.
The reason of this is evident. The Greek myths grew up during many
centuries, under widely-varying conditions, and must have been the work of
many minds differing intrinsically from one another. They grew up,
moreover, in days when painting was not, when sculpture was not, when
science, when history was not. Any one, therefore, who had a thought —
whether true, or beautiful, or merely out of the common — was obliged, if the
creative instinct within urged him to give utterance to his thought, to wrap
it in the form of a story ^ in order that he might find an audience.
Greek mythology, therefore, represents to us as a whole the earliest Greek
literature, sacred and secular. It is a mistake to imagine that the content of
the myths is wholly religious. Some myths indeed had from the beginning,
and some developed, a truly religious and divine character ; but others are
simply beautiful with the beauty of nature. Some myths are pathetic with
an intensely human pathos ; others are allegorical tales, or simply Mdhrchen,
which seem to be the common property of all mankind, as, e.g., some of the
myths of the Odyssey. A few of the later myths (such as those in Hesiod,
undoubtedly borrowed from foreign sources when the home mythopoeic
fountain had become exhausted) are either grotesque or absolutely repulsive.
To take then the whole range of Greek personification, and cry : " Behold
the Greek religion ! " is an error. It is, as we have said, wiser and more in
accordance with facts to regard the myths collectively as representing the
earliest literature.
1 " Only the People can make a Mythos." "The People can make a Mythos only."
" No intellectual activity of any primitive people has come down to us except such as is
preserved in the form of Myth and Saga." (K. 0. Muller, Die Minyce, p. I145 ; cf.
O. Gruppe, Culten und My then, p. 61.)
NATURE WORSHIP
239
(2) When we think, secondly, of the wealth of fancy lavished upon the
myths, and still more of the extraordinary manner in which some mental
quality is interwoven into the very texture, as it were, of the physical basis,
so that the representative of a nature-iovce became the embodiment of a moral
or intellectual power, we stand amazed. How the process was effected remains
a mystery. " Let no one imagine," says Welcker (i. p. 230), " that with all
his thinking he will ever unravel the whole puzzle. The nature-power is the
chrysalis enwrapt by the mythical threads ; from these it emerges a divine-
human person." So complete is the transformation that the physical basis has
all but disappeared. When the later Greek thought of Apollo, or Athena,
or Demeter, he thought not of the sunlight, or the dawn, or the aether, or the
earth, but of poetry and intellectual energy, and the great mother. To those
who have studied the Greek mythology there is little exaggeration in Welcker's
declaration (i., p. 230) that " in comparison with the great deed of Greek
intellect, the calling into existence of these gods, the voyage of the A7'go and
the Trojan war, yea, and the songs which celebrated that war, are but the
plays of a nation strong in the strength of youth."
Moral Ideas : Sin and Sacrifice. — At the present day, the favourite mode
of viewing the period during which the myths arose, expresses itself in that
most convenient of phrases, " the childhood of the world." We very much
doubt whether, so far as the Greeks are concerned, there ever was a
*' childhood " in the sense in which the phrase is apt to be construed. Granted
that in some ways primitive man, with his limited stock of knowledge, may be
truly compared to a child, yet the comparison does not hold good throughout.
Hence no idea is more calculated to mislead us than this " childhood of the
world " phrase, and Gruppe has done good service by protesting against its
abuse (p. 199). Man, in his primitive state, and the child have hardly
anything in common except this — that both go to work within a small circle
of ideas. The modes in which they respectively widen the circle, however,
are diametrically opposed. Primitive man (and also the savage, in so far as
he does not come into contact with civilised races) can only emerge from his
ignorance by productive activity — one experiment leading on to another — where-
as the attitude of the child, to whom the results of this activity are presented
ready-made, is essentially receptive.
We shall see the truth of these remarks if we call to mind what we know
of the Greeks before they could have been subjected to foreign influences.
Think of the wondrous development of the language— both of the mother -
tongue by the united Aryans and of Greek by the Greeks — of the endurance,
foresight, and ingenuity needed to cope with Nature in a country like Greece ;
of the migrations of the tribes, the " colonising " of Hellas, the mother-country
itself ; think of all these factors, and it will become evident that the pre-
historic Greeks could not have been "children " in any true sense of the word.
They were compelled by the necessity of self-preservation to use their judgment
and their reasoning powers, and that they did use both the result proves. Nor
can we think that in the moral realm the phrase is more appropriate. St. Paul's
" groping in the dark " is far more truthful. The prehistoric period was a stern
time, by no means the "golden age" of the poets. The hardships to be endured
were great, and in due proportion, doubtless, were ±he cruelties perpetrated.
Life itself was held cheap ; children were the absolute property of the father,
to be expose4 or saved alive at his good pleasure ; the blood -feud, the duty of
revenge, was a sacred obligation. Nevertheless, these "gropers" did grope;
they did not live on in moral apathy — they did strive both to see the light and
do the right. It was in these dark, hard times that the development of the
240 RELIGION
moral ideas, which we shall shortly see in Homer, took place. The Themistes,
the grand natural laws that keep together the social order, expanded to embrace
a wider circle, and took deeper root at home ; Dike, justice, the " way pointed
out " by the better self, was more implicitly followed by that self ; Eteon, truth,
the thing which is, separated itself more clearly from its shadow, the thing
which is not. In a word, amid all the marching and counter-maiching of the
tribes, amid all the harshnesses and barbarities of the period, the foundations,
the ethical bases of all true social life, were being slowly but surely laid.
These foundations, the Themistes of Zeus, still echo for us in the words of
Sophocles (Oed. Tyr., 863 et see/. ; Bergk, 330) : —
" Those laws of range sublime, called into life throughout the high clear
heaven, whose father is Olympus alone ; their parent was no race of mortal
men, no, nor shall oblivion ever lay them to sleep ; the god is mighty in them,
and he grows not old " ( Jebb).
The idea of sin, in so far as it can be traced in the old sagas, was, of course,
confined to the transgression of those great elementary natural laws.
The stories of Tantalus, Sisyphus, and Ixion, of Athamas and Lycaon, of
Orestes and QEdipus, all sprang up during this period. We know them, of
course, only in later forms, but, one and all, they involved primarily the notion
of moral guilt, and of punishment as an inevitable consequence of that guilt.
There can be little doubt that some of the actors in these stories (as, e.g., the
first three named, the great sinners undergoing punishment in' Homer's lower
world) were originally personifications of physical phenomena ; but, once
personified, they became types of human sin, the shedding of innocent blood,
presumption, bad faith, and ingratitude.
With the sagas of Athamas and Lycaon is associated human sacrifice, a
practice which Gruppe takes to be of comparatively late origin (Gruppe, p. 139),
inasmuch as it is not mentioned either in the oldest portions of the Veda or in
Homer. We may, perhaps, consider the first portion of the prehistoric epoch
in Greece to have been free from it. The Greeks probably learned the practice
from the PhcBnicians ; but it must have spread rapidly, inasmuch as we find it
connected with the cults of Zeus, Artemis, and Dionysus.
Horrible as the custom is, it accords only too well with what we know
of primitive notions. Human life in early times was invested with no such
sanctity as clings around it now. Contradictory as it seems to us, moreover,
the practice may have originated in a good intention. "The nobler the
victim, the more honouring to the god," would seem to have been the motive,
leavened often enough, no doubt, as in the case of prisoners of war, by feelings
of revenge and race-antipathies. A long period of development, and of that
moral experimenting which we call " reasoning," had to be gone through before
social customs were softened so that the Greek could argue from himself to his
God, and see that if the sacrifice of a human being was revolting to him, it
must be infinitely more so to the Being whom he worshipped as superior to
himself.
That the Hellenes did eventually come to see this is one point in which,
as compared with neighbouring nations, they showed their greatness. The
Phoenicians never saw it ; they were quite content to sit down in the darkness,
to go on century after century sacrificing to Moloch, in their selfish blindness,
holocausts of infants. Their conception of the deity never rose higher than
that he took pleasure in such proceedings, whereas the Hellenes, the upward-
lookers, came to regard the practice with horror. Even amongst them it
lingered on in remote places, as in the Arcadian cult of the Lycsean Zeus, far
into historic times {Pans., viii. 38) ; but the Arcadians were centuries behind
NATURE WORSHIP 241
their brethren in the march of civilisation. Gradually the more enlightened
races of Hellas abolished the practice, substituting for the innocent human
victim a criminal who had deserved death, an animal, or a scourging volun-
tarily borne, as in the cult of Artemis Laphria in Sparta. True, during the
Persian wars, in an outbreak of popular excitement, we find prisoners sacrificed
to Dionysus Omestes, but the practice was utterly repugnant to true Hellenic
feeling, and in the fifth and fourth centuries B.C., throughout the greater part
of Hellas it gradually died out.
In such an age, however, as one that could sanction human sacrifice, if
the shadows are black, the light that breaks through them here and there is
by contrast all the brighter. Such a light we have in the practice of self-
sacrifice. The sagas of the voluntary death of Iphigenia, of Macaria, of
Moenoeceus, of Codrus, of the daughters of Erechtheus, with other similar
legends, leave no doubt that these early Hellenes — these gropers in the dark
— recognised and understood the great law of sacrifice. The essence and
root of all these sagas is the voluntary offering up of the one for the many,
of the individual for the fatherland. No one has better caught the spirit
that breathes in the action than a poet of our own time. The following noble
lines are put by Lord Tennyson into the mouth of Tiresias, the Seer who, in
the old saga of the War of the Seven against Thebes, had predicted that the
voluntary death of Moenoeceus, a scion of the royal house, was necessary to
ensure the victory to the Theban arms : —
*' My son," says the Seer —
"No sound is breathed so potent to coerce,
And to conciliate, as their names who dare
For that sweet motherland which gave them birth
Nobly to do, noblj to die. Their names,
Graven on memorial columns, are a song
Heard in the future ; few, but more than wall
And rampart, their examples reach a hand
Far thro' all years, and everywhere they meet
And kindle generous purpose, and the strength
To mould it into action pure as theirs."
Had these old sagas — the story of the self-devotion of a Moenoeceus, of an
Iphigenia, a Macaria, aught to do with the " generous purpose " that shone
forth so gloriously at Thermopylae, at Salamis, at Platsea ? — Yerily, we think
so.
§ v.— THE HOMERIC AGE.^
I.— THE SUPREMACY OF ZEUS.
^S
By the time we come to know the Greeks in Homer, they had been engaged
for centuries in making countless experiments — putting " Questions to Nature,"
and receiving answers — watching the ups and downs of life and drawing con-
clusions therefrom. The result of all these experiments embodies itself in the
practical experience which takes shape in Homer. This experience may be
expressed in three definite statements : —
1. The Greeks had found out that a great Power controls the operations of
Nature.
2. They had also found out that there is a great Power in the world which
makes for righteousness.
3. They had found out, further, that both Powers were centred in One
being, to whom they gave the highest name known to them, that of Zeus, god
of Light, the great Father in the Heavens.
In order to prove these assertions, we must ask the reader to examine with
some patience the various passages which bear upon the question. This is
indispensable to a clear understanding — not only of the religion of the Homeric
period, but of that of after ages, for the whole train of later Greek religious
thought turns upon Homer — his ideas are either accepted or rejected by the
later Greeks. Hence it is absolutely essential to know what Homer's ideas
were. We may note in passing, that the question as to the origin of the
Homeric poems does not affect our argument. Whether they are made up of
single lays, the work of several individuals, or are the product of one thinking
brain, matters not. Morally the two poems, Iliad and Odyssey, are per-
meated by one and the same kind of spirit.
The influence of Homer on his countrymen it is almost impossible to exag-
gerate ; even a Plato could not withdraw himself from it. Despite the grand
developments which took place later — the working out of the idea of the
state, the rise and progress of philosophy — despite the many factors which
might have weakened or dissipated this influence — he was no true Greek who
did not in his heart of hearts acknowledge allegiance to Homer (cf. Schmidt,
Mhik, i. 3).
I. Zeus supreme over Nature—
From all time, storm and tempest have been regarded as manifestations
of the power of the Deity. Thunder and lightning revealed the coming of
Jehovah to His ancient people,^ and among polytheistic races they have in-
variably been conceived of as attributes of the highest god alone. At the
approach of the Thunder-God darkness veils the earth, the sea is agitated, the
mountains tremble ; lightning and the crashing of the winds alike announce
the presence of the great king. But no sooner does the mighty " pulse-throb "
which has thus convulsed all Nature subside, than showers of blessing descend
to quicken and refresh, peace and serenity are restored. Thunder is thus an
^ The sections under this head are mainly based on Welcker's Griechische Gotterlehre.
2 Exodus xix. 16.
242
THE SUPREMACY OF ZEUS 243
emblem of goodness as well as of power, and in both senses it is an attribute
of Zeus. He is the " Lord of the Lightning" and ** rejoices in the thunder " ;
dread is the thunderbolt of great Zeus.
The lightning-sceptre of Zeus was the mark of his world sovereignty. It
is his most universal symbol early and late, and appears as such on the coins
of the Locrians and of many towns. The many beautiful epithets applied to
Zeus in Homer — the Cloud Gatherer, Cloud Compeller, Cloud-Enwrapt, the
High-Thundering, the Lightener, &c., &c. — are not to be considered as poetic
imagery only, but as refrains from the religious hymns of former centuries.
Kain, also, is in the gift and power of Zeus ; when he lightens, he pours
forth hail and snow on the fields (Iliad, x. 5-7) ; he sends the whirlwind
{Iliad, xii. 252); he spreads forth the tempest (Iliad, xvi. 365); he sets the
rainbow in the clouds (Iliad, xi. 27), the bright rainbow from heaven to be
a sign unto man (Iliad, xvii. 547) ; it is he also who made ^olus to be keeper
of the winds (Od., x. 21). The years are from great Zeus (Iliad, ii. 134).
Zeus on the Mountain-tops. — We have noted in a previous section that
well-nigh every lofty mountain in Greece was sacred to Zeus, and although we
hesitate to assign to the. earliest times all the meaning that might be read into
this fact, yet we think there can be little doubt that, to the Greek of the
Homeric Age, the association of Zeus with the loftiest mountain-peaks had in
it something specially significant. The mere sense of dependence on the rain-
god has passed into the sense of reverence for the supreme god.
Throughout the Iliad, whenever Zeus is specially sought for, the refrain
runs : " And they found him tarrying apart by himself," either on the top-
most peak of many-ridged Olympus, or on Gargarus, the highest crest of many-
fountained Ida. From the mountains Zeus surveys the world ; on Ida is his
domain and fragrant altar (Iliad, viii. 47) ; from a cleft of Olympus he
beholds the Achaean and Trojan hosts (Uiad, xx. 22). It has been urged that
the reason why Zeus is represented as dwelling perpetually on the mountain-
tops, is that, on his mythological side, he represents the heavens, and must be,
therefore, immovable. Such an idea of Father Zeus would never have entered
Homer's mind. This is evident from the whole tenor of the poem. Zeus
moves about freely like the other gods ; he goes to attend a feast of the
Ethiopians, and spends his time either in Olympus or on the heights of Ida,
as he chooses : " Then did the father of men and of gods sit him down on the
crests of Ida, rich in springs, from Heaven descending with the lightning in
his hands" (Uiad, i. 423). That he does not communicate personally with
men, is simply because it is not necessary. The other gods are obliged to
appear in a bodily shape of some sort when they would help their favoured
heroes ; Zeus has but to will, and the help is effectual. We read that when the
Father sends the Far-Darter to rescue the dying Hector, Apollo finds the
hero sitting up, no longer lying, " for," says the poet, " he had but lately
gathered in his life, and knew the comrades around him ; but his gasping and
his sweat had ceased from the moment when the will of segis-bearing Zeus
revived him." Thus the bodily presence of Zeus is not necessary to the carry-
ing out of his will — a belief which seems to be a lingering tradition of the
•oldest faith concerning the invisible God, who dwelleth not in temples made
with hands. On other occasions Zeus sends Iris or Hermes to make known his
pleasure to men, a feature directly traceable to the feeling of reverence due
to the father of gods and of men.
In depicting Zeus, therefore, as enthroned upon the heights of Ida,
" encircled by a fragrant cloud as by a crown " (Iliad, xv. 152), Homer is only
giving expression to the deepest feelings of his age.
244 THE HOMERIC AGE
Zeus in Relation to the Gods. — The relation of Zeus to Nature is, moreover,
shown in his relations to the gods, all of whom, let us bear in mind, had origin-
ally a physical basis, and were simply the elemental powers of Nature. In
Homer, Zeus is no longer alone. King of a brilliant court, he rules in
Olympus ; the greatest of the Nature-powers are united to him by close ties
as consort, sons and daughters, brothers and sisters ; whilst the minor powers
come to do him homage.
Of the mode in which, by the inevitable tendency of mythological develop-
ment, Zeus was provided with a father and mother, we have already spoken.
Zeus deprives his father, Kronos, " of the crooked counsels," of power ; but by
a further development of the myth, he himself draws lots with the other two
sons of Kronos, Poseidon and Hades, for the sovereignty of the world. The
hoary sea falls to Poseidon ; the " murky darkness " beneath, the abode of the
dead, to Hades ; the wide heaven, in sether and clouds, to Zeus ; whilst earth
and high Olympus remain common ground. Yet Zeus, as the eldest, is supreme
ruler in all three domains.
Poseidon, the irascible, mutinies more than once ; but he is always brought
to his senses by the thought of the superior might of Zeus. " No whit will I
walk after the mind of Zeus," he declares on one occasion when he has just been
relating the story of the partition of the world by lot. " Better were it for him
to threaten with terrible words his daughters and his sons whom himself begat,
and who will perforce listen to what he commands ! " Nevertheless, with all
his valour, a hint from Iris, the Messenger of Zeus, suffices to send Poseidon
quietly to the depths of the salt sea [Iliad, xv. iSj et seq.).
Another time Poseidon himself says to the headstrong consort of Zeus :
" Hera, what speech is this ! (The counselling of rebellion.) It is not I that
would wish to see us all at strife with Zeus Kronion, for he is stronger far "
(Iliad, viii. 209). And again, the famous Earth-shaker so entirely recognises
his position as to unyoke the horses from the car of his suzerain (Iliad, viii. 440).
That this division was of late introduction, that Zeus, even in the days of
image making, was looked upon as sole ruler, is evident from the Xoanon (or
ancient wooden image) of Zeus Triopas, the Three-eyed Zeus, mentioned by
Pausanias as preserved on the Larissa at Argos (ii. 24-5). This was supposed
to have been part of the Trojan booty, the image of Zeus Patrons on the altar
to which old Priam fled for refuge, said to have been brought to Argos by
Ithenebus.
The three statues of Zeus in the market-place at Corinth (seen by Pausanias,
ii. 2) probably also represented the three domains. So that, from first to last,
the ancient belief in the All-father seems to have maintained its supremacy
over the myth of the division of the world-sovereignty. To return, however,
to Homer. 1
Naturally, if Zeus bears sway thus over father and brothers, his authority
will be supreme over the other gods, his children and subjects. To the whole
god:World, then, he stands in the relation of father and ruler — the idea of
fatherhood, however, predominating over that of sovereignty.
To discover the great importance attached to the word " father " and all that it
implies in early Greek religious thought, we have only to turn over the pages of
Homer and note how often he uses the phrase, " Father of gods and men," or
the invocation " Father Zeus ! " in contradistinction to the formal " O King 1
Lord ! " Not to multiply instances, we recall how Athena, addressing him
in a solemn agora or assembly, says, in the name of all the gods, " Our Father
^ On two ancient gems also a Zeus Triopas is engraved (Panofka, quoted by Welcker,
Oriechische Goiterlehre, i. p. 162).
THE SUPREMACY OF ZEUS 245
Kronides, first of lords ! " {Iliad, viii. 31), and as " Father Zeus " he is appealed
to, even by Hera {Iliad, xix. 121) and Poseidon {Iliad, vii. 446) — the one, in
mythological phraseology, his sister-wife, the other his brother. Other ex-
amples innumerable will occur to every one familiar with Homer, and in
Hesiod we find the same use of the term : in the Theogony (47, 457, 838) Zeus
is also the father of gods and men.
The first relation in which Zeus stands to the gods is that of Father. The
gods are embodiments of the separate powers and qualities which are concen-
trated in him. The gods flow forth from Zeus — in mythological language they
are either his children or his subjects. Intellectually consistent with this con-
ception is it that the goddess Athena, wisdom, springs from his head (although
the myth has, of course, a nature basis) ; and that Apollo is no sooner born than
he announces his function as being the revealing to men the will of his father
Zeus.
Zeus, however, is not only a Father, but a King and Master. Hence, even
Athena, in the passage which we have quoted, beginning " Our father Kro-
nides ! " continues, " first of lords," and goes on to add, " Well do we know, even
we " (thy children), " that thy might is unyielding." And her address is called
forth by the stern declaration of his power which Zeus has just made. He has
forbidden the gods to assist either of the contending parties in the war, under
pain of chastisement or consignment to Tartarus : " There shall ye know how
far I am mightiest of all gods " ; and he challenges the whole of them, united, to
make trial of his strength. Let them fasten a golden rope from heaven, and
endeavour, gods and goddesses, to drag Zeus, supreme counsellor, thence — their
utmost force should be unavailing. Let him, on the contrary, but will to put
forth his might, and they, yea, and earth and sky, should hang together in mid
air from a pinnacle of Olympus. " By so much am I, Zeus, above gods and
above men " {Iliad, viii. 5-27).
Consistently with this conception of the authority of Zeus he is gener-
ally represented as dwelling in solitary majesty, aloof from the crowd of
gods. If he condescends to meet them, it is in conclave, summoned by him-
self. Usually we find him alone, independent of intercourse with others and
entirely self-sufficing. Thus, immediately after the Olympian agora referred
to, he withdraws in his chariot to " many fountained Ida . . . even to Gar-
garus, where is his domain and fragrant altar . . . and the father of gods and
men sat upon the mountain-tops, rejoicing in his glory " {Iliad, Yiii. 41-51).
In another passage (probably an interpolation) when the gods murmur at
his giving glory to the Trojans, we read that : " Of them the Father took no
heed. Withdrawn apart from the others, he sat aloof, rejoicing in his glory "
{Iliad, xi. 80).
There is, of course, another side to the relation of Zeus with the gods. We
read of rebellion in Olympus — rebellion which had nearly made an end of the
sovereignty of the king {Iliad, i. 396 et seq.). It must ever be borne in mind,
however, that, in the Greek conception, Zeus is not only supreme God, but a
god ; and it is the union of the religious with the mythological aspects of his
character which presents us with so many conflicting statements.
From the foregoing passages it is evident that, as Welcker observes, " to
whatever extent the mythical personality of Zeus and the myths of the gods
under him developed in the progress of polytheism — one thing is clear, viz. :
that the monotheistic character of the religion in its beginning . . . was only
encroached upon, not extinguished. Zeus stood alone, above the supernatural
gods as, before they were, he stood alone, supreme over Nature " (i. p. 280).
II. Zeus supreme in the moral world.— Zews, Father of mew.— But
246 THE HOMERIC AGE
Zeus is also father of men, and here again we meet with contradictions, which
have their solution in the double character of the Greek conceptions. Here
also we must distinguish between the religious and the mythic. The myths,
for instance, represent Zeus as hating the whole race of human kind, endeavour-
ing to exterminate them and persecuting them in the person of their champion
and representative, Prometheus. But the Greek religious sense, wiser than
the myths, looks up to Zeus not only as a father, but as the great Father, to
be appealed to in the hour of adversity. He is, indeed, often spoken of simply
as the " Father " [Iliad, viii. 69 ; xi. 80 ; xxii. 209, and others) — no need to
indicate further who is meant — no danger that the name will be applied to
Poseidon or any other deity. As the father, Zeus is quite distinct from the
other gods. Thus Achilles preserves religiously in a coffer " a fair-fashioned
goblet, from which no other man was wont to drink bright wine nor was he
wont to make libation therewith to any of the gods save to Father Zeus only."
The whole passage is interesting as an instance of early worship. " This gob-
let he took from the coffer and first purified it with brimstone, then he washed
it with fair streams of water, and himself washed his hands and drew bright
wine. Then, standing in the midst of the court, he prayed. He poured forth
the wine, looking up into Heaven. And he was not unmarked by Zeus that
rejoiceth in the thunder " {Iliad, xvi. 2256^ seq.).
Again, every reader will recollect the prayer offered up by the unhappy
Priam in his anguish, when he is on the eve of setting out to ransom the body
of his son, and Hecuba urges him to seek a sign from Kronion of the storm-
cloud. At a moment when the fate of himself and his kingdom (as well as the
peace of Hector's shade) hangs upon the goodwill and favour of Zeus, he can
think of no higher title wherewith to propitiate him than the old
" Father Zeus, thou that rulest from Ida, most glorious, most great ! "
{Iliad, xxiv. 308).
As a mortal father in sore distress, he takes refuge with the immortal
father of all. The prayer, moreover, would seem to be a very ancient formula,
handed down from one generation to another, and current in Homer's time as
a kind of "common prayer" among both European and. Asiatic peoples of
Aryan race. For, not only is it used by Agamemnon in his appeal to Zeus
before the single combat between Menelaus and Paris, which is to decide the
quarrel {Iliad, iii. 276), but it is also put into the mouth of the common folk :
" And the people prayed and lifted up their hands to the gods. And on this
wise would say many a one of Achseans and Trojans: — "Father Zeus, thou
that rulest from Ida, most glorious, most great! " {Iliad, iii. 318).
Again, the myths represent men as the handiwork of Prometheus, whereas
the Greek religious sense turns naturally to Zeus. Thus, Philoesius in the
Odyssey, when reproaching Zeus with the woes and sufferings of mankind, bases
his accusation on the fact that he hath begotten them {Od., xx. 20 et seq.).
He has given them life, therefore, so the argument runs, he ought to give
them happiness.
As with the sovereignty of Nature, so does the idea that men are the
children and handiwork of God, appear also in later times. Plato, as we know,
held that God formed men out of the earth {Pol., p. 271) ; Cleanthes says that
" we are his offspring " ; and Aratus calls God " Father of men — for," he adds,
"we are his children." ^ These instances are drawn from later writers, but
even for the earliest times the noble application by Epictetus of the belief in
the fatherhood of God, holds good : "The man," says he, "who can honestly
convince himself that God, preferring us men, has created us — that God is
^ See also Acts xvii. 28 for St. Paul's reference to this passage.
THE SUPREMACY OF ZEUS 247
the Father of men as well as of gods — that man, methinks, will conceive no
unworthy, no ignoble thought of himself."
Zeus as the God of Social Life. — It follows from the foregoing that Zeus
must be, as ruler in Olympus, ruler also on earth, and in this capacity we find
him again supreme and all- wise. " In the most forcible way," says Welcker,
" it is declared everywhere, both in Homer and Hesiod, that the son of Kronos
is all-seeing, all-knowing, all-wise, all-powerful, just, and a Father of men. . . .
From a hundred passages in each poet, certain names resound again and
again, as if consecrated of set purpose — Zeus, the Far-seeing, the Wise, the
Counsellor, High Counsellor, Ruler, Highest Ruler (Welcker, i. 175). His
counsels are dark and hidden, inscrutable even to the gods {Iliad, i. 545-550).
The highest aim of the heroic epic is to show how the promise and purpose of
Zeus were fulfilled ; for no word of his is revocable or false, or without fulfil-
ment, when once he hath pledged it by the bowing of his head {Iliad, i. 526
et seq.). No one can resist his might ; as old Nestor says to Diomedes when
Zeus thunders and lightens against them : "A man may not at all fight
against the will of Zeus, even though one be very strong, for he is stronger
far " {Iliad, viii. 143). " He hath laid low the heads of many cities and
will yet lay low, for greatest is his strength {Iliad, ii. 117 ; ix. 24), and he is
disposer of war " {Iliad, xiv. 84).
He knoweth all things well — what is appointed to mortal men {Od., xx. 75) ;
two urns stand upon his threshold, the one filled with evil, the other with
blessings, and he dispenses from both to men at his pleasure {Iliad, xxiv. 527
et seq.). He casteth down and he honoureth ; he increaseth or diminisheth
valour {arete) {Iliad, xx. 242) ; giveth the works of war to one, to another the
dance, lute and song to a third ; and in the heart of yet another hath far-seeing
Zeus put excellent understanding {Iliad, xiii. 730 et seq.) ; as Agamemnon says
to Achilles : " Though thou be very strong, yet this, I ween, God gave to thee "
{Iliad, i. 178). '' Olympian Zeus himself, dealeth out {nemei) happiness to the
good and to the evil, to each one severally as he willeth ; God will give this
and withhold that, as he willeth in his mind, for he can do all " {Od., xiv. 444).
Consistently with these representations, all power on earth flows from Zeus.
From him kings derive their authority and their sceptre, the symbol of that
authority. Of his kingly staff Achilles says : " The sons of the Achaeans who
exercise judgment, bear it in their hands, even those who watch over the
judgments {themistes) for Zeus " — (or, as it may be rendered, " by Zeus' com-
mand ") {Iliad, i. 237). Again, if Zeus is thus supreme in the state, if kings
are but his fosterlings and deputies, deriving all authority from him, he is
represented as no less supreme in watching over the manner in which authority
of any kind is used ; above all — he hates injustice. Storm and torrents rushing
headlong from the hills are the punishments sent by Zeus in his wrath and
anger against men who with violence judge crooked judgments {skolias themistas)
in the assembly and drive justice out, little recking of the vengeance {opis)
of the gods " {Iliad, xvi. 384 et seq.). Hence, Zeus is the god of the oath
{horkios) at the basis of justice and morality ; and his wrath, therefore, is no
less manifest against false swearers, perjurers, and those who disregard the
solemn pact and treaty. Thus Agamemnon says of the Trojans' breach of
truce : " Zeus, the son of Kronos, enthroned on high, that dwelleth in the
heaven, himself shall shake his dark aegis over them, in wrath at this deceit "
{Iliad, iv. 166 et seq.). And again, "Father Zeus will be no helper of liars"
(Iliad, iv. 235). He punishes all crimes (Oc?., i. 379 ; ii. 144).
In regard to the virtues of the private man also, Zeus is protector and
guardian. He is the god of hospitality (xenios), that virtue wherein the
248 THE HOMERIC AGE
humanity of the age lay, and his anger in this capacity is specially to be feared.
An evil return for hospitality received was the cause of the Trojan war, and
Menelaus, therefore, beseeches Zeus to avenge him on Paris " so that many a
one of men that are yet to come may shudder to wrong his host who hath
shown him friendship " [Iliad, iii. 350 ei^ seq.). Zeus is also the god of the
poor {Od., vi. 207) ; of suppliants (Od., vi. 207) — he knoweth when his
daughters, the Litse (prayers) are disregarded {Iliad, ix. 502 et seq.) ; of fugi-
tives, and of those fleeing from the avenger of blood {Od., xvi. 421 et seq.).
Finally, he is the god of family life, of the household (herkeios), for his altar
stands in the court of every house (Iliad, xvi. 231 ; Od., xxii. 334).
Zeus supreme over Fate. — No part probably of the primitive Greek religion
has been so misunderstood as that which concerns Zeus, as highest god, in his
relation to Fate or Destiny. The misconception, however, rests not with Homer,
but with his interpreters. " Only through an imperfect acquaintance with
Zeus and the gods as represented in Homer," says Welcker, " could the idea
ever have arisen that over him and them there hung a blind, resistless Fate,
without life or personality — a dark, incomprehensible Necessity."
That such a power existed was indeed the belief of later times, when the
complications of civilisation had obscured primitive simplicity of thought and
life. The Greeks did not hold the key to the apparently inscrutable problem
presented by society — the vile on horseback, the worthy on foot — Dives in
purple, Lazarus in rags. Life was not to them, as to us Christians, merely the
school, the training place for a higher order of things — and baffled in their
efforts to understand it, they took refuge in the idea of Fate, of a blind neces-
sity thwarting the intentions even of a benevolent deity.
This belief, however, was not of the essence of the Greek religion in its be-
ginnings ; and Homer, on whom the whole superstructure is built up, gives
(when rightly understood) no countenance to the idea. To represent Zeus,
Highest Orderer, Wise Counsellor, Father of Gods and men, as perfectly help-
less before a power greater than himself, would, indeed, have destroyed the
very intention of the poet and of the epos. Zeus, in the Iliad, controls Fate.
To the motif of the Iliad — the inner secret spring, which hidden from sight,
yet impels the whole — Homer gives the clue in his very first lines, his invoca-
tion to the Muse. " Sing, goddess," he says, of such and such things whereby
*' the counsel of Zeus wrought out its fulfilment " {Iliad, i. 1-5). The aim
and object of the Iliad, therefore, is to show how was accomplished, not
the blind decree of Destiny, but the " counsel of Zeus." To this we shall refer
again.
Moera, Aesa. — By the side of Zeus again, in Homer, the ordinary fate of
men appears as a shadowy personification called Moera or Aesa — names, both of
which mean, as we have already seen, "part, lot, portion," with the collateral
idea of death, especially, as the inevitable lot and portion of all. Hence
" Death and Fate " generally appear together {Iliad, v. 83 ; xvi. 334, &c., &c.),
whilst Fate is personified by the addition of an adjective, as e.g. Death and
" resistless " Fate.
Another combination frequently found is " God and Fate." *' Hence," says
Welcker, " the Moera or Aesa is not independent ; she does not stand alone,
but proceeds from Zeus, and it is merely accidental that we do not find her
called the daughter of Zeus." As it is, she is termed Dios Aisa = th.Q decree of
Zeus, and in this sense the phrase is used repeatedly.
Moera and the will of Zeus would, indeed, seem in Homer's esteem to be
identical, for Patroclus exclaims in his death-agony : '' Zeus and Apollo have
subdued me ; " and then immediately afterwards : '* Ruinous Fate (Moera) and
THE SUPREMACY OF ZEUS
249
Leto's son (Apollo) have slain me," thereby implying that Zeus and Fate are,
in their working, not two powers, but one and the same {Iliad, xvi. 845, 849),
(Wekker). Later ideas of the same nature as Moera and Aesa were heimarmem,
destiny, peprdmetie, fate, and morsimon, doom.
The JVeh of Fate. — Zeus and the gods are represented in Homer as them-
selves spinning the web of life or destiny of man {epildothein, Od. iv. 207 ; ill.
208 ; viii. 579, &c.). What is, then, this web of fate or life ? It is no fatalistic
conception, but simply the natural chain of circumstances in the life of man
(Welcker). Man, in fact, by his freedom of will and action spins his own fate,
while the web so woven is, unconsciously to the individual, forming part of a
great whole — the counsel of Zeus. In this sense the death of Patroclus is re-
presented as the result of his own forgetfulness, and yet as in accordance with
the mind of Zeus. " For if he had kept the word of Pelides" {i.e. to avoid
Hector), " verily he would have escaped the evil fate {kera) of black death.
But," moralises the poet, " ever is the purpose {noos) of Zeus stronger than the
purpose of men" {Iliad, xvi. 686). In other words, the purpose of Zeusds here
represented as controlling both fate and the individual, although it is the fiery
will and energy of the individual, Patroclus, that impel him onward to meet
his doom.
The Balance of Fate. — But the reader will say, if Zeus was thus believed
to control Fate, how is it that we find him represented as weighing the des-
tinies of individuals and of armies in a balance, as though trying to ascertain
thereby the will of some mysterious power " outside" of himself?
We read, e.g. that in the heat of an engagement, when the battle was at its
fiercest, " the Father took his golden scales, and put in them two Fates {kere)oi
low-laying death — one for the horse-taming Trojans, and one for the mail-
clad Achseans — and holding the balance by the midst, he poised it, and the
Achaeans' day of destiny sank down. (Then did the fates of the Achseans
sink upon the bountiful earth, but the fates of the Trojans were raised toward
wide heaven.) And he thundered mightily from Ida, and sent his blazing
lightning amid the host of the Achseans, and they saw and were amazed, and
pale fear gat hold upon them all " ^ {Iliad, viii. 69). So also, in the 22nd Book
(209), the fates of Achilles and Hector are weighed.
The Balance would seem to be a naive symbol of reflection, consideration,
taking counsel with one's self, weighing the merits of both sides before coming
to a decision. Jean Paul truly calls language a " dictionary of faded meta-
phors," and we are apt to forget that the " balance " of Zeus simply expresses
in action an operation which we perform mentally every time that we ponder
over anything about which it is necessary to come to a decision. We reflect on
the respective merits of both sides of a case until one aspect preponderates over
— i.e. outweighs — the other.^ The weighing of the respective fates is, there-
fore, a symbol of the world-ruler taking counsel with himself, pondering care-
fully both sides of the matter at issue {Welcker).
" In the mythology of the Iliad we discover one important truth unconsci-
ously involved, which was almost entirely lost from view amidst the nearly
equal scepticism and credulity of subsequent ages. Zeus (or Jupiter) is popu-
larly to be taken as omnipotent. No distinct empire is assigned to fate or
fortune ; the will of the Father of gods and men is absolute and uncontrollable. This
seems to be the true character of the Homeric deity, and it is very necessary
that the student of Greek literature should bear it in mind " {H. N. Coleridge).
^ Jupiter is also represented by Virgil as weighing the fate of Turnua {Aen. xii. 725).
2 From the Latin pondero, I weigh. See also Professor Max Mtiller on the French penser,
peser {Set. of Lang., ii. 302, 377).
2 so THE HOMERIC AGE
One limitation only to the power of Zeus do we find in the Iliad — he can-
not undo the past. In a certain sense do not we Christians maintain the same
of Jehovah ? Human beings are free agents — free to stand and free to
fall. If they fall, the eternal punishment of their fall may indeed be remitted,
but the temporal consequences to themselves remain the same. Hence, the
old knight, Nestor, is represented as saying in reply to Agamemnon's pitiful
lament when the rampart has been forced : " Verily, these things are prepared
and being accomplished — nor could high-thundering Zeus himself fashion them
otherwise '' (Iliad, xiv. 53). He means, although he is too politic to say it,
" We are even now suffering the consequences of thy fault, Agamemnon,
and Zeus himself cannot undo that."
The Character of Zeus. — When we thus group together the scattered pas-
sages in which the Homeric idea of the supreme being is expressed, we are
filled with amazement that the Hellenes should have come so near in many
ways to the monotheistic conception of God. Here we find distinctly the
attributes of sovereign power, wisdom, and justice concentrated in one being,
represented as far above all others both in heaven and earth, father of
immortals as of mortals, holding the fate of all in his hands, perfectly distinct
from the other gods, approached by mortals in a different way. So grand is
the picture that we are almost reluctant to inquire further whether there is
anything to qualify it. Unfortunately there is — the Zeus of theory is not the
Zeus of practice, and the practical qualifications meet us in the form of flat
contradictions to the theoretic assumptions. Let us look at a few of these
contradictions.
First, then, at the very opening of the Iliad (i. 696 et seq.) we hear of this
possessor of unbounded sovereignty having on one occasion been deprived of
his liberty and bound, not by rebellious Titans, but by his wife, daughter, and
brother, and released from bonds, not by the exercise of his own inherent
power, but in the most humiliating way, by the appearance of the hundred-
handed giant Briareus, who is strong enough to frighten the rebels into
submission.
We may say, and say rightly, that here we have a primitive myth in which
war in heaven denotes the strife and conflict of the elements. To us the story
is symbolical. There is no indication, however, that Homer took either this
or any similar myth whose rudeness betrays its age — as, e.g. the punishment
of Hera — in a symbolical sense. ^ On the contrary, this very story of the
binding of Zeus is a leading motif in the plan of the Iliad, for it is the grati-
tude of Zeus to Thetis (who has sent Briareus to the rescue) that leads the
Father of gods and men to grant her request, and show special honour to her
son Achilles, by sending those reverses on the Achseans, which cause them to
realise the want of the hero's arms and the fault of Agamemnon. The con-
trast, therefore, which strikes us between the theoretical all-power and the
practical no-power of Z^us, does not appear to have occurred to the author of
the Iliad, or, if it did, he seems to have regarded the motive of gratitude,
shown by the world-ruler to an inferior, as outweighing all other considera-
tions.
^ Symbolical myths, which are evidently much older than the age of Homer, are (besides
the chaining of Zeus and chastisement of Hera instanced above) the myth of Typhoeus {Iliad,
ii. 781) ; the hiding of Hephasstus underneath the sea {Iliad, xiii. 396) ; the chaining of Ares
in a prison-house of bronze {Iliad, v. 385); the Battle of the Gods ( = Theomachia) probably
{Iliad, xxi. 385) ; the cattle of Helios {Od., xii. 127). The symbolical meaning of these myths
is quite forgotten. "There is not the smallest ground," says Nagelsbach, "for supposing
that Homer introduced symbolical myths with a religious purpose." Such as, for instance, we
find underlying the "Homeric Hymn to Demeter."
THE SUPREMACY OF ZEUS
251
That passage in the Iliad, again, which suggested to Pheidias the ideal
for his colossal bust of the Olympian Zeus — " Kronion spake and nodded his
dark brow, and the ambrosial locks flowed from the king's immortal head, and
he made great Olympus quake " (Iliad, i. 528 et seq.) — follows immediately on
the speech in which the Cloud-gatherer, sore troubled, expresses his fear of
Hera's taunts and reproaches in terms not a whit different from those that
would be used by any goodman upon earth in mortal dread of a contentious
spouse. To us, the World-ruler, afraid of his own wife, is not a very edifying
spectacle ; to Homer, apparently, there is nothing incongruous in it.
And if the omnipotence of Zeus is thus described, his omniscience is even
weaker ; for he can be deceived and is deceived both by Ate and by Hera.
Of the latter it is said that Zeus "in no wise discerned her subtilty" {Iliad,
xix. 95, 112). ^ ^ ^
As for justice, this being of whose visitations on the " crooked judgments "
of men Homer speaks in language so grand, shows himself as no whit ashamed
to employ underhand means for the furtherance of his purposes. He deceives
Agamemnon by a dream — a baneful dream (Iliad, ii. 6). Worse still, this god
who watches over the oath and its fulfilment, assents to the proposal of Hera,
and himself gives the command that Athena shall incite the Trojans to do vio-
lence to the Achseans " despite the oaths" {Hiad, iv. 64 el seq.).
Again, if there be one characteristic of the supreme god more beautiful and
more often emphasised by the poet than another, it is the care of Zeus for
the suppliant, the poor, and the stranger. This again is flatly contradicted.
Odysseus arrives amongst the Phseacians in all three characters — he is utterly
destitute, forlorn, and unknown. They take him in, clothe him, entertain him,
and when they have heard his story, send him back to his own country in
peace and safety with royal gifts and honours to boot. One would think that
here was conduct deserving of the highest commendation from Zeus Xenios,
the god of the stranger. How does he requite it? He gratifies the wrath of
Poseidon (who is enraged that Odysseus has escaped him) by allowing him to
wreak his vengeance on the noble Phseacians, the givers of safe escort, instead,
and himself suggests that in sight of all who are anxiously looking out for the
return of the ship, Poseidon should change it into a stone and sink it — a sug-
gestion which the sea-monarch, nothing loth, promptly carries out {Od., xiii.
154 et seq.).
How, finally, about the fatherhood of Zeus ? This in practice is weakest
of all. The providence of Zeus is not for the race but for specially favoured
individuals, and even towards these individuals it is not unmixed with caprice.
On the one hand we have the beautiful phrases : " Then the Father had pity
on him (Agamemnon) as he wept " {Iliad, viii. 245), and again, " My heart is
woe for Hector" {Iliad, ^ xxii. 169); we have also the no less beautiful idea
that it is the Father alone of all the gods who has compassion on Achilles ;
when, in his grief for Patroclus, he will not break bread, it is the Father who
bids Athena feed him with nectar and ambrosia {Iliad, xix. 342 et seq.) ; and
again, it is far-seeing Zeus who watches old Priam setting forth on his dan-
gerous journey, and sends Hermes the helper to lead him {Iliad, xxiv. 331
et seq.).
Such indications of trust in the great Father are as touching as they are
beautiful ; but, on the other hand, they are weakened by the evidence that
Zeus cares little for men as a race. Thus, before the last engagement, the
great battle which is to decide the fate of Troy, Zeus allows all the gods to
lake part in the melee, choosing sides as they will : " As for me," he says, " I
will remain here, sitting within a fold of Olympus, and rejoice my heart by
252 THE HOMERIC AGE
gazing " {Iliad, xx. 22) — on the scene of carnage. Again, in the naive description
of the grief of Achilles' immortal horses at the death of Patroclus, it is said {Iliad,
xvii. 441 et seq.) that " Kronion shook his head and spake to his own soul.
Ah, unhappy ones ! wherefore gave we you to King Peleus, a mortal man, you
who are unaging and undying? Was it that ye should suffer woes with
wretched men ? For nothing, I ween, is more pitiable than man of all the
things that breathe and creep upon the earth." Here Zeus evidently feels
more for the horses than for wretched man. Again, Hector knows full well
that the doom of Ilion is to be laid low ; but his anguish at the thought of the
fate of his wife — of the time when, as he predicts to Andromache, " one of the
mail-clad Achseans shall lead thee, weeping far from the day of freedom " into
hard bondage in a strange land — is lightened by no hint of any presentiment
that the Father watches over the captive. No ! death is the only consolation :
" Me, in death, may heaped-up earth conceal" is his final conclusion, " before
I hear thy cry and thy carrying into captivity ! " {Iliad, vi. 454 rt seq.).
The favour of the father of men and of gods moreover has its root in self-
glory. Hector is dear to Zeus, not because he is noble and self-sacrificing, a
hero amongst heroes, but because he had burnt for Zeus many thighs of oxen
{Iliad, xxii. 170). The same idea finds expression in the so-called Homeric
" Hymn to Demeter," when Zeus interposes to save the human race from starva-
tion, not from any motive of pity, but from the fear that if men perish he will
be deprived of his rightful sacrifices and honours.
If we go on to that other aspect of the character of Zeus, which in later
and degenerate times affords scope to the fancies of such a writer as Ovid, we
are not surprised that Homer, as a moral religious teacher, should have come
under the lash of the philosophers.
The " many brides " of Zeus were not of Homer's making ; how they came
into being we have already explained (see ante, p. 220). The brides of Zeus
are merely figures of the earth or of the sky. Homer is not to blame for the
many consorts of the god of the heavens. The literal interpretation of these
old myths is caused by their real meaning having been forgotten. This was,
however, a forgetfulness fraught with serious consequences, as we shall
presently see, for, despite the protests of philosophers, the masses of the people
never rose above the literal interpretation of the myths.
Such are the varying and contradictory conceptions of the early Greeks
concerning their supreme god. Reconciled they cannot be. How are they to
be explained ? Simply by bearing in mind that we are considering the results
of a grand experiment extending over long centuries, the result of the
pselaphan, the groping in the dark, its achievements and its failures.
The Zeus of Homer is a composite being, put together out of three distinct
elements. The first is the development of that germ from which we started
(p. 246) — the true religious germ, the belief in " a great Father, who loves
justice and hates injustice." The second, the mythological element, springs
from the confounding of the Dyaus-god in Heaven with dyaus. Heaven itself.
The third, the human element, springs from the anthropomorphic form in
which the two first elements are clothed.
To reconcile these three elements, the divine, the natural, and the human,
is impossible, even to a Homer. Hence his Zeus stands out like the great
image in the vision of Daniel, ^ or, not to leave Greek ground, like the statue
of the God which Pausanias saw in the temple at Megara, the head whereof
was of ivory and fine gold, the rest of the body of potter's clay (Paus., i. 40).
^ Daniel ii. 31.
THE SUPREMACY OF ZEUS 253
Morally, Zeus is far inferior to Hector, and we may be astounded that the
Hectors of Greece should have continued to believe in and worship a being
who is represented as acting in a way which would have been impossible to
themselves.
The best solution of the problem is, that the Greeks (the thinkers among
the early Greeks) distinguished (krino = l sift, I test) between Zeus as the
moral ruler of the world and Zeus in his private capacity, much as some
amongst ourselves draw the line between the Pope, speaking ex cathedrd, and
the Pope as fallible man. So, in the Homeric poems, "Zeus, allowing himself
to be deceived by his cunning consort, is one conception ; Zeus exercising the
office of highest judge is another " (Schmidt, Ethik, i. 48).
We must never lose sight of the fact that Homer is not a religious teacher ;
that the Homeric poems were not " sacred books " to the Greeks, as the Yedas
were to the Hindus. Homer exercised an influence almost unbounded over
his countrymen, but it was an influence derived entirely from the intrinsic
worth and power of his works, not from any sanctity attaching to them. The
Zeus of Homer had a claim upon the Greeks in so far that he represented the
highest power watching over the great natural laws, the observance of which
formed the real heart-religion of antiquity.
This real religion sprang from a true germ and developed itself by a method
based on a little word, which was as potent among the Greeks as the sister-
word, krino = I sift, to which we have so often referred. This word was
theoreo = I observe == I reflect = I draw conclusions ; and the result of these
conclusions is summed up in the first conception of Zeus which we examined.
The Hellenes had been constructing their process of observation for centuries
before the age of Homer. They had watched silently all that goes to the
making of history, whether the history be that of an individual or of the group
of individuals which we call a " family," or of the group of families which we
call a " clan " or a " tribe." They had observed on a small scale sudden
alternations of fortune, such as were later so amazingly observable on the
grand scale of the Persian wars. They had seen for themselves that the race
is not to the swift nor the battle to the strong ; and out of observation after
observation, experiment after experiment, they drew the conclusion that
the affairs of men are in the hands of a great Power, invisible and beyond
human ken, who guides and orders all as he wills. In a word, the Hellenes
had discovered that there is a ruler of the universe.
Again, as they observed = reflected = theorised, they drew another conclu-
sion. They noted that just as an individual or a family, or a clan, sowed, so
did that individual or family or clan reap. They had found out that kind-
ness shown to the weak, the fugitive, the suppliant, the slave, was richly
rewarded ; that injustice on the part of the stronger was also requited sooner
or later, in some way wholly unaccountable on the grounds of ordinary
reasoning.
In a word, the Hellenes had discovered that the Ruler of the Universe is
a Power which makes for Righteousness ; and to that Power they gave the
highest and best name known to them, the name of Zeus.
The first conception, then, rests on a rock, the rock of observation and
reflection — the real experience of life. It contains the kernel of the Greek
religion, early and late — to every deep-thinking Greek, Zeus was not only a
god amongst gods, but God of gods, as Plato calls him in the Timceus.
AH?^
254 THE HOMERIC AGE
II.— THE GODS OF OLYMPUS
We now turn for a few moments to consider the bright beings who form
the court and the family of Zeus. " Mythological " creations as they are, they
must by no means be passed over in a survey of the religious thought of
Greece, for each one of them is worshipped — each one either represents some
attitude of the supreme being, as Athena = Wisdom, and Apollo = Light ; or
personifies some quality or state worthy to be honoured, as Demeter = Mother-
hood, Hera = Matrimony, Hephaestus = the skill of the craftsman ; or is, at the
least, a power to be propitiated, as Poseidon, the earth-shaker, ruler of the
waves, or Ares, god of war.
The distinction drawn later between the twelve Great Gods and the other
deities does not exist in Homer ; indeed, Hestia, the sacred fire on the hearth,
the youngest of these "Great Gods," is not yet recognised as a deity. More-
over, the twelve Gods do not include among their number those who, in later
times, exercised the highest influence on the religious thought of Greece — the
so-called " chthonian " deities — Persephone, Hades, Dionysus — who form,
together with Demeter, the power of the world beyond the grave. This circle
of divine beings, although known to Homer, does not take any part in the
action of the Iliad ; in the Odyssey, on the other hand, the Lower World has
already acquired much greater significance, as we shall shortly see.
In the Iliad, then, it is the bright gods of the heavens with whom we have
mostly to do.
And let us note that, in all that brilliant assembly, there is not one vague
or uncertain figure — each stands out before us as clearly cut, as firmly defined,
as the shapes of the mountains around, for each form has passed under the
chisel of the master. That this is the secret of the clearness of the divine
figures in Homer is evident from the fact that the gods who are not, as it
were, "formed" by him (as, e.g. Dionysus and Asclepius) are vague and
varying personalities, wanting in that masterly "grasp" which stamps all the
Homeric characters. In this sense we may accept the statement of Herodotus
(ii. 53) that Homer and Hesiod framed the Greek theogony. Homer seized
the misty images already in existence, and compressed them into definite shape
in the mould of his own vigorous imagination. Hesiod, a century or so later,
marshalled all the superhuman beings known to him into orderly genealogical
sequence. What, then, was the Homeric conception, in general, of the gods ?
(i) Simply this, in the first place, that they were beings on a gigantic scale.
When Ares falls he covers 7 roods of ground {Iliad, xxi. 407) ; when he, or the
earth-shaker Poseidon, shouts the sound is as the cry of 9000 or 10,000 men
in battle {Iliad, v. 859 ; xiv. 148) ; when Athena (aether!) mounts the chariot
with noble Diomedes, loud creaks the oaken axle beneath the weight of the
dread goddess and the man of valour (iZmc?, x. 837 et seq.); when Poseidon
would go from the peak of Samothrace to his palace beneath the sea at ^gse,
he accomplishes the journey in four steps {Iliad, xiii. 20) ; under the feet of
Hera and the god of Sleep, the topmost forest shakes (as though moved by an
earthquake {Iliad, xiv. 285).
The gods, moreover, need rest and support for these mighty bodies, just as
much as do the puny folk of earth. Sleep is said to be " the lord of all gods as
of all men" {Iliad, xiv. 233); Zeus himself sleeps {Iliad, i. 609; xiv. 352).
Hermes eats and drinks. Certainly his food is Ambrosia and his drink ruddy
nectar ; nevertheless, it is not until he has " satisfied his soul with food," that he
delivers to Calypso the message wherewith he is charged {Od., v. 92 e^ seq.).
THE GODS OF OLYMPUS 255
Further, the gods need shelter, houses to dwell in. We read that when the
light of the sun had set, the banquet on Olympus came to an end, and each of
the immortals departed to lie down in his own house, the palace made for him
with understanding heart by Hephaestus, the glorious lame god (Iliad j i. 605
et seq.).
And not only are the gods burthened with bodies, but they suffer in these
bodies. They can be wounded and sore hurt. Hera and awful Hades himself,
lord of Death, are smitten by the swift arrows of Heracles ; the pain Hera
endures is terrible, " not to be healed," " pierced through with anguish " (Iliad,
V. 392 el seq.). Hephaestus is not only lame, but deformed ; his legs are
weak and thin (Iliad, xviii. 394 et seq. ; xx. 36 et seq.). Ares, the war-god,
is shut up in a strong prison-house, and kept there for thirteen months by the
Aloadae, mortal men (Iliad, v. 385 et seq.), and both he and Aphrodite are
wounded in battle by another mortal, Diomedes, with the help of Athena
(Iliad, V. 334 et seq. ; 855 et seq.). Dionysus, finally, even in Homer, is per-
secuted (Iliad, vi. 130 et seq.) ; in later ages he is torn in pieces.
We shall, however, greatly err if we think of these beings — eating, drink-
ing, and sleeping — as merely glorified men and women. This they are cer-
tainly ; but they are more. When Diomedes, encouraged by his victory over
the queen of Beauty, proceeds to attack ^neas, and leaps upon him a third
and yet a fourth time, well knowing all the while that the arms of Apollo are
shielding the Trojan hero, and not reverencing the great god, the Far-darter
with a terrible cry gives the warning : " Think, Tydeides, and draw back, nor
presume to match thyself with gods, for there is no comparison of the race of
immortal gods and of men that walk upon the earth. Thus he spake, and
Tydeides shrank backwards a little to escape the wrath of Apollo, the Far-
darter " (Iliad, V. 440 et seq.). And Homer has highly represented as shrink-
ing back from the god in awe even a hero like Diomedes, who has shortly
before said of himself, and said truly : " 'Tis not in my blood to shun the fight
nor to cower down! " (Iliad, v. 252). Not in the earliest stages of thought
even would a Greek have consented to worship a being whom he conceived as
being on a level with himself.
In what, then, does the superiority of the gods consist ?
(i) In this, primarily, that they are immortal. The title of " the immortal
gods " runs continually through both the Iliad and Odyssey. The gods are
a race never-dying, always young, strong, vigorous, and beautiful — in contrast
to the generations of men, who pass like the generations of the leaves : " The
leaves that be, the wind scattereth on the ground ; others, the budding forest
putteth forth when the season of spring cometh on. So of the generations of
men — one groweth up, another vanisheth " (Iliad, vi. 146 et seq.). The Greek,
therefore, saw one grand point of distinction between himself and his gods in
this, that, when he had passed into the land of forgetfulness, they would still
live on in the strength of youth and beauty. " Where the Hellene found a
limit set to himself," says Nagelsbach, " there, precisely, he fixed the divine for
his gods " (Horn. Tlieol.). They were gods, in the first place, then, because
Death had no power over them.
The reason of their immortality is naively set forth in the account of the
wounding of Aphrodite by Diomedes : " Then flowed the immortal blood of the
goddess, ichor, such as floweth in the blessed gods ; for they eat no bread,
neither drink they sparkling wine, wherefore they are bloodless, and are called
immortals " (Iliad, v. 339 et seq.).
(2) The gods, again, as we have already seen, flow forth from the supreme
being ; they are the children or relatives of Father Zeus. All their power is
256 THE HOMERIC AGE
derived from him ; but in so far as they do not transgress his commands, they
are free to exercise that power as they will, for weal or woe. Hence it behoves
a mortal to be cautious in his behaviour towards them. Possessing this power,
they can, theoretically, and often practically, do all things. Aphrodite carries
Paris, and Apollo carries Hector out of the thick of the fight, when their lives
are endangered, and in both cases the feat is performed, so the refrain runs,
« very easily, as a god may."
(3) Moreover, the gods are associated with Zeus in conferring benefits on
men : '* Not to be cast away," says Paris in reference to his own beauty, " are
the glorious gifts of the gods, which they themselves give, for of free will can
no man obtain them " {Iliad, iii. 65).
Thus the gods, in the conception of the Homeric man, are worthy of rever-
ence in at least six respects : they are undying, ever youthful and beautiful ;
they carry out the decrees of Father Zeus ; they themselves can bestow gifts
on man ; they are staunch helpers of those whom they favour ; they are
stronger far than men {Iliad, x. 557) ; in their hands, on high, are held the
issues of victory {Iliad, vii. loi), subject, of course, to that highest will of
Zeus to which all, gods and men alike, are bound to submit (see ante, p. 249).
Superhuman though these gods are, however, they are very far from being
" divine " in our sense of the word. As in the case of Zeus, here also we meet
with the flattest contradictions. Theoretically, the gods " know all things "
{Od., 379, 468) ; practically, their knowledge is limited : Ares is not at
all aware that his son has fallen in battle ; even Helios Hyperion, the sun-god,
who walketh on high and beholdeth all things, does not know that his cattle
have been slaughtered by the comrades of Odysseus, until Lampetie brings him
word {Iliad, xiii. 521 ; Od., xii. ; Ud., 374 e/ seq.).
Theoretically again, as the good swineherd Eumseus says, " the blessed gods
love not cruel deeds, but justice they honour and the rightful acts of men "
{Od., xiv. 83). Practically, how do they show this?
Poseidon pursues Odysseus with fury not only relentless, but vindictive,
because his son, the Cyclops, has been blinded in self-defence by the hero.
When Odysseus journeys to the lower world to inquire of Teiresias how he may
return home, the seer tells him that the god will make it hard for him. " For,
I ween, thou shalt not pass unmarked by the Earthshaker ; who hath laid up
in his heart ill-will against thee, for rage that thou hast blinded his dear son "
{Od., xii. 100 et seq.). And, as we have seen, when Odysseus finally
escapes, Poseidon vents his spite on the innocent Phseacians {ante, p. 251),
Again, CEneus, the Kalydonian king, neglects to offer the first-fruits of his
garden-land to Artemis of the golden throne, and the archer-goddess promptly
sends on the said garden-land a wild boar, fierce, white-tusked, who brings
many heroes to the grievous pyre {Iliad, ix. 533 et seq.). Again, the wrath of
Hera against the Trojans is supposed to be explained by the sin of Paris, who
prefers in the famous judgment to herself and Athena (representatives of love
and wisdom respectively). Aphrodite, " who brought to him deadly lust " ^
{Iliad, xxiv. 28 e^ seq.). So far, the anger is righteous. Nevertheless, we have
the revengeful spirit of the despised beauty in the hatred with which she
pursues the whole Trojan race. As Zeus says to her : " If thou wert to enter
within the gates and long walls (of Troy), and devour Priam raw, and Priam's
children, and the other Trojans, then mightest thou appease thine anger "
{Iliad, iv. 34 et seq.). And Hera keeps up her rancour to the bitter end. In
1 The passage [Iliad, xxiv. 28-30) is supposed to be a later interpolation ; but the idea
lies at the root of Hera's conduct. Her anger (and that of Athena) is explainable on no
other grounds.
THE GODS OF OLYMPUS
257
the twentieth book she says : " For surely by many oaths among all the
immortals have we two sworn, even Pallas Athena and I, never to turn from
the Trojans the evil day, not even when all Troy shall burn with burning of
raging fire" {Iliad, xx. 313). To her own children, moreover, Hera is not
over-affectionate — when she discovers that the little new-born Hephaestus is
lame, she simply throws him out of Olympus.
A worse feature even than cruelty, however, is that the gods themselves
tempt men and teach them wickedness. Both in Iliad and Odyssey the whole
blame of Helen's fault is laid on Aphrodite. It is she who leads Helen to
desert her home with Paris, and who forces her by threats to remain in Troy
{Iliad, iii. 164, 413 ; Od., iv. 261).
Again, " noble " Autolycus, the grandfather of Odysseus, is said to have
" surpassed all men in thieving and swearing," and it is the god Hermes him-
self who has taught him these admirable accomplishments {Od., xix. 395).
As for bright-eyed Athena, emblem of Wisdom — who has not felt a thrill
of indignation when she lures the noble Hector to his doom in the basest way
— assuming the form of his best-loved brother Deiphobus, to draw him within
the grasp of Achilles? {Iliad, xxii. 226). It is Athena moreover, who, in the
earlier part of the story, tempts the Trojan Pandarus to break the league with
the Achasans, despite the oaths and the covenants.
Even Apollo, god of Light, who most of all comes out of the inquiry with
pure hands, is not free from the taint of treachery ; for it is he who in the
fight steals behind Patroclus, hidden in thick mist, deals from behind the blow
that dazes him, strikes off his helmet, shatters his spear, throws down his
shield, and leaves him unarmed, defenceless, an easy prey to Hector and the
Trojans {Iliad, xvi. 788 et seq.).
Thus we see the gods of Olympus laden not only with human weakness but
with human sin — lust, cruelty, revenge, hatred, treachery.
How comes it that Homer, whose mortal heroes hate and abhor a lie and
the breaking of the oath, can yet attribute deceit to his gods — and that without
so much as a hint of his being aware that anything was amiss ? One explana-
tion, of course, is that the poet was hampered by the traditions. Certainly,
many of these instances of wrong on the part of the gods are evidently reminis-
cences of the doings of these deities in the exercise of their functions as
simple nature-powers, before they had put on the anthropomorphic garb. Thus,
it is quite natural that Poseidon, as the stormy treacherous sea — or Hera, as
the gusty atmosphere, driven by opposing wind-currents — should visit anger
on the innocent and on the guilty alike. That Hephaestus, as the flickering
fire, should be lame and require crutch-fuel to support his steps, is quite
natural ; that, as the lightning, he should be thrown by his mother, the atmos-
phere, out of heaven, is also a matter of course — to us. That Apollo again, as
the sun about to sink into the west, should smite his enemy from behind, is
easily understood. ^ Further, that Hermes, the Wind, the greatest thief on
earth — whirling away blossoms, fruit, whatsoever he will before our very eyes
— that he should be said to teach thievery and the swearing of oaths empty
as air, all this is perfectly comprehensive to us who possess the key to the
myths.
The astounding thing, however, is that these myths were" certainly not
understood in any symbolical sense by Homer. And even if they had been
so understood by him, they do not reach far enough. The deceit of Athena,
for instance, cannot be traced back to any "nature" source. Whether she
^ It is "when the sun turned to the time of the unloosing of oxen" {Bovlutonde) that
Patroclus receives his death-blow.
B
258 THE HOMERIC AGE
represent dawn or aether, both in their essence are light-giving powers —
neither will lend itself to explain a lie.
We are thus driven to the supposition that in the estimation of Homer, the
divine beings were free from the moral obligations binding upon men. They
watched, indeed, that mortals should not overstep the bounds ; but themselves
existed under different conditions. This conclusion, disappointing as it is,
only proves that no genius, however stupendous, can altogether escape the
influences of his age. " First the natural, then the spiritual." The time had
not yet arrived when a Pindar could maintain that right was right in gods as
in men.
As to the rest, the early Greeks seem to have been able, as in the case of
Zeus, to draw a line between the gods in their official and in their private
capacity.
The failings of his deities do not appear to trouble Homer. Apollo may
be capable of dealing a dastardly blow, but he is, all the same, the dread god
of the silver bow, the god who descends from Olympus, wrath at heart, like
to night, to punish the presumption of Agamemnon (Iliacl, i. 44 et seq.).
Athena, too, may be capable of inciting the Trojans to break the oaths and
the covenants ; nevertheless, she is still bright-eyed Athena, the unwearied
maiden, great and glorious, going up and down the ranks of the Achseans with
the golden-tasselled aegis, infusing courage, cheeriness, strength for the battle,
into all hearts. She is still terrible as Obrimopatre, daughter of an awful sire,
arming herself for the battle in the tunic and aegis of Zeus the cloud-gatherer,
going forth with mighty helmet and ponderous lance, as representative of war
in a righteous cause, to chastise murderous Ares, the renegade ; war pursued
out of sheer recklessness and love of slaughter (Iliad, ii. 446 ; v. 733 et seq.).
And so with the other gods. Each, as stated at the outset, has some
characteristic which makes him in Greek eyes worthy to be reverenced, or, at
the best, to be feared. The only god whom Homer cannot away with is Ares.
Leaning, with fickle mind, now to one side, now to the other, caring not about
the right of the case so long as he can glut his thirst for blood, Ares is at heart
an arrant coward, empty as the blustering northern winds of Thrace which
he represents. Homer knew nothing about the winds ; but he revels in the
punishments inflicted on their embodiment both when he is wounded by Athena
and Diomedes, and also when Athena aims a mighty stone at him and he lies
sprawling in the dust. On the former occasion, the touch of pain is too much
for the doughty hero. He skulks out of the battle, and departs on a cloud to
Olympus to complain to Father Zeus. " But the cloud-gatherer looked sternly
at him and said : ' Sit not by me, thou turncoat, and whine. Most hateful to
me art thou of all gods in Olympus, for ever thou lovest strife and wars and
fightings'" (Iliad, v. 855; xxi. 403 et seq.). In this rebuke to carnage and
slaughter — to war-for-its-own-sake — administered by Father Zeus, the poet
heartily concurs, and over it he laughs, as he does over another rebuke given
smilingly to Aphrodite, by the father of gods and men, when the beauty comes
out of her own sphere, and attempts deeds of war (Iliad, v. 428).
REVELATION
The Gods and Men : how the gods reveal themselves. — " All men yearn for
the gods," says Homer in the Odyssey (Od., iii. 347) ; or, as the verse might
also be rendered, "All men have need of the gods." In the troubles and
perplexities of life, men naturally turn to the Great Father for help and
KEYELATION
259
guidance, and in Homer that help is thought of as not very far off. Every-
where the sense of the nearness of the divine is very apparent. The gods are
believed to be ever at hand, ready to assist in time of need ; not, indeed, to
assist every one, but their chosen few. In bygone ages they were supposed,
as we have seen, to mingle with the children of men ; but that time is long
past, and now their manifestations are confined to individuals.
In the Iliad, the most general helpers are Athena and Apollo, and as such
these two divinities are often associated and invoked with Zeus. Thus, a
common exclamation is : " Would to Father Zeus, and Athena, and Apollo ! "
Especially is it Athena^ the unwearied maiden, the bright-eyed, who appears to
the help of her favourites — Achilles, Diomedes, Menelaus, Odysseus, are all by
turns the objects of her care. The Lord of the Silver Bow, Apollo, is frequently
mentioned ; but he too, on his part, rescues the Trojan heroes, ^neas and
Hector. Hera, Ares, Aphrodite, and Poseidon also make their appearance
among the combatants.
Sometimes the helper comes invisibly, concealed in a cloud ; sometimes
metamorphosed, in human shape, or otherwise. In the Iliad, Athena takes
the form of Phoenix, the old tutor of Achilles ; of a falling star ; when about
to deceive the Trojans, of a Trojan warrior in the Odyssey of Mentes ; in the
Iliad, again, she and Apollo sit on an oak as birds of prey^ (Iliad, xvii. 555 ;
iv. 75, 86; vii. 58; Od., i. 105). Apollo, again, appears as a falcon; Hera
takes the semblance of Stentor of stentorian voice ; Ares, naturally, that of a
Thracian captain {Iliad, xv. 237 ; v. 784, 462). Poseidon issues from the sea
as Calchas the Seer, 2 and departs as a falcon ; Iris, the messenger, makes her
voice like to that of the Trojan sentinel ; Hermes takes the form of a young
man, a prince, in the comeliest of his prime {Iliad, xiii. 45, 62 ; ii. 791, 795 ;
xxiv. 347). Thus the Greek might, at any moment, be face to face with the
divine.
Always, however, this presence is recognised by its effects — " the gods are
easy to be known" {Iliad, xiii. 72) from the spirit which they infuse into the
heart. Thus a " great might " is breathed by Zeus and Apollo into the all-
but-dead Hector ; a threefold courage, inspired by Athena, seizes the soul of
the already courageous Diomedes [Iliad, xv. 262 ; v. 136). The two Aiantes
know well that the Calchas who addresses them is no Calchas ; a god is he,
from the great longing for battle which has seized their hearts, and urges
them on to face even the ceaseless rage of Hector ; their very feet beneath and
hands above quiver with eagerness for the fight {Iliad, xiii. 68 et seq.).
In the (later) Odyssey these manifestations are much less frequQnt, and
confined to Odysseus and his wife and son. Odysseus, however, as the true
Hellenic hero — the man of resolute soul and unbounded resource — is left to
fight his fight alone. Athena does not appear to him visibly until he has
reached his native land, and he then makes it a cause of complaint to the
bright-eyed goddess that although she has been kindly to him of old, yet that
after the Achaians had left Troy and been scattered by Zeus, he had never
seen her coming on board his ships or warding off sorrow from him (Od., xvii.
485).
In the Odyssey, nevertheless, the belief in the bodily presence of the gods
is still alive. When Antinous, the most arrogant of the suitors of Penelope,
strikes the supposed beggar (Odysseus), the others warn him that it is not
well to smite a wretched wanderer, " for the gods, like strangers from afar,
1 For these bird-metamorphoses see ante, p. 234.
2 The power of prediction was always associated with the divinities of the sea, the reason,
probably, why Poseidon appears as the Seer.
26o THE HOMERIC AGE
put on all manner of shapes, and wander through the cities, observing the
violence (hybris) and righteousness (eunomia = good order) of men" {Od., xvii.
485).
How the will of Zeus was made known. — It is not, however, to the gods
collectively that the Homeric man turns in his hour of direst need and
perplexity. It is to that great power above the gods — the father of gods and
of men that he looks, the counsellor, highest orderer, whose wit (noos) is even
stronger than the wit of men {Iliad, xvii. 339 ; xvi. 688) — Zeus, as omniscient,
is the giver of the signs and tokens which can guide men in perplexity. This
is implied in his name, Panomphaios = giver of all oracles. Apollo, at a later
period, is specially the god of oracles, but he is said to derive his knowledge
of the future from Zeus [Homeric Hymn to Hermes, 532).
Omens and Portents. — The signs by which the will of Zeus is made
known to men are at first signs from without. Some striking natural
phenomenon — such as thunder, lightning, a rainbow, the swoop of the eagle ; or
some remarkable and significant circumstance, some prodigy — appearing at a
critical moment, and especially in answer to prayer, were held to be indications
of the will of the Most High. We have seen already how Zeus was believed
to take an interest in, and to be ever intently watching the affairs of men ; the
idea, therefore, that the father would not leave his perplexed children in the
dark as to the right course, the one he would have them pursue, is the
natural outcome of this belief. The sema or the teras then, in the childlike
faith of primitive man, was the divine revelation ; coming in his hour of need
it was a " messenger " from heaven.
I. Omens from Without — (i) The Flight of Birds. — The first "sign"
recognised by primitive man was probably the flight of birds, especially of
birds of prey, and above all of the eagle — the symbol, as we have already seen,
of Father Zeus. Soaring with his majestic pinions to the very ssther of Zeus,
the eagle was well calculated to arrest attention as a possible " messenger "
(angelos) between heaven and earth. The flight of these birds, then (the oionoi),
was considered full of meaning. If they appeared on the right, they boded
good fortune ; if on the left, the reverse. The signification of " right " and
"left" in the beginning had probably nothing to do with the points of the
compass; the "right" betokening the sphere of the dexterous and nimble
right hand, the "left" that of the bungling, clumsy left hand.^ Auguries
from the flight of birds must have been taken in the Old Home, for we find
the practice in India and Rome as well as in Greece (Schrader and Jevons,
P- 255).
In Homer they are of frequent occurrence. One instance must sufiice :
Priam, the old king of Ilion, has been directed by Zeus through Iris to go to
the Achaian ships and ransom the body of Hector. Hecabe, his consort, is in
despair ; she cannot believe that he has really had an intimation of the will of
Zeus. Finding him, however, bent upon the journey, she brings him, when
his preparations are completed, honey-sweet wine in a golden cup, and bids
him make libation to Father Zeus, and pray that he may have a safe return.
Then she tells him to ask for a sign from cloud-enwrapt Zeus {Iliad, xxiv. 283
et seq.), " an omen, a swift messenger, dearest of birds to himself, of mightiest
strength, to appear on the right, that thou mayest see him with thine eyes,
and mayest go in trust thereof to the ships of the fleet-horsed Danaans. But,"
she adds, "if far-seeing Zeus will not grant thee his messenger, then I shall
1 " It was only when the interpretation of bird-portents had become a special science in
Greece and Kome that it became necessary to transfer 'the right' and 'the left' to the
quarters of the sky " (Schrader, op. cit., p. 256).
REVELATION 261
not urge thee to go to the ships of the Achaians, howso'er thou mayest yearn
for it."
Old Priam does as she suggests, for good it is to lift the hands to Zeus, if
perchance he will have pity ; and having washed his hands with pure water
and made libation of wine, as he stands in his courtyard ready to start, he looks
up to heaven, and prays that beautiful prayer : " Father Zeus, that rulest from
Ida, most glorious, most great, grant me to find welcome and pity from
Achilles." Then he asks for a bird of omen ; Zeus the counsellor hearkens ;
straightway a magnificent eagle, dusky, wide-winged, appears upon the right
hand above the city. " And when they saw it they rejoiced, and their hearts
were glad within their breasts."
(2) Thunder. — This sign in the Iliad occurs most frequently of all, and is
regarded by both contending parties as a sure token either of the favour or of
the wrath of Zeus. Thus in the eighth book (133 et seq.), when Zeus thunders
terribly, and Nestor drops the reins from his old hands in fear, and beseeches
Diomedes to leave the field, "For knowest thou not," says he, ''that victory
from Zeus attendeth not on thee?" Diomedes debates in his own mind
whether he shall withdraw or remain and face Hector. Thrice he doubted
in his mind, and thrice Zeus, Lord of Counsel, thundered from Ida, a sign
to the Trojans of the turning of victory. Again, in Book XY., when the Greeks
are on the brink of despair, a loud peal of thunder comes in response to the
prayer of Nestor for help (Iliad, xv. 377); the Trojans, however, think that
the sign is meant for them, and press on the more eagerly.
(3) Phenomena of light are more especially signs from Zeus, whether the
lightning itself, which Kronion graspeth in his hand and brandisheth from
radiant Olympus, showing an omen {sema) to mortals ; or the star which he
sends as a sign (teras) to mariners or to a wide host of folk, bright-shining ;
or the gleaming rainbow which he stretches in the heavens as a portent (teras)
of war or chill storm (Iliad, xiii. 242 ; iv. 75 ; xvii. 547).
(4) A Prodigy. — Some remarkable circumstance which happens at a moment
of unwonted expectation or excitement. Thus, to the Achaians, as they are
sacrificing at Aulis, appears a serpent which climbs a plane-tree whereon were
a mother-sparrow and her eight little ones ; these he devours, and is himself
turned to stone — an occurrence interpreted by Calchas the Seer as betokening
that the war should last nine years, and the city be taken in the tenth (Iliad,
ii. 308 et seq.).
Sometimes the omen is propitious, as when the eagle appears at the prayer
of Agamemnon, bearing in his talons a fawn, which he drops by the altar of
Zeus Panomphaios. " And when the Achaians saw that the bird was from
Zeus, they sprang the more upon the Trojans, and bethought them of the joy
of battle" (Iliad, viii. 250). At other times it is adverse. Thus, when the
Trojans are on the point of storming the Greek wall, an eagle is seen on the
left hand of the host, and lets fall a terrible blood-red snake. " And the
Trojans shuddered when they saw the glittering snake lying in their midst,
portent of segis-bearing Zeus " (Iliad, xii. 200 et seq.).
(5) Blood-rain. — We read that Kronides rained from the upper air " dew-
drops dank with blood " because he was going to send down many strong men
to Hades (Iliad, xi. 53). This phenomenon is sent also in honour of his son
Sarpedon, the Lycian prince, as an omen of his death (Iliad, xvi. 459).
II. Omens from Within. — It is quite evident, however, that all the out-
ward signs mentioned — birds, thunder, lightning, prodigies — are capable of a
double interpretation. It was not easy to tell whether the omen was propitious
or the reverse, neither was it certain for whom precisely it was intended (see
262 THE HOMERIC AGE
ante, p. 261). And therefore the Homeric man was forced to bethink him of
other ways whereby he might ascertain more definitely the will of the heavenly
powers. Hence we find him relying also on another class of signs, omens from
within — either vouchsafed personally to an individual by a dream or presenti-
ment, or reaching him in some way through his fellow-men.
( 1 ) Dreams. — Possibly from first to last dreams were regarded as tokens
coming directly from God, a supposition by no means confined to the Greeks,
and not extinct at the present day. When the AchjBans are in perplexity as
to the cause of the pestilence which is ravaging the army, Achilles suggests
that they should inquire of a seer, or a priest, yea, or of an interpreter of dreams,
" for," he says, " a dream, too, is of Zeus " {Iliad, i. 63).
The reason of the belief is not far to seek. In early days dreams must
have appeared to man to be as independent of his own mental and bodily
organisation as they are of his will or the will of others. Moreover, they come
to the individual, not to the crowd, and must be, as a consequence, a token
meant for his own guidance. Hence, when Zeus casts about in his mind as to
how Agamemnon may be induced to attack the Trojans, we are told that this
seemed to him the best, to send to him a baneful (that is, a deceitful) dream
{Iliad, ii. 5 ) ; this plan he accordingly puts into execution. Agamemnon
doubts not for a moment. On the strength of the dream's assurance that Zeus,
" though he be afar, yet hath great care and pity " for him, he at once summons
the flowing-haired Achseans, and resumes the fight. Let us note that the
" voice " of the dream, which still rings in the ears of the king when he
awakes, is called the divine "Omphe." This omphe is used as synonymous
with "oracle"; as such it appears in Pan-omph-aios = giver of all oracles, the
epithet of Zeus to which we have already referred.
In the Odijssey, a phantom is sent in a dream by Athena to comfort Pene-
lope, when Telemachus goes in quest of his father, and the slaying of the
Wooers is also revealed to her in a dream {Od., iv. 795 ; xix. 535). Penelope,
therefore, knows much about dreams ; she has studied the matter in her wise
heart. She knows that the shadowy dreams which issue from the ivory gate
(of their habitation) are deceitful, and that those which come through the gate
of homely horn are true. But who may know through which gate they pass ?
Penelope has come to the conclusion that " Dreams, verily, are inexplicable, and
hard to interpret; neither are all fulfilled to men" {Od., xix. 560). Dreams,
therefore, although some are fulfilled, are in themselves a source of perplexity.
(2) Ossa = Rumour ; pheme = an utterance. Another token, taken as com-
ing from on high, is Rumour. When Agamemnon, in obedience to the dream
sent from Zeus, proposes to make trial of the willingness of the people, we read
that the folk hastened eagerly, like thronging bees, to the place of assembly,
for " Ossa (Rumour), the messenger of Zeus, blazed forth in their midst, urging
them to go " {Iliad., ii. 93). The notion that a return home was in project, had
seized them, and, as we should put it, the report spread like wild-fire. This
was the work of Ossa.
After Odysseus has slain the suitors, again. Rumour the Messenger goes
swiftly through the city, telling of their dismal fate {Od., xxiv. 213).
Pheme is a word uttered by a stranger at a significant time, a word spoken
to suit the speaker's own needs without thought of any one else, but conveying
a special and distinct meaning to the person for whom it is divinely intended.
Thus, on the morning of the day of vengeance, Odysseus in his great need asks
of Father Zeus a double sign, an omen {te7'as) from without and some good
word of omen {pheme) from within {Od., xx. 98 et neq.). His prayer is answered
by thunder from a cloudless sky, the omen from without, and immediately
REVELATION 263
also the pheme, omen from within, falls upon his ear in the words of a woman
who is grinding at the mill, and who thinking only of her own trouble, also
prays : " Father Zeus, who rulest over gods and men, of a surety thou hast
thundered loudly from the starry sky where yet there is no cloud, and showest
to some one thereby a sign {teras) : now fulfil to me, miserable, this word
which I speak : May the Wooers on this day, for the last and latest time,
make their sweet feast in the halls of Odysseus ! those who have loosened my
knees by heart-vexing toil, to grind their barley-meal, may they now sup for
the last time ! "
Thus, in these words, spoken with no conscious reference to himself, but
answering his thoughts, Odysseus has his second sign, " a good omen within,"
and he was glad, for he thought to punish the evil-doers.
The belief in the pheme, either as the significant word, or as a rumour
spreading unaccountably, existed also in historic times.
(3) Presentiments. — The Greeks believed also — and this belief, like that in
dreams, is by no means confined to them nor to the Homeric age — that the
future was revealed to the dying. Thus Patroclus, in his last agony, foretells
the fate of Hector, that he is to be subdued by Achilles ; Hector, in his turn,
predicts that of Achilles, that he shall be slain by Paris and Phoebus Apollo
at the Skaean Gate {Iliad, xvi. 854 ; xxii. 359).
III. The Seer. — Next, after Dreams, the Voice, Presentiments, had all
proved inadequate to meet the urgent necessities of life, we arrive at that
embodiment of divine knowledge, the Seer, who for centuries held so pro-
minent a place in Greek esteem. To this he was doubly entitled, for the
true Seer was not only the ozowo^oZos = interpreter of bird-auguries, or the
tlieopropos = the interpreter of the divine will, but also the Mantis — the man
inspired by the god,i able to foretell the future at all times, and not merely,
like an ordinary mortal, at the hour of death.
The most famous Greek seers are the Theban Teiresias, already mentioned
(p. 145), and Calchas, the seer who accompanies the Achseans to Troy. Of
the latter it is said, that he was " of augurs far the best ; he knew the things
that are, and that are to be, and that had been aforetime ; he guided the ships
of the Achseans to Ilion by his soothsaying which Phoebus Apollo bestowed
on him {Iliad, i. 69).^ Thus, even in Homer's time, the gift of prediction
is connected specially with Apollo. A famous seer on the Trojan side is the
prince Helenus, Priam's dear son, a brother of Hector. Other notable seers
are Amphiaraus, Melampus, and Theoclymenus.
That there were in early days high-minded men, true " enthusiasts," really
*'full of the god " in the sense that they believed in themselves and their
mission — possessed also of the clear sight which is always linked to disinterested-
ness — and able thus to speak the word of warning, to guide and direct their
fellows — there is no reason whatever to doubt. Even in the age of Homer,
however, there is evidence that belief in the seer was on the wane. The
office has been degraded, unconsciously no doubt, but surely, by the numbers
who have, fit or unfit, pressed into it. In the Odyssey, the mantis is classed
with the physician, the carpenter, and the minstrel, the workers for the
people {Od., xvii. 383), a fact which proves, not that the demiourgos is aught
^ '* Mantis" is connected by G. Curtius with the root ma, to think, in the sense of excited
thought, akin to inspiration {Gk. Etyrnol., No. 429).
2 The name "Teiresias" is probably symbolical, and associated with teras = a sign, which,
again, was probably connected originally with a-steres, the stars. The name "Calchas" may
perhaps be derived from Tcalchaino = to make or be dark (from kalche = the purple mussel)
(c/. Jebb's Antigone, note on ver. 20). If this conjecture be correct, then Calchas would = the
Seer, darkly -troubled in mind, the man over whom coming events had cast a shadow.
264 THE HOMERIC A.GE
but an honourable title,^ but that the office of the mantis has become a calling
followed like other callings, for gain. Reverence for the seer has not yet
gone, but there is the lingering doubt whether, indeed, he knows of a surety
what he predicts. Thus Telemachus declares, in regard to any expectation of
the return of his father Odysseus, that he will no more pay heed to divination
whereof his mother may inquire of a diviner, when she hath called him to the
hall (Od., i. 415). This may be said, however, to blind the wooers, as at the
same time Telemachus is pondering how he may himself go in quest of his
father. Of old Priam's opinion, however, there can be no doubt. He says
flatly that he undertakes the desperate journey to Achilles, because he has
been commanded to do so by an Olympian messenger (Iris). " But," says he,
" if any other, of men upon earth, had bidden me do it — whether seers or
sacrificing priests — we would declare it false, and abandon it" (Iliad, xxiv. 220).
Both Priam and Telemachus mean that they will believe nothing at second-
hand, nothing that comes to them through the intervention of man ; but both
are, nevertheless, sincerely religious, for Telemachus is all the while following
the leading of Athena ; Priam, that of Zeus. Again, both accept the omens of
the gods — the flight of birds. There is, however, one of Homer's heroes, also
a man of deeply religious nature, who goes so far as to reject these. No
grander passage is to be found in the Iliad than that in which Hector avows
his disbelief in signs. The prodigy of the terrible blood-red snake has just
been sent to the Trojans (see ajite, p. 261) as they are about to storm the Greek
wall. Polydamas beseeches him not to proceed, urging the evident purport of
the omen as being adverse to them (Iliad, xii. 226 et seq.) : " Many of the
Trojans shall we leave behind," he says, " whom the Achseans shall slay with
the sword defending their ships. For thus," he adds, " would an interpreter
of the god expound it, who had clear knowledge of the omens in his soul, and
whom the folk obeyed." Then Hector of the glancing helm looked askance at
him, and said : " Polydamas, what thou say est is no longer pleasing unto me ;
thou knowest to devise other and better counsel than this. But if in very truth
thou speakest this seriously, then of a surety have the gods themselves
destroyed thy wits, thou that biddest forget the counsel of loud-thundering
Zeus, which himself pledged to me and confirmed with a nod of his head.
Thou biddest obey long-winged birds ! to whom I neither give heed, nor care
whether they speed to the right, to the dawn and the sun, nor yet to the left,
to misty darkness. Let us follow the counsel of great Zeus, whdf ruleth over
all, mortals and immortals. One omen is best — to fight for the Fatherland ! ' "
The following of the omens, we must recollect, constitutes one great part of
the religion of the age. When Agamemnon has been taunting Diomedes that
he is not equal in courage to his father Tydeus, Sthenelus, the comrade of
Diomedes, says vehemently (Iliad, iv. 404) : " Lie not, Atreides, seeing thou
knowest to speak truth. Far better men than our fathers we avow ourselves
to be. We took the seat of Seven-gated Thebes with fewer folk against a
stronger wall because we followed the tokens of the gods and the help of Zeus."
According to the tradition, the seven ill-fated princes had gone on with the
first expedition against Thebes, in spite of the warnings and omens of the
gods, and Sthenelus expressly connects the victory of their descendants with
the obedience to these warnings. To follow the omens is to secure the help or
protection of Zeus.
IV. The Lot. — Finally, we must not omit to notice another method of
finding out the will of the heavenly power, the casting of the lot — a method
which must have commended itself to many minds as requiring no human
^ See ante, p. 103.
REVELATION 265
intervention. Among the Greeks the casting of the lot is no blind appeal to
chance, but a religious observance, a committing of the matter in question to
the decision of the great Father, in the belief that he will direct the issue. So,
before the single combat between Menelaus and Paris, and again, before that
between Ajax and Hector, the lots are shaken in a bronze helmet, and the
people lift up their hands and pray, " Father Zeus, most glorious, most great !
vouchsafe . . ." {Iliad, iii. 316; vii. 175). Thus, Hebrews and Hellenes alike
regarded the lot as causing contentions to cease, and parting among the
mighty ; both believed also that although the lot may be cast into the lap by
man, yet that "the whole disposing thereof" is of a Higher Power. ^ It is in
this sense, as a distinctly religious custom, that we must understand the
habitual use of the lot both in Homeric and historic times. The root of the
observance is silent appeal to God.
The Oracle, the last and greatest experiment of the Greeks in the ascertain-
ing of the divine will, does not belong to the Homeric age. True, it is
mentioned incidentally in Homer, but there is not the slightest evidence that
it had any influence on practical life. In Homer we can see only its germs.
In the IHad, Dodona is known as the chosen shrine of Zeus, Pytho (Delphi)
as that of Apollo. Each is twice referred to, but here there is no mention of
the Oracle in connection with either, unless, indeed, we take the name
*' Pytho " = place of inquiry and the reference to its treasures as an indication
that Delphi was already visited by those who wished to consult the god, and
brought rich gifts in their hand. " Pytho," however, has a double meaning,
and may refer only to the slaying by Apollo of the dragon Python, the great
dragon of darkness. ^ In any case, there can be no doubt that even in the
Iliad Delphi is already famous for its riches, for Achilles says that, in
comparison with life, he holds as naught even "all the treasure that the stone
threshold of the archer Phoebus Apollo encloseth in rocky Pytho " {Iliad, ix.
404). In the Ships' Catalogue again, of later origin, there is a reference to
"rocky Pytho and sacred Krisa," the city in the plain beneath Parnassus
{Iliad, ii. 519).
The two passages in which " wintry Dodona " appears are the verse in
the Ships' Catalogue already referred to (p. 128), and the famous invocation
in the prayer offered by Achilles after he has made libation from the sacred
goblet reserved for the worship of Father Zeus : " King Zeus, Dodonsean,
Pelasgian, thou that dwellest afar, ruling in wintry Dodona, and around thee
dwell the Selli, thy prophets, with unwashen feet, couched upon the ground ! "
{Iliad, xvi. 233). Here also the reference to the "prophets" {hypophetai =
those who expound the will of the god) might indicate the existence of the
Oracle. As stated, however, there is no direct reference to such an institution
in the Iliad. The ordinary signs — the lot and the predictions of the seer — are
the only means of ascertaining the divine will.
(2). In the Odyssey, however, it is evident that Oracles are both known and
used. Thus, Odysseus twice relates in his disguise as the beggar how he had
been told by the king of the Thesprotians that Odysseus had gone to Dodona
"to hear from the high leafy oak of the god the counsel of Zeus" {Od., xiv.
327 ; xix. 296). And, again, when the hero is sojourning with the Phaeacians,
^ Prov. xviii. i8 ; xvi. 33. Possibly we have in this uiost ancient usage one of the tradi-
tions carried away from the Ur-home of mankind, a relic of the primaeval time when Semites
and Aryans still dwelt together. That it was observed by the primitive Aryans before the
Separation is proved by the fact that the custom prevailed not only among the Greeks, but
also among Romans and Germans. Probably twigs or chips, as being easily marked, were
used (Schrader and Jevons, p. 279).
2 See next Section and Hdlas, p. 125.
266 THE HOMERIC AGE
the blind minstrel Demodocus sings at the feast a song, the fame whereof had
then reached to wide heaven — the song of the quarrel between Odysseus and
Achilles — how they strove together with terrible words at a bounteous festival
of the gods, and how Agamemnon rejoiced in his heart when the best of the
Achaians fell at variance, " for so had Phcebus Apollo by prophecy told him it
must be, when he crossed the stone threshold to inquire of the Oracle. For
then was rolling the beginning of woe on both Trojans and Danaans by the
counsel of great Zeus" (Od., viii. 79). As stated, however, these passages,
although valuable as the earliest references to great historical institutions,
carry no weight for the Homeric period. It is evident that if the princes
before Troy could have found a way out of their many perplexities by an appeal
to an oracle, we should have heard of an embassy either to Dodona or to
Delphi. And certainly, in the later Odyssey, if Telemachus had known of the
existence of the Dodonsean Oracle, he would have gone thither to inquire of it
concerning the fate of his father, instead of undertaking the journey to question
old Nestor. Hence, we are forced to assume that the passages cited belong to
late portions of the poems.
III.— THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS
We now come to look at the Greek Experiments in the Moral Life — in the
sphere of duty, the ideas held generally concerning right and wrong, as they
meet us in the pages of Homer — that is, if the philosophers will allow that
there existed a distinct consciousness of the right and wrong in the Homeric
man.
Hegel, for instance, lays it down that '' before Socrates there was no
morality in Greece, only propriety of conduct." ^
There is, however, an older axiom than this, namely, " The tree is known
by its fruits." Whence came this " propriety of conduct " ? It must have had
its roots somewhere. Hellas was " made " in many respects before Socrates
appeared. The wave of Asiatic despotism had been rolled back some 20 years
before the great teacher was born. What nerved the nation for the struggle 1
What had prepared the people for it ? Was it mere " propriety of conduct " ?
We can see at a glance that the dictum of the philosopher is not to be taken
without a grain of salt.
Again, the pre - Socratic age has been called the age of Unconscious
Morality (Sir A. Grant, Ethics, i. 2, 76). This definition is better than
Hegel's, but simple folk find themselves asking : Is there, pace the philo-
sophers, such a thing as "unconscious morality"? The most elementary
question of right and wrong has to be decided, and the effort required for
the decision is perceptible enough in some way or other to the inner conscious-
ness of the person who has to decide. The problem, then, before us is
this : —
1. Did the morality of the Homeric Greek consist merely in external
*' propriety of conduct " — in regulating himself, that is, by tradition, or custom,
or laws laid down for him by others ?
2. Or, secondly, was it intuitive, as the morality of children is said to be
intuitive? Did his actions, that is, spring forth spontaneously, without any
exercise, apparently, of the reasoning powers ?
^ '' Die Athener vor Socrates waren sittliche, nicht moralische Menschen " [Oeschichte der
Philosophie, ii. p. 43).
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 267
3. Or, lastly, is there any evidence that from the beginning the Greek was
a law to himself — that he had, that is, the power within himself of discerning
right from wrong ?
The inquiry is full of interest. We shall find that all three conditions
were at work in the Homeric, as they have been in every other age of the
world, except the very first. The Homeric morality was, at one and the same
time, traditional, intuitional, and the product of his own reasoning powers.
The first thing that presses upon our attention here, as it has so often
pressed before, is that we have to do pre-eminently with a thinking people.
This has stamped itself unmistakably on their language. There is the clearest
evidence that the Greek, even in Homer's time, regarded the thinking and the
acting powers within him — mind and will, reflection and resolve — as indis-
solubly united. Let us prove this : —
I. Knowledge and intention are expressed in Homer by one and the same
verb — eidenai : — To know "kindly feelings" is to be kindly disposed {Iliad, iv.
361 ; Od., xiii. 405 — epia eidenai) ; to know "friendly feelings " is to be friendly
{Iliad, xvii. 325 ; Od., iii. 327 — phila eidenai) ; to know "wise things" is to be
wise of heart {Iliad, vii. 278 ; Od., viii. 586 — pepnumena eidenai) ; a man who
knows " things pleasing " to others is a man who does them, and is therefore
beloved (Oc?., viii. 584 — kecharismena eidenai); to know "gratitude" is to be
grateful, and express one's thsinks {Iliad, xiv. 235 — cliarin eidenai) ; to know
one's duties is to do them, and so to be trusty and faithful {Od., i. 428
— kedna eidenai). Is there any evidence here of "unconscious " morality ?
Then again, the words which express "to deliberate" and "to will" —
boulesthai, bouleuesthai, houle — are connected together in the closest possible
way.
Thus, if language tells us anything at all, it tells us this — that, even in the
Homeric age, the intellectual and the moral faculties were used conjointly.
Knowledge is presupposed in the moral sphere — a man knows a thing, there-
fore he does it. Deliberation, taking counsel with oneself, goes before the
resolve and the act. " What Socrates and his disciples taught," says L.
Schmidt, " is only the logical following out of the popular idea (concerning the
indissoluble union of the will and knowledge — Will und Einsicht) as it had
been long before incorporated in the language" {Ethik, i. 157).
We note next that such deliberation did not turn round the axis of
tradition, nor yet of expediency. A man did not ask ' ' How far is it safe or
profitable to do this or that ? " The great question of right or wrong faced
the Homeric man as it faced the contemporaries of Plato and Aristotle, as it
faces you and me. The Homeric man had to decide the question by his own
standard. Krino = I sift, I test, I judge, had to be applied in the moral as
in every other sphere, and the capability to do this was the evidence that
" childish things " had been left behind.
When Penelope had been upbraiding Telemachus for not having prevented
the ill-treatment, in his own house, of the supposed beggar, Odysseus although
he (Telemachus) had come to the measure of manhood, the young man
replied : " Mother mine, I blame thee not indeed for being wroth. Yet, in
my heart I have understanding and knowledge of each thing, of good and of
evil ; but heretofore I was a child " {Od., xviii. 228).
The power of distinguishing between good and evil, then, was the test of
maturity in Homeric days as it was in those of ^schines, the orator, hundreds
of years later. In one of his speeches ^Eschines says that so long as a youth
is a minor the legislator speaks to his relations and teachers ; but so soon as
he has been enrolled as a citizen and knows the laws of the States, and can
268 THE HOMERIC AGE
distinguish the good from the bad, then the law speaks to himself (^sch.,
i. 1 8. Cf. Schmidt, Eth., i. 156).
We feel bound, therefore, to protest against the phrase " unconscious
morality " as applicable to the Homeric, any more than to the Socratic age
Call the former an age of " simple, non-complex morality " if you will ; but do
not let us suppose that in any age of the world men have acted in moral
matters as they would not act in the ordinary business of life — on mere intui-
tions or on the strength of tradition alone. We have already seen tradition
questioned and disowned. Priam and Telemachus put no faith in the seer ;
Hector throws overboard the omens (p. 264) ; and the same independent
judgment is at work in the moral sphere. When life grew more and more
complex and the need of an absolute standard more deeply felt, then the
philosophers did good service by their efforts to define the standard of right.
This, however, is a very different thing from substituting "morality" for
*' propriety of conduct."
Questions of right and wrong have always presented themselves for deci-
sion, and always with new faces. Knowledge has increased, and raised, and
often changed the standard of right ; but no human being ever yet escaped
the necessity of deciding for himself by the highest standard within his reach.
Let us now see what the Homeric standard was.
The measure or rule by which a good man and true judges himself and his
fellows in Homer is undoubtedly Dike = justice, " the way pointed out," not
only by tradition and custom, but by the higher self, whereby a man may
keep the Themistes, the great Unwritten Natural Laws — those laws whose
father is high heaven, the laws which " slumber not, for in them is a mighty
god and he groweth not old." ^
It is to these hoary primaeval laws that our witness, St. Paul, refers in the
Epistle to the Romans.^ " When," he says, " the nations which have not the
law do by nature the things contained in the law, these, having not the law,
are a law unto themselves : which show the work of the law written in their
hearts." And he includes the doers of the natural law amongst those who
shall be justified before God.
The Greeks themselves recognised the unwritten law, not as a mere tradi-
tion preserved by the poets, but as a great and universally known factor exist-
ing in their midst, to be taken account of by the practical statesman. Thus,
in the memorable funeral oration recorded by Thucydides, Pericles praises the
Athenians because, in the midst of the freedom secured to them by just and
equal laws, they are yet not forgetful of the unwritten laws (nomoi agraphoi)
(Thucyd., 2, 37, 3). And the Socrates of Xenophon traces back the unwritten
law of justice — the reverence due to the gods, the honour due to parents,
the gratitude due to benefactors — to the gods themselves. They are the
ordinances not of men, but of the gods, and the proof of their divine origin is,
he says, firstly, that they are found everywhere amongst men ; and, secondly,
that any breach of them carries within itself its own punishment (Mem., 4, 4).
As Sophocles says, "A mighty god is in them " as the avenger, " and he grows
not old."
It would be easy to draw up a primitive Hellenic Decalogue out of the
material to be found in Homer, but the result would be misleading. The
Greeks possessed neither Decalogue nor Sacred Books. It is safer, therefore,
to infer the nature of the unwritten laws from the evidence contained in Dike
^ See ante on Themis and Dike, p. 240 ; on the Unwritten Laws, p. 266.
2 Komans ii. 14, 15.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 269
— " the way pointed out," whereby a man might act justly in every relation
of life — towards the gods and towards his fellow-men.
1. The reverence due to the gods is instanced by Socrates as the first of
the great unwritten laws, and as such beyond a doubt it figures in Homer.
Reverence is due to the immortals, primarily, because of man's dependence on
them. This feeling we have seen practically in operation at an earlier stage
(p. 228), and it finds expression in Homer also, "All men have need of the
gods" (Od., iii. 48).
2. Then, secondly, Zeus is to be reverenced because the Homeric Greeks,
as we have also seen (p. 252), did most unmistakably recognise the existence
and presence amongst them of a divine Justice — in our own sense of the word.
Zeus, and the gods as his delegates, watch over the great and unwritten laws
(although they are nowhere said in Homer to have originally ordained them) ;
and this watchful Justice is called the Opis of the gods. To the practical
working of the Opis in the life of man we shall return again. It is, perhaps,
the most remarkable feature in Homer.
Dike = justice, therefore, points out that the right attitude of man towards
Zeus and the gods is that of dependence — to be shown —
(a) In external marks of honour. — On two occasions the meat offering and
the drink offering, placed in seemly wise upon the altar, are called the " right "
or the " prerogative " (geras) of Zeus and the gods {Iliad, iv. 48 ; xxiv. 66).
The offering of perfect " hecatombs " is also said to have been commanded by
the gods (Od., iv. 352). As Schoemann (p. 58) remarks, moreover, every meal
forms a sacrifice, for a portion of every animal slaughtered is offered to the
gods in token of gratitude ; and drinking is both begun and ended by libation.
The instances of this throughout both Iliad and Odyssey are innumerable.
(b) In reverent approach to the Gods. — One instance of this we have already
seen in the libation offered from the sacred goblet by Achilles. Another is
afforded by Hector, who (after his death) is said to have been " dearest to the
gods of all mortals that are in Ilion/' and especially to Zeus, for, says the
latter, "in no wise failed he of the gifts that pleased me " {Iliad, xxiv. 66).
In the case in point, Hector has just returned from the battlefield to the city
to bid his mother, Hecabe, summon the aged women to the temple of Athena,
and there offer to the goddess that robe which, among all her possessions, is
costliest and dearest to herself. Hector is tired and wearied, and Hecabe
offers him wine, and presses him to make libation to Father Zeus, and then
refresh his strength by a draught of wine. But Hector of the glancing helm
made answer : " Bring me no honey-hearted wine, my lady mother, lest thou
unnerve me, and I forget my strength and might.i Moreover, I have awe to
make libation of gleaming wine to Zeus with unwashen hands ; nor is it seemly
to pray to Kronion of the storm-cloud, defiled by blood and dust " {Iliad, vi.
263 et seq.).
(c) In obedience and submission to their decrees. — When Achilles, in the
quarrel with Agamemnon, sheathes his sword at the bidding of Athena, who
has been sent by Hera to stay his anger, he says : " Needs must one honour
the word of yon twain, goddess, even tho' one be very wroth at heart ; for so is
the better way. Whosoever obeyeth the gods, to him they gladly hearken "
{IHad, 1. 216). And, again, the wise-hearted maiden, Nausicaa, reminds the
stranger, Odysseus, in the midst of his great trouble, that " Olympian Zeus
himself apportioneth happiness to men, to the good and to the evil, to each one,
^ Or, as in Mr. Leaf's rendering : " Lest thou cripple me of my courage, and I be forgetful
of my might."
270
THE HOMERIC AGE
as he will ; he hath given thee this, thy lot, I ween, and in any wise thou must
endure it" (6>c/., vi. 188).
External marks of honour, then, reverent approach, obedience, and resigna-
tion, constitute what justice requires of man in his relation towards the gods.
2. The honour due to parents runs like a golden thread through both Iliad
and Odyssey. Thus, the last injunction of noble Odysseus to his wife, on setting
out for the war, is this : "Be mindful of my father and mother in the halls, as
thou art now, or even more when I am far away " {Od., xviii. 267). Old Nestor,
again, implores the Achseans to stand fast in the fight, not only for the sake of
children and wives and possessions, but (twice repeated) for the sake of those
that begat them, for the sake of parents, whether alive or dead {Iliad, xv. 649,
654). And when Odysseus speaks with Achilles in the lower world, the great
grief of the hero is lest dishonour should have come upon his old father, Peleus,
through loss of him. " Ah ! " he says, " could I but come in such wise (as I was
before in my might) for a very little while to my father's house, then would I
make my strength and my resistless hands a hateful fear to many a one of those
who press him hard and keep him from his honour! " (^Od., ii. 501). On two
different occasions, again, it is said of a hero who falls in battle that " he
repaid not his dear parents for their nurture, for short was his span of life "
[Iliad, iv. 477 ; xvii. 301). Such passages, implying the sense of obligation
towards parents, might easily be multiplied.
The honour due to the aged and to those who, in years and experience, are
older than the person who addresses them, is another beautiful feature of this
"unconscious age." Thus, old Nestor speaks of the giving of counsel as "the
right of the elders " {Iliad, iv. 323). Here, the word " right " or "prerogative "
— geras — is the same as that used in reference to the immortals. Worship is
the geras = honour to be paid to the gods ; respectful attention, the honour due
to the aged.
3. The position of the wife in Homer is, strange to say, one far more
honourable than that accorded to her in later Greece. This is not contra-
dicted by the fact that the Homeric bride is, after a fashion, purchased by the
wooer. He is expected, that is, to show proof of his love by " gifts of wooing "
(hedna), offered to the father of the lady. Hector, it is said, had given " count-
less bride-gifts " when he led forth Andromache from the house of her father
(Iliad, xxii. 472). Penelope, again, is expected to wed the suitor that " offers
the most, and comes as the chosen of fate" (Od., xvi. 391 ; xxi. 161). That
these " gifts of wooing " were sometimes substantial enough is evident, if we
may deduce Greek customs from the case of a Thracian hero, of whom it is said
that he " slept the sleep of bronze, far from his newly-wedded wife," for whom
he had given much — 100 oxen first, with the promise of 1000 goats and sheep
together later (Iliad, xi. 241). Hence the epithet which we have already seen
applied to much-courted damsels (p. 97), alphesiboiai = ^'hringing in oxen" to
their relatives. The father fixes the bride-price ; but it is interesting to note
that, even in Homer, in the case of a " dearly-loved daughter," part of the
hedna "follows" her to her new home^ (Od., i. 277 ; ii. 196). And sometimes
she is even provided with a portion. Agamemnon offers to give any one of his
daughters to Achilles, not only without exacting " gifts of wooing," but himself
furnishing a "great dower (me^'Zm = gladdening gifts) such as no man ever yet
gave with his daughter" (Iliad, ix. 147).
It is necessary to examine this whole question with some minuteness ; for,
^ It is not, however, clear from Homer whether the hedna which "follow a child dearly
beloved" are not rather wedding gifts from her own kinsfolk and friends. (See Od., i. 277 ;
ii. 196.)
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS
271
although the statement that " in Homer a wife is purchased by her husband "
is true, yet the truth thus bluntly put is not the whole truth. The wife so
purchased does not in Homer become her husband's slave. Essential as the
" gifts of wooing " doubtless are to the contract, yet they in no wise detract
from the position of the wife. Much, rather, are they regarded as a testimony
to her worth or her charms. Husband and wife are equally entitled to honour
and respect — she is mistress within the house ; he is master without. This is
evident in many ways ; but the relation between husband and wife, as under-
stood by Homer, is most truly and feelingly expressed by the words which he
puts into the mouth of Odysseus. " May the gods grant thee," he says to the
maiden, Nausicaa, " whatsoe'er thy heart desireth — a husband and home, and
that most excellent gift of unity ; for there is naught better or nobler than
when husband and wife are of one mind and heart in the house — a grief to
foes, to friends great joy, but most of all themselves know the blessing " {Od.,
vi. 180).
The wife, moreover, is not only honoured, but loved and cherished. " Do
the sons of Atreus alone of mortal men love their wives ? " asks Achilles in his
withering scorn and rejection of the bribes wherewith Agamemnon seeks to
conciliate the hero for the wrong done in depriving him of Briseis. " Surely,"
he says, " every man that is good and wise of heart loves and cherishes his own,
even as I loved mine, though she were but won by my spear " {Iliad, ix. 340).
The argument is not affected by the circumstance that the damsel, Briseis, is
not Achilles' " wedded wife," but his captive. Neither must we allow the fact
of the irregularities revealed in the camp life of the Achaeans — such as the
fate of Briseis and other unfortunates enslaved by the spear — to blind us to
another fact, viz., the home life of the Homeric age is eminently pure. Cer-
tainly Homer gives us both sides of wedded life — over against the unity and
love existing between an Odysseus and a Penelope, between an Alcinous and
an Arete, we have the discord existing between an Agamemnon and a Clytsem-
nestra, and the story of a Helen. The same contrast is seen among the Tro-
jans — nothing can be more beautiful than the love of Hector and Andromache ;
whilst, on the other hand, it is another of old Priam's sons, Paris, who carries
off Helen, and old Priam himself is plainly living in polygamy. Nevertheless,
the Greeks of Homer are strict monogamists ; regular marriage is the rule,
and although irregularities take place in the ten years of camp life, yet they
are not tolerated in the settled order of home life — witness the punishment of
death inflicted by Odysseus on the handmaids who had " brought dishonour "
on Penelope during his absence. The morality of Homer must be ranked infi-
nitely higher than that of later Greece. 1
Perhaps the best ideal of a lady of the heroic age in her capacity as house-
mistress is afforded by Arete, wife of the Phseacian king, Alcinous. It is
curious to note how closely Arete approaches the ideal house-mistress, the
"virtuous woman" of the wise man.^ The Hebrew lady "looketh well to the
ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness " — the Greek Arete
is constantly seen seated by the hearth, spinning the wool of sea-purple hue, a
marvel to behold, in the midst of her handmaids, or looking to the comfort of
her children and guests {Od., vi. 52, 305). The Hebrew " openeth her mouth
with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness " — the Greek is of " ex-
cellent understanding, ending the disputes even of men, of those to whom she
is kindly disposed" {Od., vii. 73). The Hebrew's children "arise up and call
1 See on this question Gladstone's Studies on Homer and the Homeric Age and Freeman's
review of the work in Historical Assays, 2nd Series, p. 52 et seq.
2 Prov. xxxi. 10.
272 THE HOMERIC AGE
her blessed ; her husband also, and he praiseth her " — of Arete it is said that
she *' hath been, yea, and is honoured from the very heart by her dear children,
and by her lord, Alcinous, and by the folk ; they look upon her as a goddess,
and when she walketh through the city greet her with words of welcome "
{Od., vii. 69). It is to Arete, moreover, not to her husband, that Odysseus is
advised to apply. He is to ''pass by" Alcinous and clasp the knees of Arete
(as a suppliant) if he would reach his native land — a proof in its way that
women in the heroic age had their say in counsels of state ^ (Oc?., vi. 310;
vii. 75)-
We cannot be surprised to find in the daughter of such a mother the
*' fair flower of maidens," Nausicaa. White-armed, slender as the young shoot
of a palm-tree, moving among her maidens as Artemis the archer moved down
the mountains among the wood-nymphs, with head and brows high over all,
easily known where all are fair, now busily treading the household linen in
the flowing river water, now merrily playing at ball with her comrades,
Nausicaa is one of the prettiest of old-world pictures. Too coy to speak to her
father the word " marriage," she has yet courage enough to keep her presence
of mind when the shipwrecked Odysseus emerges like a lion from his hiding-
place among the bushes, a fierce satyr of the woods for ought she knows, and
to give him food and raiment, rebuking gently her maidens for their foolish
fear. " This unhappy one has come hither in his wanderings," she says, " and
we must now care for him ; for all strangers and beggars are from Zeus, and a
little gift is dear" (Od., vi. 206). In her simple piety too she reminds the
stranger that one must be resigned to the will of heaven, a lesson which long-
suffering, much-enduring Odysseus does not resent from lips so innocent.
Time and space would alike fail us were we to attempt to describe home
scenes in Homer. No more tender or touching exist within the whole range
of literature than are to be found in this old-world history of life as it was
lived some 3000 years ago. To detach them from the context, moreover, is
to rob them of their beauty. Scenes such as the parting of Hector from
Andromache and the " beautiful star," their infant child, or the mourning of
old Priam for his son, or the meeting between Odysseus and his wife, or that
between Odysseus and his father, must be read as they flow along in the
current of the story, in the very words of Homer.
4. Euler and Rided. — The relation of a king to his people, as we see it
in Homer, is evidently the outgrowth of primitive patriarchal institutions.
The house-father has become the clan-father, the clan-father the tribe-father ;
the tribes unite in time of war and choose from amongst their number one to
be the leader. This man is the basileus, i.e. " the leader of the people," ^ and
his office becomes hereditary. That kingship has its roots in patriarchal
customs is evident from the fact that the king acts as priest ; he offers the
sacrifices for the people, as the father offers them for the family.
The king, then, is leader and priest, but he is something more. He holds
his sceptre directly from Zeus for two other purposes, viz. : — (i) to watch over
the themistes, the settled customs, for Zeus {Iliad, i. 238), i.e. as his deputy ;
and (2) to take counsel for the people (lliad, ix. 98).
Thus the position of a king in the Homeric age is by no means that of an
Eastern despot. It is framed after a beautiful ideal, dating from very early
times, and summed up in the phrase so often used, " Shepherd of the
People." The king is, in his own person, priest, leader in war, judge, and
counsellor of his people.
^ See also Arete, Od., xi. 182.
2 The etymology, however, is by no means certain.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS
273
Nevertheless, in none of these capacities may he act arbitrarily. He is
surrounded by his counsellors, who speak their mind freely, and are by no
means afraid to tell even Agamemnon, king of men, their opinion of him to
his face. The king has no guard of honour ; his only official followers are the
heralds, who have a semi-sacred character.
The reader may possibly say, what has all this to do with religion ? A
great deal, we reply, inasmuch as it has its roots in religion. The king, in
fact, to the Homeric man, is " king by the grace of God " ; the themistes and
the sceptre are entrusted to him by Zeus ; therefore submission to law is a
religious and moral duty.
The People. — We do not hear much of the people in Homer. They are
summoned on extraordinary occasions to the agora to listen to the decisions
of the Council, of which they are expected to signify approval by cheers.
Nevertheless, although the mass of the people do not take part in the discussion,
yet the very fact that they are invited to the assembly, and that they do cheer,
shows that " public opinion " is already a factor in determining the ccmduct of
affairs. 1
Much has been made of the chastisement of Thersites in the assembly by
Odysseus (Iliad, ii. 211 et seq.) as a proof that the people in Homer have no
rights, and therefore no freedom. The circumstances, however, must be taken
into account. It is significant that, when Agamemnon calls to arms the sons of
the Achseans, he says that he will " first make trial of them, as is thends." That
is, there is evidently a themis that the king, before proceeding with any matter
of importance, must first find out the mind of the people. He proposes, there-
fore, on the occasion alluded to, that they shall give up the war and return
home. That this is the mind of the people there can be no doubt ; they rush
to the beach, and begin dragging down the ships to the sea. The whole object
of the expedition, the punishment of the Trojans, is thus jeopardised, and so
imminent is the danger that Athena herself darts down from the peaks of
Olympus and bids Odysseus immediately restrain the people. The masterful
manner in which the hero of many devices obeys this command is certainly
amusing enough. Armed with the sceptre of Agamemnon, he hastens amidst
the throng, and whenever he finds a king or a man of note he addresses him
with courteous words, and reminds him that it is not seemly to be affrighted
thus. But, we read, when he found a man of the people shouting, " him he
drave with the sceptre, and chode with loud words, ' Good sir, sit still, and
hearken to the words of others that are thy betters. ... In no wise can we
Achseans all be kings here. No good comes of a multitude of masters. Let
one be ruler, one be king, even he to whom the son of crooked-counselling
Kronos (Zeus) gave the sceptre and the judgments {themistes), that he should
bear rule.' " Thus masterfully he ranges the army, and succeeds in driving
the folk back to the place of assembly, the agora, to hear reason. Thersites
alone, the little, shrill-voiced, ill-favoured demagogue, will not sit still. Up he
gets and harangues his comrades, reviling Agamemnon, and inciting the
1 " We may well believe that the Old-English Witenagemot was an imperfect way of
expressing public opinion ; the king and a few great earls had, doubtless, most of the
talk, and to say 'Nay, nay,' instead of 'Yea, yea,' was most likely a rare and extreme
measure. . . . But there is all the difference in the world between an assembly which dares
not oppose and an assembly which has not yet formed the wish to oppose. In the one
case it is the relation of slaves to their master, in the other it is that of children to their
father. . . . Odysseus and Godwine could sway assemblies of men by the force of
eloquence. We need no further argument to show that the assemblies which they
addressed were assemblies of freemen" ("The Homeric Assembly," Freeman's Histor. Essays,
ii. p. 85).
2 74 THE HOMERIC AGE
Achseans to flee. The accusations which he brings against Agamemnon, let us
note, are to a certain extent true; therefore, when Odysseus bids him be
silent, and enforces the command with a blow from the sceptre, the whole pro-
ceeding appears at first sight arbitrary and unjust. Nevertheless, Odysseus is
in the right. The sceptre with which Agamemnon has entrusted him is not
only the symbol of justice, but the marshal's baton. This point is apt to be
overlooked, although the poet has emphasised it by the remark: "Thus
masterfully did he range the army " — straton ; not the people — laon. It must
be borne in mind that the Iliad describes camp-life, the life of an army,
supposed to be under discipline. Thersites has committed the worst offence
against military notions — in time of war, at a crisis, he has denounced the
commander-in-chief in no measured words, and incited to rebellion. In
historic times, even at certain epochs in our own country, Thersites would
certainly not have escaped with a drubbing ; a noose and the nearest tree
would have been his fate.
Or again, if we regard the Agora as, even during the campaign, a civil
institution, Thersites is " out of order." As Schoemann points out, he has
failed to comply with the rules ; the heralds have not handed him the orator's
staff, and consequently he has no right to speak in the Assembly. So that, in
whichever way we look at the occurrence, we cannot deduce from it as a " fact "
that the people in Homer have no freedom. The very reverse may be inferred
from the episode. The whole germ of the later political development lies in
the themis which rendered the consent of the people necessary as a supplement
to the decisions of the council. The whole germ of later freedom of speech
lies in the fact that this Thersites was in the habit of reviling the kings, and
that he had not before been interfered with. It would seem, indeed, as though
Odysseus were now glad of a legitimate opportunity of paying off old scores.
And the curious thing is that the comrades of Thersites, although they are
sorry for him, yet laugh and approve of the punishment. The innate sense of
order in the Greek mind is predominant, for thus would one speak, looking at
his neighbour : "Fie on it! of a truth hath Odysseus already wrought good
deeds without number . . . but now hath he done this thing, the best by
far among the Argives, in that he hath stayed this railing fellow from his
harangues." ^ The demagogue had thus the ill-luck to make his appearance in
Greek society a few centuries too early.
The character of the Greek people, the assembled warriors of all nations,
is perhaps best seen in the two passages which contrast their march with that
of the Trojans (Iliad, iii. 1-9 ; iv. 427-438). In both, the Trojans and their
foreign allies clamour and shout as they go — the confused noise of the host
and the mingling of strange tongues being likened, in the one case, to the
cries of birds, '* cranes flying from the winter rains," in the other, to the bleating
of sheep separated from their lambs ; but the Danaans march in silence.
Even as a great wave gathers its forces silently, far out at sea, long before it
breaks, billowing on the beach, " so moved in close array the ranks of the
Danaans, without pause, to the battle. Each captain gave the word, the rest
went silently — nor wouldest thou think that the great host which followed
had any voice within their breasts — in silence feared they their leaders." '^
The " fear," here (deos), is not slavish, grovelling fear like that of the Persian
forces, driven to battle before the lash, but a fear akin to awe — reverence for
their leaders and their personal valour.
1 Literally, his throwing about of words.
2 Semantoras, literally, " those who gave the signals." The word brings out admirably the
silent order of the march.
'' '^^ .
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 275
The companion passage completes the picture : " In silence moved the
Achseans, breathing courage, eager at heart to give help one to another."
The one passage might stand for a description of the grand, silent run
down the hill-side at Marathon, when the little Greek force broke on the
Persian hosts unexpectedly, as the wave bursts upon the promontories and
the shore far up into the land. The other reads like a prediction of the
generous deeds of the Athenians at Salamis and at Platsea — *' breathing
courage " into all the rest, only anxious to " give succour," haggling neither
for place nor fame, if so be that Hellas might be saved, " the Achseans
marched in silence."
The reader may ask again, what has all this to do with religion ? And
again we reply, a great deal! The one host is said to be led by Ares,
murderous Ares, who will fight for either side, provided he can but glut his
thirst for blood ; the other by bright-eyed Athena, wisdom, self-restraint, war
undertaken in a just and righteous cause.
Thus the love of order, the recognition of the necessity of discipline, which
form so essential a feature in the Hellenic character, and in the building up
of Hellas, meet us already, markedly developed, in Homer. Subordination to
rightful authority is the rule expected to be observed by every one, from
highest to lowest. Achilles, e.g. is a royal prince in no way dependent upon
Agamemnon (Agamemnon is not his suzerain as* he is that of Menelaus and
Diomedes) ; yet, because he has joined the expedition and taken service under
the king of men, he is pledged to obedience. Old Nestor himself reminds
him that " no common honour falleth to the lot of a sceptred king, to whom
Zeus giveth glory. Though thou be very strong and a goddess-mother bare
thee, yet he is mightier, for he ruleth over more" [Iliad, i. 280). Achilles
himself loyally acknowledges the obligation of submission until the arrogance
and injustice of Agamemnon pass all bounds. Even then he does not oppose
by force the seizure of Briseis.
It is, however, a strange thing, and yet a remarkable proof of the cosmo-
politan character of Homer, that it is not into the mouth of the Greek
Achilles, nor yet into that of his noblest foe, the Trojan Hector, that the poet
puts the most generous estimate of the duties of a leader of the people. It is
the Lycian prince, Sarpedon, said to be a " son of Zeus," who sets forth the
obligations of those in high places. The occasion is the storming of the Greek
rampart. The fighting on both sides is desperate, yet we read, never would
the Trojans, no, nor even glorious Hector, have taken the wall had not Zeus,
the counsellor, urged his son Sarpedon on the Argives, like a lion upon the
horned kine. " Glaucus," says Sarpedon to his comrade-in-arms as they
stand together, " wherefore have we twain honour above others — the chief
places, and the best portions, and full cups — in Lycia, and all men look upon
us as gods? And wherefore hold we a great demesne on the banks of
Xanthos, a beautiful land of orchards and wheat-bearing fields? It now
behoves us to take our stand in the forefront of the Lycians, and to take our
share in fiery battle, so that some of the strong-amassed Lycians may speak
thus : ' Yerily, not inglerious are our kings that now hold sway in Lycia —
they that eat fat sheep and drink choice wine, honey-sweet — for truly their
strength is noble, and they fight in the forefront of the Lycians ! . . . On
then ! whether we bring glory to others, or others to us ! ' Thus he spake,
and Glaucus turned not away, neither was disobedient, and they twain went
straight forward, leading the great host of the Lycians " {Iliad, xii. 310-330),
with the result that the scale of victory is turned by the final onset of
impetuous Hector — the Greek defences are taken.
276 THE HOMERIC AGE
It is curious to note in this naive old-world chronicle, not only the doctrine
of noblesse oblige^ but the very same problems that beset us at the present
day. The comment of the imaginary Lycian onlooker presupposes, on his
part, the question put by Sarpedon to Glaucus — " Why should we twain be
honoured above others merely because we are princes ? Why should ' the
many ' sup barley-porridge by the roadside, whilst ' the few ' have seats of
honour and eat the fat and drink the sweet ? " Here is the modern conflict be-
tween " classes and masses," as it appeared nearly three thousand years ago. We
meet it again in the speech of Thersites. The demagogue reviles Agamemnon
because of his wealth — because his tents are filled with treasures, " choice booty
which we Achseans give thee first of all, whene'er we sack a town " (Iliad, ii.
206). " We Achaeans give thee." Here is the *' unearned increment " with a
vengeance. As we have seen, however, the reproach is not unjust ; for it must
be remembered that Achilles also accuses Agamemnon of taking his ease by the
ships and appropriating to himself the spoils which others have toiled for in
the licensed piracy of war (Iliad, ix. 328 ei seq.).
If the problem meets us here, so also does the remedy, put by the wise old
master into the mouth of the noble son of a divine sire : " It behoves us who
eat the fat and drink the sweet to stand in the very forefront of the fighters ! "
says Sarpedon. ''It is our bounden duty, the way pointed out by Dike, justice.
Let us take our due share, then, in the fiery battle of life, so that the toilers
by necessity may look upon us, and say without a sneer, ' Yerily, their dainty
nurture, their culture availeth somewhat, for their strength is noble ! ' " So,
joining hands with the toilers, by the united forces of classes and masses may
the strongest rampart be forced, the gravest social problem solved, noblesse
oblige I
5. Friend and Friend. — " Truly in no whit worse than a brother is a com-
rade that hath an understanding heart," says Alcinous, the generous king of
the Phseacians (Od., viii. 585), and the sentiment is echoed throughout both
Iliad and Odyssey. The love of Achilles for Patroclus was as proverbial in
Hellas as that of David for Jonathan in Israel. When Patroclus falls, the
love of life departs from Achilles ; thenceforward he has but one wish — to
avenge the death of his comrade. The grudge against Agamemnon, the expec-
tation of returning to his native land, the hope of seeing his old father, Peleus,
are alike swallowed up in this mighty grief. Achilles will avenge Patroclus on
Hector, even although he knows that the death of Hector is the presage and
signal of his own (Iliad, xviii. 95). What greater love can a man show than
that he will die for his friend 1 In his measure, Achilles understood the force
of the argument — in his barbaric way he fulfilled the obligation.
lY.— THE OATH AND HOSPITALITY
6. Sacredness of the Oath. — The keeping of the oath of the Covenant is one
of the most sacred of obligations in Homer. It forms, in fact, one of those
germs of international law, which will engage our attention immediately. The
extreme importance with which it was regarded is evident both from the
minuteness wherewith the ceremonial is described, and the formulae used by
prince and people, when Achseans and Trojans meet to pledge one another
with trusty oaths. The old king, Priam, who on other occasions is represented
by his son Hector, is specially summoned to appear in propria persond as the
head of the Trojan race. He drives them down to the plain in his chariot,
I
THE OATH AND HOSPITALITY 277
accompanied by the heralds bearing the faithful faith-offerings for the gods —
two lambs and strong-hearted wine, fruit of earth, in a goat-skin bottle,
together with the shining bowl and golden cups wherewith to make libation.
Old Priam alights in the midst of the assembled hosts of Trojans and Achseans
(Iliad, iii. 264 et seq.). Then uprise Agamemnon, king of men, and Odysseus of
many devices, representatives of the assembled Greek nations. The courteous
heralds gather together the holy oath-offerings, mingle the wine in the bowl,
and pour water, as a ceremonial purification, on the hands of the kings. " And
Atreides put forth his hand and drew his knife . . . and cut off the hair from
the head of the lambs, and this the heralds distributed among the chief of the
Trojans and Achseans " (as a pledge and reminder, apparently). Then in tbeir
midst Agamemnon prayed aloud, with uplifted hands : " Father Zeus, that
rulest from Ida, most glorious, most great, and thou, Helios (the sun), who
seest all things and hearest all things, and ye rivers, and thou earth, and ye
that beneath the earth punish men whose toil is ended (the dead), whosoever
sweareth falsely : be ye witnesses and guard the faithful oath ! " Then follows
the special prayer, after which the sacrifice is offered ; the throats of the lambs
are cut by the pitiless knife of Agamemnon and the animals laid gasping upon
the ground ; the cups are then filled from the bowl, and the wine poured forth
in libation to the gods that live for ever. The last ceremony is most impressive
of all, for, as the wine is being poured out, thus would many a one say of
Achseans and Trojans : '' Zeus, most glorious, most great, and all ye immortal
gods ! which folk soever (Trojans or Achseans) first bring misery by breaking
the oath, may their brains be poured forth upon the ground as this wine, theirs
and their children's, and may their wives be made subject to strangers ! "
(Iliad, iii. 298).
We cannot be surprised, therefore, to read that after the breaking of the
oath by the Trojan Pandarus, when Athena had " persuaded his senseless
heart " to shoot at Menelaus, Agamemnon regards the occurrence as a sign of
the impending doom of the Trojans. "Ye Argives ! " he says, "in no wise
abandon your impetuous valour, for Father Zeus will be no helper of liars.
But as they have been the first to do mischief against the oaths, so now, surely,
shall these vultures eat their own tender flesh, and we shall lead away their
wives and their little ones to the ships when once we have taken the citadel "
{Iliad, iv. 234).
The Trojans, on their part, are completely discouraged : " Now are we
fighting falsely against the faithful oath," says the Trojan Antenor, " therefore
there is no profit for us " (Iliad, vii. 357). In the acute sense of the impending
doom even Paris has a share, and is moved to offer the restoration of the wealth
which he had taken from the Greek Menelaus, and to add more thereto as
compensation. The real cause of the war, however, Helen, he will not give
up. The opinion of the Greeks as to this offer is expressed in the words
of Diomedes : "Let no one now," he says, "accept the wealth of Alexander
(Paris), nor yet Helen herself. Known is it, yea, even to him that is but a
babe, how that already the issues of destruction hang over the Trojans " (Iliad,
vii. 400), and all the Achseans applaud the saying. Thus, the breaking of the
faithful oath and covenant made with sacrifice is regarded by both peoples as
fatal to the cause of Troy. So inexplicable to the mind of Homer is the com-
mitting of such a sin, that he can only attribute it to the prompting of one of
the gods (Athena), they being, in his view, not subject to the same code of
honour as mortals.
But how about eteon, that curious derivative of the verb " to be " — " being "
opposed to " seeming" — with which the Aryans marched out of the Old Home?
2 78 THE HOMERIC AGE
Have the Greeks preserved the desire for reality, for truth, or lost it ? There
is a fourfold testimony at the least to its preservation and development : —
(a) The testimony of Achilles : " Hateful to me as the gates of hell ^ is he
who hideth one thing in his heart and uttereth another " {Iliad, ix. 312).
(h) The testimony of Odysseus : " Hateful to me as the gates of hell is he
who, yielding to poverty, speaketh guile " {Od., xiv. 156).
(c) The testimony of Telemachus : "To speak truth is dear to me "
{Od., xvii. 15).
{d) The testimony of old Nestor concerning Menelaus : " He will not tell
thee a lie, for " — note ! — '' he is very wise " {Od., iii. 326).
J But how does all this tally with the profound respect entertained by the heroes
for Odysseus, " the man of wiles" ? Here we must bear in mind that curious
transition which we have already noticed as made, not only in Greek but in all
languages, from the early and honourable sense of skill, ingenuity, in such
words as "craft," "cunning," and other cognate terms, to the sense in which
we now use them. Odysseus, in the Iliad, is a man of many wiles in the
sense of being a man of "many devices" — ever ready with counsel, of good
mother-wit, fertile in suggestion and resource. He bears the same character
in the Odyssey in reference to the stratagems by which he and his comrades
escape from the clutches of the Cyclops, from the snares of Circe and the
sirens, and the dangers of Scylla and Charybdis. It is in this sense that we
must understand his own words when making himself known to the Phseacians:
" I am Odysseus, son of Laertes, who am well known to men for all manner
of guile, and my fame reacheth unto heaven! " {Od., ix. 19). Would Odysseus
willingly give himself a bad character to the very people on whom he is depend-
ing for his return home ? We trow not. The c^o/o^ = stratagems, " all manner
of guile," on which he prides himself — literally, "baits for fish" — are simply
instances of his ingenuity in extricating himself and others from perils. Among
these may be included the masterful way in which he gets the people back to
the Assembly, " partly by wiles of courtesy." In the same sense must be taken
the famous dialogue with Athena, in which the goddess compliments him on
his ready wit — he is the first of all mortals in counsel and speech, as
she herself among the gods is famed for "wit and wiles" {Od., xiii. 297).
Naturally, there are all the materials here, as well as in the stories which
the ready-witted hero invents in his disguise, for the transformation which the
character of Odysseus undergoes later at the hands of the tragic writers and of
the Latin poets. In no respect has " long-suffering" Odysseus suffered more
than in the treatment whereby the noble-hearted, steadfast hero of both Iliad
and Odyssey becomes the Mephistopheles of later writers, the originator of
every mean and cruel artifice necessary for the concoction of a plot. It
would be well indeed to apply the Latin name " Ulysses " to this perversion,
this monster of craft in the late sense, ^ and keep the Greek name " Odysseus "
for the true-hearted man of strength, the real hero of Homer, the justest of
kings and best of masters.
What the Achaeans think of Odysseus is well seen in the words of noble
Diomedes — himself the most sterling of characters — when he is advised to take
a companion with him on the reconnoitring expedition to the camp of the
Trojans {Iliad, x. 242) : " If, indeed, ye bid me choose for myself a comrade,
how then could I be unmindful of godlike Odysseus, whose heart is right eager
^ Hades = Lord of Death, or the region of the dead.
2 " Ulysses may pass, and welcome, as the cruel and crafty sinner of the JEneid, but let us
keep unhurt in name, as well as in character, the true and brave and wise Achaian hero, the
divine Odysseus of Homer " (Freeman, Hist. Essays, 2nd Series, p. 55).
THE OATH AND HOSPITALITY 279
and his spirit so manful in all manner of toils? And Pallas Athena loves him.
While he cometh with me, out of burning fire should we both return, for his
understanding is excellent."
Such is the man of " many devices " in the judgment of those who know
him best,
7. Hospitality. — The due of the stranger, the suppliant, the beggar, to help
and kindly treatment is a duty which in early days, more than any other, falls
within the domain of religion. To reverence the gods, to honour parents, the
aged, and the king, to cherish the wife, to be faithful to friends — these are all
duties dictated by natural piety as concerned with the immediate circle of the
individual. When we remember, however, that in the earliest times xenos
( = " guest-friend ") meant " enemy," '' foe," we can see that another influence
must have been at work here to effect so significant a transformation. The
intercourse promoted by commerce naturally helped to break down national
prejudices (see ante, p. 188) ; but the main factor in the change is undoubtedly
the gradual development of the belief that all such helpless beings were under
the special protection of Zeus Xenios, the god of the stranger.
The position of those who stood outside of legal rights has been well set
forth by Hermann : " the living community of interests and of sentiment that
existed among members of the same states," he says, " was in antiquity the
strongest guarantee of public rights. Where this community of interests
ceased a man had no rights, even in historic times. Foreigner and foe were
reckoned as one and the same, and even different states had no rights in rela-
tion to another. When war broke out, it threatened everything that men held
dear ; no means were left untried to secure the victory, and once won, the
victor had absolute power over the person and the possessions of the van-
quished ; the defenceless were not spared ; robbery on a great, and robbery
on a small scale were alike honourable. The only laws recognised, even in
historic times, were those which bound a man to his particular state. Beyond
the bounds of his own state every man was beyond the bounds of law and had
no rights. If he wished to settle in another state, he had first to see to his
own personal safety. Slavery is only a natural consequence of this principle,
which bound up the rights and personality of the man with his own state.
This explains the fact that a sentence of perpetual exile, which meant civic
death, was regarded as tantamount to a sentence of death.
To believe that the suppliant (the enemy, it may be, within our power), or
the hated foreigner, or the wanderer without shelter, had any rights — dues
to be paid to him by those more happily placed than himself — this required in
early days a motive-power stronger than the natural feelings of pity and com-
passion. This motive-power was supplied by religion — the " fear of God," as
we should say, the " ojpis of the gods " as Homer would say. " Religion, the
nourisher of all higher perception in man, came to the rescue," says Hermann,
" and just where earthly protection failed, Zeus took under his care the
traveller and the homeless."
The exercise of hospitality to the Homeric man, therefore, was a duty as
distinctly religious as are almsgiving and charitable works to the Christian of
the present century. To neglect this duty, or worse, to treat its sacred obliga-
tions with contempt, is to bring down the wrath of the gods, not only on the
individual himself, but on his city.
Let us look at a few instances in point.
(a) The Guest-friend. — The reader will doubtless recollect that wondrous
interchange of gifts whereby the Lycian prince, Glaucus, made so bad a bar-
gain — giving to the Greek Diomedes golden armour of the value of 100 oxen
28o THE HOMERIC AGE
and receiving in return bronze armour of the value of 9 oxen {Iliad, vi. 119,
236). This interchange of gifts is a token that these two who are foes, inas-
much as they are fighting on opposite sides, will regard each other hencefor-
ward as *' guest-friends" {xenoi). They have discovered that on one occasion
Bellerophon, grandfather of Glaucus, had been received hospitably and enter-
tained for twenty days by Oeneus, grandfather of Diomedes. Bellerophon
and Oeneus were, therefore, " guest-friends," and their descendants stand in
the same relation one to the other, " Therefore," says Diomedes, " I am now a
dear guest-friend to thee in Argos, and thou to me in Lycia, whensoever I may
come to your land." And he proposes that they shall shun each other's spears
in the throng — there are Trojans and Achseans enough for each to slay with-
out harming his guest-friend. Then the two heroes, leaping from their
chariots, clasp each other's hands, interchange gifts as pledges of good faith,
and thus publicly avow themselves to be, although nominally foes, yet in
reality friends at heart, in virtue of the sacred obligation of a hereditary
" guest-friendship."
That the guest-friendship was recognised as a real obligation, not one
existing in name only, is evidenced incidentally by the story of Lycaon, a son
of old Priam [Iliad, xxi. 34 et seq.). Him Achilles took captive in his father's
orchard, and sold as a slave to Lesbos, where he was set free by a " guest-
friend," who, it is said, " gave much for him," and put Lycaon in the way of
returning secretly to his father's house. The guest-friendship was thus an
institution of the greatest practical value in early times. The iniquitous
return made by Paris for the hospitality of Menelaus, to whose house he had
come as a guest, is emphasised over and over again in the Iliad as the cause
of the Trojan War and of the destruction of Troy. To this we shall recur
shortly. Meantime, let one quotation, the prayer of Menelaus, suffice {Iliad,
iii. 351). "King Zeus," he says before the single combat between himself and
Paris, " grant me to punish him who was first to do me wrong, and subdue
thou him under my hands ; so that many a one of men that are yet to come,
may shudder to work evil to his host, that hath shown him kindness." The
guest-friendship is, in fact, like the keeping of the oaths, one of those germs of
international law which form the basis of mutual trust between nation and
nation.
The indissoluble bond between hospitality and religion is seen in the
exclamation repeatedly put into the mouth of Odysseus when arriving on an
unknown coast : " Ah me ! to what mortal's land am I now come ? Are they
violent and wild and unjust, or guest-loving and of God-fearing mind?" {Od.^
vi. 119; ix. 175 ; xiii. 201).
{h) The Suppliant {hiJfetes) is a man in a worse plight even than the stranger
in a strange land, for he requires not only hospitality but some special help.
Often he combines both characters, as in the case of a man fleeing from the
avenger of blood {Od., xv. 277).
The suppliant indicates his need silently by casting himself at the feet
of the person of whom the boon is to be craved, and clasping his knees, as
Thetis clasps the knees of Zeus, Odysseus those of Arete, old Priam those
of Achilles. If possible, the appeal is made by the family hearth, whereon
burns the sacred fire of the home, emblem of family affection and the sacred
fires which knit man to his fellowrnan.^ Therefore, no sooner has Odysseus
clasped the knees of Arete, and made his prayer for help that he may come to
his own land, than he sits down among the ashes on the hearth by the fire
1 Hestia, the sacred fire on the hearth, is not in Homer yet personified, although we have
the expression, "the sacred hearth" of Odysseus.
THE OATH AND HOSPITALITY
2«I
(Od., vii. 153 et seq.). The Phaeacian nobles assembled at the banquet in the
hall of Alcinous are taken by surprise (for Odysseus has entered unperceived,
concealed in a thick mist which Athena shed about him), and a dead silence
falls upon all. At length an ancient lord remonstrates: "Alcinous," he says,
" this is truly not the more excellent way, nor is it fitting that the stranger
should sit upon the ground in the ashes by the hearth. These men wait thy
command. Nay, come ! bid the stranger rise and set him on a silver inlaid chair
and do thou bid the henchmen mingle the wine, that we may pour forth before
Zeus, whose joy is in the thunder, who accompanieth reverend suppliants.
Let the housewife give food to the stranger of the stores that are within."
Thus reminded of his duty, King Alcinous bids his son give place, and sets the
stranger next himself. And afterwards it is repeated that libation was made
by all to "Zeus, who accompanieth reverend suppliants."
Here, again, we see the close connection between the distressed and Father
Zeus. It is still further emphasised by Odysseus himself in his speech to the
Cyclops, the gigantic one-eyed shepherd [Od., ix. 266). "We are come," he
says, " as suppliants to thy knees, if perchance thou wilt furnish the host's
gift, or some little present, such as is the due (tJiemis) of strangers. Nay, O
mighty one, revere the gods. We are thy suppliants. Zeus is the avenger
of suppliants and of strangers — Zeus, who companyeth with reverend
strangers." ^
Most beautiful of all Homeric "texts" on the subject, however, is the
remark put into the mouth of the worthy king Alcinous. Referring to the
noble gifts collected by the Phseacians out of friendship for Odysseus, he says
{Od., viii. 546) : " In a brother's place stand the stranger and the suppliant
to the man whose wits reach ever so little way."
(r) The Wanderer and the Beggar. — The duty of hospitality is, however,
not confined to a kind reception of their equals in station as guest-friends and
suppliants by the rich, the stranger of whatever rank is entitled to a welcome.
He is received in the halls, entertained at the board, and not until he is
refreshed with food are any questions asked as to his name and business
{Od., i. 123; iii. 69). Specially welcome are the demiourgi, the workers for
the people — seer, physician, carpenter, and minstrel — but even the beggar has
his rights. It is disguised as a beggar that Odysseus returns to his own halls ;
because he knows that he will be admitted and will thus have an opportunity
of testing for himself the disposition, and observing the conduct of those under
his roof. It is, too, concerning the ill-treatment in the halls of this supposed
beggar by the Wooers, that Penelope reproaches her son (see ante, p. 267) he
had not prevented it, although now a man. Telemachus makes answer that he
is no longer a child, for he can discern Good from Evil ; but that the Wooers
hinder him from doing the Good, i.e. protecting the stranger, strictly, as we
have seen, a religious duty.
" The stranger and the beggar," says Nausicaa, " are from Zeus, and a little
gift is dear."
(d) Those ivho have no rights. — In the prisoners of war and the slave we
touch two classes of unfortunates who are not thought to be from Zeus. The
Father can be claimed as Xenios, god of the stranger, and as Hikesios, god of
the suppliant ; there are, perhaps, Erinyes, avengers of the beggar, but there
is no god specially watching over the captive of the spear, no avenger of the
slave. The reason is not far to seek ; both have lost their individuality — it is
merged in that of their master.
^ The word translated reverend {aidoios) means " worthy of pity not so much for themselves
as on account of their misfortunes." See next section.
282 THE HOMERIC AGE
The Captive of the Spea7\ — At the banquet of the Phseacians, Odysseus
weeps, unobserved by all but the kindly Alcinous. His tears are caused by the
minstrel's lay. Demodocus has sung of the sack of Troy, and Homer likens the
grief of Odysseus to that of those who are led a\yay into captivity {Od., viii. 523
et seq.). '' As a woman mourns, clasping her dear lord, who had fallen before
his city and people, warding off the pitiless day from his town and children ;
she sees him gasping and struggling with death, and throws herself round him
with piercing cries ; while the foemen behind smite her with spears on back
and shoulders, and lead her up into bondage to bear toil and woe, and her
cheeks are wasted away by misery most pitiful, even so pitifully fell the tears
from beneath the brows of Odysseus,"
Many such scenes must the hero have witnessed. It is the fate which
Hector fears for Andromache — a captivity worse than death — and there is no
thought of God to mitigate its horrors. True, the captive may be ransomed,
as Lycaon is by the guest-friend (p. 280) ; but the ransom may be refused, as
in the case of the damsel Chryseis (Iliad, i. 12 et seq.). Agamemnon is ulti-
mately forced to give her back to her father ; but this is only because that
father happens to be a priest of Apollo, and the god intervenes. The vast
majority of captives naturally could not hope to be ransomed, and their fate
forms one of the darkest chapters in the history of man.
2'he Slave. — In Homer we see the best side only of the institution of
slavery, for it is to the household of Odysseus that we are introduced, a man
of whom Eumseus, the swineherd, one of his thralls, says: " Never again shall
I find a lord so gentle, how far soe'er I may go, not even were I to come again
to the house of my father and mother" {Od., xiv. 138). Naturally, the treat-
ment of " property " depends on the disposition of the owner.
Moreover, Eumaeus himself is as exceptional a slave as Odysseus is a
master. To begin with, he is a slave by accident, not by birth ; a king's son,
he has been kidnapped by greedy Phoenician merchant-men and sold as a child
into bondage. Hence he has no slave blood in his veins, no taint derived from
a long heritage of willlessness and degradation.
Then, again, Eumaeus himself is, morally, one of the noblest characters in
the whole range of Homeric creations. In every way he fulfils the obligations
of Themis and Dike ; he has his own reverent ideas about the gods. " Verily,"
he says, '' the blessed gods love not violence, but they reverence justice and
the righteous deeds of men ; " he is most loyal and faithful to the family of
the master whom he reveres, guarding their interests as if they had been his
own ; and out of the humble means at his disposal he is generous to the
wanderer and the beggar. He, too, like Nausicaa, knows that " from Zeus are
all strangers and beggars," and he knows, too, about the "little gift" — ''from
such as we," he says, " a little gift is dear " {Od., xiv. 83 ; 57).
In short, Eumaeus cannot be reckoned amongst the slave " rank and file."
In every way he is what Homer calls him, " a leader of men" {Od., i. 428) — in
every way entitled to a foremost place.
Eurycleia, also, the trusty nurse of Odysseus, is another example of the
same class. It is probable that she, too, was freeborn, for it is expressly said
that she was " the daughter of Ops, son of Peisenor," and that old Laertes, the
father of Odysseus, who had bought her in her youth for the value of twenty
oxen, honoured her as he honoured his dear wife in the halls. ^ She would
appear, therefore, to have been sold by her own father — a custom legalised in
Thebes in historic times. Like Eumaeus, she too is devout and faithful in all
things, small and great. She has direction of the fifty women-servants in the house
^ Yet Eurycleia is no IJagar {Od., i. 433).
THE HOMERIC IDEALS 283
of Odysseus. "These," she tells him, " we teach to work, to card wool, and to
bear bondage" (OcZ., xxii. 422) — a significant phrase. Think of the millions
taught throughout antiquity, and even, to our shame, in Christian times, to
bear bondage in the sense of absolute dependence on the will of an irresponsible
owner — taught to become the *' living tools" of Aristotle — and what a gulf of
misery do we open up !
There is no god of the slave in Homer. As the " divine " swine-herd
Eumseus says : " The half of his uprightness (arete) doth far-seeing Zeus take
from a man, when the day of slavery cometh upon him " (Od., xvii. 322).
(8) Right of Burial or Burninrj. — The due of the dead, finally, is burial or
burning. Thus, before the single combat with Ajax, and again before the final
struggle with Achilles, Hector makes the condition that the body of the hero
who falls is to be given back to his friends — his own, should he die, to be taken
to his home, that Trojans and Trojan women may give him his " due of fire " in
his death {Iliad, vii. 79).
It is the " due " or right of the dead, inasmuch as the departed spirit
cannot be received into Hades, the abode of the dead, until the body is
consumed or returned to earth. Thus, the ghost of Patroclus appears to
Achilles, and prays the hero to bury him with all speed, that so he may " pass
the gates of Hades " (Iliad, xxiii. 74). The reverent disposal of the dead is,
therefore, not merely dictated by natural feeling but by religious motives which
acted so powerfully that the affording of opportunity for the burial of the dead
formed the third of the primitive bases of international law which we have
been considering. To refuse a truce in time of war, for the burial of the dead, is
criminal on the part of the conqueror ; to delay asking it is equally criminal
on the part of the losing side, even although the request be an acknowledgment
of defeat. When the Trojans, in their discouragement after the breaking of
the oaths, send a herald to the Greek camp with the offer of a return of the
riches stolen by Paris, they couple with it a request for them to bury their dead
— a request which, together with the offer, convinces the Greeks that the
Trojans' day of doom has come. The offer, as we have seen, is refused ;
" but," says Agamemnon, " touching the dead, I deny you not to burn them,
for there is no stinting of dead bodies, when once they are dead, of the swift
propitiation of fire " (Iliad, vii. 408).
The due of the dead is, therefore, the last claim of diks, and to refuse
to acknowledge it is to carry enmity and hatred beyond the grave.
THE HOMERIC IDEALS
This rapid survey of the great unwritten laws in operation has enabled us
to form some estimate at least of the bases of morality among the Homeric
Greeks. Let us now take a glance, equally brief, at their ideals. These may
be summed up in three words: i)iA:e = justice, ^?*eife = manliness, Aidos =
reverence. Justice, manliness, reverence ! —a noble trio and well worthy of
our consideration.
(i) Dike = justice, is, of course, simply the "more excellent way" in all
the relations of life — the way whereby a man may walk steadfastly in the
unwritten laws, giving reverence to whom reverence is due, honour to whom
honour, custom to whom custom — to all, their rights.
(2) Arete corresponds to the Latin vir-tus, a term generally rendered as
" virtue," but which, as we all know, originally signified " valour," bravery.
284 THE HOMERIC AGE
Courage against the foe is the first requisite in early times, that a man may
defend those dependent on him ; courage in later times is no less necessary,
that a man may defend the right — courage from first to last is the essence of
manliness. Hence arete came to mean all that makes a man a Man in the eyes
of others — physical excellence, beauty, swiftness of foot, moral and intellectual
excellence, all are summed up in arete.
Thus, of a hero it is said that he excelled "in all kinds of manliness
(pantoias aretas) — in swiftness of foot, in battle, in wisdom he was the first
among the Mycenseans" (Iliad, xv. 642).
Arete was thus the union of the qualities which attract attention and confer
distinction, and hence it signified that which was so (Schmidt, i. 294) character-
istically, inexpressibly dear to the Hellenic mind — fame, glory.^ In this sense
we find it applied to the gods (Iliad, ix. 498), who are said to surpass men in
excellence (arete) as well as in honour and might — although indeed the idea of
the gods possessing the ordinary "manliness" is not out of harmony with
other anthropomorphic notions.
By Plato and Aristotle arete is used as the general term for what we
understand by " virtue " = moral goodness, but even in Homer the transition is
made. In the Odyssey (which in this as in other ways shows its later origin)
Penelope, the faithful wife of Odysseus, is praised for her great arete =
courageous virtue — the fame of this arete shall never perish (0(i., xxiv. 193,
197)- . . . ,
Most striking and exceedingly pathetic is the passage which we already
know. " The half of his uprightness (arete = manliness) doth far-seeing Zeus
take from a man in the day that slavery cometh upon him." Most striking
and most pathetic, because the man who makes the assertion is himself a slave,
the swineherd Eumseus.
(3) Aidos, a word which we have rendered reverence, is one of those terms
which, whenever we attempt to translate them, lose their bloom. Any ren-
dering of the Greek aidos by a single Latin, German, or English equivalent
would be, by the side of the original, what a flower from the hortus siccus of
the botanist is by the side of the sister-flower blooming on the mountain. So
many-sided is it, moreover, that no one phrase in any other language could
mirror it.
(a) We might perhaps begin to describe it as follows : If arete is that
which makes a, man a " man" outwardly and in the opinion of others, aidos is
that which makes a man a "man" to his own true inner self. Hence aidos is
self-respect, that which makes a man turn away from what would lower him
in his own eyes. Thus of the Achseans we read that, even after the Trojans
forced them back upon the ships, there they remained, close in their ranks,
and did not scatter, "for shame (aidos) and fear restrained them " (Iliad, xv.
657) — shame before themselves, that is, a fear of what others might say.
(h) Then again, by that curious intermingling which we have already
observed in arete,^ aidos becomes this very sensitiveness to the opinion of
others. Aidos is the spring and motive to which the Homeric leaders appeal
in urging on the host. Again and again is the word thus used — by Agamem-
non, Ajax, Telamon, Nestor, &c. " O friends, be men ! " cries Ajax, " and lay
up shame in your hearts ; have shame of one another (fear of contempt) in
^ Nitzsch {Anvi. zu Horn., Bd. i. p. 146) translates the sense of arete as "that which is
pleasing to men "(den Menscher ein WoJdgef alien) . "Greek feeling," he says, " united with
beauty, wealth, ability, and every success, immediately the idea of the attention, the praise
and the fame, which these things win from others."
2 See previous footnote.
THE HOMERIC IDEALS 285
the strong battles, for of those who are thus shamefast 1 more are saved than
slain, but for those who flee there is neither glory nor safety " {Iliad, xv. 569).
Here the expression is used no less than three times.
{c) But the aidos is shame in yet another sense. It is that shame which
draws a veil over the deepest feelings of the heart. This is beautifully
brought out in the scene at the first Phseacian banquet {Od., viii. 86), when
the divine minstrel sings the songs of famous men and of the hero then
present, although unknown, amongst them. The inner chords are touched,
and Odysseus, unable to overcome his emotion, draws his great cloak over
his face, "for he was ashamed to shed tears beneath his brows before the
Phseacians" {Od., viii. 86).
{d) But, if the aidos has to do with the deepest feelings of a man's own
heart, it also concerns itself in the most wonderful way with the secret feelings
of others. Thus, in that remarkable passage where Agamemnon reproaches
Diomedes and his comrade Sthenelus with being worse men than their fathers,
and Sthenelus makes the indignant retort, " Lie not, Atreides ! " already quoted
(p. 264), Diomedes at first makes no answer, for, says the poet, "he reve-
renced the reproof of the king revered." But presently he looks askance at
his outspoken comrade. " Brother," he says, " sit silent and obey my saying.
I am not vexed at Agamemnon, shepherd of the host, in that he goadeth on
the well-greaved Achaeans to the fight. For on him will the glory attend if
the Achseans lay low the Trojans and take sacred Ilios ; on him also will be
the great sorrow if the Achseans be laid low" {Iliad, iv. 411). Here a noble
and impetuous youth, chafing under an insulting and undeserved rebuke, yet
keeps silence out of reverent sympathy for the anxieties of the ruler.
(e) The next use of aidos is even more beautiful. When Achilles, to glut
his vengeance for the slaying of Patroclus, shamefully treats the dead body of
Hector, Apollo vehemently protests against this indignity to the assembled
gods, and declares that Achilles " hath destroyed pity (crushed it out of his
heart), neither hath he shame" {Iliad, xxiv. 44). And so, when Hecabe
endeavours to dissuade old Priam from the journey to the ships of the Greeks,
her argument is the dread of Achilles : "a savage, not- to-be-trusted man is
this — he will not pity, neither reverence thy grey hairs at all " {Iliad, xxiv.
207). Priam, however, goes on his way in the darkness of the night. Arriving
at Achilles' tent he enters, and straightway clasping (as a suppliant) the hero's
knees he kisses his hands — those hands, " terrible, man-slaying, that had
slaughtered " so many of Priam's sons — and then the old man begins with
wondrous tact : " Bethink thee of thy father, Achilles, like to gods, that is of
like years with me on the grievous pathway of old age ! " And with like tact
the appeal concludes : " Reverence the gods, Achilles, and pity me, even me,
remembering thy father." The right chord is touched, the aidos comes back
to Achilles ; he breaks down, and conqueror and conquered mingle their tears
together — the one for the father, the other for the son, whom he shall never
see in life again.
(/) The next meaning of aidos has its origin in that strange transforma-
tion whereby ojenos came to mean not "foe" but "guest." Hence the noble
swineherd Eumaeus says that of the labour of his hands he has eaten and
drunken, and " given to those who are to be reverenced {aidoioisin) " {Od., xv.
373), His auditor well knows who are meant — the stranger, the suppliant, the
homeless wanderer ; all these are from Zeus, sent by him to be " reverenced "
— i.e. taken care of.
{g) Finally, passing over many other passages, we conclude with one which
^ Mr. Lang's excellent rendering, shamfefast, here = steadfast.
286 THE HOMERIC AGE
contrasts most marvellously the man possessed and the man devoid of aidos.
The scene is supposed to be the games following the Phgeacian banquet.
Odysseus, still unknown, has been asked to take his turn in the various contests
of skill and has declined, whereupon one of the young nobles, Euryalus by
name, twits him as being more like to a man that hath charge of a cargo of
eagerly-snatched-at gains than one that is an athlete, practised in manly
sports. " Then Odysseus of many counsels looked sternly at him, and spake
to him : ' Friend, not well (kalon) hast thou spoken. Thou art like to a man
presumptuous. Thus the gods give not to all men every grace — stature and
wisdom and power in speech. For one man is feebler than another in form,
but God crowneth his words with beauty, and men look upon him and rejoice ;
he speaketh with certainty and sweet modesty, and is distinguished in the
assembly, and when he cometh into the city men gaze upon him as on a god.
Another, again, in beauty is like to the immortals, but to his words there
lacketh the crown of grace. Even so, thy form indeed is wondrous stately —
nor could God Himself fashion it better — but in mind thou art empty ! ' "
(Od., viii. 165 62^ seq.).
Thus the aidos, gathering up into one so many tender and beautiful traits
— reverence towards the gods, reverence towards the higher self, reverence for
the ruler in anxiety, for the aged, for the weak, the stranger, the suppliant — is,
above and beyond all these, that " sweet modesty " which is the Oharis, the
crowning grace of the whole.
Truly, if any proof were needed of the truth of the statement that " Man
was made in the image of God," such proof is before our eyes in the aidos.
Such a word, expressive of the truest refinement, we might have expected to
find indeed among a people like the Hellenes, but only at their prime. We
might have looked for it, perhaps not unreasonably, in Sophocles or Plato.
But here it stands in the earliest dawn of history — before the conception or
even the word " history " had been formed — placed there by the Great Teacher,
by Him who has educated the nations to soften and civilise by its gentle influ-
ence until the great Exemplar Himself should come.
Y.— SIN
Such, then, were the ideals of the Homeric man. He is no hero, in the
eyes either of his fellows or of the gods, who does not rise to the claims of
justice, manliness, reverence. Do, then, the heroes ever fall short of these
claims ? And if so, are they conscious of a fall ?
Some writers would have us believe that no thoughts of shortcoming ever
troubled the mind of the Homeric age. Their idea of Homeric life seems to
be borrowed from the description of the festivities in the halls of the hospitable
Alcinous ; and their conception of the aims of the heroes is summed up in the
words in which Odysseus on one of these occasions compliments his host. He
says that to his mind the fairest of sights is when all the people hold festival,
and sit in the halls, listening to the singer, whilst the tables are laden with
good cheer, and the wine-cup goes merrily round {Od., ix. 5 et seq.). But the
gist of the passage is that this scene is delightful to Odysseus from its rarity.
He calls it a telos, that is, a consummation, issue, or result of something that
has gone before — like Ids own hard experience.
The real life of the heroes, as depicted by Homer, is an earnest one. The
only careless, light-hearted individual in the Iliad is Paris, the contemptible ;
the only persons in the Odyssey that perpetually feast and make merry are the
SIN 287
lordly wooers, who are doing it at another man's cost, and thereby drawing
down death and black fate upon their heads.
True, despite the fact that scenes of battle and death form the background
of the Iliad, there is a joyous ring throughout, a buoyant t9ne which cannot
be weighed down even by such associations. But this is neither the joy of
frivolity nor the joyous ease of a summer-day. Rather is it the joy of the
spring-time. As a later Homer might have said of the age : " Even as the
sap runneth up into the boughs of a tree, causing them to bring forth leafage
and blossoms and fruit, so did their great might energise in the hearts of the
Achseans." The fresh bright tone of Homer is the brightness of energy and
hope — the energy and hope of a great nation in its youth. But we shall do a
grievous wrong to the old master if we imagine for a moment that he takes
any but the most earnest view of life and its obligations, as they unfold them-
selves to his eyes.
To the question then. Were Homer's men and women conscious of what
we call " shortcoming " and " sin " ? we reply. Certainly they were ; Homer
depicted real men and women, not creatures of imagination ; and it is writ
large upon his pages that sin was not only a source of grief to them but a
great puzzle. The Homeric hero, like Telemachus, knows perfectly well right
from wrong ; he has a noble nature ; he means to do the right, but somehow
or other he fails and does — the wrong. ^ We may learn this indeed from the
language itself. Let us look at some half-dozen words used by Homer to
denote sin. They are —
{a) ate, blindness of heart ;
(6) atasthalia, darkening of the mind ;
(c) hamartano, to miss the mark, fail ;
{d) alitaino, to err, wander in mind ;
(e) hyperbasia, a transgression (overstepping).
Here, again, we note the curious blending of the moral and intellectual
perceptions peculiar to the Greek. The Homeric man does the right, because
he knows it (p. 267) ; and he now does the wrong, because he has " become
blind," " darkness has overtaken " him, he has aimed and " missed the mark,"
he has " wandered," and " overstepped " the bounds of the great unwritten
laws.
Very pathetic are these secrets of language. The Homeric man, like
ourselves, knew something of the moral conflict.
(/) Another very important word for sin must also be noticed here —
hybris. Its etymology is not clear ;2 but its general meaning is "fulness of
sin," sin showing itself in sheer wantonness and unbridled insolence.
One or two instances of the way in which these words are used must now
be briefly glanced at. Unless we understand this side of the Greek character,
we shall fail to understand the whole.
(a) Ate. The origin of evil is a terrible mystery to the Greek, and so he
calls it ate, " blindness." Ate has come upon him, and darkened the know-
ledge of right and wrong which he perceived in his heart. A man who sins
is, in fact, infatuated, so blind that he cannot see whither he is going, the
^ Cf. St. Paul : •' The good that I would, I do not ; but the evil which I would not, that I
do " (Rom. vii. 19).
2 Curtitis connects hybris with hyper = over and above ; but this derivation presents diffi-
culties. Some writers (Gesenius and others) see in it a Semitic word ; but Aug. Miiller
(Bezzenberger's Beitrdge, pp. 273-301, 1 877) rightly points out that this is exceedingly im-
probable, inasmuch as the Greeks never borrowed an abstract term. The Semitic loan-words
in Greek are names for importations, foreign articles, or animals, and the like.
288 . THE HOMERIC AGE
consequences of his acts. So extraordinary does this appear to the Homeric
man that he attributes it, like the breaking of the oaths, to the action of the
gods. This, at least, is put forward as an excuse. Ate, personified, is the
eldest daughter of Zeus ; she blinds every one, her own father not excepted.
When Zeus wakes up on one occasion to the consequences of her blinding —
the taking of a rash oath — he seizes her by her bright locks, and whirls her out
of Olympus. Ate alights among men, walks over their heads, because she is
tender-footed — and therefore, as Plato hints, she likes softness — and men she
has gone on blinding and deceiving ever since {Iliad, xix. 85 e^ seq.). ■MM
Such is the myth about Ate. But does the sensible Homeric hero in his^"'
heart of hearts believe that he has been compelled to do wrong ? Not at all.
Agamemnon has sinned in that he has wronged Achilles ; and when the recon-
ciliation between the two takes place, for very shame before the man he has
wronged Agamemnon dissembles, and throws the blame on the gods. Zeus
and Fate and Erinys, that walketh in darkness, were the cause of his sin, he
says ; and then he relates the Ate-myth, and asks how he, poor innocent man,
could help himself, when even Zeus had been deceived ?
Agamemnon forgets that he is speaking to the man to whom deceit is
" hateful as the gates of hell." Achilles' reply is significant enough : " 'Tis not
meet to waste time here in subtilties " {Iliad, xix. 149); and he, doubtless,
bethinks him of the day when he himself had predicted that Agamemnon
should sooner or later confess his own ate, his own blindness.
That Agamemnon does know it, and only puts forward the Ate-myth as
a pretext, is evident from another passage. Agamemnon in private and
Agamemnon in public are two different characters. In private, amid his
friends, when the host is laid low, the Trojans are triumphing, and his own
heart is consequently smitten by sore grief, the king of men speaks the truth.
Old Nestor has just told him plainly that he had done wrong in yielding to
his proud spirit, and dishonouring one whom even the immortals honoured.
Agamemnon replies^ {Iliad, ix. 115): "Old sir, in no way falsely hast thou
accused my follies {atas). I was infatuated, nor do I myself deny it. Worth
many hosts indeed is the man whom Zeus loveth in his heart, even as he hath
now avenged him, and subdued the Achseans. But, seeing I have sinned in
obeying my wretched passion, I am willing in return to make amends, and
give a boundless atonement."
Here there is no personified ate; Agamemnon speaks plainly of his own
atas = blindnesses or follies, and traces these to the obeying of his own
" wretched passion." Is there not a perception here of the fact that man is
tempted when he is " drawn aside of his own lust and enticed " ? ^
Before leaving ate, we may note that, in a secondary sense, ate becomes the
punishment of sin as well as sin itself. Thus, grievous ruin (literally, a strong,
close-pressing ate, a darkness like that caused by a dense cloud) falls upon a
man who has slain another, and is obliged to flee from the avengers of blood
to a land of strangers {Iliad, xxiv. 480). And Agamemnon on two occasions
refers to the disasters that have come upon the host as an ate. He says that
Zeus has bound him with a grievous ate. And again, " Father Zeus ! " he
^ The public avowal of Agamemnon is made in the Nineteenth, the private in the Ninth,
Book of the Iliad. If the Ninth Book is one of the latest additions to the Iliad, as some
critics hold, then it might be urged that the personified (the concrete) Ate is the earlier idea,
the abstract ate (a man's own passions) the later. Against this, however, we must set the fact
that in the First Book, belonging to the oldest part of the Iliad, Achilles speaks of Agamemnon's
own ate (see above). Moreover, it is quite evident from the Nineteenth Book, also belonging
to the oldest part, that Achilles sees through Agamemnon's "subtilties."
^ St. James i. 14.
SIN 289
cries with tears, "didst thou ever blind with such a blindness (ate) any
mighty king, and rob him of his glory ? " (Iliad, ii. 1 1 1 ; viii. 236). The blind-
ness and the punishment are inextricably bound together. .
(b) Atasthalia is probably connected with ate ; it is always used in the
plural by Homer, and represents the out-growths of the fatal blindness, show-
ing themselves in disregard of warnings, big words (boasting), and presumptuous
deeds. One of the passages in which it occurs is, for this part of our subject,
perhaps the most important in Homer. It occurs in the Odyssey (Od., 1. 32
et seq.).
" Ah me ! " says Zeus, " how vainly do mortals blame the gods ! for from us,
they say, comes evil ; whereas they, even themselves, by their own blind follies,
have woes beyond what is ordained."
Here the view of sin, as the outcome of passion, which Agamemnon took
when sore afl9.icted, is emphasised and made authoritative, as it were, by being
put into the mouth of Zeus. The particular sin alluded to is that of ^gisthus,
who has wooed the wife of Agamemnon in his absence, and slain her lord on
his return, and this ^gisthus has done with sheer ruin before his eyes ; for
Hermes, the keen-sighted messenger of Zeus (here personifying conscience), had
been sent to warn him against both sins, telling him that Agamemnon would be
avenged by Orestes, his son, so soon as the latter had arrived at man's estate,
^gisthus takes his own way. " And now," says Zeus, " hath he paid for all at
once." (Orestes has slain him.) Then made answer the goddess, bright-eyed
Athena, " O our Father Kronicles, ruling on high, that man lieth in ruin well
deserved. So perish all likewise who work such deeds ! "
This passage marks a wonderful advance on the Zeus who could command,
and the Athena who could carry out the command, that a Trojan should be
tempted to break the oaths. Henceforth, no Greek who borrowed his morality
from Homer could really believe that the poet excused sin on the ground of
compulsion by the gods. Nevertheless, the two passages remained to be a
source of perplexity to coming generations. It is noteworthy, moreover, that,
even in the Odyssey, Aphrodite is still blamed for sending on Helen the blind-
ness {ate) which induced her to leave her home {Od,, iv. 261).
(c) Hamartano is, perhaps, the most significant of all six terms, inasmuch
as it signifies conscious effort on the part of the individual — effort to do right —
and failure. The spearman has made his preparations, taken his aim, launched
his javelin, and — missed the mark. It is this word which is used generally by
late writers, and also in the New Testament, to denote " sin." In Homer it
occurs mostly in connection with missing the mark in the throwing of the
spear ; then it is used of failure generally, in purpose or words. But, even in
Homer, the transition to the moral realm is made. In one very touching
passage, which we must give in full immediately, the " missing of the mark "
denotes " sin " absolutely. The gods, it is said, may be reconciled even if a
man have transgressed and "missed his mark" {Iliad, ix. 50).
{d) Alitaino answers to our " err," and is akin to ate, wandering distraction
of mind. Its force is best seen in the passage where Achilles rejects Agamem-
non's offer, and says : " Him I will join neither in counsel nor in work, for
he hath utterly deceived me, and done wickedly (literally, gone astray). . . .
Zeus, the counsellor, hath taken away his wits" {Iliad, ix. 374).
(e) Hyper basia is transgression — an overstepping of the themis — and is
specially used in connection with the rashness of young men and the sin against
the oath. One very interesting and characteristic passage where it occurs is
that which tells of a dispute between Menelaus and Antilochus, son of Nestor.
T
290 THE HOMERIC AGE
In the funeral games held in honour of Patroclus, Antilochus has carried off a
prize, a mare, over the head of Menelaus, whom he had outstripped in the
chariot race "by craft, not by swiftness." Menelaus indignantly calls upon
Antilochus to come forward and swear "as is thejnis" that he had not willingly
hindered the chariot of his competitor by guile. Antilochus, however, is no
false swearer. " Then Antilochus, wise of heart, made answer {Iliad, xxiii. 586) :
' Have patience, for I am much younger than thou. King Menelaus ; thou art
before me, and better than I. Thou knowest how the transgressions (hyper-
hasice) of a young man arise — his mind is hastier and his judgment weak. Let
thine heart bear with me ; I myself will give thee the mare which I have taken.
And if there be any other thing better at home that thou desirest, forthwith
would I willingly give it thee, rather than fall for ever from thy heart, O foster-
ling of Zeus, and become a sinner (wanderer = alitros) against the gods ! ' " And
the son of great-hearted Nestor led forth the mare, and put it into the hands
of the king. And the heart of Menelaus " was gladdened, as when the dew
falleth upon the growing ears of corn,^ what time the fields are bristling.
Even so, Menelaus, was thy soul gladdened within thy heart." Menelaus is not
to be outdone in generosity, and bids Antilochus keep the prize.
(/) Hybris is sin resulting from unrestrained passions, an outrage such
as that committed by Agamemnon against Achilles. Athena promises the
latter that the king shall give him thereafter threefold goodly gifts " on
account of this outrage (hybris)" {Iliad, i. 213). And throughout the Odyssey
the conduct of the wooers is often spoken of as hyhris, associated also with
atasthalia ; they are filled with "blind hybris," with infatuated insolence
{Od., xvi. 86).
It is, however, in the hands of the tragic writers that hybris assumes its
greatest importance as the embodiment of sin.
What constitutes sin. — It is tolerably clear from the foregoing that sin, to
the Homeric man, lay not only in any breach of the great unwritten laws,
or of those obligations towards the suppliant and the stranger which were
directly connected with religion, but also in the yielding to passion or unbridled
resentment, and so sinning against the aidos, the higher self, and also against
" the gods." For any hint, however, of the hatefulness of sin as committed
against a god of holiness, or of sin as grieving a loving father, we look in vain
in Homer. Such conceptions are utterly incompatible with his ideas of deities,
who, although they watch over justice, yet have all the frailties and the
revengeful passions of men.
We need not be surprised at this, nor yet that, in an age when life was
held cheap, the shedding of blood should be an offence which might be
compounded for by payment. The duty of revenge lies upon the nearest
relative, but " life for life " is not always exacted. Thus, in the description of
the shield of Achilles, one scene depicts the settlement of a dispute between
two men about the blood-price {poena) of a man slain {Iliad, xviii. 498).
Nevertheless, the instinctive horror of murder would seem to be implied
in the passage already quoted (p. 288), which says that, when a man has slain
another and fled to a strange land, there comes upon him a grievous (close-
pressing) ate, so that men gaze at him in wonder. Is there here a reminiscence
of the curse of Cain ?
Conscience. — The words which end the tactful speech of Antilochus (above),
" rather than become a sinner against the gods," imply the consciousness
that an injustice committed against a fellow-man is also committed against
that great Invisible Power which watched over justice. The word " conscience "
^ Cf. Ps. 133 : "As the dew of Hermon, so is unity amongst brethren."
SIN 291
does not occur in Homer, nor indeed even in the classical period ; but if the
word is not yet born, this argument of Antilochus clearly shows perception of
the thing — con-science, syn-eidesis, a double knowledge, knowledge with the
Unseen Power.
An example even more striking than this is to be found in the words of the
god-like Eumaeus, the noble thrall of the Odyssey. The disguised Odysseus has
just assured the swineherd that his master is not dead, but on his way home.
Eumseus, however, has been so often deceived by strangers and wayfarers
that he will give no credence to the tale. Odysseus then says that if his words
come not true the swineherd shall cast him down from a great rock, that
other beggars may beware of deceiving. " A nice thing, indeed," says the
swineherd. " Stranger, truly this would get me great fame and praise
amongst men, both now and ever after, if, after bringing thee into my hut and
giving thee welcome, I should then slay thee and rob thee of dear life. With
good heart thereafter would I pray to Zeus Kronion" (Od., xiv. 401).
Have we not here clearly the feeling of the Psalmist : "If I regard
iniquity in my heart, the Lord will not hear me " ?
Remorse and the pangs of conscience are personified in Homer under the
name of Erinys, an avenging power who probably travelled with the Greeks
from the old Aryan home. The visitation of Erinys, however, is confined to
certain sins, as, e.g., the murder of relatives, perjury, dishonour shown to
parents, or to the elder brother (as head of the clan). The mother especially
has the power of calling down vengeance on her children. Thus the mother
of Meleager, being angry on account of the death of her brothers, whom
Meleager has slain, prays to the gods and beats upon the earth, calling on
Hades and dread Persephone to give her son to death, "and," it is said,
"Erinys, that walketh in darkness, relentless of heart, heard her" {Iliad,
ix. 571). Telemachus, again, tells the wooers that never will he urge his
mother to marry and leave the house against her will, for in departing, he says,
" she would call down upon me hateful Erinys" {Od., xiv. 401).
The whole subject of the Erinyes = Furies, and their transformation into
Eumenides = "gracious goddesses," is full of interest; but it belongs properly
to the mythological side of our subject.^
Repentance and Expiation. — If, then, the Homeric man was conscious of
sin, and had the double knowledge that his sin was known to the Invisible
Justice, had he any perception that sin requires expiation ?
Yes, there is evidence on this head also, although it has been denied by
some.
In the very First Book of the Iliad a pestilence falls upon the host in con-
sequence of the sin of Agamemnon in dishonouring one who had come to him
in the doubly-sacred character of suppliant and priest. The plague is not
stayed until —
1. Public acknowledgment of the wrong done has been made by the
embassy to Chryse ;
2. A holy hecatomb has been offered ;
3. The damsel Chryseis, the cause of the sin, has been restored to
her father (Iliad, i. 8-52).
Whilst this is proceeding on behalf of Agamemnon, the latter bids the people
purify themselves, which they do by offering along the shore sacrifices to
Apollo, and also by washing with sea-water {Iliad, i. 33). This latter ceremony
is important to note, for the same means of purification is used down to the
latest times; washing with the water of the sea formed, in the Eleusinian
1 See article "Erinyes" in Hellas.
292 THE HOMERIC AGE
Mysteries, part of the preparation for initiation. Here the salt with its
healthful, preserving qualities is the type of moral purity and restoration.
In like manner, fumigation by " sulphur that averteth pollution " is used
by Odysseus as a means of purification after the slaughter of the wooers
(Od., xxii. 481). It may be urged, of course, that these are entirely external
observances. Certainly, but so were many of the ceremonies of the Mosaic
Law. Both had this in common, that they served as types.
Again, the two instances of sin previously noted are accompanied by the
acknowledgment of wrong-doing and the desire to make amends. Agamemnon
promises and gives a "boundless atonement," z'.e. large presents, to Achilles;
Antilochus restores the mare to Menelaus, and is willing to add yet more
if necessary.
The most perfect example of what the Homeric Greeks understood by
" repentance " is, however, to be found in the allegory of Ate and the Litse —
Sin and Prayers of Penitence. It occurs in the Ninth Book of the Iliad.
Achilles has just refused all the gifts and entreaties of Agamemnon — his heart
is implacable — he has not yet glutted to the full his desire for revenge. Odys-
seus has exerted his eloquence in vain. Then the old knight Phoenix, the tutor
of Achilles, bursting into tears, endeavours by every argument in his power
to soften the hero. "Achilles," he says (Iliad, ix. 496-512), "tame thy great
spirit. It beseemeth thee not to have a pitiless heart. Yea, even the gods
themselves can bend, although theirs is mightier fame and honour and power.
For men may turn away their wrath by incense and humble vow and drink-
offering and burnt-offering, in prayer, whensoever any transgresseth and doeth
sin.^ For Prayers of Penitence ^ are the daughters of great Zeus ; limping,
and wrinkled, and with eyes askance, they come with heedful care behind
Sin. 3 But Sin is strong and swift of foot ; wherefore she far outstrippeth
them all, and is beforehand over the whole earth, deceiving men ; but Prayers
come behind and make healing. Now whosoever reverenceth the daughters of
Zeus when they draw nigh, him they greatly help, and hearken to his supplica-
tion ; but when any one rejecteth and stubbornly refuseth them, then they
depart and pray to Zeus Kronion that Sin (Ate) may come upon such an one,
that he may be entangled, and pay the price."
This beautiful allegory, to be fully understood, should be read with the
context ; but, even as it stands, it needs no comment. The Homeric Greek
had at heart a clear perception of the fact that the "taming of the heart"
formed part of the discipline of every wise and good man, and that it formed
part, moreover, of the reverence due to the Invisible Power — that reverence
which Socrates puts as the first of the gre,at Unwritten Laws.
THE FUTURE LIFE
We now pass on to another part of our subject, and we ask : Did the
Homeric man trouble himself with any thoughts as to what became of those
who had departed this life, or did he content himself with the belief that all
ended with death?
It would be to think meanly indeed of the Homeric man, far more meanly
than our investigation up to this point warrants, were we to imagine him as
apathetic on the subject. True, we have been told over and over again by
the poets that primitive man had no troubles. During the reign of the gods
of Greece, according to Schiller, " no horrible skeleton appeared before the bed
1 Literally, misseth the mark, faileth. ^ The Litae. ^ Ate.
THE FUTURE LIFE
293
of the dying — a genius gently lowered the torch of life," 1 — that was all. Is
this Homer's view of death ? Hardly.
The Homeric man will, indeed, face death manfully. Like Hector and
Achilles, when convinced that his day of destiny has come, he will meet it with
resignation ; but his feeling towards death is something very different from
that of the man who thinks of it merely as the " sinking of a torch." The
Homeric man knows full well that the torch does not go out.
How then does he regard the future life in which, transplanted, the torch
goes on burning ? Let us ask Achilles, " the man of Truth." When Odysseus
speaks with his shade in the Lower World, he tries to console the hero for his
early death by the reflection that, even here, he bears sway among the dead.
But the shade replies [Ocl., xi. 488) : " Speak not comfortably to me concerning
death, noble Odysseus. I had rather on earth be hireling to another, even a
needy man who had no great livelihood, than be king over all the dead that are
departed."
The man of " untamed spirit," " the best of all the Achseans," could not
put his view of the case more strongly than by saying that if he could but come
back to earth, he would consent to be a day-labourer. Even when on earth,
he had likened his hatred of a lie to his hatred for the house of Hades. In
fact, far from being regarded with indifference, death in Homer is viewed with
abhorrence, and the reason is not far to seek.
(a) The Homeric hero, when not exposed to the necessities and dangers of
war, lives a bright and cheerful life. He delights in the feast and the banquet,
ennobled, as they are, by the art of the divinely-gifted singer. He enjoys
these pleasures With fresh, unweakened zest, and in the strength of the
healthiest of bodies. In the midst of all this comes death, and robs the man,
not only of all his earthly possessions, but of something better far — Himself,
his own " I," his ego (Ndgehbach).
The Greeks of the Homeric age believed in the immortality of the soul,
nevertheless, it was a strange and shadowy immortality, for the real " man "
himself had ceased to exist. To explain this, we must touch for a moment on
the Homeric " psychology," which is full of interest.
According to the beliefs indicated in Homer, man consists of three parts :
(i) Demas, soma, the body. The deinas is the living body ; the soma in Homer
always the body from which life has departed, although in later writers the
word is applied to the living body also. Soma is conjectured to mean a covering
{G. Curtius). (2) Psyche, the soul. In Homer, t\iQ psyche i^ the breath (anima,
lit. the wind, from a root signifying to blow, G. Curtius). Hence, since the
breath is the sign of life, psyche came to denote life itself in the sense of animal
life. Later, it signified the soul. (3) Phren, thymos, the spirit or mind. The
phren (generally used in the plural, plirenes), is, properly, the diaphragm, " the
muscle that separates the heart and lungs from the lower organs." Within the
phrenes the Greeks placed not only all such feelings as we now connect with
the heart, love, hatred, grief, anger ; but also the faculties now attached with
the brain, intelligence, thinking-power, memory, will. This has been explained
by assuming that, whilst men in early ages had no practical experience of the
effects of what we call " hard thinking " on head and brain, they were yet very
sensible of that excitement of mind which affects the breast by quickening the
^ " Damals trat kein grassliches Gerippe
Vor das Bett des Sterbenden. Ein Kuss
Nahm das letzte Leben von der Lippe,
Seine Fackel senkt' ein Genius."
— Die Gotter Gricchenlands.
294 THE HOMERIC AGE
heart-beat and the pulse-throb. Hence they placed all mental faculties in the
region of the heart (Grotemeyer), later using the word phrenes in this sense as
we do " heart," without attaching any physical meaning to it.
The thymos is to be regarded as a term identical in meaning with phrenes^
since both words are used indifferently to express the mental faculties, the
passions, and affections. It is allied to the Sanskrit dUu, to move swiftly, shake,
fan into a flame. Its primary significance is that of violent movement
{G. Curtius) ; hence it may have denoted originally the blood boiling and
coursing through the veins (Autenrieth), developing later into passion, spirit,
the storm-tossed soul.
If the reader has weighed well these three sets of terms —
soma = the covering body,
psyche == the breath of animal life,
pJirenes or thymos = thQ seat of mental and spiritual life,
he will see that the last is incomparably the most important of the three, for
it included all the nobler faculties — mind, will, intelligence, affections, and
memory. Now, what was it that the Greeks imagined as taking place at the
hour of death ? Let a Shade explain : When a body has been committed to
the funeral pyre, says the Mother of Odysseus (Oc^., i. 221), "the sinews no
longer hold together flesh and bones, but these the strong might of flaming
fire subdues, and then the spirit {thymos) leaves the white bones, and the soul
(psyche) flies forth like a dream, and hovers near." The psyche descends to
Hades, but the thymos (or phrenes), the real ego, is lost.
The psyche, which is preserved, is something real ; it is the principle of
animal life, and in Hades it is united to the shadow-form {eidolon) of the body
from which it has escaped, and this eidolon corresponds exactly to the man as
he had been on earth, in appearance, dress, and voice. But it wants the
noblest part of the man — the phrenes. Thus, when the shade of Patroclus
appears to Achilles, urging him to bury his remains, for until this is done he
cannot pass across the River, Achilles says, after the spirit has disappeared : " O
wonder ! even in the house of Hades there remaineth soul {psyche) and form
{eidolon), but the spirit {phrenes) is in no wise therein, for all through the night
hath the shade of hapless Patroclus stood over me, wailing and making moan
. . . and it was wondrous like to his living self" {Iliad, xxiii. 103 et seq.).
Thus the souls in Hades wear, indeed, the semblance of their former selves,
but have no more power of either physical enjoyment or suffering than a
shadow may be expected to have. Only by tasting blood — " for the blood is
the life " — do they recover for a time full possession of memory and conscious-
ness, although some degree of both they seem to have always, for many of the
spirits invoked by Odysseus in the JVekyia recognise the hero before they have
tasted the blood, of which all are eager to drink. Such is the miserable exist-
ence to which Achilles refers when he says that he would rather be a hired
labourer toiling for a needy master on earth than monarch of all the Shades.
Now we are in a position to understand the full force of the statement from
which we set out, viz. that the Greeks of the Homeric age viewed death with
abhorrence, for death to every man and woman was supposed to mean the loss
of his or her real self. So strongly was this felt, that in one passage the body
from which life has departed is said to be the man himself. In the opening
lines of the Iliad (i. 3-5), e.g. we are told that by the quarrel of Achilles and
Agamemnon many strong souls {psych as) of heroes were sent to Hades, and
themselves {autous), i.e. their bodies, left to be a prey to dogs and all winged
fowl on the battlefield. The only soul in Homer who retains tlnQ phrenes is that
THE ETHICAL UNITY OF THE HOMERIC POEMS 295
of Teiresias, the blind Theban seer : '* Him Persephone allowed to keep his under-
standing even in death — all the rest are but fluttering shadows " {Od., x. 494).
(6) Development of the Homeric Idea. — It is evident that the foregoing
represents a state of belief which could not last. The Greeks were, beyond all
else, an inquiring, thinking people, and two questions naturally forced them-
selves to the front : —
(i) What became of the phrenes or thymos? Surely the nobler part of
man, and all that made him " man " instead of brute, could not be lost, or
destroyed in the flame of the funeral pyre ? Thus we find, even in Homer,
the growth of the idea that the eidolon must possess the phrenes also, since
" without the phrenes there is no spirit, no feeling, no thinking, no will." The
evidence for this advance is contained in the concluding verses of the Nekyia.
It is clear that if the Shades have no real body, they can feel neither pleasure
nor pain. Hence the scenes which represent Orion hunting on the asphodel
meadows, as he had been wont to do on earth, Tityus devoured by the vultures,
Sisyphus covered with perspiration and dust, Tantalus grasping at the re-
treating fruit, must be considered as interpolations of later date.
(2) The second question, as to the fate of good and bad. Could it be possible
that both would be treated alike .in the world to come? Man's natural sense
of justice revolted against such a supposition.
If the " horrible skeleton " hovering before the dying man be the fear of
punishment after death, for sins committed during life, then, pace Schiller, this
fear is to be found even in the Iliad. In the Third Book (278), on the occa-
sion of the taking of the oath, Agamemnon invokes as witnesses, together with
Father Zeus and Helios the Sun, those divinities also who " beneath the
earth, punish men whose toil is ended (the dead) whosoever sweareth falsely."
The same idea is also represented in the later sections of the Odyssey, referred
to above, where Minos sits in Hades as judge to give to each man his doom.
The punishments of the notable offenders were probably depicted in the
original legends as having been inflicted on earth. Later, the sufferers (like
Prometheus) were transferred to the Lower World (Stoll ; Ndgelshach).
VL— THE ETHICAL UNITY OF THE HOMERIC POEMS
Now that we have analysed, as far as is possible in brief space, the
thoughts, feelings, and aims of the Homeric age, we shall best sum up all by
looking for a few moments at each of the two great poems as a whole. In
doing this we must premise two things : —
(i) We must of necessity speak of a personal Homer, of a great Indi-
viduality, who had so stamped his own mind on what he brought into being
that it was absolutely impossible for those who came later to do aught else
than follow his lead, work out his plan and fill in gaps (so far as their daring
led them to attempt this) in accordance with the spirit of the' first grand sketch.
The Iliad bears throughout the impress of one mind ; it shows the unity of
a great plan. The personal Homer is the architect of the Iliads how many
builders soever may have collaborated in, or worked in later days at, the com-
pletion of four-and-twenty books. This, we imagine, will be allowed by all fair
and just thinkers.
(2) We must bear in mind that the poet is, from first to last, the great
teacher among the Greeks. When he sings, it is because, like the blind Demo-
docus, he is "stirred by the god" {Od.^ viii. 499). The true singer, like
Phemius, is taught by no one but himself and God (Oc?., xxii. 347) ; he has his
296 THE HOMERIC AGE
inspiration directly from the fount of inspiration. Hence, " from all men upon
earth, singers have their share of honour and reverence (aidos), inasmuch as
the Muse teacheth them the paths of song, and loveth the tribe of singers "
(Od.f viii. 479). To imagine, therefore, that a poet of the very highest rank —
the poet of all poets — the man who has given us pictures of human life and
delineated for us human characters which, notwithstanding the lapse of
nearly three thousand years, are universally felt at the present day to be real
and human — to imagine that such an one had no higher aim than merely
to tickle the ear of his generation, surely this were a great mistake. For
those who have eyes to see. Homer was for all antiquity a great teacher of
righteousness. He beautifies his teaching, indeed, by the melody of his song,
but it is the teaching that ennobles the melody. He did not forget that the
singer singeth before gods as well as before men (Od., xxii. 346). Among the
Greeks, says Bergk, "the memory of the fate and deeds of men lives in the
song ; and the poet, as it were, holds the ofiice towards posterity of impartial
judge" (i. 479).
I. The Invisible Justice the Ethical '* Motive" of the "mad."—
We ask, then, what was Homer's aim — the object and purpose of the epos ?
He tells us himself in two passages : —
(a) In the opening of the poem : " Sing, goddess," he says, " the wrath of
Achilles, Peleus' son, the ruinous wrath, that brought woes innumerable on
the Achseans, and sent down to Hades many strong souls of heroes, and gave
their bodies to dogs and all birds of prey — and so the counsel of Zeus wrought
out its fulfilment."
(b) What was this counsel of Zeus ? Let Helen reply : " Trouble has
fallen on Troy," she says, " for the sake of me that am a dog, and for the sin^
of Alexander (Paris), on whom Zeus bringeth evil doom, that even hereafter
we may be a song in the ears of men that are yet for to come."
This, then, is the object of the Iliad — to sing of the counsel or purpose of
Zeus, the doom that fell upon Troy in consequence of the ate of Paris ; his
trampling on the foundations of the social order, on the great unwritten law of
justice between man and man, between guest and host, between nation and
nation.
(i) 'fhe Counsel or Purpose of Zeus. — As moral ruler of the world, Zeus is
bound to punish the Trojans for the perfidy and breach of hospitality com-
mitted by Paris against Menelaus. The fact that Paris is the son of a king,
" beloved of Zeus," makes the punishment all the more necessary, if judgment
is not to be perverted at the fountain-head. Now, although it was reserved
for ^schylus to work out fully this, the ethical motive-spring of the Trojan
war,2 yet, as a principle of action, it is everywhere implied in the Iliad. To
take a few instances out of many. When Diomed bursts in impetuously upon
Agamemnon's faint-hearted proposal to return to Argos, and dares the king
and as many as are like-minded, to flee, he adds : " As for me and Sthenelus,
we two will fight even until we win the goal of Troy, for with God are we come "
— i.e. at God's command, and all the sons of the Achaians applaud the saying,
as giving voice to their own convictions {Iliad, ix. 48). Menelaus appeals to
Zeus to avenge him on Paris, so that, in time to come, many a foe may shudder to
wrong his host who hath shown him kindness {Ihid., iii. 350-354). Agamemnon
himself recalls the promise made to him by Zeus, and confirmed by his nod,
that he the king should not return till he had laid waste well-walled Ilion
{Ibid., ii. 112). Odysseus reminds the host that the portent seen in Aulis, and
indicating the ten years' duration of the war, was from Zeus himself, Zeus
^ Ats. ^ In the Agamemnon.
THE ETHICAL UNITY OF THE HOMERIC POEMS 297
the counsellor (Ibid., ii. 324) ; and old Nestor adds : " yea, and this I say, that
most mighty Kronion pledged us his word on that day when the Argives em-
barked on their swift-sailing ships, hearing to the Trojans death and fate (phonon
kai kera) " (Ibid., ii. 350 seq.). Whatever meaning commentators may read into
these passages, they bear this, at all events, on their surface — that the Achaians
believed themselves sent on a most righteous mission. They believed further
that he who sent them was Zeus ; and, finally, that they, as instruments of
Zeus, bore with them to the Trojans Death and Fate — extermination.
In regard to the minor and later notices assigned as causes of the anger of the gods,
viz., the deceitful conduct of Laomedon, ancient king of Ilios, towards Poseidon and Apollo,
and the choice of Paris, it is sufficient to note here that a moral cause is at work in both
cases. In the first instance, it is fraud {Iliad, xxi. 441 et seq.) ; in the second, by his award,
Paris deliberately gives the palm to sensuality (personified in Aphrodite) over pure and
lawful love (Hera) and wisdom (Athena) {Ibid., xxiv. 25 et seq.). These two causes are,
therefore, in harmony with the main necessity for the fall of Troy. The Trojan race, as
fraudful, deceitful, and sensual, must be extirpated from off the face of the earth, and the
Greeks are the agents employed by Zeus to effect their destruction.
(2) The Argument of the " Iliad." — Turning now from the inner secret of the
Iliad — the counsel of Zeus — to that which is visible on its surface — the means
whereby that counsel lorought out its fulfilment, viz., the wrath of Achilles — we
find everywhere the same living judicial Power represented as at work.
From the standpoint of the Homeric age, punishment is due to the Greeks
in a measure no less than to the Trojans. Achilles has been injured by
Agamemnon, and the Achaians have permitted the injury. The king of
men has abused his position as chief of the League. He has snatched from
Achilles — the friend who has stood by him and his brother, and borne the
brunt of every contest — the '' meed of honour " awarded to the storm er of cities
by the great-hearted Achaians — Briseis of the fair cheeks. Achilles resents the
affront and the slight thus openly put upon him, and appeals to Zeus to avenge
his honour.
Such is, briefly, the " argument " of the Iliad, the incident round which the
web of the narrative is woven. With the state of society which it discloses
we have nothing to do here. The Achaians were doubtless pirates, marauders,
and freebooters, as well as heroes — in fact, the latter name embraced the
former,! As in the days of the Judges of Israel, they that had sped and won
divided also the prey.^ What concerns us here is that amongst those who thus
divided the prey there was a sense of honour that, according to the notions of
himself and his nation, Achilles had sustained a grievous wrong ; that he is
represented by Homer as calling upon Zeus to redress the wrong, and that the
wrong is finally redressed by the direct intervention of Zeus, and not by Fate,
Destiny, or any blind power whatsoever. Agamemnon has acted in the spirit
of a proud and insolent tyrant ; the Achaians have permitted him to do so ;
and, therefore, both he and they must suffer until they can stoop to feel the
need of the man whom they have wronged. It is Zeus who promises this,
and ratifies his promise by bowing his head thereto. " No word of mine is
revocable, or false, or without fulfilment, when I have pledged it by the bowing
of my head ! Kronion spake, and nodded his dark brow, and the ambrosial
locks waved from the king's immortal head, and he made great Olympus
quake" (Iliad, i. 526-530).
This promise to Thetis Zeus himself refers to again (Iliad, xv. 72-77), and
the havoc which it involves is expressly called '' the decree of God," " the doom
of heaven" (thesphaton) {Iliad, viii. 477) — a phrase which, let us note in passing,
^ Her6s = Sk fighting-man ; root Fer (Paley). ^ Judges v. 30.
298 THE HOMERIC AGE
as Welcker justly points out, is entirely incompatible with the idea of a supreme
Fate" {Ibid., i. 188).
(3) The full Counsel of Zeus. — The whole twenty-four books of the Iliad are,
in fact, occupied in showing how Zeus kept his promise to avenge Achilles, and
further, in exhibiting another part of the secret counsel of Zeus, also wrought
out by the same means. For the counsel of Zeus, as conceived by the poet, is
deep and wise, and involves many elements, and nowhere does the genius of
Homer shine more transcendently than in the working out of his conception. An
ordinary mind would have been satisfied with representing Zeus as executing
judgment on the Trojan race as a whole. Indiscriminate slaughter and the
vengeance of heaven sweeping all before it like a flood are ideas strictly in
harmony with the age of the Iliad, But here Homer proves himself a poet for
all time. From the standpoint, not of the Homeric age, but of the poet's own
intuitive moral sense, Zeus is bound, in fulfilling his counsel, in upholding the
moral order of the universe, to show his appreciation of moral worth. Hence,
the humiliation of Agamemnon gives the opportunity for the recognition of
Hector, and in his use of this opportunity Homer stands beside Shakespeare —
the Iliad beside " King Lear" — a Hector beside an Edgar and a Cordelia.
We are expressly told that Hector was "a man beloved" of Zeus {Iliad,
xxii. 168), dearest to the gods (and to Zeus specially) of all the mortals in
Ilion {Iliad, xxiv. 66) ; and it is several times repeated that Zeus intended to
honour him: " For he resolved in his heart to give glory to Hector, son of
Priam" {Iliad, xv. 596).
Since the above lines were penned the writer has met with the following
remark of Goethe's, which would seem indirectly to bear out the idea here set
forth. " We talked about the lliad^' says Eckermann, "and Goethe called my
attention to the following beautiful motiv, viz., that Achilles is put into a state
of inaction for some time, that the other characters may appear and develop
themselves" {Conversatio7is with Goethe, transl. by Oxenford, v. ii. p. 237).
This, the double element in the counsel of Zeus, the true Homeric idea,
explains, when rightly grasped, many of the apparent contradictions and incon-
sistencies of the Iliad, the alternations of victory between the Achaians and
the Trojans, success seeming to attend now one, now the other. Even a
cursory reading of the poem shows that these all depend on the counsel of
Zeus. Achilles is to be honoured, but not until Hector has also had his day
of glory. Until Hector has fired the ships, until Patroclus has met his death,
until, in short, the day fixed by the counsel of Zeus had arrived, hope must rise
and fall in the breasts of Achaians and Trojans alike. " Before that hour I
cease not from my wrath" {Iliad, xv. 72).
In fact, the perplexities and sufferings of the Achaian leaders only serve as
a foil to the noblest character conceived by antiquity. In the silent contrast
drawn between the selfish high-handedness of Agamemnon and the equally
selfish petulance of Achilles on the one hand, and on the other the generous
self-sacrifice of Hector, lies the ethical worth of the poem. The Trojans must
perish, as a race, for their fraud, meanness, and sensuality ; and the Achaians,
as a race, must be exalted ; but to individuals in both cases the just reward of
their actions is meted out.
The Invisible Justice working out these three great ideas — the doom of
Troy, the avenging of Achilles, and the recognition of Hector — forms the inner
motive-power which has held together the framework of the Iliad for nearly
three thousand years, and will carry it on to the end of time.
II. The Invisible Justice in the lives of Individuals.— It is, however,
when we turn to the delicate and intimate problem of the solitary human life
THE ETHICAL UNITY OF THE HOMERIC POEMS 299
that the insight of the Master is most perceptible. Justice on a grand scale is
obvious even in primitive ages when it takes the shape of Retribution, the
avenging opis of the divine power. But to exhibit justice pulsating in the
human life, bringing to fruitage the seed sown by the individual himself, this
is a task so difficult that we are always inclined to assign its beginnings to a
much later stage of human thought. Such discernment, such power of analysis,
we say, is the task, not of a Homer, but of a Sophocles.
_^ -Nay ; Sophocles did but follow in the steps of Homer. Here in this age
of *' unconscious " morality we find traced with no indistinct outline, by no
wavering hand, the doctrine that a man's "fate," a woman's "fate," is worked
out by himself, by herself.
Let us gather up several threads, which we have already seen in the pro-
cess of spinning, and note their place in the web of Fate — the life, that is, of
the individual.
I. Helen. — We begin with Helen, not only as the prime cause of the
" Song," but because at first sight her " fate " appears to be nothing less than
a tremendous miscarriage of justice. Why should Helen be represented in the
Odyssey as living in the utmost peace and happiness, restored to her home in
honour, herself serene, supremely lovely as the moon at its full, whilst thou-
sands of innocent lives have been sacrificed and hundreds of homes wrecked,
according to the story, on her account?
It is apparently a puzzle, and to understand the fate of Helen is indeed
impossible, unless we look at it from the standpoint of Homer's own age.
Two considerations will help us : —
(i) Helen belongs to Mythology as well as to human life. She is a
daughter of Zeus — mortal indeed, but not occupying precisely the same
position as other mortals.
(2) Helen is represented throughout as sinning passively, that is, her con-
duct is the fault of Aphrodite. In order to fulfil her promise of giving to
Paris " the most beautiful woman in the world " to wife, the goddess sends
upon Helen the blindness which causes her to leave her home.
So much, apparently. Homer had received from tradition. He could not
depart from the accepted version — neither himself nor his age was ripe for
that— but what a man of deep moral feeling could read into the traditional
story of Helen, that Homer read into it. The Helen of the Iliad is a noble,
earnest woman, who has been betrayed into taking the one false step, but
whose whole life during the twenty years' sojourn in Troy is one long repent-
ance. As has been well said, the Helen of Homer is the only instance in all
heathen antiquity of a penitent of the Christian type. At the opening of the
poem she is her own sole accuser ; no one blames her. Her divine birth, her
beauty, the dignity of her character, envelop her, as it were, with a nimbus
that inspires pity and reverence wherever she goes. The Trojan elders speak
with bated breath when she appears, as though in the presence of a goddess.
Old Priam himself says openly : " Come hither, dear child ! . . . I hold not
thee to blame. Yea ; I hold the gods to blame, who have stirred up against
me this tearful war of the Acha3ans" {Iliad, iii. 164).
Yes ; Helen suffers intensely. She cannot find words deep enough to
express her sense of degradation, her utter loathing of herself and her life :
" Would that bitter death had been my pleasure," she says to Priam {Iliad, iii.
173), "before I followed thy son hither, leaving my home and kinsfolk, my
darling child, and the dear company of the friends of my girlhood ! But this was
not so, wherefore I pine with weeping." Again, to her task-mistress. Aphrodite
herself, she says, "I have woes untold within my soul" {Iliad, iii. 412). Not
300 THE HOMERIC AGE
the least bitter drop in Helen's cup, moreover, is that she has deserted honest-
hearted, generous Menelaus for such an one as Paris. From her very soul she
despises her new lord. " Would I had been the wife of a better man ! " she
says, "of one who felt dishonour {nemesis) and the many reproaches of men.
But as for him, neither is his heart now manful, nor will it ever be. There-
fore, I ween, he will reap the fruits" [Iliad, vi. 350). The fruits of the con-
tempt and hatred of both sides Paris certainly reaps in abundance. Cowardly,
turning pale at the sight of danger, self -pleasing, proud of his handsome per-
son, striding down gaily from the citadel to the scene of blood, laughing while
multitudes are perishing for his sake, Paris richly deserves, as Hector sternly
tells him, "a robe of stone" (Iliad, iii. 57), i.e. to be stoned to death. The
most irritating feature in his character is that which Helen has truly pointed
out — his absolute indifference, the nonchalance with which he can vaunt to
Hector that he, too, has gods on his side {Iliad, iii. 440), a boast which we
shall do well to note, as it will meet us again from other lips. To be mated
with such a man as Paris is of itself, for a woman like the Helen of Homer,
punishment enough.
Finally, w^hen despair has seized the Trojans, when Hector is no more, then
Helen feels the horror of her position : " Hector, of all my brothers, the dearest
to my soul ! " she cries with tears. '* Thee I bewail with aching heart and my
wretched self with thee. None is left in wide Troy-land to be gentle or a
friend to me, for all men shudder at me " (Iliad, xkiv. 773). So deep and true
is Helen's repentance that the beautiful scene in the Odyssey, where she
appears once more as the honoured and cherished wife of Menelaus, is the
natural and fitting sequel to the horrors of the Iliad. It follows upon them as
the peaceful sunset follows on a day of storm. Nevertheless, as we have seen,
Zeus' daughter though she be, Helen reaps the fruits of what she has sown.
Her short-lived ate is atoned for by twenty years of suffering.
2. Agamemnon. — The two-fold ate of Agamemnon in first disregarding the
suppliant priest of Apollo, and then seizing upon Achilles' " meed of honour,"
has already been sufficiently examined. The invisible justice falls upon the
king, not only in the disasters which overtake the host, but in the extreme
humiliation which overtakes himself. He is compelled by sheer necessity and
the public opinion of the army to supplicate with tears and gifts the help of
the very man whom he has dishonoured ; has to submit to be rejected, and
finally has to see the total destruction of his army averted only by the might
of Achilles. His own " meed of honour " as commander-in-chief is thus, as it
were, openly taken from him in sight of all.
3. Achilles. — In delineating the character of Achilles, as in that of Helen,
the poet seems to have had a traditional difficulty to contend with. Achilles
is mortal ; but, like Helen, he does not stand on the same level as other
mortals, inasmuch as his mother is a goddess, silver-footed Thetis. Moreover,
the " fate " of Achilles would seem to have been already traditionally fixed.
The hero has a two-fold destiny offered him — he may either enjoy a long life
in ignoble obscurity, or he may have a short and glorious career. These,
together with, possibly, the outlines of the quarrel with Agamemnon, are the
lines marked out by tradition for any one who should essay to sing the lay of
Achilles.
Most poets would have contented themselves with the obvious course — the
depiction of a character, generous, self-sacrificing, of altogether " heroic "
mould. Homer does not overlook his opportunity, but he goes beyond it.
He seizes it as a vehicle for the lesson pre-eminently required by his age.
Not even the goddess born, the hero of mightiest force, shall be exempted
THE ETHICAL UNITY OF THE HOMERIC POEMS 301
from the necessity laid upon all mortals, of "taming the high spirit"
within.
His Achilles is, at first, the hero of heroes — ardently devoted to those whom
he loves, in the very forefront of every danger, thoughtful and considerate for
the welfare of the people. It is he, not Agamemnon, who calls together the
assembly to inquire how the pestilence may be abated.
Such is Achilles when the story opens ; but the little rift is already there
within the lute. Achilles' pride is already dissatisfied with his position under
Agamemnon ; he is already allowing himself to chafe against the arrogance of
the king. The quarrel between the two is only the final explosion of feelings
long pent up — of jealousy on the one side, of wounded pride and resentment
on the other. Achilles has now a " legitimate" grievance ; he is robbed of his
" meed of honour," and after soliciting and obtaining from Zeus the promise
that he shall be avenged, he retires to his quarters, to hug his wrath, and brood
in secret over his wrongs.
Here we see the ate overpowering Achilles, rising up like a thick mist (or
like " smoke " as he himself puts it) out of the very factor that makes him
noble, the intensity of his character. Out of the qualities which had rendered
him a friend and lover supremely generous, he now develops the most passion-
ate hatred. It is not enough that Agamemnon should be made to know his
ate, in that he honoured not at all " the best of the Achseans " (so Achilles
styles himself). He petitions Zeus also, that the host of the Achseans may be
hemmed in among the ships by the sea, forced back by the Trojans, " and
slaughtered, that they may all have joy of the king" [Iliad, i. 409). In the
Sixteenth Book also, Achilles vents a fervent wish that not one of the Trojans,
nor yet of the Achaeans, might escape death, so that the honour of taking the
citadel of Troy might belong to himself and his dearest comrade Patroclus
alone. 1
Thus Achilles sits in his hut, eating his heart out in his self-enforced idle-
ness, a very " burden of the earth," as he afterwards calls himself. He sees
the wounded borne past to the camp, he hears the groans of the dying — it is
music to his ears. At length, in dire distress, Agamemnon's pride gives way,
and he sends two of the noblest of his counsellors, Odysseus and Ajax Telamon,
with the old knight Phoenix, Achilles' former tutor, to effect a reconciliation.
Odysseus offers the atonement in the shape of a king's ransom ; Achilles rejects
it with scorn. Old Phoenix beseeches him by his own affection, by all home,
memories, by the gods, to relent. " The very gods themselves can be turned,"
he says, and begs Achilles with tears not to spurn the Litse, the prayers of
penitence, which have now followed in the wake of Agamemnon's ate. Achilles
will not hearken. Ajax, finally, in a few soldierly words reminds him of the
love of his comrades, who have ever honoured him beyond all others, and hints
that even the meanest of them will accept an atonement from the shedder of
blood. Achilles seems on the point of yielding, but no ! Straightway the
remembrance of Agamemnon's insolence rises up like smoke, as an ate, and
darkens his soul, and he again becomes immovable. As Patroclus says to him
on another occasion {Iliad, xvi. 33) : " Pitiless that thou art ! Not the knight
Peleus, I ween, was thy father, nor Thetis, thy mother, but the grey sea bore
thee and the craggy rocks, for cruel is thy heart."
All arguments fail — atoning gifts, home memories, reverence for the gods,
love of comrades — all are alike ineffectual, and the embassy returns dis-
heartened. Practical Diomedes, however, puts the matter in the right light :
^ These verses (Book xvi. 97-100) are probably an interpolation, but they fully represent
the mind of Achilles.
302 THE HOMERIC AGE
** Most glorious Atreides," he says, " Agamemnon, king of men, would thou
hadst not made prayer to the noble son of Peleus, with offer of gifts innumerable.
Haughty is he at any time, and thou hast now inspired him with yet more
haughtiness. Nevertheless we will let him be, whether he go or stay. Here-
after he shall fight, when his heart within his breast commands and God
rouses him " {Iliad, ix. 697).
Yea, when God rouses him. But how does God rouse him ? By granting
Achilles his heart's desire, and taking it from him at one and the same time.
The fulfilment of the revenge by the invisible justice includes the punishment
of Achilles.
The Achaeans are reduced to the last extremity — Hector has fired the
ships. Still Achilles will not yield. What is the general distress to him ?
Hector will take care not to come near his huts. In an agony of grief
Patroclus beseeches Achilles at least to give him his armour and allow him to
lead the Myrmidons against Hector, so that perchance he (Patroclus) may be
taken for Achilles, and so ward off destruction from the ships. Achilles
reluctantly consents that Patroclus shall go, but he has set eyes on his
comrade for the last time. The gentle, kindly hero falls, and then Achilles
awakes to the full consequences of his own miserable ate. His dearest friend,
dear to him as Jonathan to David, is dead, and he was not there to ward off
destruction for him. Achilles is essentially of a noble nature, and the thought
that Patroclus need not have perished had he been in his right place, at the
head of his Myrmidons, is the bitterest drop in the cup.
His mother, Thetis, comes to comfort him, and reminds him that Zeus has
fulfilled his prayer — the Achseans are hemmed in at the ships for lack of his
strong arm, and the host has suffered terrible things.
" My mother," says the hero with deep sighs, " these things indeed hath
the Olympian fulfilled to me ; but what pleasure have I therein since my dear
comrade is undone — Patroclus, whom above all my comrades I honoured, even
as mine own self? May I die forthwith, seeing that I might not come to
the help of my comrade. He hath perished far from his native land, for lack
of me to be his defender in the onslaught. Now, since I shall never go back
to my dear native land " — here is Achilles' judgment upon himself — " nor have
I brought deliverance either to Patroclus or my other comrades, so many, slain
by noble Hector ; but sit by the ships a useless burden of the earth — I, who am
such an one in war as none other of the mail-clad Achaeans, though in council
others be better. May strife perish from among gods and men, yea, and
anger, which embittereth even a wise man — anger, which, sweeter far than
dropping honey, groweth in the hearts of men like smoke, even as but now
Agamemnon, king of men, angered me. The past we will leave, how grievous
soever it be, taming the heart within our breasts from necessity."
We would ask the reader to note Achilles' last word, "necessity," ananke.
In later times ananke attained formidable proportions as a hard, grinding
force, which no man might escape or outrun. Like the personified Ate of
Agamemnon, it was a convenient excuse. But here Achilles puts it forward
in no such light. He knows full well that old Phoenix' words have proved
true — that he repulsed Zeus' daughters, the Prayers of Penitence ; that blind-
ness came upon him and he has paid the price, even his dearest friend slain
while he sat nursing his ate by the ships.
4. Hector. — Surely, says the reader, the fate of Hector is in no way trace-
able to himself ? Surely Hector falls because his fate is involved in the fate
of Troy, of the doomed city ? In one sense. Yes ; in another, No. Hector's
fate, like that of Helen, of Agamemnon, of Achilles, springs directly from his
THE ETHICAL UNITY OF THE HOMERIC POEMfe 303
own seed-sowing. Dear as Hector is to Homer, truth is dearer still. If
Achilles, the goddess-born, the man more sinned against than sinning, must
yet be shown in his true light as the man also of " untamed spirit," Hector
may not be spared. Let us look into this.
Hector is, we imagine, Homer himself — that is, the old blind bard (to use
the phrase of antiquity) has thrown into the character of Hector his notions of
what he himself — had he been young, full of energy, and a leader of men —
would have thought, said, and done under the particular circumstances.
Whether this be so or not, there can be no doubt that Hector, of all the
heroes, comes up most fully to the threefold standard of justice, manliness,
reverence.
Justice, as we know, means the fulfilling of the obligations imposed by the
great unwritten law in every relation of life. Towards Zeus and the gods
Hector's disposition throughout is what we should now call sincerely religious.
He recognises, that is, a tie which binds him to the great Unseen Power, call
it by what name we will. Rising above the superstition of his age (one omen
is best — to fight for the fatherland), his faith in the Great Father is such as
would put to shame that of many a so-called Christian.
To father and mother. Hector is the son of sons. No scenes in Homer are
more affecting than those in which old Priam and Hecabe bewail his loss.
Priam has many sons left besides Paris, but, in comparison to Hector, what are
they? What are those whom he has already lost? " So many of my sons, in
the bloom of their youth," he says, " hath Achilles slain ; but, sore grief though
it be, for none of them all do I mourn as I mourn for one, for whom my sharp
grief will bring me down to the house of Hades, even Hector." Thus he spake,
and with him sorrowed the townsfolk ; whilst among the women Hecabe led
the loud lament : " My child, how shall I live, wretched, in my misery, now
that thou art dead, thou who wert my boast day and night through the city,
and a strength to all throughout the town, both men and women of Troy, who
reverenced thee as a god — for verily thou wert to them an exceeding great
glory in thy life, but now have death and fate o'ertaken thee ! " (Ilioui, xxii.
423-426, 429-436). ^
As regards his wife — what has Hector not been to Andromache ? " Hector,
thou to me art father and lady mother ; yea, and brother, thou who art my
noble husband."
Towards evil Paris, the bringer of destruction on Troy, Hector's attitude
throughout is that of the wise and kindly elder brother. Grieved to the heart
by the cowardice of slothful, ease-taking Paris, he bears the shame for the
man who can feel no shame, whilst striving by every means in his power, stern
reproof or encouragement, to rouse him to a sense of his position.
So much for justice. Then for manliness — the attempt to describe the
arete of Hector would be to transcribe half the Iliad. As for the aidos, let
Helen speak. It is Hector alone who has been her champion, soothing her
with kind and gentle words when others have reproached her in his father's
halls. When Hector dies, Helen's last friend is gone.
How, then, is Hector to blame for his fate ? In the only way possible to
such a character as his^ Hector yields to that last weakness of noble souls — he
thirsts for glory.
The same evening that Patroclus is slain, the Trojans are made aware that
the death of his comrade is known to Achilles, and not likely to be unavenged,
for the hero has shown himself at the trench, visible to all in a flaming cloud
cast about him by Athena. They have heard also his mighty voice, and that
of Athena, in a shout which has struck terror into the hearts of many. Poly-
304 THE HOMERIC AGE
damas, therefore, wisest of counsellors among the Trojans, advises that the host
should withdraw under cover of night to the city. " Let us go up to the fortress,"
he says ; " believe me, thus will it be. Now hath ambrosial night stayed Peleides,
swift of foot ; but if to-morrow he light upon us here, rushing full-armed upon
us, well shall each one know that it is he. Gladly shall he reach sacred Ilion,
whosoever fleeth, and many of the Trojans shall dogs and vultures devour "
{Iliad, xviii. 266). Thus spake the man wise of heart, who excelled Hector in
counsel, and " saw before and after."
Hector, however, indignantly rejects the counsel. Then Hector of the
glancing helm looked sternly on him and said : " Polydamas, what thou say est
is in no way pleasing to me. . . . ISTow that the son of crooked-counselling
Kronos (Zeus) hath given me to win glory by the ships and to press the Achseans
to the sea, no longer, foolish man, utter such counsels among the people. No
man of the Trojans will obey thee. I will not suffer it."
Here the ate of his desire for glory rises up in Hector as does the ate in
Achilles, out of his own noblest qualities. " What though noble Achilles has
arisen beside the ships ? " he says. " I, at least, will not flee before him — much
rather will I stand and face him, to try whether great might shall be to him,
or haply to me." What Hector, the individual, might do, however, is not
open to Hector, the shepherd of the host, to essay. We have seen what the
standard of the ruler is in Homer (p. 272) — the sceptre is entrusted to him " to
take counsel for the people." Hector has had the counsel offered him by one
entitled to speak, and he rejects it.
Once before, indeed, Hector has rejected the counsel of Polydamas (p. 264),
but then he does so in reliance on the counsel of Zeus. Then his aim was to
fight for the fatherland — now it is to match himself against Achilles and to
win glory.
Connecting this episode now with the events of the following day — the
fatal defeat, the utter rout of the Trojans — we can form some idea of what is
passing in noble Hector's mind as he stands at the Sksean Gate, watching the
fugitives pouring into the city, pursued by death and fate. His thought is
this — that he to whom both Trojans and allies trusted to give the word in war,
whether to fight or to retreat, has betrayed his trust — he, the shepherd of the
host, has undone the host.
. "Ah me ! " he says {Iliad, xxii. 99), ''if I go within the gates and walls,
Polydamas will be the first to load me with reproach, for he bade me lead up
the Trojans to the fortress during this fatal night, when noble Achilles arose —
but I hearkened not, though surely better far would it have been. And now
that I have undone the host by my blind folly, I have shame to face the
men of Troy, and the long-robed Trojan women, lest some worse man than
myself should say, ' Hector, by trusting to his might, hath destroyed the
host.' "
This thought it is — " I, by mine own blind folly, have undone the host" —
that flashes across the mind of the shepherd of the host as he stands leaning
against the tower. It is the agony of the thought that Hector is fleeing from
— not the dread of Achilles — when the desperate race begins. Achilles ap-
proaches with his mighty spear and glittering god-made armour shining like
the sun in his strength. Then the poet says trembling seized upon Hector and
he " fled in fear." But let us not make any mistake. It is no bodily fear that
besets Hector ; he flees before Achilles, because Achilles appears as retribu-
tion, the avenging Nemesis of his own fatal ate. Both heroes are urged on by
the aidos — both have failed in their duty as shepherds of the host. Hector
flees from the aidos within ; Achilles sees an opportunity of atoning for his
THE ETHICAL UNITY OF THE HOMERIC POEMS 305
neglect and avenging the death of Patroclus — Hector sees no such oppoi-tunity ;
he flees from the anguish of his own thoughts.
" Ah me ! " says Zeus, *' a man dearly beloved I see chased round the wall.
My heart is woe for Hector ! " But the woe did not save Hector. Then the
father took his golden scales '' and weighed therein the fates of Achilles and
Hector, and the fate of Hector sank down even to the house of Hades."
Hector's day of destiny has come. Apollo, his protector, leaves him, and
Athena descends to lure the hero to his doom. In the form of his best-loved
brother, Deiphobus, she urges him to make a stand. Full of gratitude to the
supposed Deiphobus for imperilling his own safety by coming to be his second,
Hector halts. Achilles launches his spear ; it misses aim and is returned
secretly to him by Athena. Now it is Hector's turn. " Not as I flee," he says
to his enemy, " shalt thou plant thy spear in my back ; nay, face to face,
drive it through my breast, if God give thee to do it ! " He hurls his spear ; it
rebounds from the shield of Achilles. He calls to Deiphobus to bring him
another — no Deiphobus is there. Then Hector understands the matter — he
has been deceived. " 'Twas Athena played me false. . . . Now hath fate
reached me," is his conclusion. " At least, let me not die without a struggle,
ingloriously. Nay, but having accomplished a great deed, whereof in time to
come men shall hear ! " The fatal conflict ensues ; weakened and exhausted.
Hector is easily overcome — he falls — but on his tomb the gods themselves
strew incense.
The Invisible Justice in the " Odyssey^ — As in the Iliad, so in the Odyssey,
the deeds of mortals are to be for a " song " in the ears of men. The poet, as
before, holds the office of impartial judge for posterity.
The song of the Odyssey is the "great excellence (are^e = virtue) of blame-
less Penelope, who was well mindful of Odysseus, her wedded lord ; wherefore
the fame of her virtue shall never perish, but the immortals will fashion a
gracious song for men on earth to the fame of the constant Penelope. As for
the daughter of Tyndareus (Clytemnestra), who devised evil deeds and slew the
husband of her youth, hateful shall the song of her be among men." So says
the ghost of Agamemnon in the lower world.
The keynote is struck at the opening of the poem in the lament of Zeus
already quoted (p. 289) : " How vainly do mortals blame the gods ! for from us,
they say, comes evil, whereas they,, even themselves, by their own blind folly,
have woes beyond what is ordained." The Iliad shows justice at work among
those engaged in the war ; the Odyssey shows it descending on those who
remained and devised evil deeds in the absence of the heroes, thus bringing
woes on themselves by their own blind follies.
Great part of the poem is occupied with the wondrous adventures of Odys-
seus on his way home — adventures partly invented by the author of the
Odyssey, partly borrowed from old tales, and neatly fitted into the narrative,
b)ut all designed to exhibit the hero in his character of the " man of many
devices," grappling with fortune in her most varied shapes and forms. These
adventures and wanderings of Odysseus are necessary not only for this pur-
pose, but to fill up the twice ten years of his absence, and so give time both
for Telemachus to arrive at man's estate and also for the presumptuous security
of the wooers to reach its height. Artistically, therefore, these episodes are
necessary, but they must not distract our attention from the fact that the real
interest of the story is concentrated in Ithaca.
We need not repeat here the story of Penelope, her web and her wooers
— nor is it even necessary in this case to enlarge upon the mode of
u
3o6 THE HOMERIC AGE
operation of the Invisible Justice. In the Odyssey it is not the hidden ate of
the individual, working out its own retribution, that we have to do with, but
the opis of the gods, marking invisibly what goes on and then descending in
the sight of all men, that all may see it and take warning. The idea of
justice in the Odyssey, however, if not so delicately and finely conceived as
in the Iliad, is both more artistically framed and more dramatically handled.
The wooers have had abundance of warning — their fate does not overtake
them unawares ; but throughout the refrain runs : " They fear not the opis
of the gods." They have molested a helpless woman and a youth not yet able
to protect either her or himself ; they have eaten the fat and drunk the
sweet day after day, self-invited in another man's house, at another man's
cost; they have planned the death of the heir, that they might seize upon
his inheritance ; finally they add yet this above all, that they scorn and
maltreat one of those who are under the special care of Zeus, one of those
who are " from Zeus," a stranger and beggar. Their cup of iniquity is,
therefore, full ; they have trampled on the great unwritten laws, and
retribution comes upon them at once naturally and directly from Zeus in
the person of the supposed beggar — the long-absent Odysseus.
Nothing in the whole range of literature is more dramatically conceived
than the vengeance of Odysseus. We have the contrast between the insolent
nonchalance of the wooers and the stern silence of the beggar, at whose cost
they are feasting ; the undercurrent : " I mark, I heed ; " the arrival of the
significant day of vengeance ; the festival of the far-darter Apollo, lord of the
bow ; the omens sent to both sides — to Odysseus the double sign of thunder
and the voice (p. 261), to the wooers an eagle on their left, bearing a
trembling dove ; then comes the fresh insult offered to Odysseus, the vision of
the impending doom, the blood-sprinkled hall seen by Theocly menus, the seer ;
the crowning trial of archery that is to decide the pretensions of the wooers,
their ineffectual attempts to draw the mighty bow of Odysseus, its passing into
the hands of its rightful owner, the beggar, and his final declaration, as he
strips him of his rags (Od., xxii. 35): "Ye dogs! ye imagined that I would
never more come back to my home from the land of the Trojans, that ye
might spoil my house. . . . Neither fearing the gods that hold wide heaven
nor the indignation of men that shall be hereafter ! — but now are ye all made
fast in the bands of death " — leading up to th,e awful slaughter that ensues. All
this is worked out with a power and a force rarely equalled, certainly never
surpassed, by any writer, ancient or modern.
SUMMARY
We have now seen for ourselves, not what " they say " about the Homeric
age, but what Homer himself says, and we ask, as we asked concerning the
experiment in language, Was this great experiment in the seeking after God
successful ? To this reply must be, Absolutely, No ! — relatively. Yes !
I. The Nature of God. — To revert to St. Paul's explanation, the pselaphein,
we can see that the Greeks in their groping had come somewhat near to the
truth. As the old patriarch in his blindness touched a son, but not the son
whom he sought — so had the Greeks touched a father, but not the Great
Father of Man. Nevertheless, they were raised above surrounding nations, in
that they had cherished and worked out, to the best of their power, the germ
of divine truth which they brought with them from the old Aryan home ; in
that, distorted as was their version of the truth, they had clung to the thought
of the Supreme Being as the Father in the heavens. They are raised above
SUMMARY 307
surrounding nations, moreover, by their representations of the gods as beings,
on the whole well-disposed towards man. Injthe Greek gods good at least
mingles with the evil ; they are human, often benign — not monsters of cruelty,
not devils, like the gods of the Phoenicians. Herein lies the relative success of
this particular experiment, and, considering the age, it is a great one.
The Greek divinities, however, are not " divine " in any true sense of the
word. Of that attribute of God which we call holiness, says Nagelsbach,
there is not a trace in Homer, from beginning to end. With one hand the
Greek builds up the divine; with the other he pulls it down. As we have
seen, the fault is not Homer's. His conceptions of the divine are evolved out
of the misunderstandings of centuries. There can be no doubt that, from his
own standpoint, Homer has set before us the very best side of the religious
thought of his age. Nevertheless, Homer's conception of the divine must be
regarded absolutely as a failure.
2. Revelation. — We have seen the Greeks trying in every way to draw near
to God — to learn His will by signs from within and from without, by every
means natural and human ; and, finally, we have seen them rejecting each in
turn, either as insufficient or as untrustworthy. Had, then, the Greeks no
light, no revelation whatsoever ?
Yes, verily ! they had a double revelation — the stamp of God within, the
witness of the great unwritten laws ; the voice of God without, in the history
of their own race, their successes and their failures.
We ask the reader to recall to mind the great laws as we saw them in
operation among this chosen Aryan people — chosen for the very purpose, as it
were, of bearing witness to the great fact that man is made in the image of
God — that within him he bears the stamp of his divine birth. Look at these
old pre-historic records of lives lived before what we call " intellectual culture "
was so much as thought of ; look at the manliness, the honesty, the reverence
which breathe throughout ; look at the sweet and gracious aidos, with its
modesty, its gentle care for others, its generosity, and then explain, if you can,
how in such an age all this can have arisen, whence it can have proceeded, if
not directly from God.
Then look at the revelation from without — the voice of the Invisible
Justice in dike, pointing out the way whereby the social fabric may be built
up and maintained on the only lasting basis. Look at the relations between
parents and children, between rulers and ruled. See the frank recognition
of Noblesse oblige ! — they that enjoy the honours of life must justify their
position : they must go " straight forward," up into the very forefront of the
fighters in life's battles. Look at the relation of husband and wife in
Homer — at a Hector and Andromache, an Odysseus and Penelope, an Alcinous
and Arete. Is the wife in these pre-historic scenes the "helpmeet" of the
husband, or is she not? Look, again, at the relation of master and slave in
Homer as depicted in an Odysseus and an Eumaeus, the gentleness of the one
calling forth the life-long devotion of the other. Look at the beginnings of
international law — hospitality to be shown to the stranger who comes " from
Zeus," the faithful covenant to be kept even with an enemy, the dead to receive
the due of the dead. Think, finally, of the portrayal of the ate in the individual
conscience — the remorse of a Helen, an Achilles, a Hector — and say whether
St. Paul is not justified in declaring that the Gentiles, which had not the law,
yet showed "the work of the law written in their hearts, their conscience also
bearing witness, and their thoughts the meanwhile accusing or else excusing
one another." 1
1 Romans ii. 14, 15.
3o8 THE HOMERIC AGE
The Greeks themselves at least knew that they were made in the image of
God — that there was a something divine within them. They confessed to it in
the very fact that they regarded every defection from the straight path as a
"darkening" of some inner knowledge, a "blinding" of some inward sight, a
" missing " of the true mark and aim of life.
Verily, our God hath never left Himself without witness : " rain from
heaven and fruitful seasons " testified to His goodness, the very nobleness of
man to the grand destiny which He had designed for him, the conception
of the Invisible Justice to the discipline and training of a chosen people by the
Judge of all the earth.
Homer is no divinely inspired prophet ; it was not given to him to forestall
by any revelation of the truth future experiments in the seeking after God,
but Homer certainly is a divinely-inspired recorder of past experiments and
interpreter of human life. As such he is a teacher, not for his own age or
nation only, but for all time.
§ VI.— PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
" Homer " marks the completion of the first great period in the history of the
Greek people — a period preceded, as we saw, by long centuries of preparatory
development and discipline.
The first grand manifestation of Greek genius, the Iliad, carried in the
germ from the mother-country, came to maturity in the colonies on the
western shores of Asia Minor, and there the intellectual fire long continued to
burn brightly. Asia Minor was not only the foster-mother of epic, but the
mother of lyric poetry, of philosophy, science, and history ; and we shall
presently have to examine the result of some of the experiments that went on
ceaselessly in her great centres of life.
Meantime it is the mother-country to which we must now turn our atten-
tion, in order to observe how she also is prepared for her share in the grand
work. Her fallow ground has now to be broken up, ploughed, and harrowed ;
she has to receive the seeds of many new ideas ; the young plants have to be
tried by storm, as well as nourished by the rain and the sunshine, before that
second great harvest, which we call the classical period, is ripe for in-gathering.
To set forth here, however, all the details of this preparation would, in the
space at our disposal, be impossible. The centuries which intervene between
Homer and Pindar are centuries of change and intense activity. In addition
to the intellectual progress on the Asiatic coast and in the colonies, they
witnessed, both in mother-country and colonies, the rise of the great idea of
the State in her legislative and educative capacities — European Greece saw the
development of the Spartan constitution, the overthrow of the monarchy
generally throughout the land, the setting up in succession of the aristocracy,
the oligarchy and the tyranny, and the gradual rise in Athens of the people to
the possession of power.
All these stages of progress, and the problems of exceeding interest to
which they give rise, belong to the history of the Greek experiments in
political and social life rather than to our present subject. They would
require, moreover, not one volume but several to do them anything like justice.
We must confine ourselves here, therefore, to a review of some of the influences
which were at work during the preparation, moulding the character of the
people, and gradually leading up to that strain of religious thought as we see
it in the great writers of the classical period.
I.— HESIOD
The colonists had taken with them from the mother-country a grand
inheritance, not only in the national myths and sagas, but in the moral con-
ceptions of the great unwritten laws, and richly did they " repay their dear
mother," as Homer would have put it, for "this their nurture." There would
seem to have been from the first a lively intercourse between the new settle-
ments and the old home, and the Homeric poems, with all their noble and
generous ideals, soon made their way amid the mountains and valleys of
3IO PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
Greece proper, breaking down prejudice and isolation, and building up the
feeling of brotherhood and unity which eventually found expression in the
common name of "Hellenes."
Among the Asiatic Greeks who came to the mother-country and finally
resolved to settle there was the father of the poet Hesiod. He is supposed
to have been by occupation a sailor and by birth a native of the ^Eolian Cyme,
one of the seven cities which claimed to have been the birthplace of Homer.
Naturally, he selected for his residence in European Greece an ^olian district,
and settled at Ascra, a little place at the foot of Mount Helicon, near Thespise,
in Bceotia, where he seems to have bought a small property.
The exact period to which Hesiod is to be assigned, however, is not certain.
Herodotus makes the poet a contemporary of Homer, but this is mere conjec-
ture on the part of the historian, disproved from the evidence afforded by the
works attributed to Hesiod. In all probability the latter must be placed at
least one hundred years later than his great predecessor.
Two important poems have come down to us under the name of Hesiod —
the Theogony and the Works and Days. Whether both are to be attributed to
the same author or not is a question on which critics are divided. In any
case, both works helped in the great preparation by defining — unintentionally,
but with unmistakable precision — the boundary line between the two streams
of religion and mythology, which we saw flowing together, and often mingling,
in Homer.
I. The Theogony owes its existence to the order-loving, systematising spirit
of the Greeks. Its object is explained in the name TTieo-gonia — genealogy of
the gods; and its author professes to have received his inspiration from the
Muses themselves. Whilst feeding his flocks on Helicon, they gave to him
the laurel-wand of the singer, breathed into him a divine voice, that he should
declare both the future and the past, and bade him hymn the race of the
blessed ones that live for ever. Thus commissioned, the poet proceeds, after
first giving an account of the Muses, his patronesses, to describe the evolution
of the existing world from chaos ; the union of Gaea and Uranus, earth and
sky ; the birth of the Titans ; the rebellion of Kronus-of-the-crooked-counsels
against his father Uranus, and his seizure of the throne of the world ; the
union of Kronus and Rhea, and birth of a new race of gods, the Olympians ;
the war between the Titans and the new gods of Olympus ; finally, the victory
of Zeus, representative of the world-order, over Kronus and the Titans,
symbols of the forces of confusion and disorder.
The remainder of the Theogony is occupied by further details concerning
gods and Titans, and the genealogies of the heroes, such as Heracles and
Achilles, who traced their descent from the immortals. The work, therefore,
contains a Cosmogony, a Theogony, and a " Heroogony." Its whole tone is
gloomy, and the style often deserving of the criticism passed upon it by Colonel
Mure (Histo7'y of Greek Literature, ii. p. 421). "The Hesiodic style," he says,
" is wild and fantastic without originality, and turgid without dignity. The
joyous is suddenly converted into the pathetic, the tender into the terrible,
with an almost burlesque effect. " ^ Nevertheless, it must be admitted that in
the description of the war with the Titans there are several grand and striking
passages. The whole episode seems to have afforded not a few hints to our
own Milton.
From the outline given it will be seen that the Theogony is from beginning
to end strictly "mythological." It concerns itself only with the tales told
about the gods. Of the hidden working of the great unwritten laws, or of any
^ This criticism does not apply to the Works and Days.
HESIOD
311
** religious " feeling, in the literal sense of the term, there is hardly a trace.
Three features may be said to be characteristic of the work : —
1. The predominance in it of foreign elements. The author of the Theogony
appears to have brought together every myth on which he could lay hands,
and both Phoenicia and Phrygia seem to have been no small contributors to
the ensemble. These foreign branches, grafted on to the comparatively pure
stock of native Greek mythology, betray their origin by their inherent
coarseness.
2. Another repulsive feature of the Theogony is its want of proportion.
This may seem a strange defect to ascribe to the work of a Greek, but it is
nevertheless true. The genealogy, e.g., of gods and that of monsters, such as
the Chimaera and the Sphinx, are related with equal gravity, and as though
both were equally intended to be received with faith.
3. The character of Zeus appears in the Theogony in the worst light. With
all its faults the portraiture of Homer is yet grand and noble in part, as we
have seen. Moreover, the early Greek could and did see in the Homeric Zeus
not only the upholder of the world-order, but a being who might perchance
feel for himself in the troubles of life. The god who could say " My heart
is woe for Hector," and who could comfort old Priam by the message that
" Although afar off, Zeus yet had great care and pity for him," was still a god
that might be loved. But the Zeus of the Theogony has no redeeming qualities :
he hates men, persecutes their champion Prometheus for endeavouring to
alleviate their misery, and finally revenges himself on the human race by
sending the " lovely evil," Pandora, to work it woe.^
Looking now at the Theogony as an experiment, it is evident that the
author — in a way not at all intended — conferred a great benefit upon his
countrymen by thus bringing together in all their bald simplicity the myths of
his day. The repulsive elements — lightly passed over, or totally rejected, by
the fine taste of a Homer — are in the Theogony caught out of their misty
traditional form, laid hold of, as it were, and forced to reveal themselves, that
their hideousness may be plainly seen by all, and their right to existence as
statements concerning the Divine challenged.
The challenge, let us note, was not long in being taken up, and thus the
Theogony itself — the fons et origo of much trouble and perplexity — became one
powerful cause of the great revolt of the thinkers of Greece, shortly to be noted.
In estimating the influence of the Theogony, we have been obliged to look
at it and its myths as they appear on the surface ; for, as is evident from Plato,
in later days the masses understood literally the tales about the gods. Never-
theless, there can hardly be a doubt that the myths of the Theogony, crude
as they are, have a deeper meaning. This would seem, indeed, to be implied
by the words attributed to the Muses who inspired the poet. " We know to
sing many fictions like to truths," they say, "and we know also, when we will,
to speak truth " {Theog., 27). The cosmical myth of the three dynasties — an
" almost" philosophic attempt to account for the existing state of things — may,
therefore, probably be one of these " fictions like to truths." As such it was
viewed by the Stoic philosophers.
II. The Works and Days. — Passing now to the Works and Days, we come to
a work of a totally different character. As stated, there are those who hold
it to be the production of the author of the Theogony. Such an assumption,
however, would seem to be contradicted by the radical difference between
the two.
^ For the myths of the Theogony and the Works and Days we must refer the reader to
Hellas, p. 79 et seq.
312 PREPAKATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
Before proceeding to examine the work, let us just take a brief glance at
its background. In the TVoi'ks and Days Hesiod depicts for us conditions of
life differing toto caelo from those which we have learned to know in Homer,
Homer represents the acme of one period, the very height of chivalrous senti-
ment, and free open-handed generosity. The great wave, however, has re-
ceded, and Hesiod shows us the commencement of another period, the actors
in which have again to work their way upward out of a narrow and depressing
environment. The difference between the two poets is not to be entirely ex-
plained by saying, with Alexander the Great, that Homer is the poet for
princes, Hesiod the poet for peasants. Granted that, so far as genius is con-
cerned, Hesiod may not be named in the same breath with Homer — the con-
trast presented by the general tone of their works is, nevertheless, traceable
also to the different conditions under which they were produced. When we
reach Hesiod, the courtly life depicted by Homer has either passed away or
is fast disappearing. The state of society which we meet with in Hesiod is
that which naturally and necessarily follows upon the other. War has ceased ;
the great migrations are over ; the country is apparently settled, and the fight-
ing men have long since been disbanded. They have been obliged to betake
themselves again to agriculture, or to find some other means of livelihood, for
there are evidently now no great princes willing to keep open table and enter-
tain starvelings, as the beggar is entertained in the Odyssey. Each man
is thrown on his own resources, and life is again a struggle for the bare means
of subsistence. In short, the life that Hesiod paints in the Works and Days
is the first stage in the development of the poorer freemen of Greece. This
first stage, naturally, is the life of the farmer or the sailor ; later, the same
class will flock into the cities and turn to industrial pursuits and to commerce.
For such members of society Homer had no special message. He speaks to
the prince, to the fighting man, and to the slave. Now that another great
class is fast coming into existence — a body of men who will make short work
with princes, and seek to be on an equality with aristocrats — men who must
both fight and work, but will do neither on compulsion — a new message of an
entirely different character is needed, and this message is entrusted to Hesiod
— the author, that is, of the Works and Days. The author of the Theogony, as
we have seen, has no part or lot in this matter.
Reverting to the comparison so often made between Homer and Hesiod,
there can be, of course, but one opinion as to which of the two is the greater
or the more delightful. To pass from Homer to Hesiod is, literally, to pass
from the bright blue sky and the glorious sunshine of the Isles of Greece into
the fogs and the fat " wheat-mists" of Boeotia. We shudder when we turn
away from a Hector and an Andromache, a Nestor, an Odysseus, and all the
great-hearted Achseans whom we have learnt to know on the plain of the
Scamander, and find ourselves face to face with the narrow aims and cares of
the Boeotian freeholder. We have no desire to exchange the vision of the
shining halls of Alcinous for that of the Boeotian farmer, with his coat of hide
thrown over his back and his hat of felt drawn down over his ears, as he
trudges along behind his oxen in the bleak north wind.
Nevertheless, when our eyes have become accustomed to the dim atmos-
phere and the circumscribed range of the surroundings, we can see that in the
author of the Works and Days we have to do with a man of sterling worth, and
— pare the shade of Alexander — one from whom princes as well as peasants
could learn something.
We shall probably understand Hesiod better if we can once disabuse our
minds of the idea that he is a " poet." His claim to the name is simply that
HESIOD 313
he has expressed his thoughts in verse ; but as to this he had no choice, for
" prose " was not yet in existence.
The Works and Days is composed of two parts, of which the second alone
answers to the title, consisting of a calendar of farming " Works," and the
" Days," lucky or unlucky, on which things may, or may not, be successfully
begun. This portion does not concern us here, although we may note in
passing that it seems to have afforded Virgil many suggestions for the Georgics,
In order to understand the purport of the first part, which forms a sort of
introduction to the second, we must premise that the poet's brother, Perses,
by means of flattering and bribing the judges, had contrived to obtain in a
lawsuit much more than his fair share of the patrimony. He has, however,
run through his ill-gotten gains, and now comes to the injured brother for help.
This Hesiod, to his credit, has evidently given, despite his wrongs ; but he
cannot go on supporting Perses in idleness, and he now addresses an earnest
exhortation both to him and the " bribe-swallowing kings " or judges ^ to take
heed to their ways, and walk henceforth in the paths of righteousness. This
exhortation forms that portion of the Works and Days which interests us, and
we propose therefore to examine it very briefly — the work itself is short — in
the same way as we examined the Homeric poems, that we may see for our-
selves whether the intervening century has made any change in the religious
notions of the Greeks or not.
Tlie Idea of " God J' — The Works and Days opens with an invocation which
gives the keynote to the whole poem. Essential as is the passage, regarded in
this light, it is nevertheless probable that it did not belong originally to the
work,2 but was prefixed later by some disciple of the master, some member of
the Hesiodic " School." It thoroughly represents, however, the mind of the
Boeotian poet, and may fitly be compared, not only with many texts of the
Iliad (see p. 242), but with many portions of our own Scriptures.
" Ye Muses from Pieria," the poet prays, " ye who celebrate in song, come
speak of Zeus and hymn your sire, through whom mortals are alike famed and
fameless, named and nameless, by hest of mighty Zeus. For easily, indeed,
doth he make strong, and easily cast down the strong ; easily doth he minish
the mighty, and magnify the obscure ; ^ easily, too, doth he make straight the
crooked, and wither the proud in heart — high-thundering Zeus, who dwelleth
in mansions highest. Hearken, thou ! see, and mark, and guide the judgment
righteously." "^
The Invisible Justice. — This guiding of the judgments, and watching over
justice in all its relations to the great unwritten laws, is the special function
of Zeus. His eye seeth and perceiveth all things, nor doth it escape him what
manner of justice a city encloseth within it {Opp-, 267). Justice (Dike) is his
own daughter {0pp., 256), "a virgin glorious, and reverenced by the gods that
hold Olympus. Whensoever any one hindereth her or raileth against her,
straightway she taketh her seat by her father, Zeus Kronion, and speaketh of
the mind of unjust men, that so the people may pay for the sins ^ of rulers, who
devise grievous things, and turn Justice from her path."
^ The hasileis-kings of Hesiod are probably the nobles, who succeeded to power on the over-
throw of the monarchy in the different little States of Greece. There is no reference in the
poem to the exercise of any kingly function other than the administration of justice.
'^ The Thespians had in their possession the oldest "edition" of the Woi'ks and Days,
inscribed on metal. This began with the present v. ii. (Paus., ix. 314).
^ " God is the Judge : He putteth down one, and setteth up another " (Psalm Ixxv. 7).
"The Lord maketh poor, and maketh rich ; He bringeth low, and lifteth up " (i Sam. ii. 7).
^ Lit., make straight the themistes in dike.
^ Atasthalias — blind follies (see p. 289).
314 PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
Zeus has, too, other unseen watchers abroad (0pp., 249) : For " close at
hand amongst men are immortals, observing those who wear out one another
with crooked judgments, regardless of the vengeance (opis) of the gods. For
upon earth are thrice ten thousand immortals, Zeus' guardians of mortal men.
Wrapt in mist, they go to and fro throughout the earth, and watch both the
just judgments (dikas) and the evil deeds of men."
Moreover, the poet is satisfied that there are blessings in store for the good,
heavy penalties to be paid by the bad {0pp., 225 e^ seq.).
" Those who give straightforward judgment to strangers," mark, " and to
the home-born, and no whit overstep the right, their city flourisheth, the
people prosper within her. Peace nourisheth men throughout the land, nor
ever to them doth far-seeing Zeus ordain grievous war ; neither doth famine
nor ruin (ate) company with men that judge in righteousness. . . . For them
the earth bringeth forth abundantly ; on the mountains the oak bears on its
summit acorns, and in its trunk honey-bees ; the woolly sheep are weighed
down with fleeces ; they flourish in blessings for ever and aye. Nor do they
go down to the sea in ships,i for Earth, the grain-giver, yields her fruit."
" But," on the other hand, " they who cherish wrong (hyhris) and evil, and
merciless deeds, for them the son of Kronus, far-seeing Zeus, decreeth justice
{dike in the sense of punishment). Oft hath even a whole city suffered for
one bad man who sinneth and deviseth froward things. On them from heaven
Kronion bringeth great woe, famine and plague together, and the people
waste away. Neither do the women bring forth children, and houses come to
nought (for want of heirs) by the counsels of Olympian Zeus. Yet again, at
another time, he destroyeth their wide army, or layeth low their walls, or
upon their ships in the sea doth Kronides take vengeance."
A very remarkable feature of the poet's view of justice is one that was
afterwards worked out with deep insight by x^schylus, viz., that the punish-
ment of the sins of the father is visited upon the children. The posterity of
the false swearer especially, but also of the man who gains wealth by unjust
means, becomes obscure {0pp., 284, 321).
In the foregoing and similar passages we are reminded again and again of
the denunciations of the old prophets of Israel upon a backsliding people.
Hesiod, like Homer, knows full well that there is in the world a great power
which makes for righteousness.
Nevertheless, he too, like Homer, pulls down with one hand what he
builds up with the other, for he introduces the myth of Pandora on purpose
to show that it was Zeus himself who had " devised baneful cares for man," in
order that they might be bound to perpetual toil. The Pandora-myth, taken
in conjunction with the myth of the five ages of man, is apparently an echo
or a distorted version, derived from Semitic sources, of the fall of man. In
the Greek conception, however, the prime cause of the fall, sin, has dis-
appeared, and the penalty of toil is laid upon the human race merely to gratify
the revenge of Zeus against Prometheus. Even if we take that view of the
Prometheus-myth which makes Zeus justly incensed against the great Titan,
the moral difficulty remains that Zeus is acting unrighteously in visiting his
wrath upon helpless creatures who are, according to the myth, in no way to
blame. This difficulty in the character of Zeus, however, does not seem to
trouble Hesiod, any more than similar difficulties troubled the Homer of the
Iliad. The two streams of religion and mythology run calmly on side by
side, without apparently raising any perplexing questions in the good man's
^ The meaning is, they are not compelled to hazard their lives. Earth yields enough
for all.
HESIOD 315
soul. And yet the poet of the Odyssey had put the matter in the right light :
" How vainly men do blame the gods ! for from us, they say, cometh evil,
whereas of themselves, of their own blind follies, they have woes beyond what
is ordained" (see ante^ p. 305).
Moral Ideals. — It is evident that the chivalrous ideals of Homer can hardly
be looked for from the Hesiodic standpoint. The high Schwung is over, and men
find themselves face to face with stern necessity. Of the change Hesiod him-
self is quite conscious, and he explains it as a phase in the degeneracy of the
human race. The myth of the five ages — the golden, sylvan, bronze, heroic,
and iron ages of the world — is related to show the gradual deterioration of
mankind. The heroes, the demi-gods, hymned by Homer and others, perished
before Thebes and Troy ; now the last, the iron stage, has been reached, and
no pessimist in any period of the world's history can possibly have taken a
gloomier view of the outlook over his own century than does Hesiod of his.
Everything is going from bad to worse ; the great unwritten laws will shortly
all be trampled under foot ; Faustrecht^ the justice-of-the-fist, will prevail ;
parents will be dishonoured, cities plundered, justice violated in every way,
until, at the last, so desperate will be the conditions of life that Aidos and
Nemesis, reverence and righteous indignation, will gather their white raiment
about them, and depart altogether from among men {0pp.,, 197).
There are but three remedies that can keep society together — justice,
good faith, and honest work. These are the ideals of Hesiod, and noble
ideals too.
I. Justice, according to Hesiod, is that which distinguishes man qua. man,
and marks him off from the brutes {0pp., 277). " Kr onion," he says, "hath
ordained justice for a law ^ to men ; to fish indeed, and beasts, and winged
fowl hath he given to devour one another, for justice is not among them, but
to men he hath given justice, which is far best."
Here dike is opposed to violence and the right of might ; but it still means,
as in Homer, the *' way pointed out " for the fulfilment of all the obligations of the
unwritten laws, as the following passage clearly shows {0pp., 327) : —
" Whoso shall have worked evil to suppliant or stranger, whoso shall have
deeply sinned against his brother, whoso wrongeth orphan children recklessly,
whoso taunteth an aged parent on the threshold of grievous old age, assailing
him with harsh words, with such an one Zeus himself is wroth, and in the end,
in requital for unjust works, he layeth on him a sore penalty."
Nor is the first of the unwritten laws, reverence towards Zeus and the
gods, forgotten {0pp., 336).
"After thy power," says Hesiod, "do sacrifice to the immortal gods with
reverence and purity, and burn moreover sleek thighs of oxen ; at other times
conciliate them with libation and incense, both when thou liest down and when
the sacred light appeareth, that they may bear towards thee a gracious heart and
mind, that so thou may est buy the land of others, not others thine."
The motive for conciliating the gods, " that thou mayest buy the land of
others," is one which must* not be too harshly judged. In later days Plato
found great fault with both Homer and Hesiod for, as it were, bribing the
people to choose the good by promises of temporal blessings. We can only
urge here, as elsewhere, " First the natural, then the spiritual." Temporal
blessings accompanied the fulfilment of the Divine commands among the chosen
people, and we shall probably be right in concluding that the great teacher
educated the nations in the same way. When Hesiod denounces sin, and fore-
^ Nomos — one of the first instances of the use of the word nomos, custom, in this sense
(see ante, p. 95).
3i6 PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
tells its consequences, or when he holds out the prospect of a blessing on the
righteous, he is simply drawing upon the universal experience of his nation.
The opening words of the counsel, " After thy power do sacrifice," were quoted
with approval by Socrates. Poverty shall not prevent a man from offering
worship pleasing to the immortals : " It is accepted according to that a man
hath, not according to that he hath not."
It is, perhaps, the misfortune rather than the fault of the old poet that he
seems, in certain respects, to fall short of the generous aidos of Homer. The
contest with poverty and the bitter experience of injustice have undoubtedly
narrowed and warped his nature somewhat. Nevertheless, Hesiod is sound at
heart. We must not attempt to form our estimate of him as regards generosity
by isolated " texts." Such a method of dealing with any writer is unfair, and
Hesiod has especially suffered from this mode of interpretation, owing to the
ready way in which his pithy sayings allow themselves to be detached from the
context.
His maxims must either be read in their natural position, or the work must
be treated as a whole, and maxim compared with maxim. To do otherwise with
any writer is to dismember him, to present the eye or the cheek, and say,
" Behold the portrait ! "
For instance, if in one passage Hesiod rails at women (Opp., 373), we must
set against it another, in which he says emphatically {Opp., 702), " Nothing
better than the good wife doth a man gain,"
Then, again, there is the often-quoted saying (Opp., 354), "Give to him
that may have given : give not to him that hath not given." Taken by itself
the sentiment repels us as the acme of selfishness. But over against it we set
another (Opp., 717), "Never have the cruelty to reproach a man with ruinous
heart-breaking poverty ; it is the gift of the blessed ones that live for ever."-
The matter thus rights itself. We remember that Hesiod has helped the
brother who injured him, and pled the cause of the suppliant, the stranger, and
the orphan, and we infer that the " gifts " which are not to be given unless
reciprocated are complimentary gifts, presented at discretion by one person to
another of equal station.
Of the " little gift" to the distressed dear to Zeus Hesiod knew probably as
much as did the divine thrall, Eumseus. " If a man is willing," he says in another
passage (Opp., 357), "he will even give much; he delights in his gift, and it
rejoices his soul. But whosoever, by yielding to his shamelessness, shall have
seized upon anything, be it ever so little, that little hath frozen his heart's
blood." Could the opposite effects of the generous "giving," that blesses him
that gives as well as him that takes, and the unjust " seizing," that hardens a
man's better nature, be more clearly put ? If Hesiod did not know exactly that
it is more blessed to give than to receive, he yet did know that it is more
blessed to give than to seize.
Again Hesiod says {Opp., 709) that, if one has been injured by a friend, that
" friend" is to be requited twice as much. Here he certainly goes beyond the
doctrine of antiquity, " eye for eye, tooth for tooth." Double resentment is to
be dealt out, on the score that the man had professed friendliness. We are not
going to defend Hesiod beyond pointing out the context. He immediately adds,
" But if he lead the way towards friendship again, and be willing to give satis-
faction {dike), accept it," precisely the advice offered by old Phoenix to Achilles,
and rejected by the hero.
2. Good, Faith. — Naturally, from the circumstances under which the Works
and Days was produced, and the wrong done to Hesiod himself, justice tends to
take with him the more technical and restricted sense of impartiality in the
HESIOD 317
decisions of the judges, and in the observance of the oath sworn by witnesses.
The violation of the faithful oath is, as we have seen, the special sin which is
visited upon the children {0pp., 284): "He who in bearing witness shall
wittingly have taken a false oath, and lied," says Hesiod, " in that he hath
hindered justice, hath sinned past remedy, and his posterity becometh obscure ;
but the posterity of the man of true oath is the nobler."
"0 Perses," argues the poet, addressing his brother (0pp., 213, 217), "do
thou hearken to justice, and increase not wrong Qiyhris). . . . For in the end
justice subdueth wrong. By suffering, even a witless man learneth this."
With the judges who can be turned from the straight path by bribes
Hesiod is even more indignant, for they bring ruin on the whole community.
"For there runneth together with crooked judgments," he says {0pp., 219),
" straightway the avenger of the oath.^ There is tumult when Justice is
dragged whithersoever bribe-swallowing men lead her, and perversely decide
the existing rights {tliemistes). And Dike, shrouded in mist, followeth,
lamenting the city and abodes of peoples, bringing evil on men who shall have
driven her out, and not dispensed with fairness."
Hesiod is not afraid to bring the truth home to the evil-doer, even though
he be in power. " Bearing these things in mind, ye kings, ye swallowers of
the bribe," he says {0pp., 263), with unflinching boldness, "make straight
paths for yourselves and forsake utterly crooked judgments. For himself doth
the man work ill that worketh ill for another, and the evil counsel is worst to
him that devised it," for the eye of Zeus perceiveth all things, and knoweth
what manner of justice the city encloseth.
3. Work, according to Hesiod, is, after justice and good faith, the great
panacea for the troubles of society. The poet is no less the preacher of the
doctrine of work than of the doctrine of righteousness. The two, in his
esteem, hang together. If justice has been decreed by Zeus as a law for man,
no less certainly does the necessity for work exist by his will. "Work,
senseless Perses," he says {0pp., 397), "the works which the gods have
marked out for men." The word rendered " marked out " ^ would seem to
imply the idea of a special work awaiting each individual. If left undone,
injustice must ensue, as the burden falls upon those who have already their
own obligations to fulfil. " With that man," says Hesiod again {Op})., 303),
"both gods and men are indignant — the man who liveth without working,
like in temper to stingless drones, that idly waste and consume the labour of
the bees. Let it be a pleasure to thee to set in order fitting labours, that so
thy barns may be full of fruits in their season. By working thou wilt be
dearer to the immortals, yea, and to mortals, for greatly do they detest
sluggards. Work," he says emphatically, "is no disgrace, but sloth is a
disgrace. If thou work, speedily will the non-worker vie with thee in
growing rich, for fame and glory accompany wealth."
The last argument is characteristically Hellenic, for the spirit of " vying "
or emulation is, as we said long ago (p. 23), one mainspring of action in the
Greek nature. So important does emulation appear to Hesiod as a motive
power that he opens his poem by singing its praises {Opp., 11 et seq.). There
are two kinds of strife, he says, upon earth, but they must not be confounded,
for they are of entirely different minds. One fosters war and discord, cruel
is she and no mortal loves her ; but the other has been placed at the roots of
earth by Zeus himself, he who guideth all things. This strife is far best for
men, for she can stir up even a handless man, shiftless though he be, to work.
^ Horkoa, the god of the oath.
- Bietekmeranto, more specific than merely "ordained."
3t8 PKEPAKATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
When a needy man sees a rich one, he too hasteth to plough and to plant
and set his house in order, for neighbour rivalleth neighbour in hastening
towards wealth. The poet's conclusion therefore is that " good for mortals is
this strife," i.e. emulation. Yet the dangers of such emulation were not
unknown even in the days of Hesiod, as is evident from the next verses :
" Potter grudgeth against potter, craftsman against craftsman ; poor man is
jealous of poor man, poet of poet." Nevertheless, he holds fast to the belief
that emulation is healthful and good in itself, for he returns again to the
charge, as we have seen.
We must not suppose, however, that because the poet sets forth wealth,
and the fame and glory which accompany it, as an incentive to toil, that he
lays great stress upon the possession of riches for their own sake. Nay, his
first condemnation of bribe-swallowing kings is that they, '' fools ! neither
know how much greater the half is than the whole, nor yet how much
nourishment there is in mallow and asphodel." The man who can be content
with the moderate allowance of life's goods expressed by the " half," in
contrast to the " whole " which others grasp at, and who can satisfy his
hunger with the proverbial dinner of herbs, which he may have for the
gathering, can snap his fingers at the world. He is richer far and happier
than the swallowers of the bribe. " Gain not base gains," says the poet in
another place ; "base gains are equal to losses" {0pp., 352).
So far from proclaiming the great doctrine of work as a mere stepping-stone
to the acquisition of wealth, Hesiod has immortalised himself for all time by
declaring plainly its intimate connection with the highest aim of life — the
gaining of the arete, the true manliness of soul, that which we now call
virtue : —
" Badness," he says, in the famous parable of the two paths {0pp., 287), '* is
easily to be chosen in crowds, for smooth is the way, and close at hand it
dwells. But before virtue the immortal gods have set toil ; long and steep is
the way, and rugged at the first ; but when the summit is reached, then
indeed is the path easy, however hard may have been the ascent."
A parable on which the Master Himself has set the stamp of His approval.
Summary. — In the Hesiod of the Works and Days we have a man of
striking individuality of character. As he himself says : ''A man who follows
wise counsel is good, but best of all is the man who has thought out all
things for himself " {0pp., 293), who speaks and acts, that is, from deep personal
conviction. Such an one is Hesiod. The very name, Hesi-odos, according to
Bergk (i. 919, note 2), should be taken as meaning, literally, " he who goes his
own way " ; and in common with most of those who have had to mark out a
path for themselves, Hesiod probably suffered for it.
Hesiod had no love for his native place — " a wretched village," he calls it
{0pp., 640), bad in winter, oppressive in summer, never pleasant ; and accord-
ing to tradition he removed to Orchomenus, where he died. Whether his
stern denunciations of the bribe-swallowers — by making Ascra no longer safe
for him — had any share in forcing him to leave his home, or not, we cannot
tell ; but certain it is that, in one way or other, he would have to pay the
penalty of his courage.
His testimony to the deep-rooted and universal consciousness of the in-
visible justice, and the action of the great unwritten laws, is to us doubly
valuable. It comes from a witness who has thought for himself, and from one
who would not lie.
To his own nation, also, even the directness and uncompromising bluntness
of the man were of service. The very beauty of the pictures in Homer might
THE ORACLE 319
tend to conceal from some their deep moral undercurrent. With Hesiod no
such illusion is possible — his morality is surrounded by no glamour of beauty
that could distract the mind from the main issue. "Be just, and thou shalt
live. Be unjust, and thy doom is certain ! " resounds from every page in a
way that no one could pretend to misunderstand.
The Works and Days, like the Iliad and Odyssey, was for centuries a text-
book in the Greek schools. Boys learnt the maxims of Hesiod by heart.
These maxims, therefore, passed into the very pith and marrow of the Hellenic
people. *' Base gains are equal to losses" — " The half is more than the whole "
— "Observe moderation "^ — "In all things fitness is best" {0pp., 694) —
*' Never reproach a man with poverty."
To the author of these and kindred sayings — to the man who could per-
suade his countrymen that justice, good faith, and honest work are the pillars
of the social fabric ; who could teach them that the gaining of virtue calls for all
the " manliness " in a man — to such an one, surely, must be assigned a high
place among the makers of Hellas.
II.— THE ORACLE
The rise of an institution such as the Oracle will not appear surprising to
us if we bear in mind the results of our examination of the question of
"revelation" in Homer. Every natural means that anxious minds could
devise, of finding out the will of the Supreme Being, had been tried.
Beginning with portents from without, thunder and lightning and the flight of
birds — going on to omens from within, the dream, the voice, rumour — and
ending in the guidance of the seer : all alike failed to satisfy the craving for
some communication from God which might be depended upon absolutely.
One means alone the Greeks had not yet tried. " Let us go direct to the
god ! " they seem to have now said. " Let us seek him in the place which
he has himself chosen, where is his abiding presence. There we shall be
sure of good faith. Zeus as Panomphaeos = giver of all oracles, Apollo as
interpreter of his counsels, will devise means whereby we shall not be
deceived."
Such would seem to have been the reasoning which led to faith in the
Oracle, an institution without parallel in its influence on the development of
historic Greece.
As we have seen (p. 224), the Iliad knows both Dodona and Delphi as
shrines of Zeus and Apollo respectively ; and the Odyssey speaks of consulting
the Oracle in both places. The passage in the Odyssey in which the minstrel
Demodocus represents Agamemnon as having sought of Phoebus Apollo at
goodly Pytho [Od., viii. 79) links on the Homeric to the later mode of seeking
Divine guidance, for in it the words rendered " by prophecy," " to inquire of the
Oracle " are used in the sense in which they hold good in historic times. The
root-meaning of the verb chrao is significant. It means to " furnish what is
needful." ^ Here again is a silent but most certain proof of the real " origin "
of religion — the needs of the human soul.
The chresmoi, or responses of the Oracle, took the place to a great extent of
1 Literally, keep to the measure — metra (see ante, p. 99). Fitness — kairos, either due
measure or the fitting season.
^ Used in the middle voice, chrao signified the asking -by the inquirer of what he needed ; in
the active voice, the furnishing by the god of the needful answer. The historic word for
"response of the Oracle," chresmos, however, does not occur in Homer,
320 PREPAKATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
omens and portents. Nevertheless, both divination by signs (especially the
auspices from the sacrificial victims), and the practice of consulting the seer,
prevailed widely in historic times.
The only Oracles which need engage our attention here are those of Dodona
and Delphi, but it should be observed that there were several other famous
shrines in Greece proper — Boeotia alone had seven — besides the two celebrated
Oracles of Apollo in Asia Minor — the Didymsean Oracle, near Miletus, and the
Clarian Oracle, near Colophon.
(i) Dodona. — The most ancient Oracle in Greece was, according to Hero-
dotus (ii. 52), the Pelasgian Oracle of Zeus at Dodona, where the will of the
god was revealed by the mysterious rustling of the wind among the leaves of
the sacred oak,i and by other signs.
The influence of Dodona was exerted chiefly among the rude tribes of the
north-west, among whom it stood for ages as an outpost of Hellenic civilisa-
tion. By the Hellenes generally it was always regarded as a sacred and
venerable relic of the earlier religious belief, and as second only to the Pythian
Oracle in importance.
(2) Delphi, — Foremost, however, in weight and authority, and exercising an
influence compared to which that of Dodona sinks into insignificance, was the
Oracle at rocky Pytho — the valley in the bosom of Parnassus, known later as
Delphi. Of the grandeur and solemnity of the spot chosen for the shrine, and
its exceeding fitness to impress upon man the sense of his own nothingness
and the majesty of the Divine, we have already spoken (Part I., p. 79). It is
probable that from the very earliest times the glen in Parnassus was the home
of some religion. In the Eumenides of rEschylus the Pythia (priestess) says
that before Apollo the Oracle had been possessed by Gsea (Earth), Themis
(Law), and Phcebe (Light). The date of the planting of the Apollo-cult in
Delphi, however, is not certain. It was probably brought thither by the
Dorians, when they migrated from Thessaly into the little valley of Doris.
However this may have been, certain it is that between Delphi and Thessaly,
in historic times, there was a connection regularly kept up by periodical
pilgrimages.
For the mythical account of the founding of Delphi — of the slaying of the
dragon of darkness by Apollo Pythius, and the bringing to his temple of the
Cretans who were to serve him there by Apollo Delphinius — we must refer
the reader to the companion volume. The last myth especially is well worth
reading. It was probably invented by Dorians from Crete, who had seized
upon the temple, and introduced into it their own special cult of Apollo
Delphinius.
The myth is given in the Homeric hymn to the Pythian Apollo (lyj et -^eq.),
which dates probably from the sixth century B.C. ; but, long before that, we
find the Delphic Oracle wielding authority sufficient to arbitrate in a dispute
concerning the succession to a throne. A verdict in favour of Pyrrhus, son of
Aleuas, king of Thessaly, was given about the middle of the ninth century B.C.
(Plut., X>e F'ratr. Am., 21 ; cf. Duncker, Hist, i. 285); and it is remarkable
that although, in this case, the Pythia upheld the claim of the son as rightful
heir to the crown, against the wish of his father, yet the decision of the Oracle
was accepted.
A few years later we find the influence of Delphi exerted in Peloponnesus.
The constitution given by Lycurgus to Sparta (about 825 B.C.) was either
1 Phegos = the oak bearing edible acorns (see ante, p. 29).
THE ORACLE 321
framed or sanctioned by the Oracle.^ In the first half of the next century,
moreover, the fame of the Oracle has extended beyond Greece and reached
the coasts of Asia, for we read of costly gifts being sent to Delphi by Midas,
king of Phrygia, and in succession by the Lydian kings — Gyges, Alyattes, and
Croesus (Herodotus, i. 14, 50, 51).
To what, then, are we to attribute this great and ever-increasing fame and
influence of the Delphic Oracle — an influence exercised first in its own im-
mediate neighbourhood, then spreading to Peloponnesus, thence beyond the
shores of Greece ?
(i) The Character of Apollo. — in the first place, it would seem that the
influence wielded by Delphi was due mainly to the character of the god whose
shrine it was supposed to be. Apollo is one of the loftiest figures in the Greek
religion. Even in Homer, as we have seen, his is a majestic and striking per-
sonality, free from most of the weaknesses of the gods of Olympus. In the
hands of later thinkers his character becomes still more noble. As the god of
light, every successive step towards the light, intellectual or moral, was natur-
ally associated with him.
Two great ideas are specially connected with Apollo — the ideas of Purifica-
tion from blood-guilt, and of Prediction of the future.
{a) Purification. — The sun's rays scare away darkness and burn up impurity.
Impurity and death, physical or moral, must not approach Apollo. Hence, no
dead bodies may be buried on his native Delos, island of light ; no murderer,
defiled with the blood of his brother-man, may draw nigh to the shrine of the
god without previous purification. Such is Apollo's horror of bloodshed that
he himself, after slaying the Pytho, the dragon of darkness, submits to purifi-
€ation and penalty in order to remove the blood-stain.
(5) Prediction. — The sun's rays, however, not only show up defilement and
burn up impurity, but they clear away mist and clouds. Hence, Apollo is
also the god of prophecy — the god who can remove the veil that hides the
future, and indicate to mortals the right course to be pursued, having regard
to the far distant issue known only to Father Zeus. Even in Homer it is
Apollo who inspires the seer. But the seer had been found not always trust-
worthy — old Priam and Telemachus had already refused to believe in him..
What reason, then, had the Greeks for supposing that the Oracle would be
more true ?
The Oracle, we reply, was in the first place a new experiment ; the expounder
of the will of heaven was to expound it in the very presence of the god, at
his own chosen shrine — here was one safeguard. Another, to a light-seeking
people like the Hellenes, must have been indisputably the moral advance in
the teaching concerning the necessity for purification. It appealed to their
highest moral sense. In the new light it is no longer enough to buy off the
avengers of blood by payment of the poine or sum of money for compensation,
as in Homer. Even in Homer, as we have seen, the awful thought of the
actual sin of shedding innocent blood is awakened — the close-pressing ate
which settles like a thick cloud upon a man who has slain another begins now
to be more clearly felt, and Delphi led the way in showing how, by purification
and expiation, the stain might be washed away, the terrible pressure relieved.
Apollo himself sets the example of obedience ; as penalty for the slaying of the
^ Herodotus, indeed, says that Lycurgus borrowed his constitution from Crete ; but there
can be little doubt that the version which attributes it to Delphi is the more correct. It is
vouched for by the poet Tyrtseus, who flourished about two centuries before the historian
< Herodotus, i. 65, 66 ; Tyrtaeus, Frg., 4).
X
32 2 PREPAKATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
dragon ^ he tends the flocks of Admetus in Thessaly for eight long years (the
enneateris, or great year), and at length finds purification in the glen of Tempe,
whence he returns adorned with the laurel- wreath, in token of triumph, to his
beloved Delphi, once more the true Phoebus, the pure unsullied sunlight.
When the god himself had thus set the example of obedience, who could refuse
to submit? Thus purification and a justly meted-out penalty came to be
regarded by the law-abiding, order-loving Greek as " the better way " — the
way by which a man could atone for his sin and be reconciled to the gods and
to society — and the blood-feud gave place to the higher thought. " Apollo "
thus worked out for the whole of Hellas the same beneficent change that, accord-
ing to ^schylus, " Athena " effected in Athens.
The real moral advance in the teaching of Delphi, however, lies — not so
much in the idea of the necessity of purification from blood-guilt, for that is as
old as the saga of Ixion, who had been purified by Zeus himself — but in the
growing belief that God is Himself a Being of purity. This conception alone is
sufficient to account for the influence of Delphi amongst a people who were
pre-eminently seekers after God.
To the above considerations we must add the fact that Delphi strenuously
upheld the right, as we have seen it in the great unwritten laws. In the
old Homeric hymn to Apollo, the commission to the Cretans to act as his
deputies and priests ends with these words : " Take heed that ye watch well
my temple, and receive according to my word the throngs who shall seek me
here ! For if ye allow yourselves in one unjust word or work, then shall other
men become your rulers, and ye yourselves subject to them in time to come."
Justice was set forth from Delphi. The poet Alcseus in his Paean (triumphal
song to Apollo) says that, immediately on his birth, Zeus had sent Apollo to
Delphi to prophesy dike and themis to men. The sacredness of the oath, also,
was proclaimed in language no less strong than that used by Hesiod. This is
unmistakably shown in the Oracle given to a certain Spartan named Glaucus.
The story, as told by Herodotus (vi. 86), is worth quoting. This Glaucus had
won a great reputation for thorough honesty and trustworthiness, so much so
that an Ionian from Miletus journeyed to Sparta expressly to deposit in the
hands of Glaucus the half of his fortune, to be kept in safety until his sons
should claim it by certain tokens. Glaucus accepts the trust, years pass, when
one day the sons of the Milesian appear, show the tokens, and claim the
deposit. To their amazement, the man of good faith declares that he has
forgotten all about the matter ; he will, however, look into it, and give them
an answer in four months. Chagrined, the strangers depart without their
money. Glaucus meanwhile goes to Delphi, and consults the Oracle as to
whether he may by swearing an oath keep the booty. The Pythia replies
as follows : " Glaucus, son of Epicydes, the present gain will be to get the
upper hand by the oath, and seize the money. Swear, for death awaits also
the man of true oath. But there is a nameless child of Horkos (the god of the
oath) who has neither hands nor feet. Swiftly doth he pursue, until, having
seized, he destroys the whole race and all the house. But the race of the man
of true oath is more blessed " — words almost identical with those of Hesiod.
Hearing this, Glaucus begs the god to pardon what he had said ; but the Pythia
replies that " to tempt the god and to commit the sin are one and the same
thing." Glaucus restores the money ; but the visitation descends upon him,
for in three generations there is not left a single descendant or a single home ^
^ Or, as other versions with more fitness say, as a penalty for killing the Cyclopes who had
slain his son, Asclepius (^sculapius, the god of medicine).
^ Hestia — not a single hearth. The hestia of the family life has gone out in darkness.
THE ORACLE 323
belonging to him — he is destroyed, root and branch, out of Sparta. Note the
advance implied in the words that " to tempt the god," to try to get the Oracle
to sanction the sin, is tantamount to the commission of it.
There can be no doubt that, as Welcker puts it, the idea of the youthful,
clear-sighted, all-penetrating god, the lover of purity, of measure and modera-
tion in all things, of music, was the life-germ of the great institution that
sprang up at Delphi. For centuries Apollo, god of light, as we have said, was
associated with every advance towards the light, whether intellectual or moral.
He was the god not only of purification and reconciliation, not only of pre-
diction and direction, but he was the leader of the Muses, the inspirer of the
poet as well as of the seer, the patron of the musician as well as of the physician.
And let us note, for it is a very remarkable fact, that Apollo acts throughout
as the deputy only of Father Zeus. As soon as he is born he says, according to
the old hymn, " To men I will declare the unerring counsels of Zeus " ; and in
the Eurne /tides of ^schylus, one of the deepest thinkers of Greece, he is repre-
sented as saying that, as a seer, he never lies ; and that, on the seat of the
seer, he had never said to man, woman, or city what Zeus, the father of the
Olympians, had not bidden him say. This is the link which connects the new
development with the old source.
(2) The Delphic Priesthood. — The second reason whereby we may account
for the extraordinary influence exercised by the Oracle must, we think, be sought
in the character of the men who had the direction of affairs. True, the priests
did not deliver the Oracle, but they interpreted it. The method of procedure is
well known. The medium through whom Apollo proclaimed "the counsel of
Zeus " was a woman, the Pythia, who, after drinking of the sacred Castalian
fount and eating a leaf of the sacred laurel, took her seat on a tripod over
a chasm in the earth, which exhaled an intoxicating vapour. ^ Under the
influence of this vapour the Pythia delivered the answer in broken words,
which were caught by the priest in attendance, and re-rendered to the inquirer
in hexameters, as a dark but sufficiently coherent utterance. To the Oracle
itself was sometimes added a simple explanation in prose. The Oracle, there-
fore, was really in the hands of the priests as much as of the Pythia, and all
depended on the good faith of both.
That the Delphic College in the early times of which we write was led by
men of enlightenment, men who really had the best interests of Greece at
heart, is clear from three very simple facts : —
(i) Amongst the oldest and best authenticated Oracles are those given to
Lycurgus, about 825 B.C., perhaps earlier. These are couched, not in the local
Delphic, but in the Ionic dialect, the language of the Epos (Bergk, i. 469), a
proof that the men at the helm in Delphi had already recognised the vast
importance of the Homeric poems.
(2) The so-called " Rhetra " (or saying) of Lycurgus, which contains the
groundwork of the Spartan constitution (preserved for us by Plutarch) (^Zycurg.,
6; Adv. Colot., 17), is believed to be not a law enacted by Lycurgus himself^
but an explanation added to the Oracle by the head of the College at Delphi
(Bergk, i. 419). If this be so, then a great light is thrown on the secret of
the influence of Delphi, for this Rhetra — not only the oldest prose " monu-
ment " of Greece, but, as Duncker well calls it (i. p. 381), " the oldest record of
Greek history, the most ancient record of a constitution known to any history '''
— makes provision that the people shall be summoned month by month, " for
the PEOPLE shall have the decision and the power." The people, as we know
^ This chasm is no longer visible ; it was closed probably by one of the many earthquakes
which have visited Delphi.
324 PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
from Homer, had already the right of attending the assembly (p. 273), but
here is provision made (i) for the regular convening of such assemblies — the
time is not left to the caprice of the ruler ; (2) for the right of discussion — the
people may say Nay, nay ! as well as Yea, yea ! and (3) for what follows upon
the right of discussion, the right of final decision. These three great steps in
political freedom are either demanded for, or in any case secured to, the people
by the Oracle.
(3) This same Rhetra begins with the command that a temple shall be
built to Zeus Hellanios and Athena Hellenia, probably the earliest mention in
existence of the Hellenic name — a proof that the Delphic authorities were alive
to the necessity of uniting the numerous and often antagonistic communities
and races of Greece under one common national standard.
Putting, then, these three factors together — ( i) the adoption of the tone and
language of the Epos, a step which implies acquaintance with Homer and all
his grand ideals ; (2) the declaration concerning the rights of the people ; (3)
the raising of the Hellenic banner above the petty race jealousies on every
side — taking these as the general indications of the Delphic " policy," it is not
difficult to understand why the Hellenes turned to Delphi in all their diffi-
culties. The growing yearning for the beautiful, for political freedom, for the
mutual recognition of a common brotherhood — all these aspirations were care-
fully fostered and advanced by the Delphic College. The priests were, accord-
ing to their light, true leaders of the people, and as fresh light came they used
it — witness the adoption of the best-known sayings of the seven wise men :
" Know thyself ! " " Nothing too much ! " which were engraven on the entrance
to the temple.
The Influence of the Oracle. — Delphi lay in the heart of Greece, and it was
believed to be the centre, not only of Greece, but of the world. Golden eagles
marked the spot, the om,phalos, where (according to the myth) two eagles sent
out by Zeus, and flying from east and west, had simultaneously arrived in
Delphi. Whatever we may think of the myth, there is no doubt that Delphi
was for some 300 years and more the centre, religious and political, of Hellas.
As to the political side, it is evident that when the Amphictyony or Great
League chose Delphi for one of its biennial sessions the readers of thought in
Delphi must have come into close contact with the representatives of all the
States included in the League. Probably, also, the priests received as guest-
friends distinguished men from abroad, and were themselves in touch with
every source whence information likely to be useful (as in seeking fresh ground
for settlements) could be obtained. Hence, says Welcker, in directing as to
the founding of colonies, in arbitrating between the rival factions in different
States, in deciding questions as to the beginning or carrying on of war, or the
perplexities caused by famine and pestilence, in the sanctioning of constitu-
tions and laws, in laying down ethical principles for the guidance of individuals
as well as of States — in all these varied directions the influence of Delphi was
as great as in matters purely religious (Welcker, ii. 17).
Delphi was self-governing, and, like Delos and Olympia, sacred ground.
Of its wealth we can form some estimate from the number of the temple-slaves
dedicated to Apollo, either as a tithe of the captives taken in war, or by
private individuals, who vied with one another in their munificence. So
numerous were the slaves that whole colonies were sent out from Delphi. In
this way alone Delphi worked beneficently, for the " slaves of the god " were
really freemen. Again, many of the gifts presented at Delphi were works of
art, the very flower of each period. Altogether, " the whole institution as it
existed in the height of its prosperity, in its extent, splendour, and order.
THE ORACLE 325
under the direction of high dignitaries, the priestly College, and officers
discharging various functions, Pytho, as it stood on the steep slope of Par-
nassus, crowned, through the generosity of the Athenian Alcmseonidse, by one
of the grandest and most beautiful of temples, thronged by a concourse of men
^from all districts, formed even in outward aspect one of the most extraordinary
phenomena of Hellas ; Delphi was not unworthy to be the centre of its
religious and political relations " (Welcker, ii. 13).
Was the Oracle a Deception ? — We now come to a question which under-
lies every other concerning the Oracle. The utterances delivered may be
classed under three heads : —
1. Plain straightforward warnings, such as that given to Glaucus (p. 322).
2. Oracles which admit of a double interpretation.
As an example we may take the Oracle given to the Lydian Croesus, that
" if he should make war on the Persians he would destroy a mighty empire "
(Herodotus, i. 53). Croesus understands that the fall is to be that of Persia,
whereas it is his own empire that suffers.
3. Such Oracles as the foregoing might, perhaps, be given by any clear-
headed, thoughtful observer of events. There is, however, a third class of
Oracle, which cannot be referred to human sagacity — Oracles which foretold the
future, and which were often fulfilled in a very remarkable way.
The strictly prophetic Oracles are much fewer in number than is generally
supposed, the greater part of the Pythian utterances consisting merely of
counsel for the guidance of affairs, political and private. Still, prophetic
utterances are on record, and although some of these may have been invented
after the event it will not do, as Bergk points out (i. 331), to carry scepticism
too far. Thucydides tells us (v. 26), e.g., that the duration of the Pelopon-
nesian War as thrice nine years had been predicted beforehand, though not
by the Pythia.
To what influence, then, is the Oracle to be attributed ? The early fathers
of the Church believed the Oracle to have been inspired by demoniacal agency ;
it was the fashion of the last century to denounce the whole organisation as a
huge deception practised by the priests. At the present day we do not think
either explanation will be deemed satisfactory.
We of the present day are disposed, at any rate, to lay aside pre-judgments,
and try to put ourselves in the position of the men of the ancient world, in
order that we may, as far as possible, look at what concerns them from their
own standpoint. Viewed in the light of the pselaplian — the groping towards
the light — the Oracle does not present any absolutely insoluble difficulty.
Five facts must be kept in mind : —
1. It is impossible to imagine that a shrewd, thinking! people like the
Greeks could have been deceived for centuries (Cicero, De Divin., i. 19, 38;
ii. 57)-
2. The Oracle was revered by men of the intellectual calibre of Pindar,
^schylus, Sophocles, Socrates, Plato.
3. In Cicero's day nothing could have fallen lower than the Oracle, yet
Cicero says that unless we overturn all history the Oracle must at one time
have been true, and that for centuries.
4. The testimony of history is that during its " true " period the Oracle
was a great educative power, true to its motto of moderation in all things, in
the midst of the Greek people. Without such a strong, central, mediating
authority, which could be appealed to as arbitrator, the numerous little States
— all free and independent — must have devoured one another, or been them-
selves rent in pieces by internal faction. Thus the working out of the various
326 PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
experiments — intellectual, philosophical, artistic, political — by which Greece
educated the later world would have been, humanly speaking, impossible.
5. The Greeks, and the Greeks alone among the Aryan nations, possessed
the Oracle. The Romans themselves came to inquire at Delphi. The Oracle
seems to have been in some way bound up with the unique historical positioi^
of the Greek nation as the leader of the Aryan peoples.
Taking all these facts into consideration, is not this a case for the applica-
tion of the Master's rule : " By their fruits ye shall know them " ? In so far
as the Delphic Oracle was true to the pselaphan, the seeking after God, to the
great unwritten laws, to the noblest instincts of the Greek nation, just in so
far, doubtless, did the Oracle succeed in " touching " God, just so far did it
become, as in the case of Homer, an instrument in the hands of Him who
could make use of any and every human agency for the furtherance of His
plan, the preparation of the nations.
Can we imagine a Pindar, or a Socrates, or an Aristeides surnamed the
Just — the man whose aim was *' to be, and not to seem " — going up to Delphi
with pure and humble heart, to inquire of the Oracle ; can we imagine any of
these as being repulsed by the Great Father, because he prayed " O Zeus ! " or
" Apollo ! " instead of " Jehovah " ? Impossible. " Doubtless Thou art
our Father," could each one say, " though Abraham be ignorant of us, and
Israel acknowledge us not." ^
Then came a time when the Pythia sank to be a tool in the hand of
Sparta — a time when she. fell lower still, and, as Demosthenes averred,
*' philippised," set herself against the freedom of Hellas. From the moment
of the first defection, although its usefulness for a time did not cease, the fall
of the Oracle was certain. Even the Homeric Greeks could have foretold this.
The Invisible Justice would be "no helper of liars."
Ancient Prophecy : The Sibyl. — In connection with the predictions of the
Oracle, we may briefly glance here at the great prophecy of the Erythrean
Sibyl concerning the advent of a glorious King who is to reign in righteous-
ness. This prediction has been generally received by the Christian Church
as a Gentile prophecy flowing concurrently with the Jewish announcements
concerning the Messiah, and " mounting like these to a common source."
The prediction is ascribed to the Erythrean Sibyl, who was honoured by all
antiquity — not only by Phrygia, Greece, and Rome, but by Persia, Babylon,
Egypt, and Libya — as its prophetess ; and as such, as the proclaimer of
Messiah among the Gentiles, the Sibyl has her place also in the Christian
Church.
She was born, not in Hellas, but on ground early Hellenised, at Marpessus,
in a glen of Mount Ida in the Troad, the district made famous by Homer. In
the time of Solon and Cyrus (the sixth century B.C.) the Sibylline Oracles were
collected in the temple of Apollo at Gergis, whence they passed successively to
Erythrse, Cumse in Italy, and Rome.
As Canon Mozley well observes (Ruling Ideas, p. 18), prophecy was treated
differently in the "regular" and the "irregular" channels through which it
flowed. To the Jews the anticipation of Messiah's coming became their greatest
treasure, whereas the nations, the Gentiles, did not know what to make of it.
" In paganism it was only a sweet sound," and remained unheeded until Virgil
thought fit to present it in his Fourth Eclogue as a courtly compliment to his
friend and patron, C. Asinius PoUio. The golden age of mankind is to begin
with the childhood of the nobleman's son and heir.
The Sibylline Oracles are not to be received in toto as a genuine Greek
^ Isa. Ixxiii. 16.
RISE OF THE GREAT FESTIVALS
327
work, for the collection was seriously tampered with by the Alexandrian Jews.
It is the opinion, however, of Klausen, who has made an investigation of the
subject (Apneas u. die Penaten, p. 290 et seq.), that "the correspondence
between Yirgil and the Judaised version is not such as to make it at all
probable that Virgil had the work of the Jews before him. We can infer that
a similar passage existed in the Erythrean collection, and that the poet had
read this."
While the greater part of the so-called " Oracles," therefore, must be
dismissed as, to say the least, doubtful, there still remains the passage to which
Virgil for his own purposes has borne testimony, and which may be accepted
a*s a genuine and a very beautiful witness to the longing of the ancient world
for the Desire of all Nations.^ Translated from the Greek version, the prophecy
runs thus : —
" And then shall He raise up an eternal Kingdom over all men, when He
shall have given a holy law to the pious, to all of whom He hath promised to
open the earth and the world and the gates of the blessed, and all joys, and
immortal intelligence, and everlasting delight. And from every land they
shall bring frankincense and gifts to the mansions of the Mighty God "
(SibylL, iii. 766).
It is exceedingly characteristic that "immortal intelligence" {nous
athanatos) is one of the promised blessings. Contrast this with the Homeric
picture of the departed — in which his real ego, his 7ious, is lost to the shade —
and we think the genuineness of the prophecy, as given to the Greeks, is
placed beyond doubt. The promise of intelligence that cannot die corresponds
to an aspiration essentially Hellenic.
. RISE OF THE GREAT FESTIVALS
The holding of high festivals in honour of the immortals was not by any
means a practice confined to Greece, but with the Hellenes it attained a
maximum of importance equalled among no other people of antiquity. Every
city, every village had its festival ; and the great national gatherings probably
grew out of the custom of sending deputations (theorice) from one place to
another to assist at these local festivals in offering the sacrifice, and to be
spectators (theoroi) of the festivities — sacred games or contests of skill — which
followed. Some of these local festivals were in later times of exceeding
importance and splendour, as the Panathensea and the Dionysia at Athens,
the Eleusinia at Eleusis, the Carneia and Hyacinthia at Sparta. Four
festivals, however, stand out with prominence among the rest as Pan-Hellenic,
belonging to all the Hellenes — these are the Olympic, Pythian, Nemean, and
Isthmian festivals.
For all details concerning these the reader is referred to the companion
volume. We must premise here, however, for the sake of clearness that —
(i) The Olympic festival was held in honour of Zeus at Olympia, on the
banks of the Alpheius (in Elis) every fifth year. The games lasted four days,
and the prize was a wreath of wild olive.
(2) The Pythian festival was held in honour of Apollo at Delphi every four
years. The prize was a wreath of laurel.
(3) The Nemean festival was held in honour of Zeus in the valley of
Nemea (in Argeia in Peloponnesus) every two years. The prize was a wreath
of parsley.
1 On this expression (Desire of all Nations) see, however, T. T. Perowne on Haggai ii. 7.
328 PKEPAEATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
(4) The Isthmian festival was held in honour of Poseidon on the Corin-
thian Isthmus every two years. The prize was a wreath of wild pine or of
parsley.
Thus two out of the four festivals were celebrated in honour of the father
of gods and men ; one in honour of the interpreter of his will, Apollo ; the
fourth in honour of the stormy ruler of the deep, Poseidon, These four games,
all held in or near Peloponnesus — one in each year — formed the period, or
sacred cycle of games. He who had gained a victory in each was called
Periodonikes (Grote, Hist., iii. 291).
Amongst them by far the most important, as well as most ancient, is the
Olympic festival. It supplied the oldest chronological record of Hellas, for the
Greeks computed time by the Olympiads, or periods of four years between each
festival. The first Olympiad is the year 776 B.C., when for the first time the
Eleians inscribed the name of the victor in the games. Coroebus, the Eleian,
winner in the foot-race, heads the long list of victors, whose names were»regu-
larly entered in an official list at the festival in each recurring fifth year.
Hence, in more ways than by splendour alone, the Olympic games answer to
Pindar's comparison of them to the " quickening sun."
Next in importance is the Pythian festival, which was inaugurated 586 B.C.
The Nemean and Isthmian games are of later date.
The Olympic games were confined to athletic contests, hence Delphi had
one distinct advantage over Olympia, in that here music and poetry were
included among the trials of skill, as was natural in a festival held in honour
of the leader of the Muses. In this the example of Delphi was followed at
Nemea and on the Isthmus. Even at Olympia, however, the council chamber
at Elis seems to have been given up to recitations and the reading of new
works (Paus., vi. 23, 5). Here it was probably that, according to the tradition,
Herodotus gave the famous reading of his History which inspired the boy
Thucydides. Whether this particular story be true or not, there can be no
doubt that new works were often first " published " at the great games, and
that, as Bishop Thirlwall well remarks (i. 446), the concourse of listeners
served the same purpose, so far as criticism and the diffusion of thought are
concerned, as the modern press.
Such then were the great games. Viewed simply in the light of a national
bond, these four Pan-Hellenic festivals exercised an influence which can
hardly be exaggerated. As we know, the nature of the land, which led to the
splitting up of the Greeks into numberless little independent communities, was
not favourable to anything like national sentiment or unity. But at Olympia,
at Delphi, at Nemea, on the Isthmus, the various Hellenic races met to sacri-
fice in common to Zeus, to Apollo, or to Poseidon. The motive which drew
them together was in its origin a religious one. During the great Olympic
festival war ceased, the '' truce of the god " was proclaimed throughout the
land by heralds crowned with garlands ; enmities and jealousies were laid
aside for the time being, the worshippers learned to know each other as
brethren, and to throw off, to a certain extent, the distrust engendered by
isolation.
And not only was the national bond between the States of European
Greece strengthened, but also the bond between the mother-country and her
colonies, for participation in the national festivals and the games was open to
all Hellenes, whether of Europe, Asia, or Africa. *' Barbarians " alone were
excluded.
In yet another sense, also, were these games of great importance. They
not only kept alive the sentiment of national unity, but they were invaluable
RISE OF THE GREAT FESTIVALS 329
as preservers of the peace. That inordinate thirst for glory which spurred on
the Hellenes in all their experiments would probably also have spurred them
on to their destruction but for the safety-valve afforded by the games. In
these, State could rival State, city vie with city, in generous and friendly
emulation, the good Eris of Hesiod, without being impelled to test its prowess
by aid of the other Eris, the strife which calls for the arbitrament of arms.
From the sacred games a man might peacefully win the " longed-for glory "
(Pindar, OZ., viii. 64), gain laurels for himself and his city, in the presence of
thousands of spectators, and his name be known far and wide throughout
Hellas.
These laurels, moreover, were won for the city or State by the energy of
her own sons in their private capacity, thus affording the most glorious hope
(according to the notions of the age) for the development of the individual.
For the glory of the Olympic games, says Pindar, " there is striving of swift
feet and of strong bodies brave to labour ; but he that overcometh hath for the
sake of those games a sweet tranquillity throughout his life for evermore" (OZ.,
i. 155). The "sweet tranquillity " is, of course, the calm of a laudable ambi-
tion fully satisfied. The garland and the acclamations of the multitude were
not the only rewards that awaited the victor. So highly was the effort neces-
sary for success valued — as being a real training of body and mind in endur-
ance ^ — that by the laws of Solon any Athenian winning an Olympic prize
received 500 drachmas (a sum equal to one year's income of the highest class,
according to Solon's division of the citizens) and was entertained at the public
cost by the magistrates in the Prytaneium. In Sparta the honour conferred
was of nobler quality, inasmuch as to the victor was assigned a conspicuous
post on the battlefield.
Again, the games were based on the strictest equality ; the poorest citizen
might win a triumph for his mother-city in the athletic contests — running,
leaping, throwing the quoit, hurling the javelin, wrestling ; the rich could do
no more by the most lavish expenditure in the chariot-race.
Thus, by promoting national unity, by affording opportunity for healthy
emulation, and by practically levelling distinctions based merely on birth and
wealth, the games appealed to many Hellenic ideals, and, in their own way,
helped on the making of Hellas. Naturally, and as was to be expected, the
games, like every other human institution, fell away from the first ideal.
Naturally, they tended to become, more and more, mere exhibitions of strength
by professional athletes. Nevertheless, in the true Hellenic period, the period
when a Pindar could regard the setting forth of the victor's fame as an object
worthy of his genius, we shall strangely misunderstand the whole organisation,
festival and games, if we do not realise that both were permeated by deep re-
ligious feeling. We can only enter into the spirit of Pindar when we picture
to ourselves the winner at Olympia on the night of his triumph, crowned with
the sacred olive, escorted triumphantly by his comrades to the blazing altar of
Zeus, and there — beneath " the lovely shining of the fair-faced moon," in the
presence of the immense throng of spectators from all parts of the civilised
world — sacrificing and returning thanks to the god who had given him the
victory. " Forget not ! " was Pindar's counsel to a victor in the Pythian
games, Arkesilas, king of Gyrene — " Forget not, whilst thy praise is sung at
Gyrene, to set God above every other as the cause thereof ! " (Fyth., v. 30).
^ In this sense the games often afforded metaphors to St. Paul.
330 PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
III.— RISE OF THE PEOPLE
To trace the gradual development of the power of the people in Greece,
would be, of course, to describe the greater part of the Greek experiments in
politics. We can, therefore, only offer here one or two generalisations which,
without trespassing on another branch of our subject, may help us to bridge
over the gulf be|}ween society as depicted in Homer and the state of things in
which the writers of the classical period found themselves.
(i) First, then, let us note that the Greeks were essentially a " self-
organising " people. They could be content neither with the one-man rule of
the East, nor the wild licence of the barbarians of the North. They recog-
nised even in Homer's day, as we have seen, the value of discipline ; but it
became more and more evident that the discipline must proceed from within
as well as from without. The Greek love of order demanded law, and the
Greek love of freedom demanded a share in making the laws by which the
individual as well as the community was to be bound.
(2) These two " instincts," love of order and love of freedom, combined to
turn the Greek, before all things, into a citizen, and to turn the city into an
independent, self-governing community. In a city which was also a State,
existing by and for itself, the Greek could realise both aspirations, whereas
whether merged in an empire, or left to the unfettered liberty of the
mountaineer, such aspirations would have been lost {cf. Freeman, *'The
Athen. Democv^cy" Historical Essays, ii. p. 116 et seq.). This civil and con-
stitutional freedom, the ideal of all Greeks, was attained fully only in Athens ;
but it existed to a certain extent, more or less, in all the city States, independent
and autonomous, which sprang up everywhere in Hellas proper and the colonies.
(3) Of the two motive-powers, the love of order was in earliest times the
more keenly felt. The kings were hedged about by right divine, and probably
the people did not begin to clamour for their " rights " until existing rights
had been taken from them and replaced by wrongs. Then began a gradual
awakening, as Mr. Grote puts it (ii. p. 386 ; Hume, Works, i. p. 159, ed. 1760),
a demand " for something like a constitution, as Hume calls it — a government
of laws, not of men."
The monarchy fell, and everywhere throughout Greece it seems to have been
followed by an aristocracy. The nobles who had formed the council of the
king (as in Homer) succeeded to his power, which they retained, probably, until
they forgot the objects for which the power had been entrusted to them, and
trampled too heavily on the shoulders of the patient little old man. Demos.
How the patricians regarded the plebeians is pretty plainly shown in the verses
of Theognis, the Megarian poet, who flourished in the sixth century B.C. By
him the adjectives " good " and " bad " are used in a way that speaks for
itself. By a Homer and a Hesiod these words are applied in the sense which
they convey to ourselves. It was left for this banished aristocrat and those
who thought with him to find out that "agathos" and " esthlos," good and
excellent, mean noble by birth ; " kakos " and " deilos," bad and base, poor
by birth.
The disputes between nobles and commoners generally ended in the
seizure of the supreme authority by a " tyrant," not necessarily a hard or
cruel man, but a usurper, who held down both parties, and was himself only
checkmated {and thrust out of power by the joint action of the former
disputants, thus paving the way for democracy, the government of Demos, the
sovereign people.
THE SEVEN WISE MEN: THE GNOMIC POETS 331
(4) In Sparta and Epeirus alone did the monarchy continue to flourish ;
but in Sparta the government was in reality, despite its two kings, a veiled
oligarchy, for the power was in the hands of the ephors, officers chosen for the
very purpose of keeping the kings in check.
(5) When the great tragic poets of Athens wrote, they wrote for a free
people — a people who had attained to freedom by three great steps, each
preceded by that pioneer and test of true progress — suffering (Freeman,
op. cit.).
(a) The first step was the legislation of Solon, expressly designed to
alleviate existing misery. By it every Athenian citizen obtained an equal
vote in the ecdesia or public assembly, which elected the yearly senate and
the yearly archons or magistrates. The people themselves were not eligible
for office — they could not yet make the laws ; but they now chose those who
ruled them, and they called their rulers to an account at the termination of
the year of office.
(h) Then succeeded another period of endurance, the tyranny of Peisistratus,
which proved indirectly a benefit, inasmuch as it united the citizens in one
common cause, the desire to throw off the yoke of a common bondage. When
the tyranny was overpassed, as Mr. Freeman puts it, the old order of things,
the old distinctions, could not be restored. Cleisthenes founded his new
legislation upon a wider and more comprehensive basis than the old constitu-
tion ; many resident foreigners and slaves received the franchise for the first
time ; the old barriers between patrician and plebeian were swept away, and
the archonship was thrown open to all with a certain qualification of wealth —
to all, that is, but the poorest class.
(c) Another period of suffering approaches — this time intense and agonising
— the Persian invasion. When this, the greatest tyranny, was overpassed,
the Athenians were united as one man ; the distinction between rich and
poor had vanished for the time. After the battle of Platsea any Athenian
of unstained character (by legislation attributed to Aristeides the just) was
eligible for office in the State.
{d) Finally, the days of Pericles witnessed the installation of the full-
grown Demos into all kingly honours. He had only taken a little over a
hundred years to come to political maturity. Henceforth, Demos held in his
own hands all power — legislative, executive, judicial — and the way in which he
used his power forms not the least interesting of Greek experiments.
THE SEVEN WISE MEN: THE GNOMIC POETS
Contemporaneously with the rise of the people, the beginnings of political
thought, are the beginnings of philosophy. The sixth century is the age of
the " seven wise men " of Greece — the age, that is, when the proverbial
philosophy, of which we saw examples in Hesiod, became universal. Its roots,
indeed, lay far deeper than Hesiod or even than Homer, for the love of pithy
sayings, maxims which express much in little, was widespread among the
Greek people.
The term gnome, by which such maxims were designated, is itself an
example of those curious double or triple significations which Greek words
sometimes carry. Gnome is first the judgment, the operating mind itself, and
then it becomes the result of the mental operation — opinion.^ Hence the
gnomoe of the wise men literally expressed their "mind.''
^ Gnome expresses also will and inclination, thus blending the moral and intellectual, as in
eidenai, boule, and boulomai, &c. (see ante, p. 267).
332 PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
Who these wise men were precisely, whether they were seven, ten, or
more in number, whether they ever uttered the sentiments ascribed to them,
are doubtful points. It is more than probable that sayings which had grown
up unconsciously, as it were, among the people, and which fully represented
the national " mind," were brought together in later years, and deepened in
importance by being ascribed to national sages. The legend concerning the
wise men tells us that a golden tripod drawn out of the sea, and found to be
inscribed with the words *' To the wisest," was offered to each, and declined
by each in turn, when it was finally dedicated to Apollo, The names
generally received are those of Thales of Miletus, the founder of " physical "
philosophy. Bias of Priene, Pittacus of Mitylene, Periander of Corinth,
Cleobulus of Lindus, Cheilon of Lacedsemon, and Solon of Athens. The
selection is, to say the least, curious, seeing that it includes such a man as
Periander, tyrant of Corinth, the perpetrator of many revolting atrocities,
amongst others the murder of his own wife (Herodotus, iii. 50 ; v. 92, 7).
Taking the names as they stand, however, they are those of men engaged
in the active business of life, and distinguished as statesmen, legislators, and
generals. The maxims attributed to them — " Know thyself " ; " Nothing too
much " ; " Know thy opportunity " ; '< Suretyship is the precursor of ruin " —
are the outcome of practical wisdom. '^ Know thyself " was inscribed on the
front of the Delphic temple.
The wise men may not have been ** philosophers " in the modern sense,
but their maxims lie at the root of Greek philosophy " Nothing too much "
and •' Moderation is best " passed into something new in the metriotes of
Aristotle, and " Know thyself " became the very keynote of the teaching of
Socrates (c/. Grant, Ethics, i. p. 92).
The Gnomic or Aloralising Poets. — Among the gnomic poets who moralised
on human life and its vicissitudes we must notice especially — (i) one of the
wise men, Solon of Athens, and (2) Theognis of Megara.
All that we know of the first, Solon, shows us a very noble nature, alive to
the injustice and the hardships that pressed upon the Athenian populace,
and setting himself with perfect disinterestedness to remedy them. He is
asked by the State to legislate, and his own friends advise him to make
himself tyrant. The people would have welcomed him in this character,
but he declines to entertain the suggestion ; and, says Plutarch (Solon), his
friends " chid him as a madman for refusing to haul up the net when the
■fishes were enmeshed." Solon's uprightness, however, was proof against the
temptation.
The justice and moderation of the man are well shown in his own account
of the spirit in which he endeavoured to remedy existing abuses (Grote).
Solon stands out as the type of a noble, God-fearing Athenian of the old
school. The story of his interview with Crcesus, the Lydian king — his warning
the monarch that " no man can be called happy while he lives " — whether
true or only ben trovato, is one of the most beautiful incidents related by
Herodotus (i. 30 e^ seq.).
A very different character is presented to us when we turn to Theognis,
who flourished somewhat later (see State of Megara).
Both Solon and Theognis live in a time of great agitation, when the peace
of the community is rent by parties contending for the supreme power, and
the most violent measures are resorted to on either side. No contrast,
however, could be greater than the manner in which the two meet the
storm — Solon embracing the cause of the weaker, and yet earning by im-
partiality the confidence of both sides ; Theognis forced to fiy, and in his exile
THE SEVEN WISE MEN: THE GNOMIC POETS 333
peevishly lamenting his hard fate, and thirsting to drink the blood of his
enemies.
Yet Theognis is by no means devoid of right and good feeling. Many of
his sentiments might have emanated from a Hesiod or from Solon himself.
His maxims are addressed to Cyrnus, a young friend, and much of the advice
given is excellent. Theognis is behind no one in inculcating the duty of
reverencing Zeus and the gods, although he cannot understand why the same
fate should overtake the just and the unjust. Parents are to be warmly loved
and cherished ; for those who dishonour parents growing old, there is, he says
emphatically, "no place" (Theognis, 819) — a sentiment which may be com-
pared with the promise attached to our fifth commandment. Justice is with
Theognis, as with Homer, the all-embracing virtue : the just man is the good
man (Theognis, 147). Gratitude, moderation in all things, endurance, are
enforced again and again, together with the necessity of caution in choosing
friends, and in avoiding the use of "big words," z.e. boasting, "for no one
knoweth what a night or a day may bring about for a man" (Theognis, 159
et seq.).
Hence, we cannot be surprised that the maxims of Theognis should have
been favourites among all classes, and used in the instruction of the young, nor
yet to find many of them quoted with approval.
Nevertheless, Theognis is answerable for some of the confusion in morals
which sprang up later, for there is another side to his character — a hard,
bitter side. He has been deprived of his property, and banished by the " bad
and base," i.e. the commoners of Megara, who have gained the upper hand ;
and when he thinks of his mother-city in possession of those who, erewhile,
lodged without, clad in goat-skins, he gives utterance to sentiments which
found only too loud and ready an echo amidst the tumults of rival factions.
" Flatter your enemy," he says, " and when you have got him into your power,
wreak your vengeance on him, and don't spare ! " (Theognis, 363 et seq.). He
himself sees no prospect of taking revenge on those who have seized his property
by force. Might it but be given him to drink their black blood ! — may some
god but grant him this ! (Theognis, 349). The following is his cynical advice
to the party in power (Theognis, 345 et seq. ; Frere's trans., Frag., xvii.) : —
" Lash your obedient rabble ! lash and load
The burden on their backs ! Spurn them and goad !
They'll bear it all ; by patience and by birth,
The most submissive, humble slaves on earth ! "
Moreover, Theognis is very inconsistent. At one time he is prepared to
meet poverty with the bravest of hearts — this is the mark of the noble, to bear
in silence ; at another, he accuses poverty, seated on his shoulders, as teaching
him many disgraceful acts against his will and his own better knowledge
(Theognis, 441, 649). Theognis, in short, himself resembles too much the
polypus which he commends to the imitation of Cyrnus (Theognis, 218), the
boneless creature that takes its colour from the rock to which it attaches itself.
He himself is wanting in " backbone," his wisdom is to some extent versatility,
and his contradictions go far to explain Plato's denunciations of the poets.
We may take leave of him with his often-quoted lines on the misery of exist-
ence (Theognis, 425 et seq.) : —
" Not to be born — never to see the sun —
No worldly blessing is a greater one !
And the next best is speedily to die,
And lapt beneath a load of earth to lie ! "
334 PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
The misery of human life is dilated on by all Greek writers, from Homer
downwards, so Theognis is not singular in his experiences. But contrast these
lines with the manly words of Solon to the poet Mimnermus, who had ex-
pressed his wish for a painless death at the age of sixty. " Alter the words,"
said the noble man, " and sing : May the fate of death reach me in my eightieth
year ! " And death, so it is said, did reach Solon in his eightieth year, still
" on guard," protesting against the usurpation of the tyrant.
RISE OF PHILOSOPHY
We must now leave the mother-country for a brief space, and return to
those daughter-settlements which, as we know, for a while outstripped her in
the race. By their commercial enterprise and indefatigable use of every
opportunity, the Greeks of the colonies had early attained to that degree of
affluence which admits of leisure on the part of some at least of the community,
and it is characteristic of the Hellenes that their word for " leisure" is that
from which we, through the Latin, derive our word *' school." Schole in its
essence means ease, a halt from toil,^ and in this sense it appears for the first
time in the pages of Herodotus. How the Greeks employed their " ease " is
shown by the development of the word : in the time of Plato and Aristotle
schole had come to mean a learned discussion or lecture. This fact in itself
might suffice to show us what manner of people we have to do with. Posses-
sion of ease amongst the Persians meant opportunity for " plotting " ; among
the Phoenicians, " time for sensual enjoyment." Only among the Hellenes did
it mean " change of work." Those who had rest from the work of the body
threw themselves with fervour into other work — the work of the brain and
mind. Such work in its noblest form — that of meditation and contemplation
of the highest things — is Aristotle's summiim honum : he can conceive of no
greater happiness than contemplation, even for God (Arist., Etliik, X. viii. y).^
He maintains elsewhere that science, in its purely theoretic aspect, arose first
where (Metaphys., I. i. 981, c. 23) people were free from the pressing anxieties
of life — where they enjoyed, that is, what some amongst ourselves would also
designate one of the greatest blessings of life — leisure to think, time to work
out their thoughts. One of the first fruits of Greek leisure was undoubtedly
the epic in its artistic form — the Homeric poems ; the next (from about the
middle of the sixth century B.C.) is — philosophy. Both arose, as we know,
among that people of irrepressible energy and Schivung — the lonians ; from
them the impulse or inspiration passed to the Dorians and to the Athenians.^
1 Schole is probably derived from the root of echein = to stop (L. and S.)
2 It is probably in this connection that we must understand Aristotle's defence of slavery ;
as an institution it set the philosopher free to devote himself to the higher life.
^ Of the twelve most celebrated early philosophers, seven at least were natives of Ionia
— Thales, Anaximander, and Anaximenes of Miletus, Xenophanes of Colophon, Beracleitus of
Ephesus, Pythagoras of Samos, Anaxagoras of Clazomenge. Xenophanes assisted in founding
the Ionian colony of Elea ( Velia) in Southern Italy, and here arose the Elean school of philosophy
and its two great exponents, Parmenides and Zeno. Pythagoras carried the sacred fire to
Crotona, a Dorian colony in Southern Italy ; Anaxagoras, to Athens. Fmpedocles was a native
of Agrigentum in Sicily, a Dorian colony ; Democritus, of Abdera in Thrace, an Ionian colony.
The birthplace of Leucippus is unknown.
It is evident from the foregoing that the impetus to philosophic studies proceeded, directly
and indirectly, from the Ionic race.
Plato has told us in the nobU words which he puts into the mouth of his master in the
" Thesetetus " (374) that the object of philosophy is the study of man — what he must do and
suffer — but philosophy did not begin with the study of man. It had its roots, as we have
seen, in that feeling of wonder which is common to all men. The experiments of the first
philosophers were directed to the nature of the world.
RISE OF PHILOSOPHY
335
(i) The Early Ionian School included besides its founder Thales (one of
the seven sages and a contemporary of Solon), Anaximander, and Anaximenes,
all three natives of Miletus. These first " philo-sophers " were what is
implied in the original meaning of the word — lovers of wisdom, that is, of
knowledge generally. Philosophy included at first every branch of mental
culture. To these first inquirers the term " physi-o-logists " = investigators of
nature (p/iysis), applied to them by Aristotle, is more strictly applicable, for
it was to the great problem of the universe, how it had come into being, that
they devoted their energy. On the various cosmological theories which they
built up, however, we must not linger here, interesting as are these specula-
tions (and especially those of Anaximander), for they belong properly to the
Greek experiments in science. We need only say that Thales derives all
things from water, Anaximenes from air, and Anaximander, standing midway
between the two, from " the infinite " — a term which does not denote any
incorporeal substance, as one is apt to suppose, but merely primitive matter
in an " infinite " chaos — holding in itself as it were the seeds of all things —
out of which all things separated and took shape. The early Ionian philoso-
phers do not seem, however, to have advanced beyond the polytheistic con-
ceptions of their day, for Thales is reported to have said that the world is
" full of gods," meaning thereby, doubtless, divine forces, the forces of nature,
which the popular notions had personified (Arist., De An., I. v. 411, a. 7;
Zeller, Prehist. Fhilos., i. pp. 221, 222). Anaximander, again, regarded the
stars as gods, and spoke of an " infinite number of heavenly gods " — meaning
thereby the heavenly bodies (Cic, N.D., i. 10, 25 ; Zeller, p. 255).
(2) The Pythagoreans. — If the early Ionian school had nothing of value to
tell the world concerning the Divine, the religious teaching of the next school,
founded by Pythagoras, surpasses in importance all that had been thought
out since Homer. Pythagoras represents the turning-point between the old
and the new beliefs of antiquity. And yet, almost all that is known of his
own teaching with certainty lies in the two sayings which are universally
attributed to him : —
" Follow God ! "
" To be like God is the end " — i.e. the telos or aim of life (Iambi., v. Pyth.,
137 ; Stob., Erl. Mh., 2, 6, 3 ; cf. Schmidt, Mhik, i. 377, note 3).
These two sayings, and their practical application to everyday life by the
Pythagorean school or brotherhood, worked like "an electric shock" on all
who were able to receive them ; for, rightly understood, they contain an entire
reversal of many of the popular beliefs.
" Follow which god?" an inquirer might ask. " What care the Olympians
for us men, now that the generation of the heroes is past and gone ? Be like
God ? How is this possible ? Wherein lies the difference between the gods
and myself, except in their supernatural powers and their immortality ? To
these I cannot attain."
It is clear, therefore, that Pythagoras meant something very different from
the popular belief, although, be it noted, he did not break with polytheism.
His teaching is closely connected with that of the Delphic Oracle. The god
who is to be followed is Apollo, he who in Delphi proclaims the counsels of
the Supreme Being ; the likeness to be aimed at is conformity to the purity of
the god — it is to be attained by self-discipline, self-knowledge. In accordance
with the famous motto inscribed on the front of the Delphic temple, " Know
thyself!" each disciple is to examine" himself strictly day after day by the
often-quoted formula : —
336 PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
"Wherein have I failed? what accomplished ? what neglected ? " (Diog. L.,
8, 22 ; Plut., M., i68 b, 515 f ; cf. Schmidt, Ethik, ii. 395, note 3).
It is also certain that Pythagoras taught (although he was probably not
the first to introduce) the doctrine of the transmigration of souls (cf. Zeller
and Alleyne, i. 481) — the belief that after death the soul passed into the body
of another human being or of an animal, in order to undergo punishment for
sins committed during life. This doctrine, afterwards adopted by Plato, is
closely connected with that of purification. Life is the season for this
discipline, men are " the property of the gods " ; the soul is enclosed by them
within the body as in a prison-house, for the express purpose of purification
and expiation ; hence, it is not lawful to try to escape from the trials of life
by suicide — another idea worked out by Plato. It is also recorded of Pytha-
goras that he repudiated the name of " sage " ; men can only struggle towards
wisdom by the help of God ; hence he called himself, not " sage," not absolutely
" wise," but a " lover " of wisdom, a philosophos. " Men will be best," he
said, " when they go to the gods." Here is a third of the Platonic doctrines,
which may, we think, justly be traced back either to the mysteries or to the
teaching of Pythagoras ; but with these three — the doctrine of transmigration,
of purification in connection with it, of the going to the gods as the time of
human perfection — we must stop. If we are to believe all that late writers
tell us about Pythagoras and his teaching, there would be little of originality
left in the doctrines either of Plato or of Aristotle.
The two sayings first quoted are in themselves quite enough to accovmt for
his influence. When we reflect that hitherto the Greek conception of the
Divine had been the Homeric, as we have learned to know it — the notion that,
while the gods represented the invisible justice, they themselves were free
from moral obligation — the advance made is at once apparent. The Delphic
Oracle had begun the salutary reform by insisting, from the example of the
god himself, on the necessity of purification from blood-guilt (p. 322) ; Pytha-
goras carries it on by recognising the necessity of purity throughout the whole
of life. The Divine Being requires purity in those who would approach Him.
He does take an interest in men and their progress towards the Divine ; He
wishes them to " follow " Him.
We have said that Pythagoras upheld the old polytheism. Nevertheless
this one doctrine of purity so altered the whole character of religion in his
eyes that he is described as having seen (in a vision or in a descent into
Hades) both Homer and Hesiod undergoing severe torments in the lower
world as a punishment for what they had said about the gods {Hiei^on. ap,
Diog., 8, 21 ; cf. Zeller, i. p. 489). That he maintained the supremacy of Zeus
as presiding over all, the observance of the great unwritten laws, of reverence
towards the gods, towards parents and those in authority, harmonises with all
tradition. His definition- of justice as "retaliation," or as "a square" —
" good for good, evil for evil " — shows, however, that he did not, any more
than the author of the Works and Days, rise above the spirit of antiquity.
Of the personality of Pythagoras we know little. It is noteworthy that
Aristotle, who devoted several works to the philosophy of the Pythagoreans,
seldom mentions Pythagoras himself, probably because the whole history of
the philosophers had even in his time become hopelessly encrusted with the
mytiiic.i
Pythagoras is generally believed to have been born about 580 B.C. in the
^ Pythagoras, e.g., is said to have been a son of Apollo or of Hermes : to have had a golden
thigh; to have been the only one who understood "the music of the spheres," &c., &c. {cf.
Zeller, Pre-Socratic Philosophy, trafaslated by S. Alleyne, i. p. 338 ff.).
RISE OF PHILOSOPHY 337
Ionian island of Samos. He is said to have travelled extensively for more
than thirty years, during which time he became acquainted with the wisdom
of the Egyptians, the Chaldseans, the Persian Magi, the Hindus, the Thracians,
the Jews, and even the Druids of Gaul. Possibly the grain of truth in the
tradition is that he had visited Egypt, but the evidence even for this is weak.
Eventually he settled in Crotona, one of the most flourishing cities of Magna
Graecia (Southern Italy), where his influence became unbounded. Disciples,
both men and women, flocked to him, not only from the Greek colonies, but
also from all parts of Italy, and the chief men of the city, so it is said, became
attached to him by a vow.
The Pythagoreans formed a society apart from " the many " ; their doctrines
were purposely veiled in symbols, in order that knowledge of them might
be confined to " the few," the initiated, who recognised each other, like our
Freemasons, by secret signs. The discipline of the order was strict ; unworthy
candidates were rejected ; members are reported to have undergone a protracted
novitiate, including several years of silence, to have practised celibacy as well
as abstinence from animal food, and to have had all things in common. Several
of these statements are, however, contradicted — e.g. Pythagoras himself is said
to have been married. That they ate little if any animal food is, however,
extremely probable, as the doctrine of the transmigration of souls would of
itself (together with the general belief of antiquity that animal food hindered
the growth of spirituality) tend to restrict the diet to vegetables and fruit.
The idea of any community of goods is, however, probably to be rejected.
The Pythagorean ideal of life was no apathetic withdrawal from the world.
On the contrary, one of the numerous sayings ascribed to Pythagoras is :
"Don't remain sitting on a choenix" — i.e. a quart-measure. A choenix was
the slave's daily allowance of barley-meal, the minimum on which life could be
sustained. Hence the maxim is interpreted as meaning, " Do not remain
idle — put forth all thy powers," and may fitly be compared with the Master's
injunction not to hide light under a bushel. As a matter of fact, the impulse
given by Pythagoras and his school to the study of mathematics and of music,
the scientific theory of sound, was hardly less powerful than that which we
have been considering in the region of morals. The word Iwsmos is said to
have been first used by Pythagoras to denote the beautiful order and arrange-
ment of the universe. Whether this be so or not, there can be no doubt that
the perception of order and harmony as the great law of all existence, as of all
material things, lay at the root of the Pythagorean system of philosophy — the
system which evolved all things out of numbers.
The same idea of law and order seems to have dominated the Pythagorean
system of politics. The maintenance of authority was the all-important point.
Hence the tendency of the school was towards a strong oligarchy of the Dorian
type ; and, as the members of the brotherhood took an active share in political
life, it is probable that in this way they came into direct collision with the
growing spirit of democracy and the rise of the people.
Whether the downfall of the school in Crotona is to be attributed to this
cause, to the reserve and exclusiveness of the members, or to jealousy on the
part of some excluded candidate, cannot with certainty be determined. Possibly
all three factors were at work, for the mission of Pythagoras in the city came
to a sudden end. The meeting-house of the disciples was burned down, Pytha-
goras by one version of the story perishing in the flames, and the members of
the society were banished.
To sum up, the doctrine of Pythagoras may perhaps best be described as a
great " impulse," which makes itself felt in succeeding generations. His teach-
S3S PREPARATION FOR THE SECOND GREAT PERIOD
ing, like that of all ancient philosophers, was not intended for " the many."
To the few it was an inspiration. We recognise it in Socrates, who " followed
the god " to the end, faithful to the life-mission which he believed had been
imposed upon him by God Himself ; in Plato, who delights in the thought of
" likeness to God " ; in the Stoics, who prided themselves upon it as their own
distinguishing feature (c/. Schmidt, Mh., i. ii).
(3) The Eleatic school takes its name from Elea or Velia in Southern Italy.
Its founder, Xenophanes, who celebrated in a poem the founding also of the
city of Elea, was a native of Colophon in Ionia ; his period of activity may be
placed in the latter half of the sixth century B.C.
The teaching of Xenophanes represents another and a most important
"moment" in the efforts of the ancient Greek seekers after God. Now, for
the first time on record, we meet with a mind which has the penetration to see
that the popular conceptions of the Divine are radically wrong. Pythagoras
had attacked the results of these conceptions, the false views held as to the
CHARACTER of God ; Xenophanes goes deeper still, and puts his finger on the
root of the evil in the false views held as to the nature of God. Xenophanes,
like Pythagoras, is indignant with Homer and Hesiod, because they had
" attributed to the gods all that amongst men is disgraceful and culpable "
(F7\, 7 ; cf. Zeller, i. p. 561, note i); but he goes beyond Pythagoras in two
statements of vast importance : —
1. God is ONE : " One God there is, amongst gods and men the greatest."
2. God can in no way be compared to men : " Neither in form nor in mind
is He like to mortals" {Fr., i ; Zeller, i. p. 559, note i).
The main polemic of Xenophanes is directed against the anthropomorphism
of his day, and in this respect, by awakening thought on the matter, he did
inestimable service. Pie traces its origin to man's unworthy conception of
God, his representing the Divine Being as he himself with all his frailties and
imperfections is. " If horses and oxen could paint," he says, " no doubt they
would make gods like to horses and oxen" {Fr., i, 5 and 6; Zeller, i. p. 560,
note 3).
But Xenophanes is supposed to have attacked also the polytheistic notions
of his day. This from the fragment just quoted is not quite clear. In it God
is "the greatest among gods and men" — a statement which applies equally to
the Zeus of Homer, who is also "greatest among gods and men." And, later,
the higher teaching of Xenophanes regarding the Supreme Being was adopted
by those who adhered to polytheism. . Nevertheless, Zeller is of opinion that
Xenophanes himself was a pure monotheist (Zeller, i. p. 559, note i, pp. 561-2 ;
F7\, I and 2). "God," says the philosopher in another striking fragment, "is
all eye, all mind, all ear ; " and again, in a third, " He through His intellect
rules all things without exertion."
Another question of great interest is : Did Xenophanes identify God with
the universe? Aristotle relates concerning him that "looking out upon the
whole heavens, he said that the One Being was the Deity " (Arist., Met., i. 5).
He is also represented as saying of himself, that wheresoever he turned his
gaze, " all things resolved themselves into one and the same eternal, homo-
geneous essence" {cf. Zeller, p. 562). It is more than probable, therefore, that
Xenophanes' conception of God was not theistic, but pan-theistic ; that he
thought of God as One Force which not only pervades all nature, but is
inseparable from nature.
Great and epoch-making as was the teaching of Xenophanes, it certainly
contained the elements out of which sprang the pantheistic doctrines of his
successors, Parmenides and Zeno. His own sayings, however, are hardly
KISE OF PHILOSOPHY 339
sufficient to enable us to come to any clear knowledge of his views, and it is
better to leave the matter by saying, with Bishop Thirlwall : " As Thales saw
gods in all things, so Xenophanes saw all things in God" (Thirlwall, Hist., ii.
To sum up : if the teaching of Pythagoras may be described as a great
" impulse," that of Xenophanes may be defined as a great " challenge" thrown
down amongst the thinkers of Greece — a challenge which henceforth no one
could afford to disregard, and which may be enunciated thus : —
1. God is either like in form and mind to mortals, or He is not ;
2. God is either chief among many gods, or He is the One Sole Divine
Being;
3. God is either in essence One with, and inseparable from, the world, or
He is a Person distinct from, and ruling over, the world.
These three grand issues were raised by the challenge thrown down by
Xenophanes.
§ VII.— CLASSICAL PERIOD— PINDAR
THE IDEA OF GOD
When we turn to the conception of the Divine Being which meets us in
Pindar, our first feeling is one of disappointment, for we find ourselves
still in the old anthropomorphic trammels. Pindar has not thrown off,
like Xenophanes, the notion of " human " gods. The reason of this, how-
ever, is not far to seek. Pindar is the most earnest of hero-worshippers, ^
and that which constitutes a "hero" in his eyes is affinity to the Divine.
Pindar, in short, believes intensely in that doctrine of heredity which
we have already examined (p. 314). His heroes are such by right of their
descent from the gods ; it is the grafting of the Divine upon the human stock,
the infusion of Divine blood into human veins, which in his eyes makes a hero.
This idea explains why Pindar, a Hellene of the Hellenes, with all his insight
and his genius, could not abandon the old tradition. " Like sire, like son" is
his doctrine. All that is noble and good in the heroes is due to their Divine
parentage. Thus, concerning the mighty deeds of Achilles, he says : " Thence-
forward a far-shining glory is joined to the house of ^acus, for thine, Zeus,
is their blood" (Nem., iii. 64).- The prowess of a certain Rhodian family,
reputed descendants of Heracles, is explained, again, by the reasoning : *' For
on the father's side they claim from Zeus" (0/., vii. 23). And Zeus himself is
called upon to bless a victor belonging to this same family, whom the poet
lauds as " having learned well the lessons given him by his true soul, which
hath come to him from his noble ancestors" {01., vii. 91).
This physical union with the Divine lies thus at the very basis of all the
poet's ideas and arguments, and in its way it is a type and foreshadowing of
that higher spiritual union which was one day to satisfy the yearnings of the
human soul.
Behind the anthropomorphic and polytheistic foreground, however, there
shines through clearly, in Pindar as in Homer, that strange monotheistic
light, that belief which had its roots in the Heaven-Father of the old Aryan
home. Three hundred years and more have brought no change in this. Zeus
to Pindar also is the father (01., i. 58), the most high (01., iv. i), the pre-
server that dwelleth above the clouds (01., v. 17). "Most of all gods to be
reverenced is Kronos' son, the deep-voiced lord of lightnings and of thunders "
(Pyth., vi. 23). Zeus himself is fate, allotting to each man his destiny (Nem.,
iv. 61); he is the fulfiller, the accomplisher (01., xiii. 115; Pyth--, i- 67); it
is he who gives great valour (arete) in answer to the reverent supplications of
men (01, viii. 8) ; his mighty mind directs^ the fortunes of the men he loveth
(Pyth., V. 122). "From thee, O Zeus, come high excellences (dretai) to
mortals" (Isth., iii. 4). Concerning the great engagement at Salamis, that
victory of victories, the poet says that he might indeed sing the praises of
^ Be it noted, in the modern as well as in the ancient sense. For the latter, the cultus of
the heroes as demi-gods, half-Divine men, see ante, p. 310.
2 Peleus, the father of Achilles, was the son of ^Eacus, king of ^gina, a reputed son of
Zeus. ^ Lit., steers.
THE IDEA OF GOD 341
those who fought there. " Yet," he adds, "let boasting be silenced.^ Zeus
apportioneth this or that — Zeus, lord of all" {Isth., iv. 51).
It is by the help of Zeus, again, that a man who is chief, and who (like
Abraham) commands his son after him, giveth due honour to the people, and
so turneth them with one voice to peace (Pyth., i. 69). Zeus is still the
witness of the oath [Pytli., iv. 166); still the father of host and guest whose
anger is to be feared in any violation of the sacred guest-right (Nem., v, 33 ;
xi. 8).
In Pindar, moreover, as in Homer (p. 225), we note that significant omission
of the name " Zeus," and the substitution for it of the simple Theos, God. This
occurs in some of the most striking passages — e.g. "Only by the help of God
{ek Theou) is wisdom ^ kept ever blooming in the soul " {01., x. (xi.) 10) ; " God
(Theos) accomplish eth all ends according to His wish — God {Theos), who over-
taketh even the winged eagle, and outstrippeth the dolphin of the sea, who
layeth low many a mortal in his haughtiness, while to others He giveth glory
imperishable" {Pyth., ii. 49); "If any man expect that in doing aught he
shall be unseen of God {Theos) he erreth" {01. , i. 66).^
With Pindar, therefore, as with Homer, the Invisible Justice, as God,
centres in the father, to whom "reverence is most of all" to be paid; but
Pindar, as we know, is a son of the new era as well as of the old, and he turns
with joy and enthusiasm to the new hope which Delphi and Pythagoras hold
out — the hope of personal communion with this father through the medium
of his son Apollo, the revealer of his will.
No one who studies Pindar's allusions to Apollo, the evident delight with
which he dwells on the golden-haired god and his " sweet-incensed shrine,"
" earth's centre-stone," in the glen of Parnassus, can doubt that the poet
speaks from his heart, that he really clings with rapture to the thought of a
glorious being who " imparteth unto men and women remedies for sore maladies
and hath bestowed on them the lute,"^ and giveth the muse unto whomsoever
he will, bringing into their hearts sweet order ^ of peace" {Pyth., v. 63).
" My king ! " he says again, " with willing heart I avow that through thee
I see harmony in all that I sing of every victor " {Pyth., viii. 67).
How, then, are we to regard these declarations of a deep personal belief ?
As mere poetic outbursts ? Nay, rather, in the mouth of a lover of truth like
Pindar, do they strike us as a deep presentiment of the truth, another instance
of the " touch " which has felt after and just discerned something of the nature
of God. Pindar's Apollo, the giver of harmony, is a foreshadowing of the great
reality — a type, and a beautiful type, of the Giver of peace. Surely only by
seeing and rejoicing in this can we do justice to the highest aspirations of
antiquity. These, so far as communion with God and the attaining to the
knowledge of His will are concerned, centre in Apollo-Phoebus, god of light.
To him, as the revealer of the desires of the Invisible Justice, not only Pindar,
one of the noblest, but Socrates, one of the wisest of these ancient seekers,
looked. To Pindar Apollo reveals God because the father is " his most right-
eous ^ partner ; because Apollo is himself true, with lies he hath naught to do
^ Lit., steep boasting in silence ; drown, put out the unholy flame of self-exaltation, lest it
draw down upon us the nemesis of him who "apportioneth" (nem-ei) the fortunes of men
(see ante, p. 94).
^ Or poetic genius. ^ Hamartanei, misseth the mark, sinneth.
* Apollo is the patron both of medicine aftid of music, two arts held in antiquity to be
closely allied.
^ Lit., eunomia, fair order. It was thought to be the office of music to smthe and bring
health to the soul at war with itself and the world.
^ Lit., most straightforward.
342 CLASSICAL PERIOD— PINDAR
[light can have no fellowship with darkness], neither in deed or device may
god or man deceive him " (FyfJi., iii. 28, 29).
And yet, while we seek to do full justice to all high thoughts of antiquity,
we have only to turn to certain other representations of the gods by this same
sweet and noble singer in order to become at once aware that a great and
impassable gulf separates his conception of the Divine from ours, for the gods
of Pindar are subject to like passions with men. This, of course, springs from
the anthropomorphic standpoint of the poet, a standpoint which seemed to
him all-essential. To have swept away the old myths concerning the Divine
descent, say, of the ^acidse, of the just king jEacus and his descendants,
Peleus and Telamon, Achilles and Ajax, or of the Dioscuri, the noble pair of
Spartan brothers, would have been simply to cut the ground from beneath the
entire Pindaric method of working. For it is by the example of the heroes of
the olden time, heroes of Divine lineage, that the poet would spur on the
heroes of his own time, those who hardened their bodies and steeled their
nerves in the gymnasia and the voluntary contests of the great games for the
overwhelming and involuntary contests of Thermopylae and Salamis and Him era,
and what struggles soever might yet remain to be undertaken in the future.
Yet here again let us do justice to Pindar — his gods are not subject to all
the passions that disfigure humanity. Pindar in this also is the child of the
new tinte as well as of the old, and although he retains what he believes in,
the Divine lineage of " Divine " men, yet in no way will he allow that the
gods can err or do wrong. He will not repeat or endorse, if he can help it,
any unworthy tale concerning them. The gods, he says, must be spoken of
honourably, and proceeds to add, as a comment on the horrible legend of
Tantalus and Pelops, that he himself " will speak contrariwise " to the former
narrators of the story. He simply does not believe it, but regards it as a
slander invented by the malicious neighbours of Tantalus (01. , i. 35 et seq.).
Again, in regard to strife amongst the gods, he says : " Fling this tale
from thee, my mouth, for to speak ill of gods is a hateful wisdom, and words
loud and without measure sound a note that is in unison with madness. Of
such things talk thou not" (01., ix. 35),
Pindar, then, while holding fast to the old polytheistic and anthropo-
morphic religion, is no less zealous than Xenophanes in his efforts to purify
it, and to cast out from the popular notions all that in his opinion is unworthy
of the gods. From one and all of the old myths he contrives to draw a moral
lesson. In his hands the story of Tantalus becomes a warning against hyhrisj
that sin of sins, presumption showing itself boldly in all its arrogance in broad
daylight ; that of Ixion a warning against the double sin of lnjhris and ingrati-
tude ; that of Bellerophon against the hyhris of overweening contention. The
story of Jason and his comrades and that of Pelops inspire to energy and action ;
whilst the tale of the sufferings of Ino and Semele, the daughters of Cadmus,
teaches resignation — sore grief must needs come before joy. And so on. No
myth passes through Pindar's hands without yielding any sweetness which it
has to impart.
Perhaps the most beautiful instance of this is the story of the Dioscuri,
Helen's twin brothers — one of whom, Polydeukes, is the son of Zeus ; the other,
Kastor, of a mortal father. When Kastor falls, slain by a revengeful foe,
Polydeukes is inconsolable. With hot tears he cries to Zeus : —
" Father Kronion, what end shall there be to my sorrows? Give me, even
me, O Lord, to die with him. The glory is departed from a man that is bereft
of his friends. Few among mortals are they that be faithful in trouble,
sharers of toil."
THE IDEALS 343
m
Thus Polydeukes cries, and Zeus himself comes and stands before him, and
tells him of his own Divine birth and the mortal nature of the dying Kastor.
He then gives the hero choice of two fates ; he may, if he will, escape death and
hateful old age, and dwell for ever in Olympus. " This lot is thine (by right
of inheritance). But if in thy brother's cause thou wilt contend, and art
minded in all to share equally with him, then half thy time thou shalt live
in the world beneath (the house of Hades) and half within the golden house
of heaven."
When he had thus spoken, of no double mind was Polydeukes. So Zeus
forthwith gave back sighs, and presently voice, to Kastor of the brazen mail,
because of the tender pity of his son. Thenceforward Polydeukes, the
immortal, divested himself of his immortality that he might share it with his
mortal brother.
And so, in the hands of Pindar, the beautiful old Aryan nature-parable of
the twilight-day fading into darkness, darkness brightening into day, becomes
the most touching of symbols, and Polydeukes, in his generous self-effacement,
the type of a yet deeper and Divine love.
There is no gainsaying the fact that Pindar's ideals, both of the Divine and
the Divine in man, prepared the ancient Greek world to understand and accept
the reality when it was presented to them — better, in one sense, than did their
Hebrew brethren.
The Incarnation did not take the Greeks by surprise — how could it ? They
had their own idea of what to look for in a Divine Being who would come to
them " in the likeness of a man." " Then came to us," so runs the story, " the
lonely god, having put on the glorious presence of a noble man, worthy to be
revered, and began friendly speech, such as the beneficent use in bidding
approaching strangers welcome to the feast."
The foregoing forms part of Pindar's version of the old myth of the
Argonauts, as told in the fourth Pythian ode (28 et seq.). The incident
occurs whilst the voyagers are on the Libyan sea-shore, after long wandering
through the desert. But do not the words strike us with a strangely familiar
sound ? Do they not remind us of One who was " lonely " in the midst of the
ninety-and-nine elements of Divine bliss in heaven, and descended to earth to
seek His lost sheep after their wanderings in the desert,^ and put on the
glorious presence of a man worthy to be revered (atdoion), and stood upon the
sea-shore, and began friendly words ^ such as the beneficent ^ use in bidding
strangers welcome to the feast? "Children, have ye any meat?" "Eat,
O friends ; drink, yea drink abundantly, beloved ! " '^
THE IDEALS
If in Hesiod we felt that we had come to the end of a period — that the
tide had receded and left behind only a flat, monotonous, far-reaching strand
of life — in Pindar we are carried again on the very top of the wave, we share in
its glorious inrush. In every line of the poet there breathes the spirit of expec-
tancy — expectancy chastened indeed, the expectation of one who has thought
much on life and its problems, nevertheless the expectancy of one who has
faith in his age and his country.
^ Oiopolos, here rendered "lonely," means literally tending sheep — hence, lonely, solitary,
as indicative of the life of the shepherd. Both meanings are given in Schol. Ver. in Iliad, xiii.
473 (Liddell and Scott).
^ Archeto 'philion d'epeon, words of love. ^ The eu-ergetce, the doers of good.
^ St. John xxi. 5 ; Cant. v. i.
344 CLASSICAL PERIOD— PINDAR
The " Tantalus- stone " that hung over Hellas, the " intolerable suffering"
of the Persian invasion, was rolled back (Isth., vii. 9), and the "God-built
freedom " of Hellas secured in his time. It is in Pindar more than in any other
writer that we see and feel the reflex action of that age of intense strain, of intense
joy also, and a patriotism that has never been surpassed. ^ True, the glory of the
issue must have been robbed of more than half its lustre and of all its sweetness
to the poet from the despicable part played in the great struggle by his own
mother-city, Thebes. For not only did she throw open her gates to the
invader, and entered into cowardly alliance with him, but she fought on his
side against those of her brethren who had staked their all on the defence of
Hellas. Bitter as this fact must have been to Pindar — " sore of heart though
I be," he says of himself (Isth., vii. 5) — he is too true a Hellene, too large-
minded, not to glory in the triumph of united Hellas. He is not to be tied by
the policy of his native town. He is a Theban — true, but a Hellene first.
His whole soul is in sympathy with the attitude taken by Athens — "bright
and famous Athens," the " bulwark of Hellas" — towards the common foe.^
Naturally, therefore, the ideals of Pindar take shape from the age — an age,
like the Homeric, of generous impulses and heroic deeds. Some three or four
of the forty-five extant odes are supposed to have been written before the
battle of Marathon (490 B.C.) ; a few more between Marathon and Platsea
(479 B.C.); but by far the greater number must in all probability be placed
after " the fierce snowstorm of war " which had desolated so many happy
hearths had passed, and Hellas had entered on a new era. The wintry dark-
ness is over, and once again she bloom eth "as in the flowery months earth
bloometh with red roses by the counsels of gods" (Isth., iii. 35 et seq.).^
In the sunshine of these new hopes, everything that is bright and glorious
and true-hearted in the Hellenic nature blossoms forth too, and in walking in
the garden of Pindar's " red roses "the difiiculty of selection presses keenly.
To his ideals, however, a very beautiful simile gives us a safe clue. Says the
poet : —
" The wearing of wreaths is an easy thing. Wait a while ! the Muse verily
joineth together gold and white ivory, yea, and a lily-flower which she hath
plucked from beneath the deep sea's dew" {Ne7n., vii. 77).
These precious exponents of the Divine crown, more precious than the "red
roses," the beauties of expression which bloom on the surface of the odes, we
may take to be the poet's high ideals of life, the fine gold of proved worth,
the white ivory of truth, the lily-flower of peace, plucked from beneath the
high waves of an age of extraordinary advances and extraordinary dangers.
Proved worth, truth, peace ! those are the ideals of Pindar, ideals for all time.
(i) Proved Worth. —Worth, with Pindar, as with Homer and Hesiod,
is the arete, that essential manliness which, beginning with valour, ends in
virtue, the working out of all noble deeds. With Pindar, however, the ai-ete,
as is natural in one whose aim is to sing of the heroes of old, and thus to
inspire the heroes of to-day, takes more particularly the form of readiness to
face danger and make ventures, or literally experiments.
^ The strain and the " patriotism " are no less marked in ^Eschylus, but we miss in him, for
reasons which will become clear, the joyous ring of Pindar.
2 So generously indeed did he sing the^ praises of Athens that the jealousy of Thebes was
aroused, and the poet condemned by his fellow-citizens in a heavy fine. This the noble
Athenians promptly paid, and showed their appreciation of the poet's eulogium by placing his
statue among those of their own gods and heroes in their agora.
^ The reference to the "snowstorm of war" and the subsequent "blossoming of peace"
occurs in the third Isthmian ode, which is placed about 478 or a little later, after the final
defeat of the Persians under Mardt>nius at Platsea.
THE IDEALS
345
If the work of experimenting was, as we hold it to have been, the grand
mission of the Hellenes, then is Pindar in truth a Hellene of the Hellenes,
the very representative of the race. What cares he for manliness or talent or
arete of any sort, so long as it remains hidden " in a corner," and has not been
brought to the touch-stone of trial ? Only by the results of the testing is true
gold distinguishable from false. "Trial is the test^ of mortals" {01. , iv. 17);
and again, "By trial (experiment) is the issue manifest" (Nem., iii. 70).
Nor is the trial, to Pindar's mind, an easy one, a mere walk over the
course. Not in such wise was the struggle at Olympia and elsewhere fought
out — the agon which has left its mark in our own " agony." Toil, pain, danger
had to be faced. And if this held good in the voluntary contests of the great
games, how much more in the greater contests for which the poet sought to
nerve his fellows !
Danger and glory ! These are synonymous terms to Pindar. " Deeds done
without risk," he says, "are unhonoured either among men or among the hollow
ships ; but many make mention of a noble deed if it be wrought out with
toil" (01. , vi. 9). And of a hero it is said : '' In no hidden corner quenched
he his youth, in noble deeds unproven {apeiroii) (Isth., vii. 70). The highest
prize of all is only to be won by him w^ho expends toil and suffering [ponos)
with joy in the attainment of god -built excellence" (Isth., v. 10).
Such is Pindar's idea of proved worth — tested worth — and in this, as in
much else, he is but the mouthpiece of his countrymen.
(2) Truth. — Closely connected with Pindar's ideal of real worth is his
love of truth. Among these old seekers after righteousness, Pindar is pre-
eminently the apostle of truth. What "justice" is to Hesiod, that "truth"
is to Pindar, the very daughter of God (0/., x. (xi.) 4). In the opening of a
poem now lost (Fi\, 221), he apostrophises truth as queen, the beginning of
great virtue, and prays her not to let his work stumble upon a lie. The
character, again, of Apollo, god of light, his " king " as the poet calls him, is
truth, as we have seen, and for himself Pindar declares that with "no lie"
will he stain his tale {01., iv. 15).
And what he finds in God, and strives after for himself, he demands in
every relation of life — in his heroes and in his statesmen. The very mark of
a youthful hero — of his hero of heroes, Jason — is, when he first appears upon
the scene, that he has fulfilled his twenty years of life without deceitful word
or deed {Pyth., iv. 104). From Pindar's own innate abhorrence of double-
dealing, again, the character of one of the most popular of the old heroes,
Odysseus, the "man of many devices," as set forth in the later legends^' — the
type for excellence of the wily Greek — is as hateful to the poet as to ourselves.
" Through shifty lying," he says, " it was that Odysseus obtained the great
prize of the armour of Achilles over Ajax, the man stout of heart, but lacking
the gift of speech" {Nem., viii. 25).^
And as for the State, never will Pindar admit that falsehood or deception
can be serviceable to it. Whatever be the form of government, he says —
whether tyrant, or turbulent mob, or the wise be in power — "the man of direct
speech is best" {Pytk, iii. 86); a sentiment with which his noble counsel to
Hieron, the ruler of Syracuse, is strictly in keeping : " Guide with just helm
thy people," he says, "and foiye thy speech on no false anvil/" {Pyth., i. 86).
Justice and truth are to be the guardians of the State.
^ Lit., experiment-carried-through (diapeira) is the proof of the cross-examination (as it
were) (elenchos) of mortals.
'^ Not in Homer ; see ante. There Odysseus is a truly noble type.
^ Aglosson — lit., without tongue, to set forth his own merits.
346 CLASSICAL PERIOD— PINDAR
(3) Peace. — The lily-flower plucked with difficulty from beneath the deep
sea's dew may be taken as emblematic of that state or condition which is only
attained, either by the State or by the individual, after hard struggle and
conflict. Pindar has three beautiful names for his lily — Eirene, Hesychia,
Eunomia — and they may be regarded as three successive stages or degrees of
the same quality : —
Eirene^ as the foundation, the means whereby peace is ensured — unity
and gentle words ;
Hesychia, the quietness, stillness, restfulness that follows ; ^
Eunomia, the means whereby peace is maintained — fair order of law.
From what we already know of Pindar, we surmise at once that his ideal is
by no means "peace at any price." How could this possibly be? Peace, he
says, is the daughter of Justice, and she must avenge her mother's cause.
" kindly Peace ! " he exclaims, " thou daughter of Dike, thou makest
cities great, thou that hast the supreme keys of counsels and — of wars ! "
Peace here is Hesychia, rest ; but Hesychia will, nay must, rouse herself
from her quiet mood when necessity calls.
" Thou knowest," he continues, " alike to give and to take gentleness ;
but whensoever any one harbours relentless ill-will in his heart, then thou "
(even thou, sweet Peace) " with stern mind steppest forth to confront his
might and sinkest presumption (Jiyhris) in the depths of the sea."
Naturally Pindar has here in immediate view the crowning defeat of the
Persian in the great sea fight at Salamis,^ but everywhere the man of truth
preaches the most true doctrine that conflict is the price of peace — there is no
true and honourable peace without it. Opposing forces, the forces of disorder,
have to be subdued before the natural powers — whether in the makrokosmos
of the universe or the mikrokosmos of man — are brought under the spiritual
dominion of order and peace : a lesson typified in (and made familiar to all
Hellenes by) the ancient myths of the war between the giants and their ally
the monster Typhon on the one side, and the might of Olympus on the other
— myths which, as usual, Pindar here presses into service.
But Eirene, peace, and Hesychia, rest, even when won, can only be main-
tained by Eunomia, fair order, the glorious preserver, as Pindar elsewhere
calls her. How is a State or an individual to attain to this ? Only by obedi-
ence to good laws, as the word eu-nomia (nomos = law) itself implies, thereby
betokening a state the very reverse of that known as a-nomia = lawlessness,
a term used in the Septuagint and, following this, by the New Testament
writers to designate " sin."^ Eu-nomia, fair order of law, is utterly opposed to
a-nomia, lawlessness.
But how is a man to keep himself under law ? The law of the State is
there and must be obeyed — but to govern the self is a harder task. How is it
to be done ? Pindar's reply is essentially and peculiarly Hellenic : By always
aiming at the mean, the happy path of moderation in desire, in ambition, in
fche .conduct of life.
Tha doctrine of the mean is not confined to Pindar. We remember the
" nothing" too much " of the wise man. We have seen the mean in Hesiod,*
and will fin.d it set forth by every master of Hellas until we arrive at Aristotle,
in whom, as a counsel of perfection, it culminates.
^ Used in thit* sense in Dem., Ixiii. 10.
2 The eighth Pythian ode is supposed by some to have been written shortly after this event.
^ The writer of tF:« Epistle to the Hebrews says of the Divine Son (i. 9, quoting from Psalm
xlv. 7) : "Thou hast lOved righteousness and hated iniquity {anomian), wherefore God, even
Thy God, hath anointecf Thee with the oil of gladness above Thy fellows."
"* See p. 319 n.
)
THE IDEALS 347
The mean, indeed, may itself be likened to the lily-flower plucked from
beneath the sea. Just as the precious coral may not be reached, on the one
side, by the swish of a high wave carrying the diver beyond the right spot ;
and, on the other, by the suction of a receding wave dragging him backwards
with it — so the mean, the juste milieu, the wisely modest middle course, can
only be held fast by the avoidance of extremes— excess, the too-much, is to it as
fatal as is deficiency, the too-little.^ Due measure (mefron) is therefore to be
observed in all things. " Meet is it to pursue advantage moderately. Fiercest is
the madness of unappeasable desires " (iVe??!., xi. 47). ^ And if for the individual,
so also in the State. " God grant me," says the poet, " to love things noble,
earnestly seeking things possible (dunata) in my life's prime. For in things of
the State I find the middle course (ta mesa) flourishing longest in happiness,
and therefore the tyrant's lot I condemn, and I strive after common virtues "
(Pyth., xi. 51) — that is, I strive after virtues which all good citizens should
possess in common, and not after power or peace or the too-much in everything.
Yet note that the Greek Pindar does not pray in the letter the prayer of
the Hebrew wise man : ^ " Give me neither poverty nor riches," inasmuch as
he believes the possession of riches when rightly used to be a great power for
good. " Wide-spreading is the might of wealth " {Pyth., v. i), he says, " when
mortal man hath received it, with pure virtue mingled, from the hand of des-
tiny." Nevertheless, he does pray in the spirit the prayer of Agur : " Remove
far from me vanity and lies." He warns all, as we shall presently see, to flee
from the arrogance and insolence that too often accompany the possession or
desire of wealth. " The aidos, spirit of reverence, that bringeth glory," he
says, " is stolen secretly by love of gain " [Nein., ix. 43).
How closely Pindar's ideals — proved worth, truth, the mean — are associ-
ated in his mind is clearly seen in the warm encomium which he passes upon
Lampon, a certain citizen of yEgina, whose merit consists in this (Isth., v. 66) :
not only that he bestows great pains upon all that he does and thereby brings
fame to his city — not only that he is loved for his kindness to strangers — but
that he " strives after the just mean (metro) in his mind,' that he holds fast the
just mean, and that his tongue departeth not from his thoughts " — literally,
is not outside of his thoughts, i.e. mind and tongue are one, single and not
double.
And now let us look at another characteristically Hellenic way of preserv-
ing peace. Supposing that we have won our lily-flower, our precious coral,
Eunomia, by strenuous effort, we must shape and fashion it. Strange to say,
this second mode, like the first, is also contained in the word itself. By one of
those beautiful developments which must be traced back to the coining of the
Greek language in the earliest times out of the primitive root-nuggets, eu-7iomia
is not only fair law but fair melody. Nomas, as we have already seen,* sig-
nifies both a law, or something established by custom, and a musical strain ;
for music, as the Greeks early perceived, is an orderly progression of sounds
ordered by law and number. The nomos was more especially a religious
" tone " or strain, handed down from ancient times and chanted by the priest
during the sacrifices. There can be little doubt that Pindar uses the word in
its double sense when he says that Apollo gives remedies to men and women
1 *' Amongst mortals one is thrown down from weal by empty boasts, while another by too
much mistrusting of his strength is pushed aside from honours due, for that the spirit of little
daring draggeth him backwards by the hand " {Nem., xi. 29 et seq.).
2 The metaphor is taken from the chase : '* Meet is it to hunt after gain or profit with
moderation (metron). Fiercest is the madness of desires not to be reached " — ever eluding the
hunter's grasp.
^ Prov. XXX. 8. ^ See the section on Language, p, 95.
348 CLASSICAL PERIOD— PINDAR
for sore diseases, and hath bestowed on them the lyre and giveth the muse
unto whomsoever he will, bringing into their hearts eu-nomia — both fair
melody and fair law, combining to give fair harmony of soul, sweet order
of peace.
Possibly we must not here exclude the wider meaning of "music," as
understood among the Greeks, viz. literature, poetry, everything that tends
to refinement and cultivation ; but as to the peculiar power of the " tone-art"
to bring healing and "tone" into a mind at war with itself and so restore
peace, all antiquity is at one.
For evidence as to Pindar's belief in the soothing effects of music (in our
sense) we have only to turn to the magnificent address to his " golden lyre,"
which opens the first Pythian ode. The " sworded lightning of immortal fire "
is quenched ; the swift eagle of Zeus, the violence of Ares, hot-headed war,
alike are held spell-bound by its mysterious influence.
To sum up : Peace, the lily-flower, is plucked from the depths by Eirene,
unity and gentle words ; is developed by Hesychia, restful calm, wherein
leisure is gained for all noble and refining pursuits. Finally, it is upheld
jointly by guardians both gentle and stern — Eunomia, fair harmony ; Eunomia,
fair order of law, repression of immoderate desire, the mean.
We shall see presently how far Pindar's ideals were attained by the " age-
fellows " and others to whom he held them forth. Meanwhile let us note (as
he would have us note) that, after all said and done, like the gold of proved
worth, the lily-flower of soul harmony is the gift of God.
The gentle moderation of our poet is, perhaps, nowhere better expressed
than in a beautiful prayer for himself which occurs in the eighth Nemean ode.
After deprecating the hate and deception which existed even in ancient days,
companying with wily tales, cunning devices, and evil-working slander that
doeth violence to that thing that shineth and lifteth up the rotten fame of
obscure men, he proceeds {Nem., viii. ;^2 et mq.) : —
" Never in me be this mind,i O Father Zeus ! but to the paths of sim-
plicity ^ may I cleave throughout my life, that dying I may lay upon my
children no ill-repute.
" Some pray for gold and some for boundless land — but I, amid the towns-
folk's love, would shroud my limbs in earth, still honouring where honour is
due, and sowing rebuke on evil-doers.
" Thus virtue groweth, uplifted by wise men and just, as when a tree fed
by fresh dew shooteth upwards to the moist aether."
Pindar had his wish. The spot where his limbs lay " enshrouded in earth "
was always held sacred in Hellas and beyond Hellas — in the sack of Thebes,
Alexander of Macedon bade spare the poet's dwelling ; and the " townsfolk,"
in whose memory the love of him still lives, embrace within their ranks all
those in the great world-state who can understand and reverence a noble
spirit.
Nevertheless, we have somewhat against our bard. Soft as is his thought,
sweet as is his " honey," it cannot be denied that both w^ere reserved for the
victors, the fortunate, those on whom success had smiled. For the losers, the
unfortunate, Pindar has no word, no message of consolation. If he thinks at
all of those who have been defeated in the great games, it is simply that he
^ Lit., this habit {ethos), this tendency to exalt oneself by depreciating others. The passage
follows the contrast drawn between the wily Odysseus and the simple-minded Ajax (see
ante, p. S4S)-
2 Lit., in single paths — haploos, one-fold, single-minded, as opposed to diploos, two-fold^
double-minded, treacherous.
SIN
349
may present them as a foil to the victor. Thus in the eighth Olympian
ode (68) he says of the winner in the wrestling match (of boys) that he has
put off from himself the disgrace of defeat to the bodies of the four youths
with whom he had contended. And in the eighth Pythian (8i) he repeats the
same congratulation, picturing with even more vividness the sorry plight of
those who had failed — how for them there was no glad return from the Pythian
feast, for them no sweet welcome of a mother's kiss of joy — nay ! but by secret
paths they slink to their homes, shrinking from their enemies, heart-pierced
by the disaster which has befallen them.
And yet the losers in these and the other contests of the great games may
have deserved praise no less than the victors. They had voluntarily under-
gone the same training, submitted to the same discipline ; they had perchance
nerved themselves for the contest before assembled Hellas by some inspiring
word of the very poet who now scouts them. To fail in the games must have
been to the Greek of Pindar's age, thirsting for renown and fair fame, the
keenest of disappointments. Surely a word of approval of the effort made,
of the venturing up to the "touchstone" from their " unproven " security,
would have come with exquisite grace from the great singer ? We look in
vain for it ; Pindar simply turns his back upon the defeated.
Let us not judge him too harshly for this. In his eyes victory in the
games, like the other prizes of life, is a gift from the gods — why should he
feel compassion for those whom they have passed over ? This seems to be the
reasoning. It savours to us of a certain hardness, but this same harshness
meets us everywhere in antiquity ; a kindly sympathy for " failures " was first
breathed into human society by One whose whole life, judged by society's
standards, was a failure.
SIN
It is not precisely to odes in celebration of the most joyous and exultant of
occasions that one would naturally turn for utterances on the deeper and more
serious aspects of human life, and yet, as we have seen, these aspects are never
far from Pindar's thoughts. Hence we may ask concerning him a question
which, in reference to almost any other writer of festal songs, would be
strangely out of place : Did our poet know anything of that which Homer, as
well as ourselves, knew to be " sin"; or, in the centuries of ''development"
from Homer onwards, have men arrived at the comfortable conclusion that
they are without fault?
Pindar has a very decided answer to give. " Round the minds of men,"
he says (0/., vii. 24-26, 30, 31), "there hang errors (a7??^/a^20p) innumerable
. . . this is the impossible thing to find out — what shall be best for a man
both noiv and at the lad . . . for tumults of the mind lead even the wise men
astray." And again in the same ode (the seventh Olympian) we read that
"reverence, that proceedeth from forethought, putteth excellence {arete =
virtue) and joy (the joy of attaining it) into the hearts of men, but unawares
there cometh upon them a cloud of forgetfulness and draweth the straight
path of action far from the mind" (0/., vii. 43-47).
We must not let the fact that these thoughts occur in connection with
Pindar's version of one of the old myths — that of the " history " of Rhodes —
blind us to another fact, viz. that the poet is an exceedingly earnest moral *
teacher. If he says that Tlepolemus was " led astray by the tumults of his
soul," he means to imply that the wisest of his own day may be no wiser. If
he says that men may have the " joy of excellence," and yet be drawn " from
350 CLASSICAL PERIOD— PINDAR
straight paths by a cloud of forgetfulness," he is simply bidding his country-
men, who were rejoicing in their own arete, Beware ! In an age like that of
the Persian wars, when a more than human success seemed to attend Hellenic
effort, there was imminent danger that the boundary line would be over-
stepped, and human pride exalt itself beyond measure, and Pindar would not
have been the great teacher that he is had he not foreseen and put his age-
fellows on guard against this perilous rock ahead.
We remember that in Homer the names for " sin" were for the most part
such as denoted less a wilful than a blind perversion of the moral sense, lead-
ing men to stray from the right path. This view is not wanting in Pindar, as we
have already seen ; but the term which he almost invariably applies to sin is one
used less frequently than the others in Homer (although there, too, it frequently
appears), viz. hijhris, a word best rendered by our " presumption." This
expression we shall meet with again and again in all the great writers of the
age, and it behoves us to examine it carefully.
Some scholars (including Gesenius) have ascribed to it, as we have seen,^
a Semitic origin ; but at the present day this opinion has been combated. In
the first place hybris cannot be traced satisfactorily to any Semitic root ; and
in the second, as Aug. MUller has shown, the Greeks never borrowed an
abstract term. G. Curtius connects it with liy}ier, over-and-above, and although,
as he himself points out, there are difficulties in this etymology, yet it may
certainly be taken as expressing the opinion of the Greeks concerning the
meaning of the word. Pindar would seem to point to this when, in his
allegory, he calls the child of hybris koros, for koros is that species of insolence
which proceeds from the over-and-above, surfeit, fulness-too-great of bread,
or strength, or riches.
Hybris may be regarded then as fulness of sin — sin committed, not out of
mortal weakness through missing the mark {hamartanein), but from pride of
heart and overweening self-conceit. Hybris would seem to have three distinct
stages in its inception and development : —
(a) In the first degree it disposes a man to ascribe all his success in life to
himself — to say in the depth of his heart, " My own right hand and my own
strong arm, they have gotten me the victory " — and so to set an undue value
upon himself and his achievements.
{b) In the second degree it makes a man in his undue self-esteem arrogant
and regardless of the feelings and rights of others, as shown in the conduct of
Agamemnon to Achilles — fitly designated by the poet as hybris.
(c) In the third and culminating degree it leads a man to defy the
great unseen Power, and to say, " Who is the Lord, that I should obey
His voice ? "
Hybris, it will thus be seen, is simply the exaggerated development of the
ego, and from its intimate connection with a man's self, the tendency to it is
constantly present, ready to spring up at any moment. Pindar recognises this
when he calls the offspring of hybris aiaries koros, everlasting never-ceasing
insolence, the besetting sin that only with difficulty can be put down.
Amongst a people like the Hellenes, in whom the ego, the individuality, was,
as we have seen, so intense and marked, that natural and noble self-reliance
which is inseparably united to intellectual strength was but too apt to
degenerate into its bastard brother, self-exaltation. Hence the poet's most
♦ earnest warnings are directed against this fatal over-and-above.
He combats hybris in the first degree by pointing out that all power, all fame,
all successes are the gift of God. " They are given in answer to the reverent
1 Vide p. 287.
sm 351
prayers of men." How often " by the help of God," " by the favour of God "
(OZ., viii. 8)/ is brought into connection with success any one can estimate
for himself by simply looking through a translation of the odes.
Pindar's thoughts on this matter are all summed up in his gentle counsel
to Arkesilas, king of Gyrene. This ruler, in whose honour two of the most
beautiful songs in the whole collection — the fourth and fifth Pythian — were
written, seems to have been not only an accomplished man — he had " wings to
soar with the Muses as his mother before him " — but upright he walked in
justice. He was, moreover, wealthy and powerful — king over great cities, and
honoured by all. Add to this that he had just received the crowning joy of
being proclaimed victor in the great chariot-race at Delphi — and it is plain that
we have in Arkesilas the very type and emblem of success and glory, as it was
understood among the Hellenes. Yet it is to such an one that Pindar
addresses the warning {Pytli., v. 12, 23 et seq.) : "The tvise bear better the
power that is given of God. . . . Forget not, when thy praise is sung at
Gyrene, to set God above all as the cause thereof."
This for the individual ; and for the nation there is the no less significant
warning concerning the great victory at Salamis. Herodotus tells us (viii. 93)
that that victory was due mainly to the impetuous bravery of the yEginetans,
and in an ode written for a hero of ^gina (the fourth Isthmian) the poet
might have been excused for descanting on this theme. He alludes to it
indeed, and says that his ready tongue has arrows in store wherewith to cele-
brate the valour of ^gina's seamen, the valour that delivered Salamis on that
dread day when " death fell thick as hail on the unnumbered hosts in the
destroying tempest of Zeus, but," he suddenly stops, and, instead of the
arrows of praise, comes the warning (^Isth., iv. 46 et seq.), "Nevertheless, let
no boast be heard. Zeus orders this and that — Zeus, lord of all." Pindar,
at least, would have understood the great argument of St. Paul : " Where is
boasting then ? It is excluded. By what law ? of works ? Nay, but by the
law of faith, for 2vhat hast thou that thou didst not receive ? "
Hyhris in the second degree, advancing from the inward to the outward
stage, and showing itself openly in insolent disregard of others, Pindar holds
in extreme detestation. His remedy for it is the mean, for the striving after
the just mean necessitates self-knowledge, and in the effort a man will learn
his true place among his fellows, and keep it. At the same time " the
abhorring of presumption " Pindar, the aristocrat, would seem to associate
with his doctrine of heredity and the spirit of noblesse ohluje {01. , vii. 87).
" Father Zeus," he prays concerning one of his victors, " give this man honour
both from citizens and from strangers ; for he walketh in the straight path
that abhorreth presumption (hyhris), having learnt well the lessons taught him
by his true soul, which hath come to him from noble sires." Hyhris in this
particular form, showing itself in insolence, would seem to be, then, the vice
of the parvenu ; courtesy and consideration for others a feature in the kalos
kagathos, part of the legacy handed down as the result of the striving of
generations after the noble and the good.^ However this may be, no one in
his eyes is entitled to honour who gives .way to presumption. " If any among
men," he says (Isth., iii. i), "dwelling in good fortune, and having won renown
in the games, or by the power of wealth, restraineth in his heart besetting
^ When Pindar ascribes a gift to the Muses or the Graces, we must bear in mind that this
also comes in his eyes through them as channels from Zeus ; all the other divinities are merely
to Pindar, as to Homer, messengers or delegates of Zeus.
2 Pindar, however, does not use the compound kalos kagathos, although he, like Homer,
knows and employs kalon, beautiful, to denote "the noble."
352 CLASSICAL PERIOD— PINDAR
insolence (the everlasting Icoros), that man is worthy to share in the praises of
the citizens."
But again follows the warning, " From thee, Zeus, alone cometh high
excellence to mortals, and longer liveth the bliss of him who standeth in awe
of thee ; ^ but with men of perverse mind '^ it companieth not, flourishing
throughout all time."
Finally, the third and most fatal development of the hybris is that
which brings men into antagonism with the controlling power of the universe,
the tendency which leads a man, either through perversion of the intellect,
through failure to recognise his own limitations, or through rebellion of the
will, to throw the unwritten laws from his heart and ask concerning the
Invisible Justice, " Who is the Lord, that I should obey His voice?"
That men in general. Gentiles no less than Jews, clearly knew these
unwritten laws, and recognised in their own hearts the working of the
Invisible Justice, there is not a shadow of doubt. Nevertheless, the myths,
together with any fragments of truth contained in them, had left behind a
terrible legacy ; and the more honest and upright a man was in his own walk
in life, the greater were the difficulties which they raised. The teachings of
Pythagoras and Xenophanes had reached the European as well as the Asiatic
Hellenes, and the secret whisper in many a heart must have been, " If God, if
the gods, are as the poets describe, how are they better than myself?"
Pindar, as we have seen, boldly grapples with the difficulty. " Throw
away this tale, my mouth," he says of one of the myths (0/., ix. 35), " for to
slander gods is a hateful wisdom. Loud and unmeasured words border upon
madness.'^ Of such things talk thou not."
The Power controlling the destinies of men, whether addressed as " Zeus "
or by any other name, is so clearly to Pindar the Invisible Justice, the power
that makes for righteousness, that any "slandering" or misrepresentation of
it betokens to him a mind bordering upon madness (01., ix. 39).
Pindar's great remedy against this tendency in the human heart is to
consider the end. P>e not deceived by the myths, by what men say. Look to
the end. The myths tell us, indeed, he says, that there is "one race of men
and one of gods ; from one mother (Earth) both draw their breath, yet," he
proceeds, " if this be true, there remains, notwithstanding, the unsolved
mystery — their strength is wholly diverse ; the one, the race of men, is naught;
the other, the brazen heaven, abideth, a habitation steadfast for everlasting.
Nevertheless," he muses, "something we have like unto the immortals' mighty
mind or bodily shape, albeit we know not by day or night what course destiny
hath marked out for us to run" [Nem., vi. i).
This " something," be it the throb of inborn genius or the consciousness
of that outward beauty which brought to the Greek an intensity of joy, may
not raise up in any mortal breast the "cloud" which shall make him forget
that he is " nothing," that he knows not by day or night what the next hour
shall bring forth. Therefore, "seek not to become as Zeus ; the things of
mortals best befit mortality (IstJi., iv. 14, 16). Time with rolling days brings
changes manifold ; only the children of the gods are free from wounds" (Isth.,
iii. 18). Toil and trouble, change and vicissitude are the ordinary lot of
mortals. " If any have won for himself good things without great toil," says
^ Opizomenon, him who hath the opis, the fear of the judgments of God, before his eyes.
2 Literally, minds that look sideways, askance, away from God.
^ Literally, play the accompaniment to the tone of madness. In the slandering of the
Divine power, madness uses the mind as an instrument — a curious expression, but a very
striking one.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 353
the poet, " he seems to many to be the wise man among fools, crowning his life
by devices of good counsel, but," he proceeds to add, " the good things are not
of his own getting after all. Such things lie not with men. He who orders
them is God, who setteth up one and putteth down another" (Pyth., viii. 73).
" Seek not to become as Zeus ! " Stories of the divinity claimed by Asiatic
potentates must have been rife in Hellas during this period. From such
blasphemy Pindar would strive to keep his age-fellows. In his rendering of
the myth of Bellerophon is there not a foreshadowing of the fate of one of the
noblest of the Hellenes, who in later days allowed himself to be approached
with Divine honours? " Unrighteous joyance a bitter end awaiteth." ^ As
the winged steed cast off the would-be intruder into things Divine, so a man's
own genius deserts him when used against the will of the Most High.
Let us hear the conclusion of the whole matter, says the Greek poet
(Ne?n., xi. 13) no less than the Hebrew preacher : " If any shall possess happi-
ness and wealth, and surpass others in beauty, and have shown his might in
the games, and proved himself the bravest, let such an one remember that his
7'awient is upon moi'tal limbs and that earth shall be his vesture at the last."
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS
It is, we think, quite clear from the foregoing that the unwritten laws
which we found in Homer and Hesiod are still alive in Hellas, still written
on the hearts of her sons. It will, however, repay us to make a rapid survey
of the ground, and see in what way, if at all, the recognition of them in the
centuries between Homer and Pindar has altered.
( 1 ) Reverence for the Great Unseen Power. — Concerning this no more
need be said. We know already that, to Pindar, God is the Source of all things,
the Giver of all good.
(2) Honour due to Parents. — In no way could Pindar's mind on this
subject be better shown than in the involuntary question (Isth., i. 5), " What is
dearer to the good than beloved parents ? " True, he straightway appropriates
the sentiment to express his love for his native city, "Thebes of the golden
shield," but that it belongs in the first place to the natural ties is abundantly
evidenced from the beautiful setting in the sixth Pythian ode (28 et seq.) oi
the story of the venerable Nestor and his son Antilochus. Pindar tells how
in the battle with Memnon, the Ethiopian, the old hero of Messenia was in
danger of his life. Sore troubled at heart, he cried out to his son, and his
word did not fall to the ground, for the god-like man made stand, and bought
with his own death his father's succour. And, therefore, Antilochus was held
by the spear-bearing men of that ancient race to have wrought a mighty deed,
and to be supreme in the faithful love of a son.
Pindar also, in the same ode (v. 23), brings the honour due to parents into
very close connection with the first of all commandments, by repeating with
approval the ancient tradition of the charge given by Cheiron to his foster-
son, Achilles : Most of all to reverence Kronides, the deep-voiced lord of
thunders and of lightnings, and never to deprive parents of like honours
through all their spell of life. " Kronides," be it remembered, is Zeus, and
Zeus, " to every deep-thinking Greek, is God." Hence the union of the two —
reverence to Kronides, and like honours to parents — implies that the latter
duty derives its force from the former — is, in fact, a part of religion, that
^ Literally, sweetness beyond the right.
354 CLASSICAL PERIOD— PINDAR
natural religion which reveals itself in the common assent of mankind,
stamped and written upon the heart.
With the foregoing a verse in the fourth Pythian (145), that fresh and
delightful ode, may be brought into connection. " If there is enmity between
those of the same family," says the youthful hero, Jason, to his father's brother,
"the Fates stand aloof, and would hide it for very shame" — out of the aidos,
that right-minded shame which shrinks from the profanation of what is
inherently sacred, as are the family ties.
(3) The MaPPiagfe Bond. — On this subject we can expect but little light
from our poet, owing to the nature of his subject. His ostensible aim is to
exalt and crown the victor in contests for which women were unfitted, and
from which in some cases they were excluded by law, as at Olympia, and
rightly. That women were forbidden under pain of death to be present during
the Olympian festival must not be taken off-hand as a token of their social
inferiority. On the contrary, it was a wise and necessary precaution. Let
any one remember the inevitable accompaniments of the Olympian festival
in the ages under consideration, the conditions under which the prizes were
competed for, the vast multitude assembled from all parts of the Italian,
Asiatic, African and Hellenic world, camping out for four or five successive
nights, the excitement (pace Pindar), the animal excitement, aroused by con-
tests of physical strength, and he will see that in our poet's glowing eulogies
we have the golden side of these festivals only, and that there must have been
much from which any pure-minded woman would shrink.^ Hence, although
Pindar has many things to say of the women of the heroic age, the women
of his own generation are conspicuous in his pages by their absence. Only
from the rarest and briefest touches can we gather anything regarding their
status.
So far these touches are satisfactory, and show us the unwritten laws still
at work in Hellas. Aristotle tells us (Pol., I. ii. 4) that " woman " and " slave "
were synonymous terms among the " barbarians," by which latter complimen-
tary term he means, of course, all non- Hellenes ; but that it was not so in
Hellas. We know already from our notes on the second unwritten law that
the mother, in the eyes of Pindar at least,^ enjoys equal honour with the father
of the family: "What is dearer to the good than beloved parents? (kednon
toJceon) " — parents, that is, as the word kednon implies, cared for, cherished,
prized, and valued. And again, " Never deprive parents (goneon) through all
their spell of life " of the honour due unto them, as unto God.
And we also remember that the crowning delight of the Pythian games to
the youthful victor is the glad return and the sweet smile of joy that welcomes
him to his mother's side — a little glimpse into Greek home-life for which we
can almost forgive Pindar's hardness in presenting the reverse of the picture
— the four defeated striplings shrinking homewards by secret ways, unhonoured
and unwelcomed.
Then, again, another " straw " shows us that the singer who had known
Corinna, the poetess of his native Thebes, and who had striven (as tradition
vsays) in friendly rivalry with her, was not slow to recognise intellectual ability
in others of her sex. He says (Pytli., v. 114) of Arkesilas, king of Cyrene,
that he " has wings to soar with the Muses, as his mother before him." It would
^ Women were not debarred from attending the other festivals of Greece — witness the com-
pliment paid to a Pythian victor in the ninth Pythian ode (97) that many a maiden who liuJ
seen him at the yearly festivals of Hellas stood praying silently in her heart that such an one
might be her husband or her son.
^ We venture to think that the subtle distinction made for his own purposes by ^schylus
{Eum.f 659) between father and mother is not shared by Pindar.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 355
be strange, indeed, if the poet who has so much to say concerning the Muses
and the Graces — if he who knows so well the " pure light" {01., xiv. 8) of the
latter and their refining influence, felt even by the gods — did not know some-
thing of the refining influence of cultivated women. But we must be content
to leave the matter mainly in the dark. On the home-life of his age Pindar
throws but little light.
(4) Ruler and Ruled. — Since Homer's days many and diverse have been
the changes and uncertainties of Greek political life. Naturally, Pindar makes
mpre of " the people " than we found to be the case with Homer ; but natur-
ally also, as an aristocrat, his sympathies are with the few rather than with
the many. Nevertheless, in this, as in all matters, he strives to be just ; and
justice leads him to see that the people have their rights. He even recognises
the hand of God in the changes that have brought the people to the front
{Pyth., i. 67, 69 et seq). " By the aid of Zeus Teleios," Zeus the accom-
plisher, he says — of him, that is, who ordereth all things for the best — "a man
who is chief, and commandeth his son after him, shall give their meed of
honour to the people, and so lead them with one accord (symphonon) into the
gentle ways of peace (hesychia)."
Pindar, the aristocrat, here acknowledges that the people have their privi-
leges and prerogatives — for this is the meaning of damon gerairon, " honouring
the people " — and that it is Zeus the f ulfiller who has brought about such a
state of things. Only, therefore, by according consideration to their just
claims, and only by God's help, can the ruler hope to " turn " the people so
that their voices shall ascend in the gentle symphony of peace, instead of the
fierce notes of party strife.
And when this happy state of things has been disturbed, it is, again, God
alone who can restore harmony. " It is easy," says Pindar in the fourth
Pythian ode (272), "even for weaker (insignificant) men to shake the State;
but, firmly set, to restore it again in its place, this is difficult — a hard task to
wrestle with, unless God suddenly come to the leader's help, and take the
helm " — literally, unless God become the steersman of the ship of the State.
Listen, again, to our poet's idea of the things that go to exalt a State. He
praises the city of Corinth by saying {01. ., xiii. 6) that " therein dwell Eunomia,
Fair Order, and her sisters Dike (Justice) and like-nurtured Eirene (Peace),
sure foundation of States, dispensers of wealth to men, the golden children of
wise-counselling Themis (Law), ready to ward off Hybris (Presumption), the
loud-voiced mother of Koros (Insolence)."
In this little allegory we have a fresh combination of the lily-flowers —
Fair Order is no longer the daughter, but the sister, of Justice, and all three
— Justice, Order, and Peace — are " like-nurtured," i.e. descended from one
mother, even Themis, who, be it remembered, is not man-made law, but the
personification of the great unwritten laws which have come down, from time
immemorial, from God.
(5) Friend and Friend. — Little also need be said on this score, since great
part of Pindar's mission consists, in his own eyes, in chronicling the achievements
of his friends, that they may not go down into the grave unsung {Nem., ix. 6).
"There is a saying among men," he remarks, "that a deed well done should
not be hidden in silence in the ground. Fitting for such brave tales is Divine
song." But note ! the brave tale is still to be told, even when it rehearses
deeds done by an enemy — a sentiment which one would hardly expect to find
in the fifth century before Christ, but which, according to Pindar, is still older
than himself. " If," he says {Pyth., ix. 93), " any of the citizens be our friend,
or even if he be against us, let him not seek to hide the thing well done (with
356 CLASSICAL PEKIOD— PINDAR
toil and pain) in the common cause, despising the word of the old man of the
sea. For he bids us give praise with all the heart even to an enemy, when
he hath wrought noble deeds, if so be that justice is on his side."
The old man of the sea is the gentle old Nereus, to whom, as to all
divinities of the sea, the power of prophecy was attributed. Here we have
indeed a foreshadowing of better things, a testimony to the working of a
higher and more generous spirit than the surface law of antiquity — the law
of retaliation.
As to the rest, ''trial," experiment, here as in all else, "is the test" of
friendship (Nem., x. 78). " Few are they among mortals that are faithful
in trouble, sharers of toil," cries Polydeukes, with hot tears, when he has lost
his brother Kastor. And our poet's comment on real friendship is further
shown in another passage, where he remarks (Nem., vii. 86) that " if a man
stand in need of aught from man," help and assistance, "then may we say
that a neighbour who loveth with a steadfast mind is to his neighbour a joy
surpassing all."
(6) The Keeping" of the Faithful Oath and Covenant; (7) Care for the
Stranger and the Suppliant. — From the nature of the case these laws do
not appear prominently in Pindar's pages, but they are there none the less as a
deep undercurrent throughout. Zeus is still {Pyth., iv. 296) the " mighty witness
of the oath " ; he is still (Nem., v. 33 ; xi. 8) the Father Xenios, watching over
the stranger, over host and guest. Nor are these allusions mere imitations of
the old epic style, for the keeping of a faithful promise, even in small things,
naturally to the man of truth forms part of the white ivory of a noble life, the
background to the golden glory of proved worth.
Again, although the open house and the good cheer offered to beggar and
wanderer have disappeared with many other accompaniments of the heroic
age, yet hospitality and a kindly welcome to strangers are still regarded as
duties incumbent on the well-to-do, and figure among the virtues which Pindar
specially delights in placing side by side with zeal for the common good and
the welfare of the State {01. , iv. 13 ; Isth., v. 70).
(8) The Due of the Dead. — " Even the dead," says our poet (01., viii. 77),
" have their share (of honour), if it be paid with due rites," according to the
nomas
or established law.
THE FUTURE LIFE
We must now turn our attention for a few moments to a passage frequently
quoted from the odes ; and deservedly, since it is one of the most impressive
to be found in Pindar.
" In a brief space," says the poet, " the joy of mortals springeth up, and in
like manner it falleth to ground, shaken by a decree adverse."
Creature of a day! What is man? What is he not? Man is the dream
of a shadow.
" But when a God-given glory hath come, there abideth a shining light upon
men and an age serene."
The eighth Pythian ode (92), in which this passage occurs, is supposed by
some to have been written shortly after the momentous battle of Salamis.
Hence the "God-given glory" may be taken to signify primarily the defeat
of the Asiatic despot by Hellenic valour, and the "age serene" the period of
peace which ensued.
The poet's meaning, however, goes deeper still. We shall hardly, with our
THE FUTURE LIFE
357
knowledge of Pindar's character, be wrong in supposing that the contrast in
his verses is drawn not only and merely between one period of human life, or
human history, and another, but between the life that now is and that which
is to come.
(a) What is man? "The dream of a shadow." Observe the intensity of
the expression — man is not only a shadow, but the dream of a shadow.
{h) What is man not? "Something he hath like unto the immortals."
Hence —
(c) When the glory from God hath shined, a bright light abideth upon him,
and an age serene — a m,eilichos ceon — a serene eternity. ^
This is one way of looking at the passage, and even if we render the famous
question with some translators as, "What is somebody? What is nobody?^'
the contrast is only strengthened. What are the somebodies or the nobodies
of this world? Both alike — with the glory of success or without it — are
dreams of shadows, absolute nothingness in comparison with that which shall
be hereafter — the (eon, the eternity of peace.
If the passage stood alone, it might not, perhaps, warrant our drawing so
large a conclusion from it, for Pindar is never tired of alluding to "glory" as
a sort of immortality, whereby a man lives on with a serene halo about him in
the history of his family or his clan or his people. But, fortunately, we are
not left in doubt as to the secondary but deeper meaning here — Pindar believed
most sincerely in a future life. Like the conception of " sin " and of the great
unwritten laws, that of a life beyond the grave has maintained its ground in
the hearts of men. Stripped of all the embellishments of his poetic fancy,
Pindar's doctrine of the future state may be briefly summed up under four
heads : —
(i) Belief in a judgment passed upon the dead.
(2) In a punishment in store for the wicked.
(3) In a life of bliss reserved for the good.
(4) In a return to mortal life, as the tenants of new human bodies, on the
part either of all, or, at the least, of certain souls decreed thereto. The last
is probably due to Pythagorean teaching concerning the metempsychosis or
transmigration of souls, a doctrine which we shall find later strongly developed
in Plato. In our poet it appears most clearly in a fragment which has come
down to us and which runs as follows (Fr., 98) : " The souls of those from
whom Persephone accepteth atonement made for an ancient woe, she restoreth
in the ninth year to the sunlight above. From these spring illustrious kings
and men swift and mighty in strength and wisdom. And in time to come they
are called holy heroes among men."
For the connection of Persephone with the dead, and the pathetic story of
her own restoration to the sunlight, we refer the reader to the section on the
mysteries. We would only stop here to notice that the souls thus sent back
are those that have " made atonement," i.e. paid the ransom or penalty, paene,
for some sin committed in the past, and who have otherwise been presum-
ably men of noble character.
Let us now go on to notice that the fragment quoted above is taken from a
dirge. The poet's services, it would seem, were in request, not only in seasons
of joy, but in those when sorrow had laid hold upon the heart. Probably the
threnoi, laments, were called forth at different times by the death of some
^ The word ceon may be rendered simply as above — " life," an " age," a " period " of time ; but
it is akin to aei, for ever, and is used in describing the everlasting happiness of those who attain
to the islands of the blest {OL, ii. 120) ; they enjoy a "tearless ceon," adakrun ceOna — but this
CBon is eternity.
3s8 CLASSICAL PERIOD— PINDAR
great chieftain, and written to be sung by a choir or by the women who
assembled on such occasions to mourn and beat the breast. Be that as it may,
never did the poet scatter his '' honey " to sweeter purpose, for he had a
distinct message of consolation to convey, and one that, coming from the lips of
the man who would not "stain" his song "with a lie," could not fail in its
effect. The message that Pindar brought was simply this : Joy, bliss, and
happiness do exist in the land so far off and yet so near. Let Homer say
what he may, this is the truth.
We recollect the dark view of the future state which appears in Homer,
and which was afterwards so strongly reprobated by Plato as tending to
engender an unmanly fear of death (p. 293). We remember Achilles' gloomy
remark that he would rather be a day-labourer upon earth than king of all the
shades. In the centuries succeeding all this has been changed. The " col-
lective conscience of humanity " has been at work, and, beginning its cogita-
tions in the East, has leavened the thought of the West with this most true
perception, that the Supreme Justice so strongly set forth in Homer could not
really be judice, if good and bad fared alike after death.
Pindar, indeed, does not cast away the old Homeric man, for it appears in
the odes ; ^ but we venture to think that he regards the condition of the
departed in Hades as a sort of intermediate state, in which they await the final
judgment. Concerning this the reader must decide for himself ; the passage
which might be so construed is the following, also a fragment from a dirge
{Ft., 96) :—
" All by happy fate pass to the other side, freed from toil at last. And in
all, the body, indeed, is subject to mighty death ; but yet an image (eidolon)
of life remaineth, for this only is from the gods. When the limbs stir it
slumbereth, but oft to sleepers in dreams it showeth forth the judgment that
draweth nigh for weal or woe."
Leaving this debatable ground, however, there is no doubt concerning
Pindar's views as to the ultiinate fate of the good. While shrinking from
portraying the wretchedness of the wicked, he brings all the wealth of his
genius to the picture of the future life of the blessed. " For them," he
says, " the strength of the sun shineth below, while with us it is night ; and
the space before their city is rich in meadows of red roses, and the shade of the
frankincense-tree and golden fruits. And some have delight in horses, some in
games of skill, some in the harp ; and amongst them bloometh all fair-flowering
bliss, and fragrance spreadeth throughout the beloved land as they mingle
incense of divers sorts on the far-seen fire of the altars of the gods " {Fr., 95).
Possibly some of our readers may be inclined to condemn the picture as a
very "materialistic" view of the things to come? Granted, so far^" First
the natural, then the spiritual." The great advance made by the mysteries
and by Pindar, following in their teaching, is that they showed the two sides
of the future life, and thus did much to obviate the grey, hopeless notions of
the Homeric age. We cannot blame Pindar for putting a little colour into his
picture. The whole tendency of the passage — horse-racing and games of skill
included — is simply a declaration of the poet-prophet to his age-fellows, that
each soul deemed worthy would be allowed to follow that pursuit in which
he had excelled and found delight on earth. " First the natural, then the
spiritual."
But is there no spiritual side to the picture ? Verily, we think there is.
Why are we to take literally all that Pindar says here, and elsewhere alone
1 e.g. " Haste tl
allusions elsewhere.
THE FUTURE LIFE 359
give him the poet's licence ? When he " sprinkles his honey " on a hero, are
we to understand thereby the sweet thoughts of the muse or the product of the
bee ? When he says that he has ' ' swift arrows " under his bended arm within
his quiver, does he mean literal "iron-pointed darts"? The interpretation
would be absurd. His arrows, he expressly says in this connection, " have
a voice for the wise, although for the multitude they need interpreters." And
in the allegorical way we may and must take Pindar's paradise. It appealed
to the wise among his age-fellows much as the beautiful vision of old Bernard
of Cluny — Jerusalem the golden — touched the hearts of the men of the middle
ages, aye, and touches hearts still. It will not be difficult to read a spiritual
meaning into Pindar's parable of the "beloved land." The red roses become
the " sweet flowering bliss that bloometh wholly there " ; the frankincense
speaks of oblation ; the harp, of praise ; the golden fruits are the fruits of
life's discipline and self -discipline — proved worth, truth, simplicity, the just
mean ; the sunlight — to us the sunlight is that which passeth words, the
Divine presence — to Pindar it would probably mean the radiance of Divine
harmony within the heart. Such are some of the meanings which, without
departing from the laws that govern the interpretation of " metaphor " in
other cases, may fairly be said to hold good here. Nevertheless it is better
not to press the argument — better to say with the poet : " The things of
mortals best befit mortality," are best understood by them ; and with the
apostle : " Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the
heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him."
The joys of the future life cannot be spoken of by mortal tongue ; they are
perceived alone by that dim ahnung felt by every longing heart, and Pindar
only uttered the message sown in his by the Logos Spermatikos — the seed-
sowing Word who hath ever been working in the spirits of men — in the form in
which it would, or indeed could, be received by his age. " First the natural,
then the spiritual."
We may fitly conclude with the description of the islands of the blest,
ushered in as it is by that which may truly be considered altogether the most
beautiful of the many beautiful passages in Pindar — the thought expressed in
the lines which we have placed upon our title-page as most strikingly em-
l[Uematic of the Hellenic character and mission. ^
And so we take farewell of Pindar, the sweetest singer of Hellas, the poet-
prophet, with his earnest warnings against sin, his noble ideals of life, his deep
foretaste of immortality, his unconscious pointing to that most true Light, the
Star far seen, the King who, in the form of a noble man, should indeed one
day pour into the heart of humanity eunomia, fair order of peace.
^ From E, Myer's unapproachable translation {The Odes of Pindar).
§ VIII.-iESCHYLUS
When we turn from Pindar to iEschylus we become immediately conscious of
passing into another and a different mental atmosphere. Both poets are
contemporaries ; on both have the events of their age made an impression so
deep that they feel themselves called to the poet's office — set apart, as it were,
for the express purpose of revealing the thoughts to which these events had
given birth. The thoughts of Pindar we already know — none could be sweeter,
none nobler. His message is, however, addressed to the individual as such ;
the message of JEschylus has a longer, grander scope — it is intended for the
aggregate of individuals, for society, for humanity itself.
The causes which gave to the odes of Pindar their raison d'etre, and brought
them into existence, left the poet in touch with the outer joyous side of
Hellenic life. The man whose task it was to call upon his countrymen to
develop every latent power in energetic action, to -prove themselves heroes,
was necessarily not the man to call to a life of introspection, to that searching
of the spirit which was wrapped up in the old Greek counsel : Knoio thyself.
Let us not be misunderstood here. Pindar, as we have seen, was far, very far,
from neglecting this other and deeper side of life ; whensoever occasion offered
he seized his opportunity and pressed its claims. Nevertheless he did so
incidentally and by the way — his mouth, as it were, giving utterance to the
fulness of his heart, a fulness which he could not and would not restrain.
Strange it is that the presentation of this other side of Greek life, the
reflective, should come to us from one who was himself a man of action to a
greater extent than was Pindar. The Theban was obliged to look on (though
with an aching heart, as he tells us) at the glorious deeds in which the
Athenian actually took part, ^schylus, the greatest tragic poet of Greece—
perhaps, considered as a path-breaker, of the world — was also JEschylus, the
fighter at Marathon, at Salamis, at Platsea, and it is in the latter chai^acter,
that of citizen and patriot, that his contemporaries summed up his praises.
^schylus in his own person represented the brilliant side of Greek life
sung by Pindar. He had not " hidden himself in a corner " ; his love for the
fatherland, his manliness, his arete had been put to the touchstone of trial,
and he had come forth as " proved gold " from the furnace. Whatever, there-
fore, he might have to say to his countrymen was written on the white ivory •
of truth, stamped with the seal of sincerity and of experience, the experience
of one who had personally borne his share in the greatest struggle, and been
subjected to the greatest storm, of which it is possible to conceive.
The intensity of the storm undoubtedly affected ^Eschylus for life. The
tremendous shock of the Persian invasion, and the outcome of the shock —
reversing, as they did, all human forecasts and anticipations — seem to have
opened for him, as it were, a glimpse into the depths of the mysteries which
underlie human life. It is impossible for him to view life from the standpoint
of Pindar. Such a view for him is too narrow, too restricted. Life to
^schylus is more than the development of the individual as an individual,
however grand the ideal of the individual may be. To ^schylus, all true
life, every noble life, involves the relation of that life to a higher life, the
360
» THE IDEA OF GOD 361
subordination of the individual to a higher Will — that Will which governs
the great whole of which the individual forms part, and but an infinitesimal
part. Only by keeping touch with that higher Will, and in obedience to it,
can the individual learn and fulfil his own destiny.
That such a conception should be found among the Hellenes, a nation
whose very world-task was the development of individualism, of progress by
the experiments of individuals, is a fact so striking that of itself it rouses our
astonishment, ^schylus, the apostle of freedom, the poet who says of his
countrymen that they "to no man are subject, they are not slaves," is yet the
most earnest upholder of the necessity of subordination, of the doctrine that
God " only is free."
It is evident that the man who could work out such a paradox, who could
show his age-fellows five hundred years before Christ that true freedom goes
hand in hand with subordination, is a thinker for all time. The attempt,
therefore, to follow him in those currents of thought which led to rich results
is singularly interesting.
THE IDEA OF GOD
Incredible as it may seem to those who have accustomed themselves to
think of Greek antiquity as wrapped in utter darkness, it is nevertheless true
to say of ^Eschylus that God is seldom absent from his thoughts. To him, as
to the chorus in his Aga7nemnon, God is " the Cause of all, the Power that
fashioneth all. What happeneth to mortals without Zeus ? what is there not
decreed by God ? " Zeus to ^Eschylus, as to Homer, to Hesiod, to Pindar, is
something more than the Zeus of the myths. He is the representative of that
Invisible Justice whose workings man indeed may trace, but Himself is hid
from mortal view. " Who," he asks in'the Suppliants, " can discern the mind
of Zeus, that fathomless abyss?" His will is deed. "Steadfast, unover-
thrown in fight, the deed in brow supreme of Zeus ripeneth to completion.
Tangled, by darkness overshadowed, stretch the pathways of his thought,
impenetrable, inscrutable to mortal sight.^ From towering hopes to doom he
hurleth mortals, nor armeth himself with force thereto, for all without effort
doth the divinity effect. A thought alone from holy seats on high at once
destroyeth mortal pride." In the same drama, again, Zeus is hailed as " king
of kings, of blessed ones most blessed, mightiest perfecter of perfectness ! "
So intense is his belief in the one Divine Power that, were it not for the
mythical background of his dramas, ^schylus might be ranked as a mono-
theist. He, like Pindar, however, clings to the old polytheistic ideas, and for
the same reason, viz. that they are essential to him in his work. The subject-
matter of his tragedies, as of those of Sophocles and Euripides, is taken from
the myths and heroic sagas. These represented to a Greek the whole of
history, sacred and secular, and the poet was dependent on them for his hyle^
the material, thus fed by the fire of his genius. That the fire of JEschylus,
like that of Pindar and of Sophocles, was a cleansing, purifying flame, is self-
evident. If ^schylus cannot, like Xenophanes, abandon the anthropomorphic
form, he will at least *cause the spiritual to shine through it. If he retains
the polytheistic idea — the lords many and gods many who held dominion over
his countrymen — it is because in his view this idea is no^ incompatible with
^ From the abundance of his metaphors, and the rapidity with which he passes from one
idea to the other, ^schyhis is often obscure. Here the image " unoverthrown in fight,"
borrowed from the contests of the games, is followed immediately by the metaphor of track-
less forest. " God's ways are unsearchable, past finding out."
362 ^SCHYLUS I
the sovereignty of God. He shows his age with unmistakable clearness the
result of his owm thinking, his own firm belief, viz. that One Hand holds the
helm of the world, One Mind guides the affairs of the universe. One God rules
over all — to Him gods and men alike are subject.
Other rulers may have preceded Zeus on the world-throne, so say the myths;
those powers of nature have passed away, they were imperfect. Zeus alone
remains victor — victor necessarily because he is perfection, standing above
nature, the world-orderer, intellectually and morally the upholder of the
Kosmos.
Not only, however, are the old nature-powers, Uranus, Kronus, the
Titans, the Erinyes, subject to him, but Apollo, the great power of Delphi —
a real power both intellectually and spiritually among the Greeks, as we have
seen — is but the prophet, the mouthpiece, of his father. Never has Apollo
on his seer's throne said concerning man, woman, or state what Zeus, the
father of the Olympians, had not bidden him say. Athena also, wisdom
personified, has received her wisdom from him.
It is noticeable that, in order, as it were, to demonstrate this inherent
absolute sovereignty of Zeus, ^Eschylus dwells with special emphasis on the
very myths which Pindar would fain pass over in silence — the myths concerning
strife among the immortals. Strife, according to JSschylus, there was ; but
its cause is the opposition offered by the imperfect to the perfect ; and until
the imperfect learns to know its own shortcomings, and to recognise the
existence of a higher order of things, the strife must continue. Highest
wisdom must also be highest might ; God must reign until He has put all
things, rebellious gods and men included, under His feet. This is necessary
in the best interests of the world. When Athena wins the cause of Orestes
against the Furies, she exclaims : " Zeus hath triumphed ! our zeal ^ for good
in all is victor ! " *
Hence we find JEschylus deliberately choosing subjects which exhibit in
the darkest colours this conflict between the imperfect and the perfect, the
half-knowing and the all-knowing, the presumptuous and the all-wise. To
this subject we must recur shortly. It is full of the deepest interest. Mean-
time we would ask the reader's careful consideration of one very remarkable
passage Avhich embodies well-nigh the whole of the j3j]schylean theology. It
occurs in the first choral ode of the Agamemnon : —
Zeus, whoe'er he be, this name
If it pleaseth him to claim,
This to him will I address ;
Weighing all, no power I know
Save only Zeus, if I aside would throw
In sooth as vain this burden of distress.
Nor doth he so great of yore,
With all-defying boldness rife,
Longer avail ; his reign is o'er.
The next, thrice vanquished in the strife,
Hath also passed ; but who the victor-strain
To Zeus uplifts, true wisdom shall obtain.
No one who knows the original can fail to admire the skill of the transla-
tion here given. ^ If the passage appears at first sight obscure, it is because
of its very fulness^ of thought. The following brief analysis of the original,
may possibly help us to follow the train of ideas in the poet's mind : —
^ Lit. eris, that contention, Competition or mastery, which the Greeks thought so beneficial.
'^ We owe it to Miss Swanwick's admirable Dramas of JSschylus (Bohn's Classical Library),
from which the other metrical citations in this section are also taken.
SIN 363
(i) The great Power to whom we give the facile name of ''Zeus," who is
He? I, for my part, hesitate to call Him by this name, but — I know no
other.
(2) Pondering all things with myself, I find as the outcome of my thought
that there is naught which can be conceived of as above or beyond this Divine
Power. To none save Himself may He even be compared.
(3) Reliance on Him alone it is that can enable me to cast aside in very
truth the fruitless burden of thought.
(4) The powers of nature have passed away before Him — necessarily, by
reason of imperfection.
(5) Zeus alone remains the victor. Whoso recognises that it is the world-
orderer, highest wisdom, that wisely orders all things, and uplifts to him the
song of victory — that man shall obtain the whole fruit of thought.
Before passing on, we may note that ^schylus, like his predecessors,
often uses the word Theos, " God," instead of any appellative. This, in his
case, is closely connected with the hesitation which we have just noticed in
applying the name "Zeus" to the Supreme Being. Nevertheless, as we have
seen the same peculiarity in Homer (p. 225) and in Pindar (p. 341), the fact
is significant, and points to the national consciousness of a Divine power
apart from and beyond the myths — the God of the human heart. Thus, in
the Agamemnon we have : " Not to be of evil mind — this is the greatest gift
of God (Theos)." And in the same drama Agamemnon bids his consort, Cly-
temnestra, receive with kindness the Trojan princess Cassandra, Priam's
daughter, now his slave. " For," says he, " God (Theos) looks graciously on the
victor who uses his power gently. For willingly doth no one bear the captive's
yoke." Finally, we may note the significant use of the word in the pregnant
thought: "Success! this, among mortals, is God (Theos), aye, and more than
God." ^schylus is clearly no worshipper of mammon in any shape.
These examples may suflice ; it would be easy to add to their number.
Finally, it is requisite to note that ^schylus, like Pindar, retained the
myths concerning the Divine lineage of certain heroic families. He, like
Pinda^r, upholds the doctrine of heredity. That the deepest thinker among
the Greeks should have believed in the necessity of a union of the Divine
nature with the human, before the latter could reach its highest development,
is very significant.
It is in this sense, the belief in the influence of heredity, that the myths
of lo and Cassandra, as retold by ^schylus, must be read. Both are the
objects of superhuman love — lo has been chosen by Zeus to be the mother
of a Divine race, Cassandra by Apollo ; both resist the offered love — lo fearing
the dangers before her, Cassandra preferring an earthly love ; both suffer the
penalty of their disobedience. Against such anthropomorphic legends, as we
know, Xenophanes had earnestly protested. Nevertheless, in the hands of
^schylus, the believer in the union of the Divine and human as the source
of great benefits to man, both myths had to his countrymen spiritual meaning.
SIN
The correlative of a high conception of God is, naturally, a high concep-
tion of His requirements. If the Orderer, the Perfecter of the universe be
perfect, perfection must reign in every part of that universe. Looking out,
then, on the world, and contrasting the perfect order of the Kosmos with
the evidence of disturbance in the world caused by man, it is not difiicult to
364 ^SCHYLUS
see that life and its problems.must have weighed heavily on a mind like that
of ^schylus.
Little is known of the poet's history ; but one fact is certain, viz. that the
seven dramas which have been preserved are all products of his ripest period. The
Prometheus Bound was probably written in his fiftieth year, the others within
the next fifteen years. Hence, in all, we have expressed the convictions of
maturity, of a life of thought and experience, ^schylus is no youthful Byron
or Shelley, beating his wings within the cage of facts, and striving in vain to
escape from it. If he went through any Sturm und Drang period, he has long
since passed out of it. He has freed himself by the simple observation of
life. His experience has shown him that man is the maker of his own cage
— the maker, often, of a cage for others. Man, not the Divine Power, is the
maker of the misery of the world. That misery to ^schylus is concentrated
in the one word ate = sin = ruin.
Homer, as we know, also recognised the existence of ate., a tendency
which, as in the case of his Helen, his Agamemnon, Achilles, Hector even,
brought its own punishment with it. In the centuries that have passed, this
recognition of sin and its consequences has deepened. To ^schylus, it is
the solution of the greatest of all problems — the misery of human lives. He
will by no means allow that desolation or ruin can come upon any one merely on
account of his own previous happiness or "good fortune," through the " jealousy"
of the gods. Such a view of God is impossible to ^schylus. True, he uses the
phrase " jealousy of the gods " on several occasions, but the words always
represent, not the belief of vEschylus himself, but the current notion of the
time, put into the mouth of some one or other of the dramatis per sonce, as, e.g.,
that of Agamemnon or of Olytemnestra in the Agamemnon, or of the messenger
in the Persians. The poet's own view was diametrically opposed to the popular
notion — sin alone is the cause of woe. " There exists," he says in the Agamem-
non, *' among mortals an ancient saying spoken of old, that the perfect bliss
of man bears offspring, nor dies childless ; that out of good fortune there
buddeth forth to the race unceasing woe. Apart from others," he continues,
" I hold a solitary belief : the ungodly act, indeed, brings forth abundantly a
race like unto itself,^ but the destiny of the righteous is that his house shall
aye be blessed with loved children." The idea that ancient liyhris, old,
unrepented-of sin, perpetually brings forth new sin, is worked out by ^schylus
specially in the great trilogy of the Oresteia ; but it recurs again and again
in the other dramas — sometimes under the metaphor of parent and child, as
above, sometimes under that of seed and harvest, as in the Persians, where
we shall presently meet with it, and in the profoundly significant thought
expressed in the Seveii against Thebes.
" Ate's field - yields death for harvest."
Both metaphors may well be compared with the doctrine of the sacred
writer. 2
" When lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin ; and sin, when it is
finished, bringeth forth death."
Whence did the old poet get these thoughts ?
The whole subject of sin and its results is, however, so intimately connected
with the ideal of JEschylus and his conception of God as the upholder of the
great unwritten laws that it will be best examined in connection with those
parts of our investigation. Here we need only say in general terms that
^ Lit. its own image (eikota). Genesis v. 3 : " Adam . . . begat a son in his own likeness,
after his image."
- The field of sin. ^ g^. James i. 15.
SIN 36s
^schylus in his pselaphdn, his groping after the truth, has made three very
important advances : —
(i) To him sin is not merely the outward breach of the great laws written
on the conscience of man ; it lies also in the rebellion of the will. This, as we
can see, depends closely on the exalted conception of the Divine Being arrived
at by the poet.
(2) Then, again, ^schylus has made the startling discovery that sin not
only, as we have seen, begets fresh sin, as a parent the child, in the same
individual, but that the tendency to sin may actually be inherited, transmitted
from one generation to another.
(3) Lastly, he believes firmly that sin is abhorrent to God, as perfection,
and that He Himself takes measures to check it, and bring back the erring
into the paths of that soberness of thought (sophronein, lit. soundness of
mind) which the Greeks regarded as the only true wisdom. " Some think,"
he says in the Ar/cmiemnon, " that the gods do not deign to pay heed when
the grace of holy things is trodden under foot of mortals. This idea is not
righteous." If God be perfect. He must take note of sin and punish it ; if He
be the perfecter. He will complete in men what is lacking in them through
ignorance and infirmity : —
" To sober thought Zeus paves the way,
And wisdom links with pain.
In sleep the anguish of remembered ill
Drops on the troubled heart ; against their will
Rebellious men are tutored to be wise."^
Pathos Mathos — Leapning" by Suffering*. — How strange to find the
doctrine in this old-world writer ; stranger still is it to find it connected with the
dealings of God. The idea is not confined to ^^schylus, as we shall presently
see. Nay, if we regard Odysseus, the man of many trials as well as of many
devices, as made patient by these trials, we may even say that pathos mathos
is to be found in Homer, like most germs of Hellenic thought. Nevertheless,
it is in ^schylus that we first find the teaching set forth in all its depth.
" God it is who leads mortals into the way of wisdom. By His decree learning
flows from suffering. Yea, even in the slumber of the soul the Divine power
can awaken it, and lead it by anguish of conscience, remembrance of past woe,
to soberness of thought." Pathos mathos — perfection by suffering : this is the
necessary supplement of sin and suffering : —
" For justice doth for sufferers ordain
To purchase wisdom at the cost of pain."
The same thought occurs again in the Eumenides : '^ Profitable is it to
become of sound mind by suffering," by stenei, literally by straitness, by
coming into straits, by the pressure of circumstances — ^a saying which reminds
us of our Lord's description of the strait gate as a stene pyle, and the narrow
way as a hodos tethlimmene, or way that hems, and confines, and presses one in,
and palls and irks one.
^ This strophe should be read as the sequel to the two given on p. 362. In the original
it follows immediately upon the declaration that the confession of the victory of God as
perfection gives "the whole {to pan) of thought." We quote them again here that the
sequence may be seen.
366 J^SCHYLUS
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS
From what has been said of the poet's conception of the might and majesty
of Zeus, it follows that, to him, Zeus is still the representative of the Invisible
Justice, upholding the laws graven on the conscience of man. No one of
the great laws which we have traced in Homer and Pindar is overlooked
by ^schylus; but in the dramas which have come down to us several are
specially singled out, some as having arrested the attention of the poet
by their conspicuous action in the world around him, others perhaps because
it seemed to him desirable to impress them more deeply on the minds of his
countrymen. These are the laws touching the reverence due to the Divine
power, and those concerning the sacredness of the guest-right, the marriage
bond, and the suppliant. Lastly, -<3^schylus promulgates and emphasises a law
hardly known as such to Homer — the law of the sacredness of human life. It
will become apparent to us, in ^schylus as in Pindar, that the sense of these
laws has deepened and strengthened since the age of Homer, and that in like
manner the sense of their connection with God is now most intimately felt.
The first of the great laws, to ^schjdus as to Socrates, is undoubtedly
the reverence due to that Divine power which he so distinctly perceived, and
to which he so unwillingly gave the name of " Zeus." We have pointed out
that, " pagan " as he is, God is never very far from the thoughts of ^schylus,
and perhaps the best proof of this is the way in which he treats that most
striking event of ancient history, the Persian invasion. He had himself
fought in all the three great battles ; his own brother had done the most
heroic of deeds at Marathon ; the poet had witnessed and himself shared in
the sacrifices made by his countrymen — their loss of home and property ; he
had seen their bravery, the courage of despair. And yet, like Pindar, to none
of these causes, neither to heroism, self-sacrifice, nor valour, does he assign the
great defeat. He sees the root of that in the attitude of the Persian monarch
and of the Persians themselves towards the Divine power.
The keynote of this is struck in the opening of the Persians, when Atossa,
the wife of Darius and mother of Xerxes, is hailed as " wife of the Persians'
god, yea, and mother too." Alexander and the later Hellenes, as we know,
followed the Oriental custom in the assumption of Divine titles ; but to a Greek
of the age of ^schylus such assumptions, and the words in which they found
expression, belonged to those which Pindar describes as *' bordering on mad-
ness." Now the Greeks of this period shrank back from anything that even
bore the appearance of a wish to usurp Divine honours, as is seen in the Aga-
memnon, where the king, on his return from Troy, refused to tread upon the
magnificent carpet spread for him as victor before the entrance to the palace at
Argos. " Honour me," he says to Clytemnestra, " as a man, not as a god."
The presumption which has induced the Persian rulers to arrogate to them-
selves Divine titles and honours, and the subservience with which these were
accorded by the people, would appear to be in the eyes of ^schylus the main
cause of their misfortunes. On account of this there has come upon Xerxes a
kind of intellectual disturbance, a mental blinding, known by the Greeks as
apate. This apate or delusion, personified by Hesiod, was regarded in the light
of a visitation sent by the Divine power as punishment for some original ate
or sin. Herodotus tells us that Xerxes was urged on to the expedition against
Greece by misleading dreams, and in repeating this story he probably represents
the belief of his age. ^schylus also attributes the belief in the apate to the
Persians. Thus, with a foreboding presentiment of the coming misfortune, the
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 367
chorus of Persian elders is made to say : " What mortal man can avoid the
ensnaring delusion (ajmte) of a god ? Who with swift foot may leap lightly out
of the net into which Ate with friendly words has beguiled him ? Thence no
mortal may escape."
The metaphor of the hunter's net is a repetition in another form of a very
old idea. In the Iliad, as we remember, Agamemnon tries to excuse himself
to Achilles by the myth in which he represented the (;^te as not only a tempting
but a constraining power. Ate and Zeus and fate had compelled him to sin.
But just as Homer puts his finger on the true ate in the " wretched passion " of
Agamemnon, so does^schylus show that the " net " of Apate is of Xerxes' own
spinning — the threads are woven by his own presumptuous tendencies. When,
in the course of the drama, the shade of Darius appears, summoned from the
grave on the arrival of the fatal news at Susa to give counsel in the emergency,
the visitor from the other world goes to the root of the matter, and attributes
the disaster which has overtaken the Persians to the ignorance and youthful
folly of his son. Xerxes has not only defied the gods, but thought to master
them. "Is not this," says Darius, "a disease of the mind?" In order to
understand fully the presumption of Xerxes it is necessary to look at it from
the standpoint of the age. Readers of Herodotus will recollect that the Persian
monarch had taken upon himself to chastise the Hellespont. A storm had
swept away the bridges constructed to connect the Asiatic with the European
coast, and as a punishment Xerxes ordered that the current should receive
three hundred lashes, and that a pair of fetters should be let down into it.
Ludicrous and childish as the incident appears to us, it had to a Greek a very
serious side, for the chastisement of the sea by Xerxes meant no|;hing less than
the chastisement of the power that controls both winds and waves. The act,
therefore, indicated that Xerxes, in his own opinion, was superior to the power
— master, in fact, of gods and of men.^
Lastly, Xerxes or his troops had burned the temples of the gods in Greece.
In all three ways, therefore — by assumption of Divine honours, by the folly
that claimed to be the superior of the great nature-powers, by sacrilege —
Xerxes had drawn down upon himself the Divine vengeance, and ensured his
own defeat. He himself says, " A god turned round upon me ! " and the Persian
elders, after hearing the report of the messenger from Europe, at once
exclaimed, " O sovereign Zeus, thou who hast now destroyed the Persian army,
the countless land-exulting host, hast hidden Susa and Egbatana beneath a
cloud of grief."
No pains are spared by ^schylus to expose the folly of the pretender to
Divine honours. We can imagine the ripple of amusement which must have
passed over the immense assembly in the Athenian theatre where Xerxes is
observed in the hot haste of his flight — unkempt, in garments tattered and
torn, and exhibiting, as a proof of what he had suffered, his rags ! To the
Athenians, who had fought and bled and agonised in the struggle, the scathing
1 According to Herodotus (vii. 35), Xerxes orders those who administered the flogging to
address the Hellespont in these barbarous and presumptuous words : " O thou bitter water, thy
master inflicts this punishment upon thee." Xerxes, again, had committed another and, in
Greek opinion, equally fatal act in making the canal for the passage of his vessels through the
isthmus which connects the promontory of Mount Athos with the mainland. Herodotus
declares that the ships could easily have been drawn across the isthmus, and he ct>njectures that
the making of the canal was due to motives of pride ; Xerxes wished to leave behind him
a monument of his power (vii. 24). In the eyes of a Greek all nature was sacred, and this
interference with the existing order of things, bringing water where land had been, was a
serious matter, betokening that the author of the deed considered himself wiser than the
unseen powers.
368 ^SCHYLUS
exposure of the man who was "in good fortune a hero, in bad" a despicable
coward, must have been as a draught of good wine.
If the presumption of Xerxes, however, forms the warp of the net of Apate,
the woof is woven by his ambition. The master of the land would be master
of the sea as well ; the land of Asia covets Europe also. Such overweening
pride must be checked, if the balance of the world is to be maintained. Hence
the messenger from the seat of war, after stating to the queen the disproportion
between the Persian and the Greek naval powers — the fact that the Persian
vessels were in number nearly as four to one of the Greek — adds : " Do we
seem to thee the weaker in this battle? Nay, but some god destroyed the
army, depressing the scale with unequal fortune."
The memorable words in which the shade of Darius predicts the fate of the
forces left behind in Boeotia, and the result of the engagement at Platsea, may
be taken as a summary of the poet's own views on the expedition.
"Heaps of the slain shall remain," he says, "yea, even to the third
generation, a voiceless witness to the eyes of men that overweening thoughts
befit not mortals. For insolence (hyhris), bursting into bloom, bringeth forth
a harvest-ear of sin [ate), and reapeth a lamentable crop. Beholding, then,
such judgment on these deeds, bethink you of Athens, of Hellas — and let none,
despising the present fortune, lusting after other things, throw happiness
away. Zeus, the chastiser of presumptuous thoughts, is close at hand, a stern
auditor." ^
Read in the light of the after-history of Athens herself, the warning has
a prophetic ring.
The Guest-Rigrht. The Marriagre Bond. — Turning now to the poet's views
on another of the great unwritten laws — the sacred guest-right — we find this,
the beginning of all international law, employed even more strongly than in
Homer. The moral necessity of the Trojan war, which we gathered indirectly
from many passages in the Iliad, is boldly proclaimed by JEschylus over a«id
over again in the Agamemnon, as a war of extirpation undertaken in a most
righteous cause. The Greek heroes had sailed for Ilion at the bidding of Zeus
Xenios, god of the guest and host, protector of the hearth, to avenge the
breach of hospitality committed by Paris. Long, says the poet, had Zeus held
the bow over the head of Paris, that the shaft might not fall before the
appointed time, nor yet in vain beyond the stars. Now that Troy is burned,
Priam slain, his wife and children carried into captivity, all must confess the
stroke of Zeus — clearly may it be traced ; what he decreed he hath also
accomplished.
As to the part taken by Helen in the great disaster, the poet sums it up
in a passage of singular beauty. " There came to Ilion,"' he says, " a spirit
of gentle calm " — calm as the unruffled breezeless sea — " the soothing delight
of wealth, soft dart of the eyes, heart-piercing flower of love." But this
"gentle spirit" had another side — she was one that "had swerved from the
right course, brought a bitter end to wedlock." She came under the escort of
Zeus Xenios himself, " bringing ruin to the home and children of Priam, an evil
comrade, a bridal guest, or Fury in disguise." In other and equally striking
passages the poet emphasises the fruitage of Helen's sin. Not only had she
brought destruction to Ilion as her dower, but what misery had she bequeathed
to her own people — the turmoil of warriors, the clashing of spears ! Each
^ Euthynos. The metaphor is taken from the examination to which all magistrates and
other functionaries were subjected in Athens at the expiry of their term of office. The poet
implies that the " too-much," arrogated to itself by presumption, leaves a deficit somewhere —
is a kind of stolen property, which has to be accounted for.
THE IDEAL OF ^SCHYLUS 369
home knew, indeed, whom it had sent forth to Troy, but who or what returned?
Instead of men there reached home a little dust — the precious ashes of the
dead, sore-wept. No apostle of peace could more strongly express the horrors
of war than does the fighter by land and sea.
The claims of suppliants are set forth most strongly by the poet in the
drama which bears their name. He loses no opportunity, however, of enforc-
ing the duty of protection by the stronger party to those in need of it —
possibly with a view to that great extension of the power and influence of
Athens which took place after the Persian wars. The rights of the suppliant
and the fugitive formed, as we have seen, another of the great bases of inter-
national law, and, like the guest-right, were under the special care of God.
Thus in the Eumenides, when Orestes flees to the altar of Apollo at Delphi, the
god tells the persecuting Furies that he himself will defend and deliver the
fugitive, "for," he says, "fearful both to mortals and to gods is the wrath of
the suppliant," if he should be betrayed.
Blood-Guilt. — It is, however, on the subject of blood-guilt, the sacredness
of human life, that one of the most conspicuous differences between the age of
Homer and that of our poet is seen. As coming from the " Warrior Bard,"
one who had himself shed blood enough in open fight, the teaching of ^schylus is
striking. In the Iliad, as we have seen, murder may be compounded for by the
payment of a fine or ransom (p. 290). The doctrine of ^schylus, on the other
hand, is strictly that of the Book of Genesis: "Whoso sheddeth man's blood,
by man shall his blood be shed ; ... at the hand of every man's brother will
I require the life of man." ^ " It is a law (nomos)," says the poet in the
Choephoroi, "that when once the blood-stream hath poured upon the ground, it
demandeth other blood." ^
" Justice cries aloud, and exacts the debt. Blood-stroke for blood-stroke
must be paid. Doer of wrong must suffer." This he calls a " thrice-hoary
saying " — one from remotest antiquity. " When blood hath fallen on the
earth," he asks again, "what ransom may be taken for it? Woe to the
desolate hearth! Woe to the home o'erthrown!" "Though all streams
poured in one flood to cleanse the guilt from blood-stained hand, they poured
in vain."
This deeply-rooted belief in the sacredness of human life must be borne in
mind specially in reading the Orestes Trilogy. It runs through the three
dramas like a scarlet thread.
THE IDEAL OF ^SCHYLUS
Putting together the poet's lofty idea of God and his deep perception of
sin, it is not difficult to divine wherein his ideal lies. Before the ideals of the
individual can even become possible, the world-ideal must become fact, the
moral order of the universe must be regained. Hence the restoration of the
harmony between God and man — this, and nothing less than this, is the ideal
of ^schylus. His conceptions of this vast problem are set forth specially in
the Prometheus Bound and the great Orestes Trilogy.
In the Prometheus \fQ have to contend with a difficulty — the drama is only a
fragment, of which we possess neither the beginning nor the end. ^schylus
seems to have considered a sequence of three dramas necessary to develop
the underlying idea of each tragedy in its fulness. The Prometheus Trilogy
^ Genesis ix. 6, 5.
•^ Cf. Genesis iv. 10 : "The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto Me from the ground."
2 A
370
^SCHYLUS
included Prometheus the Fire-hringer, Prometheus Bound, and Prometheus
Released. Of these three the middle link only has been preserved ; and
in estimating its true meaning it is necessary to take as our criterion all
that we know of the mind -of the poet, as evidenced in his other works.
Let us look first at the drama as it stands : a brief analysis of the intro-
duction will help us here.
When the play opens we find ourselves on " earth's remotest plain," a wild
and desolate region of the Caucasus. A grand figure appears upon the scene
— it is the great Titan, Prometheus, led by two gigantic daemons, Strength and
Force, and followed by the Olympian god HephsBStus (Yulcan). Strength
and Force, representing the rabble multitude, are in glee — seldom have they
a chance of exercising their talents on such a subject. Hephaestus, on the
contrary — type of a higher power, that of Divine knowledge — is overwhelmed
with grief.
The object of their presence in this lonely spot is soon apparent. Hephaestus
is called upon by Strength to execute the sentence of Zeus without delay, and
bind the all-defying Titan with adamantine bonds to the rock — Hephaestus, the
god of the arts, must be perforce fulfilled of the decree, for against him has
the Titan specially sinned ; Prometheus has stolen his very " flower," the
radiant flame of fire, whereby all arts are possible, and given it to mortals.
" Such are the sins," ^ says Strength, " for which to the gods he must give
satisfaction,^ that he may learn to honour the sovereignty of Zeus, and cease
from his love of humankind."
"Alas, Prometheus!" rejoins Hephaestus, "against my will must I nail
thee, unwilling, to this lonely height, where neither human voice nor human
form shalt thou perceive." To suffer here for ages, exposed to fiery sun and
winter frost — this is the doom of Prometheus. " Evermore present with thee,
the weight of woe shall wear thee out," says Hephaestus, "for thy deliverer ^
is not yet born. This is the fruit of thy love to humankind [philantJirdpou tropou).
For thou, a god not bowing to the wrath of gods, hast given to mortals honours
beyond the right. Hence thou must keep thy joyless watch upon this rock —
erect, unsleeping, bending not the knee. Many the sigh, many the moan,
which thou shalt pour — in vain ; for inexorable is the mind of Zeus, and harsh
is every one but newly come to power" (i8 e^ ^^Q.-)j:, The lamentations of
Hephaestus are sternly cut short by Strength : " Dost thou not hate the hated
of the gods ? " Hephaestus could wish his art accursed before being enlisted in
this task ; but constraint is upon him : " None is free but Zeus," and, goaded
by Strength and Force, he sets to work. The chains are placed around the arms
of the Titan : " Strike hairder, bind fast, by no means slacken ! " urges Strength.
" He shall learn, shrewd though he be,^ his wit is duller yet than Zeus."
The iron band is passed around the Titan's chest, the feet are secured, and
then the three depart, Strength launching the parting sneer : " Now boast
thyself ! rob the gods of their meed of honour, and give it to thy creatures of a
day. What can thy dying men take from thee of thy sufferings? "
The Titan is left in solitude. No word has he vouchsafed in reply either
to the compassion of Hephaestus or the taunts of the attendants. But now —
alone — his agony breaks forth. He calls upon all nature — sacred aether, swift-
winged breezes, river-founts, the "many-twinkling smile" of ocean's waves,
Earth the all-mother, Helios the all-observing sun, to see what he, a god, from
^ Hamartia = ia,i\\xve.
^ Dike = ]nstice. Justice demands a penalty.
^ Lopheson, lit. he to whom shall be transferred thy burden (v. 22).
* Lit. sophist though he be.
THE IDEAL OF ^.SCHYLUS 371
gods must suffer. And what has been his sin? " Behold me, miserable, a god
in fetters ! " he exclaims, " hated by Zeus, detested by all the gods that enter
within the hall of Zeus, because I bore a love too great to mortals " (i 19 e^ seq.).
This is the head and front of his offending ; this is the sin which has condemned
him thus to hang in chains 'twixt earth and aether.
Our glance at these opening lines may suffice to make clear the antagonism
on which the drama is built up, the struggle between a world-ruler stern,
resolute, not to be moved, and a sufferer whose only crime, on his own showing,
is his "too great love for man."
Naturally, Prometheus has our keenest sympathy, not only as champion of
the human race, but as the victim of apparent injustice. His indomitable
courage, his strength of will, the supremacy of mind visible in physical suffering,
all command and gain our deepest admiration. With the ocean-nymphs who
come to mingle their sighs and tears with those of Prometheus, we ourselves
are filled with indignation at this, as it seems, most monstrous perversion of
justice. Such is the effect which the opening of the drama has upon us. Zeus
is a tyrant, revengeful, cruel ; Prometheus a martyr, noble, grand, suffering in
the most glorious of causes, the defence of the helpless.
Here, however, the knowledge of the poet's mind which we have from other
sources steps in, and it may be asked : " Can this possibly be the effect which
^-Eschylus, the believer in a God of righteousness, intended to produce ? " We
reply, Yes ! to a certain extent, ^schylus is describing a great contest, and
he is too just not to allow the defendant to state the case in his own way, to
say all in his own favour that can possibly be said. In this middle drama we
have Prometheus' version of the matter. The first drama, Fromefheu^ the
Fire-hmiger, which probably stated the case from the point of view of Zeus,
is lost. This is a factor which cannot be overlooked. When Athena appears
in the drama of the Eumemdes, it is as daughter of Zeus, in the character of
Perfect Justice, In this character she reminds the Furies — who will not allow
Orestes, the accused, to speak — that she has heard one side of the case only.
Justice demands that both shall have a hearing. In forming our judgment,
therefore, of the Prometheus Bound, let us bear in mind that we, too, have
heard one side of the case only. Prometheus has told his tale — Zeus is a
tyrant, he a victim to injustice. Now let us look at the other side as, from
our knowledge of the myth, we can suppose it to have been handled by
i^schylus.
Briefly, then, the crime of Prometheus is this : —
(i) He has brought into existence an imperfect, erring race of beings,
feeble mortals, creatures of a day. It is Prometheus, not Zeus, who, according
to the myths, created man. Prometheus himself — as belonging to the race of
inferior deities, said by the myths to have preceded Zeus and the Olympian
gods — is not capable of endowing his creatures with a higher nature than his
own. As a consequence, his mortals cannot but be defective in the eyes of
highest wisdom.
(2) Further, he has taught these mortals the art of cunning. In the old myth
of the sacrifice at Mecone (Sicyon), Prometheus sets them the example of trying
to outwit wisdom. Hence, by inspiring ephemeral creatures with the notion
that they can successfully match their puny faculties against the all-wisdom
on high, he has incited them to rebellion, and brought about the inevitable
antagonism between heaven and earth. More than this, Prometheus refuses
to admit that he has done wrong. When Zeus, foreseeing what this spirit
of deceit and rebellion would lead to, resolves that the race of man shall be
destroyed from off the face of the earth, to be succeeded by a nobler race of
372 ^SCHYLUS
his own creation, and to this end withdraws from them Jire, the prop of life,
Prometheus, on his part, determines to frustrate the resolve of heaven. He
steals fire from the sun, brings it again to mortals, and thus perpetuates frail
humankind, with all its sin and all its misery.
Such is the case for Zeus, as set forth in the old Hesiodic myths on which
the poet had to work. The words to which we have been listening are the
words of a rebel. We turn again to the drama to examine more closely the
character of the great Titan, as set forth by himself. Is there any indication,
on Prometlieus' own showing, that his condemnation and punishment are jvist ?
As the development of the drama proceeds, we are not left in doubt as to this.
Prometheus himself reveals his character to us.
(i) We are startled to find that what he most plumes himself upon is his
subtlety, his cunning. The other Titans, he tells his confidantes, the Oceanides,
trusted to their strength in the contest with Zeus. Not so he ! Warned by
his mother Earth, he took refuge in the wily arts (206).
He knew that " neither force nor violence availeth aught ; by guile alone
do victors hold the rule " (212).
(2) We notice further, on looking back, that Hephaestus and the messengers
of Zeus do not speak of the Titan's love to humankind as philanthropia proper,
but as a "philanthropic way," a *' sort" of philanthropy, pTiilanthrdpou tropoii,
twice repeated (v. 1 1 and 28). This may mean, of course, a philanthropic habit ;
but we venture to think that the inference drawn above is, from the context,
legitimate. Can it be that Prometheus has not in reality proved so true a
friend to man as he conceives to be the case ? Let Prometheus himself answer
the question. Here are the benefits which he first and specially singles out as
his own boons to men (248, 250) : —
'* Mortals I hindered from foreseeing death."
And how has he accomplished this ?
" Blind hopes I planted in their breasts."
Irresistibly we are reminded of the dialogue in the first book of the Hebrew
Scriptures, where one who also prides himself upon his subtlety says, " Ye
shall not surely die ... ye shall be as gods." ^
Prometheus goes on to describe in detail all that he has done for mortals
(442 et seq.). He found them, he says, burrowing in holes in the earth, and
taught them how to make to themselves dwellings, how to pass to and fro in
ships, to yoke the beast of burden, to work the precious metals. Not only this,
but he it is who gave them numbers and letters, taught them to observe the
stars, gave them the means of healing disease, nay, even showed to them the
import of the omens of tlie gods — gave them a kind of religion. The long list
of his benefactions he brings thus proudly to a close : " To sum the whole in one
short word, learn that all arts {technce) came to mortals from Prometheus " (505).
Ay, but there are things more important still to mortals than even teclmce.
Has Prometheus taken thought for justice, manliness, reverence, for good faith,
for spotless truth, the white flower of a blameless life ? There is no answer.
Such things are beyond Prometheus' ken. The great unwritten laws have no
voice for him. His aim has been to make his mortals clever, ingenious, skilled
in all manner of technoe, of " craft " in the double sense, full of blind hopes,
and oblivious of their destiny. This is the " philanthropic way " of Prometheus.-
1 Genesis i. 4, 5.
2 That Prometheus had omitted the nobler qualities in the making of his creatures was
the meaning read into the myth in antiquity. Horace says that the Titan had borrowed the
properties wherewith he endowed his mortals from all the animals {Carm., i. 16, 3).
THE IDEAL OF ^SCHYLUS 373
Well may Oceanus, the prudent old god who comes to offer his intervention,
say to the unfortunate Titan (309): "Prometheus, know thyself!" Look
well into thy much-vaunted love for humankind, and see if it be perfect, if
nothing be wanting to this thine ideal of humanity. " Adopt new * ways '
(tropos)," he adds. Harmonise thy ways into conformity with the ways of
wisdom, against which thou dost rebel.
(3) Then, again, the lofty opinion which we had formed of Prometheus
himself receives another shock when we find him abandoning the noble
reticence of the opening lines — craving for sympathy, recapitulating his own
good deeds, lamenting his fate, and exulting loudly over the downfall and ruin
which he believes to be impending over his adversary.
"Thus," he says, "do I requite, as is meet, scorn for scorn." Might he
but see his foes in like plight with himself ! He hates, not Zeus only, but all
the gods. If it be madness to hate foes, " then," he says, " let me be mad ! "
(970 et seq.).
"Ah ! you object ; this is quite natural. What could one expect? "
Say rather, what could a Greek of the fifth century B.C. expect? But we
who come later in the day have another ideal in our mind. We, too, have our
great Sufferer hanging 'twixt earth and aether, martyred, crucified, by injustice ;
but we listen in vain for one word of reproach or complaint or boasting or
revenge from Him. He, knowing that He came from God and went to God,
that He Himself was God, " held His peace, and answered nothing." " Father,
forgive them ; they know not what they do."
The belief in the impending downfall of Zeus it is that gives the Titan
strength to persevere in his resistance, Prometheus supposes that he is in
sole possession of a secret which could avert the catastrophe. He imagines in
his ignorance that i^ot Zeus but the Fates are the actual rulers of the universe,
and that wisdom, highest orderer, must bow to their decrees (516, 518).
Nature, in his opinion, is greater than God. Hugging himself with this blind
hope, he resolves to wait until Zeus shall have passed away like his predecessors,
Uranus and Kronos.
Of course, in the ^schylean version of the myth, this supposed " secret "
would be known to Zeus as the all-wise. Nevertheless, in the drama the
revelation of it is demanded from Prometheus as a token of submission. This
submission the Titan will not give — Zeus must yield to him, not he to Zeus,
Hermes, the herald of Zeus, who has been sent to reason with him, warns
Prometheus that, if he persists in his rebellion, a terrible fate awaits him.
He will be imprisoned within the heart of the mountain ; not till ages have
elapsed will he be restored to the light, and even then his punishment will
continue, for the winged dog, the eagle of Zeus, shall prey day by day upon
his liver,^ until, in the far-distant future, a god shall appear, the successor of
his woes (1027), willing for his sake to descend into sunless Hades and the
gloomy depths of Tartarus,
Still the all-defying Titan will not yield, " Let Zeus do his worst," he
retorts ; " he cannot kill me ! " (1053). He is taken at his word, and the drama
ends with the crashing of the earthquake which announces to Prometheus that
his doom is sealed, " for the mouth of Zeus knoweth not lies — every word he
bringeth to completion" (1032).
Of the contents of the lost sequel, the Prometheus Released^ we can form at
least some estimate. Prometheus finds, as time rolls on, that his own " blind
hopes " are not realised any more than are those which he gave to mortals.
Death overtakes them ; the empire of wisdom does not pass away. He begins,
^ Among the Greeks the seat of the passions.
374 ^SCHYLUS
by slow degrees, to perceive his folly, that he is injuring no one but himself ;
and in this discovery he is confirmed by the appearance of his brother Titans,
who have been released from Tartarus.^ Zeus consequently cannot be the
malignant being he had pictured. When long ages of suffering have subdued
Prometheus, the promised deliverer, Hercules, the son of Zeus by a mortal
mother, appears, and stays the destroying eagle. Still another condition
remains to he fulfilled before Prometheus can be released — an immortal being,
willing to submit to death, to descend into Hades, for the rebel's sake, must
be found. This obstacle is removed, old Cheiron offers himself, and Prometheus
is free. Doubtless, also, we may suppose that in the ^schylean version the
restoration of Prometheus includes the restoration of his mortals — that Zeus
takes them into his favour and bestows upon them those nobler spiritual
qualities which they can neither gain for themselves nor obtain through
Prometheus. This, at least, is Plato's reading of the myth. In the Prota-
goraff he says that Prometheus taught men the arts of Athena and Hephaestus
(the techncB before mentioned), but that Zeus sent Hermes to teach them
reverence and justice. We may conclude, therefore, that this was also the
idea of ^schylus.
The Prometheus of ^schylus is undoubtedly one of the grandest concep-
tions of the human mind. The parallel between the rebellious Titan and the
fallen archangel of Milton will occur to every reader. Morally, both on
their own showing stand condemned — intellectually, by the triumph of will-
power, supernatural in its strength, over physical anguish, both extort our
admiration no less than our interest and pity. Prometheus, however, is chiefly
interesting to us as offering one of those "unconscious" types of which the
highest Greek thought — that thought which in its groping succeeded now and
again in "touching" God — is full.
(i) Prometheus the rebel is no fallen angel. He is the Greek Adam, the
perpetuation of an imperfect and sinful race^ — a race blind to its own defects,
filled with false hopes, turning its eyes from its destiny, and satisfying itself
with the technie of material ambitions. Strong in the blindness of its folly,
defying its God, refusing to confess itself in the wrong, to submit itself to the
" ways " of highest wisdom — it nourishes with its heart-blood those passions
which are the very causes of its ruin.
(2) But Prometheus the sufferer, Prometheus the champion of man, is also
the second Adam, the " successor to the woes " of the first, bearing the punish-
ment of the human race, and " lifted up " as its representative 'twixt earth and
aether. This second Adam is also in Himself that deliverer, that " burden-
bearer," who appeared in the fulness of the times. He, " born of a woman,"
is that God who was both willing for the sake of man to submit Himself to
death, to descend into Hades, and who also Himself destroyed the destroyer-,
the passions which were draining man's heart-blood at its very source.
The grand myth of Prometheus in the hands of ^Eschylus may fitly be
placed, not only by the side of Pindar's deep and beautiful presentment of the
love of the Divine Brother, but also as an unconscious prophecy by the side of
the prediction of the sibyl. To use once more Plato's words : " God taketh
away the mind of poets, that we may know that He Himself is speaking to us
through them."
What teaching, however, did the poet consciously intend to set before his
own age in the great Promethean Trilogy 1 The Prometheus of yEschylus is,
we venture to think, an emblem of his countrymen, the Athenians, with their
intellectual and artistic fire, their grand achievements, their experiments in
^ The Titans form the chorus in Prometheus Released.
THE ORESTEIA 375
all the arts and refinements of life. That ^schylus, an Athenian, should
undervalue these is impossible. He sees, however, not only these, but the
coming dangers — the growth of the spirit of sophistry, the impatient desire to
throw off the yoke of the invisible justice, the craving to make man alone the
measure of man, the tendency to worship "success" as God, "yea, and more
than God." Against all this the grand figure of the Titan keeping his lonely
watch upon the rock looms forth, a silent warning : —
Athens, know thyself — thy limitations.
THE ORESTEIA
The Oresteia — a trilogy consisting of three dramas, Agamemnon, the
Lihation-jpourers, and the Enmenides — affords an example of moral evil
working out its consequences as an inheritance transmitted from one genera-
tion to another. Just as certain physical tendencies — e.g. the consumptive or
the rheumatic diathesis — may be handed on to offspring, so in the view of
J5schylus (and, it may be remarked, of Sophocles also) may some moral taint —
the tendency to anger or violence or unrestrained passion — descend from
father to son.
As has been well said, this theory approximates closely to the Christian
doctrine of original sin (Schmidt, Eth.). With the Greek poets, however, the
examples of the tendency are confined to two families, those of Atreus and
Laius. The legends connected with both were favourite subjects with the
Attic poets. Both were treated by ^Eschylus, but space forbids us attempting
more here than a very brief summary of the Oresteia. For all details of the
legends involved, we refer the reader to our companion volume.
The chain of sin in the family of Atreus may be taken as beginning with
his grandfather, Tantalus ; it passes to the son of Tantalus, Pelops, and thence
to his two sons, Atreus and Thyestes. Jealous of the honour which his
brother gains in being called to the throne of Mycenae, Thyestes robs Atreus
of the affections of his wife, and also of a golden lamb, symbol of the wealth
in flocks of the new ruler. Atreus, on his part, prepares a terrible revei\ge :
he slaughters two of the sons of Thyestes, invites the father to a banquet, and
sets before him his children's flesh, of which, all-unknowing, Thyestes partakes.
When he discovers the horrible nature of the repast, he utters a curse upon
Atreus, which is referred to in the Agamemnon (1598) as the direct cause of
the ruin of the house. Atreus dies and is succeeded by his son Agamemnon,
represented even in the Iliad as violent and haughty in temper. Before the
Iliad opens, however, Agamemnon has already contributed his quota to the
family sin by the sacrifice of his innocent daughter Iphigenia. By this act he
has laid up for himself the deepest hatred of his consort, Clytemnestra.
During his long absence at the siege of Troy, she plans his destruction with
^gisthus, the remaining son of Thyestes, who as brother of the murdered
children himself has wrongs to avenge on the line of Atreus.
The Agamemnon of ^schylus describes the revenge of Clytemnestra.
She murders her husband, with every accompaniment of treachery, on the
very day of his triumphant return as victor from Troy. Thus one horror
succeeds another, springing from its predecessor " naturally " as a plant from
a seed, a child from its parent.
This tendency, constantly reappearing in each generation, is known as the
Alastor, or avenging spirit of the race. It both demands satisfaction for the
blood-guilt already incurred, and incites to fresh crimes. The Alastor is,
therefore, a destroying as well as an avenging spirit. When Clytemnestra
376 ^SCHYLUS
appears before the elders of Argos, glorying in the murder of Agamemnon,
she justifies her action, first of all, as themifi, sacred right (1431). She has
only done what strict justice demands in slaying the slayer of the " sweet
bud," Iphigenia. But she has also another excuse for the deed. It is not
she, but the old fierce Alastor of the race in her form, who has offered this new
victim, Agamemnon, in satisfaction for the murder of the children by Atreus,
his father (1500).
Had Clytemnestra been a woman pure and good in other respects, the
terrible justification of her deed — the outraged feeling of a mother — might
have held good. In her mouth, however, both this and the excuse of being
urged on by the Alastor are as false as was the pretext of the compelling Ate
put forward by Agamemnon himself to Achilles (see p. 288). Clytemnestra has
dishonoured her husband, ^gisthus has usurped his throne ; the death of
Agamemnon is, therefore, a necessity to the guilty pair. How, then, is the
progress of the evil tendency to be stayed? How may the entail of sin be
cut off ?
Only by the appearance in the race itself of a true avenger, that is, of one
who shall punish the wrong from a pure motive. This faithful avenger is found
in Orestes, the son of Agamemnon. No sooner has he arrived at man's estate
than he is commanded by the Delphic Oracle to avenge his father's death — a
command which, in its accomplishment, forms the subject of the second drama
of the trilogy, the Qhoephoroi, or Lihation-pourers.
In the terrible commission given to Orestes the psychological interest of
the whole centres, for the decree that the murder of Agamemnon should be
avenged involves not only the death of iEgisthus, who has usurped the throne
of Mycenae, but of Clytemnestra. The son is called upon to slay his mother,
Orestes is thus placed in the most agonising position possible to be imagined,
and we ask again, as we asked in regard to the punishment of Prometheus :
How can ^schylus, the believer in a God of righteousness, justify such a
command ?
The answer can only be found by looking at the story as the poet himself
was obliged to look at it, as it had come down to him, with its natural back-
ground, the social conditions of the heroic age. In that age, as we have seen,
the king is the centre and fountain of justice, and as such hedged about by
Divine right. Not only this, but he holds office as patriarch of his people — his
functions have been derived from the sacred institution of the family. Orestes,
therefore, is called upon to avenge the murder, not merely of his own father,
but of the shepherd of the host — patriarch, priest, and king. The matter is
not one of private concern. From the position of Agamemnon, it is lifted up
altogether out of the narrow circle of the family, and becomes one of national
importance. If Agamemnon's murder go unpunished, justice will be shaken to
its very foundations — the solidarity of the family and of the greater family of
the State are alike imperilled.
Who, then, is to punish the murderers ? Again the customs of the heroic
age must give the answer. Legal courts of justice do not exist, hence the
avenging of blood devolves, as the most sacred of duties, on the nearest of kin.
Orestes is the man. There is no way of escape for him. If he disregards the
Oracles which have summoned him to the task, he is himself threatened with
a penalty so fearful, so heart-freezing, that he -shrinks from rehearsing it
{Ch., 1032). He is required to sink all natural feeling, and to think of nothing
but the duty which devolves upon him of executing judgment.
If we add to these considerations the poet's own belief in the sacredness of
human life, we can see that in no other way can the problem be solved, and
THE ORESTEIA 377
yet no complication more terrible can be conceived. The kindred demand
made upon Hamlet .sinks into insignificance beside this, for Hamlet is expressly
told to spare his mother, while punishing the partner of her sin {cf. Schmidt,
Eth.). The two cases differ, again, in this, that the great element of publicity
is wanting in Hamlet's case. No one except Hamlet himself suspects the
queen of complicity in murder, whereas Clytemnestra has openly exulted in
her crime, and must openly pay the penalty for a deed which is known to all
Greece. The blood of Agamemnon cries aloud for vengeance. To spare
Clytemnestra is, in the interests of justice, impossible.
The problem before Orestes resolves itself, therefore, into a conflict of
duties : on the one hand, there is the Divine command, given in the interests
of human society ; on the other, natural and right feeling, the aidoSy the
reverence due to a mother. Which of the two duties is the higher ?
The answer to this question is supplied by the poet. When Orestes comes
face to face with Clytemnestra, his resolution fails him, and he turns piteously
to his faithful friend. " Pylades, what shall I do ? " he says ; " shall I
reverence my mother, and spare her ? " The answer is prompt : —
*' Choose all for foemen. rathe?' than the gods."
Orestes dares hesitate no longer — the terrible deed is accomplished ; but so
great has been the mental conflict that he falls immediately into madness
(typified by the persecution of the Furies), and flees distraught from Argos to
seek the protection of Apollo at Delphi.
The last drama of the trilogy takes its name from these gruesome powers of
nature, the Erinyes or Furies, who, in the course of the action, are transformed
into Eumenides, "gracious, well-disposed beings." The Erinyes usually repre-
sent, no doubt, the pangs of conscience, torturing the guilty ; but this explanation
cannot apply to the case of Orestes. His madness is not caused by remorse,
but by anguish — the mental agony through which he has passed. Orestes is
not morally guilty of murder ; his mother's death is due to the command of
Apollo, and the god himself accepts the responsibility for the deed (Ch., 1027 ;
Eu7n., 84). Moreover, the slaying of Clytemnestra springs from no mixed motive.
Orestes says, indeed, in the Chosphoroi (301) that he is urged on by poverty as
well as by the god's decree and his father's woe ; but the death of ^gisthus
alone would suffice to restore the son of Agamemnon to his lawful inheritance,
and place him on the throne of Argos. The removal of his mother, therefore,
is not necessary to this end, and Orestes stands acquitted of any lower motive
than obedience to Apollo.
The Furies cannot see this, however. They represent the letter of the
law, the blind unreasoning adherence to custom which refuses to look beneath
the surface, and is absolutely incapable of weighing motives. Orestes under-
goes all the usual rites of purification, and is under the special protection of
Apollo. Still the Furies haunt him ; they will not give up their rights over
the matricide {Eum., 260 et seq.) : Apollo resolves to refer the matter to an
impartial judge. The controversy between the letter and the spirit of justice
shall be decided by Athena. Orestes is, therefore, commanded to repair to
Athens, and place himself as a suppliant under the protection of the goddess.
He obeys, flees to Athens, and takes refuge in the temple of Athena. Here
the Furies find him, clinging to the image of the goddess. They immediately
surround him in a circle, chanting the terrible words which, inaudible to
others, drive him to madness.
Irresistibly we are reminded again of another trial-scene, where a poor
creature, laden with sin and misery, also crouches in the midst, surrounded by
a ring of eager, cruel, malice-breathing faces. She has no image to cling to
378 ^SCHYLUS
for protection, but cling she does to Him to whom, as umpire, they have
brought her, and from whose lips there fall presently the heart-convicting
words : " Let him that is without sin among you cast the first stone at her."
The goddess appears, and in the magnificent scene which follows, our con-
cern for the fate of Orestes is almost forgotten in the intensity of the interest
roused by Athena herself. Transformed and irradiated by the deep thought
of the poet, the Homeric goddess appears as the brightest and most beautiful
type of the Divine wisdom and mercy ever presented to antiquity. With the
utmost tact, before the trial opens, she unfolds the great principles on which
all true justice is based : —
(i) No one, she says (413), may he judged by appearances. He may be
blameless. She herself will not speak unkindly even of the Furies, until she
knows more concerning them.
(2) Motives must he taken into account. " Was he not urged by some con-
straining dread ? " she at once says in reply to the vehemence of the Furies
(426).
(3) Both sides must have a fair hearing. To the Furies, who refuse to allow
Orestes to speak, she says quietly, " Thou desirest to be thought, rather than
to he, just " (430).
So clear and impartial is the reasoning that the Furies themselves are
forced to acknowledge her as a worthy arbiter. When Athena has heard the
story of Orestes, however, she declines to try the case alone. It must be
referred to the " collective conscience of humanity," ^ represented by a jury of
Athenian citizens, men of faithful oath. Twelve men are empanelled, the
case proceeds, and Apollo himself appears to defend his suppliant. The Furies
state the crime, Orestes replies, and Apollo openly declares that he had given
the decree for the death of Clytemnestra, as the mouthpiece only of Zeus,
highest orderer. The votes of the jurors are taken and found to be equal ;
the " collective conscience of humanity," that is, cannot solve the question.
But, by the casting vote of Athena, as Minerva, Orestes is acquitted. The
spirit has triumphed over the letter, the Divine wisdom shows itself as
mercy rejoicing over judgment, the power of life has vanquished the powers
of death.
Many commentators appear to see in the Oresteia, culminating as it does
in the grand scene on the rock at Athens, only the purpose of the poet to
glorify his native city and the beneficent laws and institutions which had put
an end to the blood-feuds of early days. Others, again, would designate it as
an attempt merely to rehabilitate the venerable court of Areopagus, threatened
by the progress of democracy. Both motifs, we readily grant, must have been,
and were, present to the patriotic and conservative mind of ^Eschylus ; but we
shall surely err if we thus narrow and dwarf the poet's intention to any merely
local and temporary aim. The Oresteia does not stand alone. It must be
viewed in the light of all that we know about JEschylus, and in this light it
undoubtedly is a contribution to the working out of his grand ideal, the
restoration of the world-order, the upholding of the moral balance of the
universe. If this balance is disturbed in any way whatever, it must be
redressed. Yea, though the offender were a god himself, he must be subdued —
for the sake of the creatures of a day whom he has deceived he must be
subdued — this is what Prometheus tells us from his rock. Is the cause of the
disturbance the overweening presumption of a potentate ? that potentate must
be humbled — for the sake of the nations, by Him who weighs all nations in
^ Bensen's Oott in der Geschichte. See further Miss Swanwick's admirable Introduction to
the Trilogy.
THE ORESTEIA 379
His balance, he must be humbled — this is the lesson of the Persians. Are the
great I unwritten laws outraged? is the blood of one — uniting in himself
the ■ offices of father, priest, and king — poured out upon the ground ? that
blood must be avenged. Yea, though the task bring with it consequences the
most tremendous, it must be performed in vindication of eternal justice, for
the sake of human society.
Such is the feeling of Jj]schylus — definite, resolute, unflinching. We
shrink from its sterner aspects ; but the lesson is there, writ large, that he
who runs may read. Through all grades and ranks of thinking life, from
mortal man to intelligences superhuman, the world-harmony must be pre-
served ; if broken, it must be restored, at any cost, ai any price. In the case
of Agamemnon, the cost is a mother's blood ; in the case of Xerxes, the lives
of thousands of innocent victims ; in the case of Prometheus, the descent of a
divine being into Hades, the voluntary submission to death of one, himself
immortal.
And the results as set forth and implied by the poet are not unworthy of
the sufferings. The ideal realised, the balance restored in home and state
brings with it eunoinia, fair order of law ; the balance restored among the
nations gives freedom to Hellas and hesychia, restful calm ; the balance restored
in heaven brings to man justice and reverence, the aidos, the true life basis,
the rock whereon he may build up the technce of the arts, and delight himself
to his heart's content in the intellectual fire of Prometheus.
We ma}» now pass from the grand world-ideal of ^Eschylus to those more
limited ideals, the aims which he set before himself and others as individuals,
and which made him what he was as a man. These ideals are reality versus
sham, true freedom, true patriotism. Wide as is the ground, a very brief
survey must suffice.
(i) Sincerity. — To ^schylus the man of action, no less than to Pindar the
singer, truth is the white ivory on which all noble deeds must be engraved.
This is abundantly evident throughout the writings that have come down to us.
Let us look specially at one memorable passage. It occurs in the Seven against
Thebes (375 et seg.). The messenger is giving his report to Eteocles, the
besieged prince, and describing the princes of the hostile league as they come
up in succession to the seven gates of the city. All are in full pomp of war,
with nodding plumes and shields, whereon are inscribed signs fearful and
wonderful, designed to strike terror into the hearts of the beholders. On one
is a torch-bearer with the device, " I shall consume the city " ; on another a
man climbing a scaling-ladder planted against a tower, shouting the war-cry,
" Ares himself throws me not down " ; on a third was to be seen the fire-breathing
dragon Typhon ; on a fourth the sphinx, the old man-devouring enemy of
Thebes.
IS'one of these are to be feared. Ares (war) alone is their god ; their cry
is rage, their flame murder.
Finally there appears upon the scene one singled out from all the boastful
crew by his simplicity : he bears no sign upon his shield. It is the seer
Amphiaraus. " Him," says the messenger (568, 5926^ seg.), " I call the wisest
man, the strongest, and the best. . . . For not to seem the best he icilleth, but to
BE it. From the deep furrows of his mind there springeth noble fruit, wise
counsel. Against him it behoves thee, prince, to send men skilled and brave,
for he is to be feared ivho fears the gods." Note the connection between the two
verses : —
" He willeth to be, not seem, the best " — aristoSj the first in justice, in valom-,
in all arete.
38o ^SCHYLUS
" He is to be feared (deinos) who fears the gods.''
Reverence for the invisible justice (sebas) is that deep-ploughed field whence
springs the aristeia, the reality of excellence, the fulness of -wisdom and valour.^
To BE and not to seem I A much-needed lesson, for " seeming " is very closely
associated with one of the Hellenic natural characteristics, that thirst for
" glory " which we have so often traced. From dokein, " the seeming to be
somewhat," springs doxa, " glory," literally the opinion formed of any one by
his fellows, by those, that is, who can only judge from appearances. Hence the
emptiness of doxa to a man of reality like ^schylus. To " appearance valour,"
or, as we may term it, sham or " surface valour," and to " surface justice" he
is as strongly opposed as Socrates is later to surface or " appearance wisdom."
Like Pindar also, ^schylus is a man of direct speech. When lo implores
Prometheus to unveil to her the future she begs him not to deceive her out of
compassion, " for," she adds, " words garbled are of all ills the worst."
(2) True Freedom. — In the opening scene of the Persians (176 et seq.),
Atossa, the mother of Xerxes, relates to the Persian elders who form her council
a dream which she has had during the previous night. In her vision the queen
beheld two maidens richly dressed, the one in Persian, the other in Doric garb.
Nobly distinguished in form, faultless in beauty, they are sisters of the same
race ; to one destiny has given for home the barbaric land, to the other Hellas.
The maidens seem about to enter into strife with one another, when Xerxes,
perceiving this, straightway holds them back, soothes them, and throwing the
yoke over both their necks, fastens them to his chariot. One of -the maidens
exults with pride in being thus compelled to own a master, and keeps her
mouth submissive to the reins ; the other, resenting the indignity, struggles to
be free — with both hands she rends asunder the trappings of the car, and,
bridleless, drags it with force behind her, breaking the yoke in twain. Xerxes
falls ; his father Darius suddenly stands by his side in grief, and at this sight
the would-be conqueror tears his robes. The overthrow of the charioteer who
sought to yoke, not Asia only, but Europe also to his car, is complete.
Such, in the poet's vision, was the attitude of the little land when the
Persian came down like a wolf on the fold to ' ' throw the yoke of bondage over
Hellas " (50). The portrait is the counterpart of Pindar's Hesychia, gentle
Peace, rousing herself with the strength of righteous indignation to cast
Presumption into the depths of the sea.
But is Hellas always to be this restive maiden, plunging, struggling,
resisting, refusing to take the bit into her mouth, breaking the harness,
shattering the car of the State, and throwing out its occupants ? Is this the
poet's ideal of freedom ? We who know the mind of -^schylus answer at once :
Nay, verily ! If it be true, as the Persian elders inform Atossa, that " the
Hellenes to no man are slaves, to no mortal are they subject " (242),
there is yet a higher than mortal man to claim allegiance, even the law,
and a higher than the law to watch over its fulfilment, even the invisible
justice. To him who believes in the world-order licence is not liberty, freaks
of caprice performed at will do not constitute freedom. True freedom is some-
thing very different; it corresponds to that which follows the indignant
uprising of Peace — eunomia, fair order of law, reign of law. Pindar the bard,
^schylus the warrior, preach here but one doctrine and the same : there is no
true freedom, no true peace without subordination, eunomia.
^ We may remark in passing that the field of reverent fear, with its noble fruits, reality and
strength, is here evidently contrasted with that other field whose fruitage of woe we have
already noted ; for the verse, "Ate's field (the field of sin) bears death for harvest," occurs
almost directly after in the reply of Eteocles to the messenger.
THE ORESTEIA 381
The views of ^Eschylus are best set forth in the words uttered by Athena
in founding the Areopagus, that venerable court with power of life and death,
which, in the poets time, was threatened with destruction.
In the tribunal held on Ares' rocky hill, says the goddess (Eum., 690 et seq.),
" Reverence (sebas) and Fear shall of the townsfolk be the sisters, and guard
against injustice night and day, if so be,"' comes the warning, " that from the
laws the citizens depart not. Pure water, when it runs through mud, becomes
defiled, and where then shalt thou find to drink ? "
" Neither to he without rule, nor by tyrants ruled ! this is my counsel for my
people. Nor let them banish from the city sacred awe, for who of mortals
that feareth naught abideth just?"
Hear, again, what the intrepid fighter at Marathon has to tell us concerning
awe.^ There is a place, he says {Earn., 516), where awe is noble; within the
heart it should be seated, there abide, and keep its watch. Good is it through
suffering to learn wisdom. " Who," he asks, " man or State, that with light
heart cherished not holy awe — who, in such case, did ever reverence justice ? "
Then again comes the warning : —
" Neither the life unruled nor tyrant-sway shalt thou approve. In all
things do the mean ; God giveth strength."
Here we have once more the old Hellenic doctrine, ^schylus, no less
than Pindar, is the prophet of the mean, the just mean. True freedom, like
true peace, is upheld alone by walking in the paths of simplicity, avoiding the
too-little, the non-rule, non-discipline, which ends in anarchy, and equally
the too-much, which has its roots in the hyhris of presumption and ends in
tyranny. " A fitting, measured word ^ it is that I proclaim," concludes the
poet. " Presumption {hyhris) is of ungodliness the veritable child ; but from
sound mind there springeth bliss, much longed for, dear to all."
(3) True PatPiotism. — it is hardly possible for us in these cosmopolitan
days to realise what the State was in antiquity. We come nearest to a conception
of all that was wrapped up in the word polites, citizen, when we analyse our own
word wretch, for "wretch," w^hen it was coined, meant simply "an exile," one
banished from his native land. Such an one was indeed " wretched " ; he had no
home, no avenger, no rights — against him any man might turn with impunity.
Within the shelter of the State, on the other hand, his position was at least
defined, secure. His back defended by her institutions, the patriot citizen could
confront the world as foe. Hence to the State, his mother, were due not only
the gratitude of each citizen, but his services, his devotion, his life. This, one
of the strongest feelings of antiquity, finds expression in the stirring address
of Eteocles, patriot prince of Thebes, to his people. On the approach of the
seven hostile chieftains, he, as called to guide the helm of the State, responsible
for its weal, reminds the citizens of their duties {Sev. ag. Thehes, 10 et seq.).
" You it behoves, each one of you, both him who hath not reached the
prime of youth and him who hath o'erpassed it, to steel your bodies' vigour,
heedful each one of his own part, in order that ye may defend the city and
the altars of our country's gods, that they may never be deprived of their
rights, that for our children also ye may fight, and for our native land, our
mother earth, beloved nurse. For she, receiving you as infants playing on
her kindly bosom, hath taken on herself all toil of rearing, and nourished you
to be for her spear-bearing habiters, faithful in this her time of need."
^ To deinon — literally, dread of something to be feared. The reader will bear in mind the
mark of the man whose aim it was "to be and not to seem " — he also was deinos, to be feared,
because he feared the gods.
2 Symmetron, a word that, itself uttered "with measure," springs from the mean.
382 ^SCHYLUS
This is the true Hellenic view of citizenship ; for this one purpose is each
of her sons bred up and nurtured, that he may be faithful to his country in
her hour of trial. Needless to say, ^schylus at least was faithful to his
trust. From the Grecian line of ships at Salamis, he tells us, there went up
the mighty cry : " O sons of the Hellenes, on ! set free the fatherland, free wife
and child, the temples of our country's gods, our fathers' graves ! Now for our
all we fight." For Hellas is the struggle, the great agon, the agony.
And in this agony the supreme part was played by Athens, the poet's
mother-city.
"Doth Athens still survive?" inquires the Persian queen (347) of the
messenger from the seat of war. His reply is significant (349) : —
** Her sons surviving, she a sure bulwark hath ! "
§ IX.— SOPHOCLES
AYhen we turn to the successor of ^schylus, the rugged warrior-bard, we
find ourselves in the presence of a character of a different stamp and mould,
one that has been nurtured under the most genial and sunny of skies.
Sophocles comes before us as one of those rare natures which it is impos-
sible for fortune to spoil. The lines had indeed fallen to him in pleasant
places. He possessed the gift which the Greeks held to be the very crown
of life — a beautiful mind in a beautiful body. He had, moreover, no struggle
with adverse circumstances, for his father was a man of substance, and was
able to secure for his son, not only immunity from hardship, but every
advantage in education and training which the culture of the day had to
offer. Again, the period of his opening manhood coincided with that of the
great intellectual summer of Hellas ; later competition with a rival such
as ^schylus brought every fibre of his nature into exercise ; the friendship
of men like Pericles, Anaxagoras, and Herodotus was at once a stimulus and
a refreshment ; and (although last, by no means least) the great development
of the plastic arts — the presentation of the beautiful in visible form — which
took place under the Periclean regime at Athens, must have acted as a power-
ful spur to that other presentation which appeals to mind and ear, and meets
us in the harmony and flow of the Sophoclean verse no less than in the
thoughts which it enshrines. In the hands of Sophocles first it is that
the Greek language blossoms into the full flower of that which can only
be adequately described in its own terminology as charis — grace, loveliness,
delight. Twenty times did Sophocles bear away the first prize in the great
annual tragic competition at Athens, and yet he remained unspoiled — true
to the same high consciousness of his mission as a poet, of his call to be in
truth a teacher of the people, which we have seen in Pindar and in yEschylus.
Throughout the whole of his writings there breathes the deepest reverence
for the Unseen Power, and at the same time a fellow-feeling with all the
woes that flesh is called upon to bear — a real sympathy, which strikes us
all the more, coming, as it does, from one himself so favoured by fortune.
" I know that I am a man,'' says his noble Theseus {(Ed. Col., 560), and
the words mean much. Read in two ways, they give the keynote to the
life-philosophy of Sophocles : —
( 1 ) I am a mortal ; I myself have been in trouble, and I know not what
the morrow may bring forth for me — hence it behoves me to be pitiful towards
my fellow-mortals.
(2) I am a mortal — hence it behoves me also to look well to my relation to
the Power that is not mortal.
In other words, the corollary to
" I am a man — I know it," is
" There is a God — I know it."
■ 383
384 SOPHOCLES
THE IDEA OF GOD
To Sophocles, as to his great predecessor, the thought of God is summed
up in Zeus as the father and ruler of men. True, like ^schylus,i he has his
doubts as to whether under this name the God of gods should indeed be invoked.
" thou that rulest, living over all, Zeus! — if thus we rightly name thee,"
says the chorus in the grandest ode of (Edipus the King {(Ed. Tyr.^ 903)-
Rightly or wrongly, however, no other name is known, and so Sophocles, like
^Eschylus, continues to use it as symbol of the Highest and Mightiest, of the
Invisible Justice, of the Father of gods and men. ''Take courage, child!
take courage!" says the chorus to the despairing Electra {El., 173). "Still
lives in heaven great Zeus, who sees and governs all." And in like manner
the women of Trachis console Deianeira, and urge her to hope. " For," say
they, "who ever saw Zeus without counsel for his children?" {Tr., 139)-
Hence he is called upon as Alexetor, the defender ; hence also, as in Homeric
days {Od., i. 43), he is supremely the god of the suppliant, of the distressed ;
and so Philoktetes, in his dread lest Neoptolemus should leave him behind
on the lonely island where he has spent so many miserable years, exclaims
in his agony {Phil., 484) : " Hear me, my son ! By Zeus himself, the pro-
tector of the suppliant, I implore thee ! "
As the ruler of men, Zeus is also the Invisible Justice, and therefore the
chorus in the Electra asks (824): "Where is the thunder of Zeus, where
the glaring eye of Helios,^ if beholding such deeds (the murder of Aga-
memnon) they hide them with indifference ? "
The punishment of evil-doers is a necessity, if God be God ; and hence
again, when the wretched Polyneikes in his banishment reminds (Edipus — the
father whom he and Eteocles his brother had helped to drive from home and
Thebes — that " beside Zeus on the throne is seated Aidos (mercy)," the out-
raged father retorts {Q^d. Col., 1267, 1380), "If Dike (justice) of old fame
sits counsellor with Zeus by primeval law," the curse which he has called
down upon his sons shall take possession of their seat and throne.
As supreme, Zeus is the giver of victory, and boasting is hateful to him
{Ant., 143, 127). He is all-seeing {Ant., 184) and all-knowing, and as such
Horkos, the god of the oath, is said to be his (Zeus') Horkos {(Ed. Col.,
1767). Necessarily he is the witness of the truth {Tr., 400) ; hence, when the
hapless Philoktetes asks, " Am I to be deceived a second time? " Neoptolemus
replies, " I swear by the holy fear of the highest, even Zeus," and Philok-
tetes is reassured. "O dearest words!" he says {Phil., 1288), "if thou mean
them honestly."
Finally, Zeus is supreme, not only over men and human affairs, but over
gods (pantarches theon ; CEd. Col., 1085). When Heracles appears to Philok-
tetes — no longer as a man, but beautified, as a supernatural and- Divine being
— it is in order that he may {Phil., 1413) "proclaim the decrees of Zeus."
In like manner the Delphic oracle is declared to be really that of Zeus ; Apollo
is only his agent. It is the " sweet voice of Zeus " that resounds from the
golden shrine of Py tho, says the chorus in CEdipus the King (151); and when
Qidipus himself, knowing that his last hour is approaching, implores the pro-
tection of Theseus, he assures the Athenian king that such and such things
^ See ante, p. 362.
2 The sun, who sees all things. We have already shown, in connection with the great trilogy
of ^schylus, how deep-rooted was this belief in the certainty of the Divine opis, the Divine
avenging.
THE WORLD-IDEAL OF SOPHOCLES 385
must happen {(Ed. Col., 623), "if Zeus still is Zeus, and his Phoebus true";
and again, touching the oracles concerning himself, he says {(Ed. Col., 792),
" I know of a surety, inasmuch as I heard it from Apollo, and from his father
Zeus himself " — in other words, Apollo is held to be simply the mouthpiece
of Zeus.
The foregoing will suffice to show how true Sophocles is to the highest
teaching of his predecessors, or rather to the deepest instinct of the human
spirit — that belief in One God, one supreme Disposer of events, which shines
out so clearly through all the polytheism of Greece.
But Sophocles would not be the great teacher he is if he did but repeat
the truths enumerated by his predecessors. No ! he, as they had done, made
a distinct step in advance. Just as Pindar discovered that communion between
the Divine and the human spirit is a possible reality, that God can breathe
"sweet order of peace" into the soul,i and just as ^schylus interpreted the
doctrine of pathos mathos, " learning by suffering," as meaning that God Him-
self willeth to lead men to repentance,^ so, in like manner, has Sophocles his
own revelation of God to deliver to his age-fellows. Like that of JEschylus,
it is a stern one — nothing less than this, that God is the Lawgiver of the
universe, the Author of the great primeval laws, which, together with the
consciousness of the Invisible Justice, have travelled down through the slow
course of the ages. We have seen these laws in action in Homer, in Hesiod,
in Pindar, in JEschylus ^ — in all, God is recognised as their watchful Guardian.
It is left for Sophocles to divine, with truth, that God is their Author.
THE WORLD-IDEAL OF SOPHOCLES
Like his great predecessor, Sophocles has an ideal that cannot be nar-
rowed down to the actual experience of any one individual. Just as ^schylus
sees the salvation of all ranks of created beings in the restoration of the
ivorld-order, in submission to the Invisible Justice, so, in like manner, does
there hover before Sophocles as the ideal for human society reverence for
t he great umvritten laws, implanted by that same Justice in every human
^^^jgajit. This great ideal comes before us in each work of the master. Most
clearly do we find it summed up in a grand passage in one of the choral odes
in CEdipus the King : —
"Ah!" say the elders of Thebes {CEd. Tyr., 863 et seq.), "were it the lot
of my life to keep in sacred purity each word and work, true to the Laws set
forth on high ! For they are born in heaven, Olympus alone is their sire ;
neither hath mortal nature conceived them, nor ever hath forgetfulness lulled
the77i into slumber. No ! for in them is a mighty God, and He waxeth not
old."
Sophocles, like J^]schylus, seems to have set himself the task of unravelling
th e^ meaning o f the old stories concerning man and his " fate," that had
travelled down through the ages, and he finds the solution of the problem,
as ^schylus had found it, in the fact that the world-order had been wilfully
di sturbed, a nd must be restored before society could be saved.
In ^schylus we see, as it were, the Divine side of the problem : God
Himself intervening — as Perfection, to make the imperfect perfect ;' as Justice,
to restore the balance threatened by human pride and ambition.
In Sophocles we have, on the other hand, the human side. If ^schylus
2 See p. 365. '-^ See pp. 266, 313, 353, 366.
2 B
386 SOPHOCLES
shows how the rastQratioii is to be accomplished — by intervention on the part
of God — Sophocles shows how this mnst be met on the pa rt of man — by adher-
ence to the highest law of his being, even the great 1 1 n wri f.f.pn "jp ot^ 1 a.w.
SIN
" Sin," therefore, to Sophocles as to St. Paul, is the " transgression of the
law" — with, of course, the distinction that to the one the "law" was the
written revealed will of God, to the other it was the unwritten decree graven
on the human heart. To both the law was sacred.
"Thy power, Zeus!" says the chorus in the Antigone (604) — "who
amongst men can hinder by transgression (by hyper-basia, overstepping of the
bounds) that power which neither sleep, the all-pursuer, hath ever overtaken,
nor the unwearied moons ? In ageless time thou rulest in the radiant splendour
of Olympus. In the hereafter, as in the past, this law holds good. In mortal
life nothing is wholly free from sin (ate)." Sin as ate is both sin and its con-
sequences, its punishment, and in the age of Sophocles, as in Homeric days,
men still clung to the comfortable notion that ate was a sort of fate which
could not be resisted — a notion which found expression in the current ideas
regarding " the doom " on a house, " the curse " on a family or race. Sophocles
sets himself with all his might to resist this notion. He shows men in the
plainest way that they are their own ate, that they bring their own curse, their
own doom upon themselves — that what they are pleased to call "curse,"
" doom," even the " fulfilling of the oracles," is nothing else than the natural
working out of obedience to the great laws. The moral law, the law of the
soul, may no more be disregarded with impunity than may the physiological
law, the law of the body. This is the first great lesson which Sophocles, as a
teacher, has to tell his fellows. He sees no salvation out of the old paths ; he
traces all the unhappiness, all the misery of human life to this hyper-basia, the
overstepping of the great laws. He repeats with double emphasis the saying
put into the mouth of the father of gods and men by Homer {Od., i. 32) : —
" Lo ! how vainly now do mortals blame the gods ! For they say that from
us Cometh evil ; whereas they themselves, of their own reckless folly, have
woes beyond that which is ordained."
Why? Because "woe" springs from "folly" — from ate, or, as in the
Homeric text, from atasthalia (presumptuous folly) — as certainly as does a
plant from its seed.
In the laws is a mighty God, and he ivaxeth not old. Here we have the
poetic equivalent for the saying preserved in the Memorabilia of Xenophon
((iv. 4, 19): that the man who oversteps the unwritten laws incurs a penalty
which he can in no way escape, since the sin carries its own punishment with it
— a fact which proclaims the Divine origin of the law ; for, to invent a law, the
breach of which shall be self-punishing, passes the wit of man.
The first message of Sophocles to his age, then, is threefold, and may be
summed up thus : He tells them
>^ (a) That the Invisible Justice still lives and governs in and through the
X unwritten laws.
/ {b) That man is the maker of his own " fate " — by the observance or non-
/ observance of these laws.
I (c) That, by the action of those very same laws, the sins of the fathers
\ descend to the children, as by a sort of natural entail.
\ ^ Hard and stern as is this threefold message, however, Sophocles has a
SIN 387
gentler and sweeter one to place by its side. He, like Homer, knows that the
Divine PoWftr nnn V^p fnnnV.Arl hy pAT.if.Pr.PP a.n^] ^(^ptrifinn
" Common it is to all men to sin," ^ says the venerable Teiresias in the
Antigone (1023), "but if sin hath been committed, that man is neither left
without counsel (a-boulos) nor yet unblest who, when he hath fallen, maketh
amends {aketai = seeketh healing), and remaineth not stubborn. Self-will alone
to folly is imputed."'-^
In other words, it is the attitude of the will that makes the difference iA
the sin, in the degree of guilt. Only the obstinate, who refuse to yield to thi
clear voice of the great laws, are finally condemned. It is this stubborn
self-will that is the sin of sins to the mind of Sophocles, as the hyhris of
arrogant presumption was to that of Pindar ; and just as Pindar knew three
grades of hyhris^ so does Sophocles know t hrf^fi diffftrpmt sft fligflfi IP ^-^^ >^rtf. of
t he_will : —
(a) The first stage is the right one, the stage of a good, well-advised will
— eu-houlia, prudence ; this Sophocles takes to be the strongest, mightiest of
possessions. Why ? Because a man of goo d will is master of himself and of
b is reason, able to unders Hri^ ^~^ ^-^ fminw frnna pmmspi ~~~~ ' ' "
(b) But we are on an inclined plane where will is concerned, and the first
halting-place on the do wnward iourne v is a-houlia — tjinti fihonghtlnnnnnnn which
will not liste n to co unse l. 'I'ms our master calls {Ant., 1242) '^ the worst evil"
than can betaii a man^
(c) The final stage is that of the dys-houlia, th e thoroughly ~perver«»Avill,
t hat foUg sy.s ibs ^own cou nsel^ simply becaus©^ it is. its. Qwn^.ciamaaL^Xfiganlless
orconsequence s.
The series is instructive : —
Eu-houlia = The well-advised state, willingness to see and do the right, even at
the cost of the humbling of the self.
A-houlia ^^ThQ ill-advised state, when the self bids one be immovable.
Dys-houlia = The condition in which a man will not listen to counsel — a will
with all the force of the dys prefixed, dismal and perverse.
The whole series is illustrated in the character of K yeon . He comes before
us in Oedipus the King as, to all appearance, eu-hoidos, right-minded and well
advised. In the (Edipus at Colonus he is a-houlos, a rrogant, harsh, alto.g ather
hateful in his ^'nr.Hnnf. inwarrla fp.rlipns Finally, in tEe Antigone his self-will
reacnes a climax7and ends in his own ruin and that of his house. Kreon
himself speaks of his obstinacies as his dys-boulice, the series of wrong-headed,
wrong-minded, wrong-willed acts which, originating in his own wrong counsels,
have brought down upon him the judgment of the gods.
Fo.r men of good-will, however, men ready to " seek healing " and make
amends, the re is hope — a hope summed up in the beautiful words which
^ophocles puts into the mouth of .his OEdipus, when the king has at length
reached the goal of his wanderings, and his sufferings are about to end. Too
feeble and helpless, in his blindness, himself to undertake the necessary pro-
pitiatory rites, (Edipus deputes them to another, with the significant words
{(Ed. Col, 498):—
" One soul can make conciliation for ten thousand — if it approach with pui^e
intent {eunous)." ^
A prophetic glance into the generosity of the Divine nature, which may be
^ Exhaviartanein = to fail, miss the mark.
2 The curious way in which the Greeks attributed sin to intellectual blindness is well
exemplified in the above passage. The " folly" to which self-will is imputed is stupidity.
'^ *' Lo, I come to do Thy will, O God ; Thy law is within my heart."
388 SOPHOCLES
placed by the side of the " burden-bearer " of ^schylus — that Saviour who
should one day come to take upon Himself the burden of humanity, as
personified in the suffering Prometheus.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS
Reverence towards the Unseen Power. — This, the first of the
unwritten laws, is with Sophocles also the last, the most lasting. *' Reverence
(etisebeia)," he says (Phil., 1440), " dieth not with mortals ; whether they live or
die, it perisheth not" — i.e. reverence, being in its very nature concerned with
the immortal, cannot die.
The views of Sophocles on the right attitude of man towards his God are
best summed up, perhaps, in the Ajax, one of the finest but least known of the
tragedies which have come down to us. Let us, therefore, briefly glance at its
teaching.
We must repeat here what we have often had occasion to point out before,
namely, that the Greek poets allowed themselves great latitude in their
delineation of the national heroes. Especially is this the case as regards two
of the most prominent, Ajax and Odysseus (Ulysses). In Homer's Iliad, Ajax
stands out as a noble, God-fearing man, a very bulwark of the Achaians. The
Iliad, however, only takes us down to the death of Patroclus and revenge of
Achilles. What happened after these events is narrated by the poets of the
epic cycle, who told, amongst other things, of an attack of madness which had
befallen Ajax, and during which the hero had first committed the insensate freak
of slaughtering the flocks and herds won as booty and held as common property
(or as yet undivided) by the Greek army, and thereafter had put an end to his
own life. The cause of the madness was said to be jealousy, disappointment
and anger working in the heart of Ajax, because the golden armour of Achilles
had been withheld from him, and awarded by the Greek leaders, as the meed
of honour due to the worthiest, to Odysseus, and not to himself.^
Sophocles, however, does not seem to have been satisfied with this
explanation. Disappointment about the arms of Achilles might indeed have
been a cause of the madness, but then there must have been a cause again
behind that cause. Madness, amongst the Greeks, was regarded as a " Divine "
malady, a visitation directly from the gods, and so the chorus in the Ajax
expressly asserts (180): "The malady is heaven-sent (theia)" — Divine in its
origin. And thus the question naturally arose : Why should madness have come
upon Ajax, of all men ? Why should the noble " bulwark of the Achaians "
have been so fearfully visited ?
The answer to the question Sophocles embodies in his tragedy.
In the opening scene Odysseus appears, watching anxiously by night near
the tent of Ajax. Rumours of the hero's doings have reached him, and, with
his usual caution, he has come to reconnoitre, and, if possible, ward off further
mischief. He is met by Athena — here, as in Homer, the constant protectress
of the man of many devices. She explains that she herself has already
warded off real and imminent danger. Ajax — goaded on by the thought that
the golden armour of Achilles would have come to him, and to none other, had
the decision been made by the hero himself during his lifetime — had gone
^ We recollect that this version of the story was accepted by Pindar (see p. 342), who
conceives that Ajax had lost the prize through his modesty and inability to sound his own
praises, whilst Odysseus had secured it by his adroitness of speech and powers of persuasion
and flattery.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 389
forth that night with the full intention of avenging himself upon those who
have deprived him of what he imagines to have been his rightful honour.
Had not Athena blinded him, so that in his delusion he mistook animals for
men, and wreaked his vengeance on innocent cattle, the leaders of the host
(Agamemnon and his brother Menelaus, and, above all, Odysseus, the prime
object of his hatred) must have perished.
All this Athena relates to Odysseus, and, to verify her words, calls forth
from his tent the perpetrator of the deed. Ajax answers to her call^ and
appears, still labouring under the delusion. In his hand is a scourge dripping
with blood, which he believes to be the blood of men, and he assures the
goddess with fiendish glee that never again shall the two sons of Atreus
(Agamemnon and Menelaus) insult or put a slight on Ajax, for dead are both.
But as for Odysseus — that wily, well-practised fox — for him he has reserved
another fate : Odysseus has been brought to his tent in triumph, a prisoner,
and he shall die another death, his back all crimson with the scourge.
Athena then dismisses him, and Ajax returns to his tent and the horrible
business of scourging to death the luckless ram which, in his madness, he
takes to be Odysseus, his rival and supplanter.
The latter now shows himself the real Homeric leader, the man of true
greatness of soul. No word of scorn, no exclamation of anger even, escapes his
lips — he has nothing but compassion, deep and sincere, for the hero, once so
noble, now fallen so low.
" Seest thou, Odysseus," says the goddess (Aj., 118 et seq.), "the power of
the gods ? Who ever showed more forethought than did this man ? Or who
was ever found more prompt to act — to do the right deed at the fitting time ? "
" I know of none," Odysseus rejoins. " In this his misery I pity him
although he hates me, seeing him thus yoke-fellow to an evil fate (an evil
ate). And in him I do behold myself. For this I see, that we who live are
nothing more than shadows, empty shadows."
"These things considering," says Athena, "take heed that thou thyself
address unto the gods no overweening, boastful word, nor bear thyself with
arrogance, if others thou excell'st in strength of arm or power of wealth ; for
one day maketh and unmaketh every child of man — sinketh and raiseth him
again. The wise of heart ^ the gods do love, but the wicked are an abomination
unto them."
With these words the goddess vanishes. The key to her warning is found
later on, when Calchas, the seer, reveals to Teucros, the half-brother of Ajax,
the cause of the anger of the heavenly powers. The madness is an ate, a " self-
chosen woe," inasmuch as it flows from a deliberate sin or sinful habit of
mind.
This showed itself, says the seer (AJ., 758 et seq.), in Ajax even as a
youth, in the senseless rejoinder made by him to the wise advice given him by
his father on leaving for the war. " My son," the old man had said, " iviU to
be victor with the spear, but victor always loith God .^ " " Father," replies the
haughty youth, " even a nothing can be victor with the gods. / trust to win
this glory without them " — literally, apart from them, dicha, sundered from God.
Such was his boastful speech. Nor was this all ; for later, when the decree
had gone forth that the hand of blood should be turned against the foe, and
Athena sought to cheer and encourage him for the contest, Ajax rejects her
assistance with the bold, unheard-of words : " My lady queen, be near, give
help to others in the Argive ranks. Where loe stand, there never shall the
storm of war break through."
^ Sophronas — literally, the sound, healthy of heart, right-thinking men.
390 SOPHOCLES
Is .this spirit of Ajax altogether dead ? Is there no echo of it in our own
day ? " With a God, even a nothing might succeed. I will evolve myself out
of myself, by my own unaided strength will I get to myself the victory. Let
God — if there be a God — give His help to His weaklings. Religion is all very
well for women and children. What need of it has a man ? "
" Who ever showed more forethought than did tliis man ? Who ever was
found more prompt to act, to do the right deed at the right time, than Ajax,
bulwark of the Greeks ? And now — alas ! hear the hero himself : — •
" ' Who ever would have thought that my misfortunes could tally with 7ny
name ! Ai I ai ! well may I cry, not twice, but thrice — ai ! ai ! ' " {Aj., 430).^
The comment of the Hellene is that of the Hebrew prophet : " O Ephraim
— Isaac — thou hast destroyed thyself ! " The awakening from the delusion,
brought on by his own fevered mind and jealous broodings, is more than
Ajax's pride can brook — the contempt and scorn of all around he cannot meet.
*' Nobly to live or nobly to die befits the nobly born." The first has failed him ;
*' nobly to live," apart from God — this is not possible ; the last alternative,
according to the ethics of his age, is open to him still — and Ajax falls upon his
sword, the fatal gift of Hector.
The explanation of the " fate " of the hero is, then, in the eyes of the
old master {Aj., 760), that Ajax has transgressed the first of the unwritten
laws ; he, " being born in the nature of a man, thought himself higher than
-a man," wherefore the heavenly power o'erthrew him, but not, let us note,
by extraneous means. The breach of the unwritten laws, as we read in the
Memorahilia, carries with it its own punishment. The same hyhris, pride of
heart, which leads Ajax to reject the help of God leads him to set that undue
value on himself and his services which, brooded over, brings on the fatal catas-
trophe. " In the great unwritten laws is a mighty God, even the Invisible
Justice, and He groweth not old."
The sacredness of the marriage bond is vindicated in the drama which we
now go on to consider, the TracMnean Women. In it, Heracles (Hercules) and
his consort Deianeira are the leading figures, and the interest centres around
the untimely and horrible death which the great national hero is " fated " to
die. For the whole " history " of Heracles, his wondrous deeds and his
sufferings, we must refer the reader to our companion volume, where it is told
in full. Suffice it here to trace the story so far only as will enable us to under-
stand the action of the drama.
During the time in which Heracles was in the service of Eurystheus, king
of Mycense, he had married Deianeira, daughter of CEneus, the wine-man, king
of Pleuron in ^tolia, and lived for a time happily with her in the house of his
father-in-law. At length, in consequence of blood-guilt, an unpremeditated
manslaughter on the part of hot-tempered Heracles, the hero and his bride are
forced to quit the bounds of ^tolia. They wander forth, and take up their
abode in Tiryns in Argolis. On the way thither, however, an incident with
unforeseen and far-reaching results befalls them. The fugitives have to cross
the river Evenus in ^tolia ; there is neither boat nor bridge, and Deianeira
must be carried to the opposite shore by the centaur Nessus, who acts as
bearer. During the passage, the alarm of the young wife is excited by the
behaviour of the centaur, a creature half-horse, half-man, and she cries for
help, whereupon Heracles with his infallible arrows shoots Nessus, and wounds
him mortally. The dying centaur gives to Deianeira, as a legacy, a handful of
his black blood, which he describes as a love-charm, directing her how to use
1 In allusion to the signification of the name Aiai^, akin to aiazo, to wail and lament. Ai !
ai/ = alas ! alas !
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 391
it should she ever lose the affections of her husband. This supposed charm
Deianeira, nothing suspecting, accepts, and puts away in a secret place.
The young couple dwell in Tiryns for many years, during which Heracles
pursues his adventurous career, and Deianeira remains at home, a true wife,
faithful to all the interests of the husband so often perforce absent ; and
occupied in the rearing of their children, of whom the eldest-born, Hyllus, at
the point where Sophocles takes up the thread of the narrative, has already
arrived at man's estate.
Meantime, in his wanderings, Heracles has had the misfortune to see and
conceive a violent passion for lole, the lovely daughter of Eurytus, king of
Oichalia, on the island of Eubcea. He demands the maiden of her father,
a request which is promptly and properly refused.^ Heracles conceals his
disappointment, but gratifies his revengeful feelings in a deed wholly at
variance with his (hitherto) open and straightforward character. He invites
Iphitus, the brother of lole, to his house in Tiryns, as guest-friend, and then
murders the youth by throwing him over the walls of the city. For this
*' blood-guilt " Heracles and his family are obliged again to leave their home.
Deianeira and her children take refuge at Trachis, where the king receives
them hospitably ; but as for Heracles, he is still further punished by being
deprived of his liberty. " A lie is a foul blot on the name of the free man," says
Deianeira in the same drama (7V., 450), and Heracles has acted the worst of
lies. The popular opinion is further expressed by Lichas the herald (TV., 274),
viz. that Heracles would have been forgiven had he taken an open revenge :
but " Olympian Zeus, the king and father of all, was wroth with him because
he had killed the man by guile," and so the slave of secret and unlawful
passion is openly sold as a slave, by command of Zeus, to a woman, Omphale,
queen of Lydia. Mark the irony of the old, old legend ; even in its original
form it lends itself to the purpose of the poet.
But Heracles, with all his faults, is still the son of Zeus, and the object of
the chastisement is the pathos matlios. He goes indeed into captivity for a
time ; but he takes with him a Divine assurance, received amid the sacred
oaks of the ancient oracle of Dodona, that if he is victor in this conflict
a length of happy days shall be his. Nor is he left in doubt as to what
conflict is meant, for its time is definitely given — when three moons and one
year shall have passed away, from the commencement of his Lydian servitude
(Tr., 74 et seq., 165 et seq.).
That time has now arrived, and with it the drama begins. In the opening
scene we see Deianeira at Trachis, conversing with a faithful slave. She
laments her own hard fate, thus to be left desolate, without the consolation of
knowing even where her lord has sojourned during the weary months of his
absence. Of one thing alone Deianeira is certain, and this is, that the
present is a time most momentous for Heracles. Now is the crisis and
turning-point of his life. Before he went away on this last expedition —
bound she knew not whither — he left with her a tablet whereon was an
inscription whose words betokened an impending conflict at this very hour.
The slave advises her to send forth one of her sons in quest of his father,
and Hyllus, the eldest, approaching at the moment, Deianeira takes counsel
with him.
Hyllus rejoins that he already knows something of his father's doings — he
knows of the Lydian servitude to a woman, and furthermore that Heracles is
at that moment, so they say, engaged in attacking the city of Eurytus on the
island of Euboea (only a short distance from Trachis).
^ Monogamy is the rule among the Hellenes as far back in their annals as we can go.
392 SOPHOCLES
His mother then reveals to him the nature of the oracle in her possession,
the "faithful prophecy concerning this very hour"i — viz. that Heracles shall
either now end his days, or, if he prove victor in this conflict (this athlon), pass
the remainder of his life in bliss.
Construing the conflict to be the siege of Oichalia, and alarmed by the
thought that his father may even then be in danger, Hyllus departs at once
to his assistance, and Deianeira is left to her forebodings of coming woe,
forebodings which in a brief space take but too tangible a shape — for Lichas,
the herald of Heracles, arrives, bringing with him a band of women captives,
and the intelligence that Heracles himself will shortly appear in person.
Deianeira receives the new-comers with kindness, compassionating the sad
fate of those who, now homeless and fatherless, possibly were free-born as
herself. To one maiden especially she feels attracted ; the blow seems to have
fallen with terrible effect on her, and Deianeira inquires with pity concerning
her name and lineage. The girl, absorbed in her grief, can give no answer ;
and Lichas the herald professes to know no more than that she and the others
are prisoners of war, " captives of the spear," taken at the sack of Oichalia,
the city of Eurytus, which, he says, Heracles has destroyed in order to avenge
himself for the ignominious servitude in Lydia — a punishment inflicted upon
him, as we know, because of his treachery to the son of Eurytus, the Oichalian
king. The maiden is then led into the house, but Deianeira is not long left
in doubt as to the real object of her presence there. She is none other than
the hapless lole, sent home, not as the captive, but the " bride " of Heracles —
the rival who has taken from the true and faithful wife the affection of
her lord.
All this Deianeira learns from a peasant, who is in possession of the facts
of the case, and convicts the herald of falsehood in the version of the story of
the sack of Oichalia which he has just told to Deianeira. Adjured by the
latter to speak the whole truth — for falsehood is a blot upon the name of the
free man — Lichas now confesses that his master has destroyed the city and
put the father and brothers of lole to the sword, not out of revenge for the
disgrace of the Lydian punishment, but in order to obtain possession of the
maiden, whom her father would not give to him in secret wedlock. " This
man," concludes the herald (Tr., 488), "once first and victor over all, is now,
by reason of this love, of all the 'weakest J^
In other words, Heracles has not been " victor in this conflict " — the athlon
set before him. His secret passion has been victor, but in sending home this,
his "bride," he has, says the chorus later in the drama (Tr., 893), sent to his
home " an Erinys," an avenging curse.
It must be acknowledged that the so-called son of Zeus presents but a sorry
picture at this stage of his career. We see him standing on the heights of
Euboea, before the altar of his father, offering with unblushing effrontery, as
priest and patriarch, the spoils of the unholy war in which he has been engaged
— ^the proceeds of his lust ; while, but a short distance off, on the mainland,
are the two women whose lives he has ruined — his own tried and faithful wife,
and the girl-victim just budding out into womanhood, dumb with the terror of
the scenes through which she has passed.
But the Invisible Justice has witnessed the overstepping of the unwritten
law of the home — in it, as in all sacred ties, there lives a mighty God, and He
slumbers not.
According to the old legend, which Sophocles follows, the distracted
Deianeira bethinks her at this juncture of the charm given her by the centaur
^ Or "this very laud" {i.e. the land of Eubcea), reading choras instead of horas.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 393
Nessus ; and, acting with not one thought of malice or revenge, but in the
simple belief that she will thereby win back her husband's love, she spreads
the black blood upon a sacrificial robe which she has made for Heracles, and
sends it to him, enclosed in a casket, with the request that he will wear it
when he stands before the altar of Zeus.
In the Sophoclean version of the legend there is a very significant touch —
the robe is prepared in the dark and conveyed in the dark, shut up in a casket ;
before it is put on publicly, it must not see the sunlight. The robe borne within
the casket thus becomes the very symbol and emblem of the dark and secret
purpose which Heracles has borne about with him for many months within
his heart. He now puts it on openly, as he has carried out his dark purpose
openly, and it brings to the wearer, as his purpose has brought to others, death
and destruction.
No sooner has Heracles put on the robe and thus brought it out into day-
light — no sooner have his thoughts developed into acts — than the garment
immediately cleaves to his limbs as though welded to them ; like the virus of
an adder, the poison spread upon the garment penetrates into every fibre of
his being, eating into flesh and bone like a consuming fire.
" My fresh life-blood it hath drunk up," says Heracles at the last in agony
insufferable ; "my whole body it hath destroyed, o'ermastered by this invisible
chain." The robe thrown around his shoulders by Deianeira, he says (Tr.,
1050), " was woven by the Erinyes" — i.e. by the guardians of the sacred ties
of blood.
What need of comment on this Nessus-rob.e — this garment steeped in the
blood of a creature half animal, half man, in whom the sensual has overpowered
the spiritual ? Is it not amongst us still, the " secret chain " of hidden lust,
invisible until its poison has begun to work — dragging down many a strong
" son of Zeus," many an one made in the image of his God — ruining and sapping
the foundations of the home ?
The sequel of the drama is told in a few words. Deianeira, on learning
the result of her innocent experiment — " she failed," says the poet, " desiring
only the best " ^ — in the agony of her remorse puts an end to her own life.
Heracles is carried to the heights of Mount (Eta, placed on a funeral pyre,
and released from his torture.
Ye t the fearful su ffering which he has PTijHIijrAd «t- ^-hp. hpT^^« "^ the In-
XiiiM^-I^^*^® ^^^ cTeansecThim from liis ^yi, and Heracles is accepted.
In the Fhiloktete^, another drama of our poet, he appears purified and
glorified, as the true son of Zeus, and says to the suffering hero : " And first
I point thee to the changes and chances of mine own mortal life — the toils
and troubles which I went through before I reached this everlasting virtue,
this state of bliss, wherein thou dost behold me."
In Heracles also, the 'pathos mathos, learning by suffering, has done its
work ; the Nessus-robe is finally thrown off — by him only in eternity ; by
many an one even now, in the time of his mortal life, " hating even the
garments spotted by the flesh." 2
Throughout the drama there runs again and again the refrain : " This
is the work of Zeus " ; " In the unwritten laws is a mighty God, and He
groweth not old."
The keeping of the oath and covenant is beautifully worked out in the
Philoktetes. Sophocles here gives, as it were, a " modernised " version of the
unwritten law in its bearing upon truth, as between man and man. (See
the section headed Ideals of Sophocles.)
^ Reading mnomene instead of momene. ^ St. Jude 23.
394 SOPHOCLES
The law concerning blood-guilt — that law which, as we have seen, has grown
clearer and clearer as the centuries roll by — is dealt with in the Electra. We may
say at once that this is the weakest of the master's works, for in it he sins
against his own ideals. Sophocles, in fact, seems to have felt it impossible
to surpass his great rival in dealing with the subject of the murder of Aga-
memnon and its punishment. As a Greek and an Athenian, he was bound
to try his hand upon it, but the drama, relieved here and there by some
splendid lines, is on the whole a failure.
In the first place {EL, 32), it bases the attempt of Orestes upon a lie;
Phcebus Apollo bids the youth avenge his father by deceit (doloisin) — strange
teaching for a god whom Pindar and ^schylus revere for hating a lie.
And in the second place, Electra, who gives her name to the drama, the
daughter of the murdered Agamemnon and of Clytemnestra, is not a heroine
that can enlist our sympathy. In her continual brooding over the thought
of compassing not only the just avenging of her father's death, but the
personal revenging of the hardships which she herself has had to endure,
her whole nature has deteriorated. She has but one thought — Revenge !
revenge !
Sophocles, it is true, takes care to justify his view of the girl's character —
it is the result of the circumstances amid which she has grown up. As Electra
says, " with such surroundings," forced to see what she must daily see, neither
right-mindedness nor reserve is possible. The vile drags us down of necessity
to do the vile. And again, when she says (JSL, 307): "The base deed itself
has taught us baseness," she is simply enunciating a stern truth. Although
the whole conception may be perfectly true to nature, it is also perfectly
horrible, inasmuch as it is not redeemed by any softer touch. How can
we feel ourselves in touch with a daughter who, when she hears her mother's
death cry {El., 141 5) : " Woe's me ! I am wounded ! " exclaims : " Strike yet
again, if thou hast strength ! "
The character of Electra may be the outcome of the life she has led, and
as such the delineation may be true ; but it is nevertheless revolting.
Again, in the version of the story as told by x'Eschylus, the horror of the
awful act of justice which Orestes is called upon to perform produces madness
in him — a conception as grand as it is true and eternally fitting. But the
Orestes of Sophocles is a light-headed youth, who promises his sister that,
after success has crowned the attempt, "then they will rejoice and laugh! "
Possibly the difference of the moods in which the two poets respectively
approached the subject is nowhere better realised than in this one feature —
the Orestes of ^schylus goaded to madness by the thought of what he has
done, the Orestes of Sophocles rejoicing and laughing over his success !
We are bound to note the weak as well as the strong points of our master ;
but we willingly leave the Electra and pass on to another subject in which
Sophocles stands supreme.
THE TRILOGY
The action of the great laws, as understood by Sophocles — " in them is a
mighty God, and He groweth not old" — is clear, as we have seen, in each of the
works which have come down to us under his name. Most clearly, however,
is it shown in that grandest of tragedies, the great series of dramas known as
(Edipus the King, (Edipus at Colonus, and Antigone. The laws illustrated in
the story of CEdipus and his race are those relating to the sacredness of the
THE TRILOGY 395
family ties, the stain of blood-guilt, the protection of the suppliant, the pious
care of the dead, and, lastly, to that which binds all the rest together, that
from which the other laws take their strength, reverence for the great silent
unseen power, the Invisible Justice that rules the universe.
In his demonstration in the trilogy of the proof that God is no despot, man
no slave to fate, Sophocles stands as a great moral teacher abreast of ^schylus,
nay, by the side of our own Shakespeare. Indeed, it were hardly too much to
say that, as the forerunner, Sophocles, in the tragedies under consideration, is
greater than Shakespeare. We may truly ask, Had there been no King
Oedipus, would there have been a King Lear 2 Possibly "yes," inasmuch
as both poets worked upon material ready to their hand ; but the task of
Sophocles was indisputably the harder. All that he had to build upon was a
crude and mysterious myth to which a later saga had been tacked on, as it
were. This myth or legend, which had been handed down, probably, from the
days when the Aryan family dwelt together in the old home, is in itself the
most ordinary, and yet in its results the most extraordinary, of the many sun-
myths. In it we have depicted the most natural of phenomena — the Sun,
born of his mother, the Dawn, running his course across the heaven, slaying
on his return his father, the Night, wedding his own mother (whom, as the
Twilight, he does not recognise), and bringing forth with her their mutual
offspring, the clear, full Light of Day. Imagine now these varied factors —
Dawn, Sun, Night and Day, personified, turned into actual human beings,
represented as doing very much the same acts in their human capacity — and
V DU have the grrgimdw ork nf the mnst awful complication of which it is possible
te^conceive, a complication heightened by that other factor^ the necessary out-
CQfflfiaif_au.natui'aL religion, that all this happened by the,, decree of God. The
Oracle had said that CEdipus (the Greek representative of the sun-hero) should
'^ slay his own father and wed his own mother," and the Oracle had spoken
truly, for the Sun has gone on slaying Night and its horrors. Sphinx and
Python, and wedding the Dawn, ever since.
But the meaning of the original legend, with its attendant interwoven
saga, known to those who invented both, has long since faded from the minds
of men, and the age of Sophocles, with its generation of thinking and sceptical
inquirers, is face to face with a problem harder far to solve than any material
problems set by the devouring Sphinx : —
Why did the gods, if they are just, allow a good and beneficent man,
such as depicted in the QEdipus of the legend, to fall into so horrible a sin,
to meet with so terrible a fate ?
Popular answer : There must have been a " doom on the house," a " curse
on the race."
Second proUeyn : But why should the punishment fall upon an innocent
man?
No answer.
Popular deduction: It is of no use to strive against fate. It is all one
what a man does, whether his character is good, bad, or indifferent — the
gods care not. Gods ? There is no god but Fate !
Did the answer, with the inference therefrom, satisfy Sophocles ? We trow
not. Granted that there was a "doom" on a race, to any thinking mind
there must have been a reason for it, since there is no effect without a cause.
Granted that the punishment fell upon an apparently innocent man, a thinker
who feels convinced of the eternal justice was constrained to ask : Had that
man no share in bringing about what befell him ? That is the question which
Sophocles set himself to solve, and his answer is contained in the trilogy.
396 SOPHOCLES
(EDIPUS THE KING
The story of CEdipus belongs to the Theban saga-cycle, in which his race,
that of the Labdakidse, occupies the central position filled by the Atreidae in
the sagas of Argos. Labdacus, grandson of Kadmos — the Man of the East,
the legendary founder of Thebes — has a son named Laius, who commits a
terrible sin against a beautiful youth, Chrysippus, the son of Pelops. Chry-
sippus in despair kills himself, and the father, thus bereft of his child, utters
a curse ^ upon Laius, which the Delphic Oracle confirms later by warning the
Theban king that, if he seeks to perpetuate his race, he will himself be slain
by his own son, who will then wed his mother and plunge his whole house
into misery and bloodshed. Thus the penalty, not the "fate," of Laius is that,
since by his crime he has deprived another of his child, he himself shall perish
at the hands of his own child.
Laius for a while is content to abide by the warning of the Oracle, which
answers truly enough to the instinct implanted within his own heart; but
after a while a child is born to him, and, to outwit the Oracle, he plans with
Jocaste, his wife, that it shall die. The infant, therefore (according to a
custom not unknown among the Greeks), is exposed, while yet alive, on the
wild heights of Cithaeron ; and, as if this cruelty were not enough, another is
added, for its little feet are bored through and so fastened together. By
sanctioning (or instigating) all this, Jocaste has brought herself within the
action of the curse. She has now her share also in the further breach of the
three great laws already broken by her husband : —
(i) Irreverence towards the Divine power, and the Divine voice within
the heart.
(2) Breach of the family ties. (Edipus says long after of his sons {CEcl,
Col., 403) : " Their own hearts without the Oracle might teach them their duty
to him." So, conversely, Jocaste's own heart condemns her, no less than the
Oracle.
(3) Blood-guilt.
The sin of Laius, then, followed by a father's curse — a curse which in
antiquity was believed to have a Divine power, inasmuch as it was watched
over and followed up by the Erinyes, the guardians of the family ties — this
is the seed whence springs the whole crop of further sin and sorrow, a veritable
Ate's field, rich in death.
When the story opens in the tragedy of CEdipus, it is upon a scene of woe.
Groups of sufferers of all ages, from the child to the grey-haired man, all
bearing the wool-entwined bough of the suppliant, are kneeling around the
altars and temples of the gods in the market-place of Thebes ; in their midst
stands, with his colleagues, the venerable priest of Zeus, highest god. Sud-
denly the doors of the palace are thrown open and GEdipus the king appears,
attended by his retinue. He has come himself to inquire into the cause
of the sorrowful concourse, of the suppliants' boughs, the incense, the moans
and laments wherewith the air is filled. Of all this, he says, he would him-
self take note, he would not hear it from another's lips. No ! he whom they
called CEdipus the famed would willingly in all things be helpful to them ;
hard of heart indeed must he be, did he not compassionate the lowly seat of
the suppliant (GEd. Tyr., 1-14).
^ This curse of Pelops was regarded in antiquity as the motif of the story of Laius, but
the incidents are given differently by different chroniclers. The above version was known to
Euripides ; hence, doubtless, also to Sophocles.
(EDIPUS THE KING
397
The priest of Zeus, representing the people, makes answer : The city is in *
sore distress, no longer can she raise her head above the destroying wave —
a mysterious plague is in the midst of her, and death is on all sides, in the
home and in the fields.
But as to the reason of the present assembly, the priest adds, with a touch
truly Hellenic : " Not as holding thee equal to the gods, O CEdipus, do we —
I and these children — as suppliants approach thy hearth, but as judging thee
the best of men, best in devising counsel in life's misfortunes and in the judg-
ments of the gods." Was it not CEdipus who had set them free from the yoke
of the cruel songstress (the Sphinx), to whom, in time past, they had brought
perforce their living tribute? And had he not done this single-handed,
without the teaching of man — nay, solely by the help of God? To whom,
then, but to (Edipus could they look in this perplexity? "Up then, best of
mortals ! " concludes the priest, " if thou wouldst still be ruler here, for naught
is fort or ship, bereft of men."
To understand the high priest's allusions, we must premise that once before
(Edipus had indeed, according to the saga, delivered the city by his ready wit.
Long years ago, Thebes had been oppressed by a monster, the Sphinx, who
ensconced herself hard by upon a hill, whence she propounded riddles to the
citizens. Whosoever amongst them failed to answer these riddles aright met
the cruel fate of death. So dire was the pest that Laius, king of Thebes, himself
set out to inquire of the Oracle at Delphi as to the means of ridding the country
of her. From this journey he never returned. He and his little band of
followers were attacked in a lonely glen of Parnassus, the Triple Way, and all
perished save one, who alone escaped to tell the tale.
At this crisis CEdipus, a homeless, unknown wanderer, but one who called
himself prince and son of Corinth's king, arrives upon the scene. The riddle
propounded by the Sphinx has no difficulties for him ; straightway he solves it,
whereat the creature in despair throws herself headlong from her hill, and
perishes in the waters at its foot.^ The citizens hail their deliverer with joy,
give him Jocaste, wife of the former king, in marriage, and make him ruler
over Thebes.
" Up then, best of mortals ! save us again ! " they cry, and CEdipus is not
slow in responding to the appeal.
He tells them that, although he is only now thus publicly taking cognis-
ance of the universal distress, it has long weighed upon his mind. Not one
of those before him has felt it so deeply as himself ; the trouble of all has
^ The "Sphinx," as we have already shown (for a full explanation of the Sphinx-fable on
Greek soil see ante, p. 53), is probably to be taken as an emblem of the mountain-torrents of Greece
and the periodical flooding to which, through their agency, the low-lying plains are subjected..
The " riddle " propounded to the inhabitants of the district in which she has taken up her
abode is how to dispose of the superfluous waters, which, by their sudden rise, take their
"toll" of men. The "guessing of the riddle" is the solving of the problem — the engineering
skill that collects the waters into the one deep part, the "lake" at the foot of the hill, into
which the Sphinx (the mountain-stream) plunges, and then is lost to sight. The guesser of the
riddle is CEdipus, the man of deep counsel and ready wit, who devises the ways and means
whereby the water-plague is got rid of, and who, in process of time, becomes identified with
the Sun-gud, who helps him by drying up the stagnant marshes. This sun-and- water legend
is more suited in all its details to the immediate district of the Copaic Lake, where it doubt-
less grew up ; but it was localised at Thebes, that ambitious city which, from the beginning,
seems to have aimed at centralising all things within herself — poetry as well as politics. In
the basis-story of CEdipus, then, we have an example of the marvellous way in which myth and
saga were harmonised by the early poets. It was fitting that the beneficent Sun-god, drying
up by superhuman power swamp and pestilential vapours, should be identified with, or trans-
formed into, the energetic hero, able to grapple with the same difficulty on the human side,
and to cbnquer it.
398 SOPHOCLES
come upon him , on him alone, and on none other ; the grief of the city is his.
They have not come to awake him out of sleep. No ! for already he has
thought with tears over many plans. One only promises healing for the
people, and this he has already followed out, for he has sent his own near
relative, Kreon, his consort's brother, to Delphi, to ask counsel of Apollo.
Hardly has QEdipus ended his reply than the return of the ambassador from
Delphi is announced. Kreon appears as the bearer of good tidings, crowned
with a laurel garland rich in berries. He tells them that the cause, at least,
of the mysterious plague has been disclosed ; judgment has fallen upon Thebes
because of the blood-guilt that rests upon her, in that the murder of her former
ruler, Laius, still remains unpunished. Phcebus demands that the pest, the
miasma, thus nourished in the land shall be dismissed beyond her borders or
blood avenged by blood.
(Edipus inquires into the circumstances attending the death of Laius.
Why, he asks, had not the crime been inquired into at the time of its occur-
rence ? The terror of the Sphinx,^ Kreon replies, had so absorbed the minds
of men as to prevent their giving heed to aught besides. CEdipus then vows
to search into the matter from its very inception, and thus give satisfaction at
once to the land and to the god. He bids the suppliants arise and withdraw ;
the time for action has come, he will do all that can be done, and to this end
proclaims a general assembly of the citizens.
The foregoing will suffice to show the groundwork of Sophocles' conception
of the character of (Edipus. We have here the ideal ruler, the man not only
of light but of leading, able and willing to employ his rare gifts in the service
of others, feeling their distress as his own. The keynote of this side of
OEdipus' nature is struck in the beautiful words which he utters a little later
in the drama {^Q^d. Tyr., 314).
" To help 2 is, for a man, so far as means and strength are his, the noblest
task."
And that this is no mere empty sentiment is proved by the words of the
high priest : " We come to thee as best of men." Moreover, (Edipus is not
only generous, but pious. He has thought over many plans, he says, but
recognises that the only real way to solve this problem is by asking counsel of
the wisest.
How, then, comes it that such a man is " overtaken by fate," by trouble,
by calamity ? The next scenes will furnish perhaps a clue to the mystery.
When the people have assembled in the ma.rket-place (Edipus addresses
them as one to whom judgment and power have been given as a sacred trust.
He himself, he says, is a stranger amongst them ; of the deed he knows
nothing, nor can he discover the doer of it without a trace or clue. Hence it
is to them, the people of Kadmos, the born children of the land, that he, who
but of late was domiciled amongst them, must look. Does any man know
aught concerning it ? Let him not fear to speak, even although he himself thus
bear witness against himself. Unharmed he shall be suffered to depart the
land. But the man who knows the perpetrator of this deed and hides his
knowledge, on him (Edipus pronounces a fearful sentence. He shall be put
under the ban of the State and of society ; no one shall receive him or greet
him ; he shall be cut off from the common worship of the gods, from prayer
and sacrifice and purification ; thrust out shall he be from every house as the
miasma, the pest, who has defiled them all. He, (Edipus, offers himself as ally
to the god and to the murdered man, and curses the wretch who did the deed ;
1 i.e. the flooding of the land. ^ Literally, to be of use — ophelein.
GEDIPUS THE KING 399
a miserable existence shall be his. Yea, continues (Edipus, if under his own
roof, by his own hearth, the murderer be found, may the curse which he
now pronounces upon others be fulfilled upon himself. He now enjoys the
place once filled by the man who was slain ; if fate had not been against him,
Laius' children would have grown up with his own ; therefore, says (Edipus,
he himself will fight for Laius as for a father, and track out with zeal unwearied
the man who slew him. May he among the citizens who will not likewise
thus think and act be accursed of the god ; may the fruits of the earth be denied
him, his wife deprived of children, and on himself the fate of this day and yet
a worse descend !
Throughout the whole of this speech the terrible "irony of fate" is
revealed. (Edipus will fight for the murdered man as for a father : if the
murderer is discovered at his own hearth, may the curse descend upon himself !
But, together with the terrible " irony of fate," we see another factor at work
— the terrible impetuosity of the man.
The people withdraw ; the elders of Thebes alone remain, protesting their
innocence, and counselling the king to seek further help at the mouth of one
who knows the mind of the god, and stands with Apollo " as a prince with a
prince," even Teiresias the seer.
This also, (Edipus replies, has been already thought of — already, by the
advice of Kreon, has he sent twice to summon Teiresias, and, even as he
speaks, the elders hail the approach of the venerable man. Teiresias is blind ;
his steps are guided by a youth who leads him, but the eyes of his mind are
open. " In him alone of mortals," say the elders, " dwells inborn truth."
(Edipus lays the case before Teiresias with pathos and dignity. Nothing,
he says, is hid from him as seer in heaven or in earth. Let him not therefore
grudge the word of revelation conveyed to him by omens ^ or in any other way.
" Save thyself and the city," he urges ; " save me, save us from this guilt, this
miasma, towards the dead ; to thee we look, for to help, so far as means and
strength are given, is for man the noblest task."
But to the appeal the seer makes no answer. He stands apart, striving,
as it were, with some intolerable thought. " Woe ! woe ! " hef murmurs to
himself ; " how awful is it to be wise where wisdom profits not ! " If he had
but remembered this, never would he have ventured there that day.
The king is amazed — why is it that Teiresias comes to him thus cast down ?
" Suffer me to depart," is the only response ; " 'twill be easier both for thee
and me, if in this thou hearken to me."
" There speakest thou not well," (Edipus rejoins, " nor kindly, in that thou
withholdest from the State which nourished thee thy seer-word. . . . By the
gods, I beseech thee — refuse us not thy counsel. See ! we all as suppliants
here implore thee,"
" And all know not what ye do," replies the seer. " Never shall I speak
the word that reveals thy ruin."
Out flames the hidden fire. Has not (Edipus sworn that he who withholds
his knowledge shall be put under the ban, and is he now to be thwarted to his
very face? " What sayest thou," he demands fiercely ; " 'tis not of knowledge
that thou speakest. Nay, but thou wouldst betray us, wouldst give up the
city to destruction ! "
" I would not give pain unto myself or thee," rejoins the old man calmly.
*' Why without reason reproachest thou me thus? From me thou shalt have
no answer."
^ Literally, by birds. See ante, p. 260.
400 SOPHOCLES
" Thou wilt not answer, miscreant (thou worst of evil-doers) ? — a very stone
wouldst thou anger, standing thus unmoved, relentless."
" My mind thou blamest," rejoins the seer. " What dwelleth in thine own
thou seest not, and yet reproachest me ! "
" Who, without anger, could hear such words as these," retorts QEdipus,
" wherewith upon the State thou throwest scorn ?"
" It will draw nigh," replies the seer, "although my silence veils it."
*' What will draw nigh behoves thee now to tell me."
" No further will I speak," replies Teiresias, turning away. " Rage in
thine anger — and were it the wildest — if thou wilt."
" Yea, in mine anger I will not keep silence," retorts CEdipus, now trans-
ported beyond all thought of prudence. " Know then what I opine — 'tis thou
hast planned this deed and been accomplice in it, save only that with hands
thou didst not slay him ; but, wert thou not blind, the work itself I'd say
was thine, and thine alone."
It is now the turn of the seer. Thus challenged, he solemnly bids OEdipus
himself abide by the decree which he but now has issued. " From this day
forth," he says, " speak not to these" (pointing to the elders), " nor yet to me.
'Tis thou who hast defiled the land. . . . Thou art the man, the murderer
whom thou seekest."
This scene is sufficient of itself to show us how Sophocles works out the
problem of the " doom " of CEdipus. The generous, high-minded ruler is not
" overtaken " by calamity.; he himself courts it, leaps into it. There is another
side to the character of CEdipus, or rather, as we may perhaps more truly say,
there is a something underlying his whole nature, an ardent fiery spirit, of
which his zeal and warm-heartedness are but some of the manifestations.
(Epidus is not only generous, manly, helpful, ready to devise, prompt to act —
but impetuous, eager, self-willed, impatient of contradiction, as we have seen —
hot-headed to the last degree.
Such faults as these we are ready to condone ; they are, we say, " chivalrous "
faults, the faults of a noble nature. True ; but faults nevertheless : they are
the outcome of that " overstepping of the bounds " which, like the anger of an
Achilles or the too-eager ambition of a Hector, brings destruction and death in
its train.
Teiresias wishes CEdipus well ; fain would he keep back " the word that
unveils his ruin," but CEdipus himself makes this impossible. He has reviled
the servant of Apollo as " worst of evil-doers," accused him without a shadow
of evidence of perpetrating the murder, and scoffed at his seer's gift — and all
this publicly before the leading men of the city.
But CEdipus cannot stop here— the seer is beyond his reach, for his person
is sacred. The anger seething within him must find a vent, and his suspicions
fall upon Kreon, his brother-in-law. Had not Kreon advised him to summon
Teiresias ? Him he accuses next of planning with the seer to effect his
destruction by throwing the guilt of Laius' murder upon him, that he (Kreon)
may thus obtain possession of the throne. Acting upon the fury inspired by
this idea, CEdipus behaves towards Kreon even more tyrannically. Hardly will
he allow him to speak in self-defence, and threatens him, not with banishment
only, but with death.
The " fate," or " doom," or " curse " of CEdipus is summed up in the
pregnant words of the old seer {(Ed. Tyr., 379) ^ —
" Not Kreon is thy bane — 'tis thou thyself unto thyself ! "
The real curse on (Edipus is in him, in the fierce current of impetuosity which
drives him on. This reaches its height when the fatal truth is demonstrated
CEDIPUS THE KING 401
beyond a doubt — when (Edipus the king is identified with Swollen-of-foot, the
new-born infant found on Cithaeron with tortured ankles, rescued by a kindly
herdsman and conveyed to Corinth ; when (Edipus of Corinth, again, is
identified with the youth who in the Schiste hard by Delphi slays, single-
handed, Laius, king of Thebes, and four of his attendants, the fifth alone
escaping to unravel the mystery ; when this same youth, again, proves to be
none other than the reader of the riddle, the conqueror of the Sphinx, the
husband of Jocaste, and present king of Thebes. When all this comes into
the broad light of day, then does the current of passionate emotion swell into
the flood that bursts all bounds. Unable to bear the shame and horror of
circumstance in which he finds himself entangled, unable to endure the taunts
of those who henceforth will have for " QEdipus the famed " no kinder name
than " QEdipus the murderer, the parricide, the husband of his mother, the
miasrna that has defiled the land," unable to meet the eyes of those whom but
now he has unjustly accused and threatened — (Edipus rushes from the spot,
and in the agony of despair stabs his own eyes again and again, until he has
deprived himself of sight.
Years after, (Edipus himself acknowledges that this self-inflicted punish-
ment was far beyond what justice called for. " All unknowing," he says with
perfect truth {(JSd. Col., 273), "I went — whither I went." His parents had
done of set purpose what they did, and therefore when Jocaste, on learning
the fulfilment of the Oracle (which she had despised, and boasts of having out-
witted), makes away with herself, she does it to escape well-earned shame.
With (Edipus the case is reversed ; he has been far more sinned against than
sinning. It was not of intent that he did what he did, and the motive it is
that makes the difference. A man of calmer, more reflective temperament
would have recognised this, and been content to abide the verdict of Delphi
and the State — withdrawal from the land was one of the alternatives given
by the Oracle. But (Edipus is too proud to await the judgment of others ;
he himself will take the word and pronounce the sentence upon himself, a
sentence which leaves him, by his own act, absolutely helpless and defenceless,
dependent upon others, the very sport of circumstance.
One point, however, still remains dark. Granted that (Edipus inflicts upon
himself a punishment altogether disproportionate to a sin committed involun-
tarily and in ignorance, how came it that such a man, so generous and noble, is
suffered by the gods to fall into this involuntary sin ?
To answer the question as Sophocles answers it, we must go back in the
hero's history and see him in his youthful days at Corinth. He is present at
a banquet there, when one of the company, flushed with wine, taunts him with
not being what he supposes himself to be, son of the king of the land. (Edipus
resents the slur thus cast upon him. Hardly can he await the coming of the
day in order to question his supposed parents, the royal pair, as to the truth of
the statement. They reject the insinuation indignantly, but (Edipus is not
satisfied ; he broods over the matter, and finally leaves Corinth secretly in
order to set his mind at rest by consulting the Oracle at Delphi.
But he receives the terrible warning of what is to be — that he will " slay
his father and wed his mother " — and with characteristic impetuosity seeks no
further counsel, but at once interprets the Oracle as referring to those whom
he has been wont to call " father " and " mother," although, as we have seen,
he has already received a hint that the royal couple of Corinth do not really
stand in that relation to him.
In order to escape the threatened danger, then, he resolves not to return
again to his supposed mother-city, and, starting in the opposite direction,
2
402 SOPHOCLES
proceeds until he arrives at the Triple Way, or Schiste, a narrow glen in which
three ways leading up from other parts of Greece to Delphi converge.
Suddenly a little cavalcade of five emerges from the Theban road. In the
midst is a chariot in which is seated an old man with flowing snow-white hair ;
before him walks a herald with wand of office.
Now, in estimating what follows, we must bear in mind three important
points which would be present to the mind of every Hellene who heard the
Sophoclean version of the legend : —
(i) That an old man, bound on an oflLicial mission, and especially one of a
sacred character (as the immediate vicinity of Delphi here betokened), was
himself sacred for the time.
(2) That the person of a herald was universally regarded as inviolable.
(3) That it was absolutely impossible for the chariot to move out of the
wheel-ruts cut for the passage of vehicles in the rocky path.^ Hence it was
here part of the herald's duty to clear the way before it.
Imagine now this narrow Triple Way, and the proud youth, wrapped in his
own gloomy thoughts and brooding as he goes upon his trouble, suddenly
confronted with the herald. The road is not wide enough for two, the carriage
cannot turn aside ; who is to yield ? Intentionally, so CEdipus believes, the
driver jostles him from the path, and in so doing is encouraged by the occupant
of the chariot. CEdipus is in no mood to be trifled with ; his blood is up, and,
as he himself admits, " in anger " he strikes the driver. Upon this, the old
man raises his iron-pointed staff, to bring it down with deadly aim upon the
stranger's head. Quick as thought, CEdipus is before him, throws him from
his seat, and, in the end, slays the whole party, excepting the one attendant
who escapes, and, to save himself from reproach (and worse), gives out that his
master had been attacked and slain by a robber band.
Embassies to Delphi were events of common occurrence in the days of
Sophocles, and in the narrow Triple Way many a time a procession going up
to inquire of the Oracle must have met a procession coming down, without any
such catastrophe as that pictured in the drama taking place. Those returning,
their mission fulfilled, would recognise the greater urgency of the rival
procession, and would quietly give place. How came it then that, in this case,
where not two processions, but a solitary pedestrian and a little embassy, met,
results so dire occurred ? Bearing in mind the impetuous conduct of (Edipus
towards the seer whom all Thebes venerates, recollecting the gratuitous
provocation addressed to him, "thou worst of evil-doers! " the spectator of the
Sophoclean drama would be at no loss for an answer. The encounter in the
Triple Way is an encounter of passions. "Like father, like son" — neither Laius
nor (Edipus will give way ; each of them has not on but in him " the curse of
the race," the ^''hyhris that makes the tyrant," the imperious, haughty temper
that will brook no opposition.
This is the key to the situation. The comment of Teiresias would have
been : —
" 'Twas not the meeting was thy bane — Hwas thou thyself unto thyself.''^
" Anger," says Kreon to CEdipus in the companion drama {(Ed. Col.^ 855),
" has ever been thy ruin" — words spoken by an enemy, but true nevertheless.
Just as the whole tragic story of Lear grows out of his momentary frenzy of
indignation against Cordelia's supposed ingratitude, so does the " ruin " of
CEdipus — the whole complication in which he finds himself involved — spring
from the sudden outburst of anger against those in the Schiste, who (so he
imagines) would " drive him " from the way by force. CEdipus has in that
^ See C. Curtius, Gesch. des Wegebahns hei der Griechen, pp. 14, 15.
OEDIPUS THE KING 403
short hour brought himself within the range of the ' ' curse," i.e. of the
penalty, for he too has broken the great unwritten law. He is no parricide
in the real sense of the term, but blood crieth from the ground ; the stain
of blood-guilt is upon him, and we hear of no attempt at purification or
expiation.!
Now we are in a position to understand the real force of the grand chorus
of the elders from which we have already quoted {(Ed. Tyr., 863 et seq.) : —
"Ah ! were it the lot of my life to keep in sacred purity each word and
work, true to the laws set forth on high ! For they are born in heaven —
Olympus alone is their sire, neither hath mortal nature conceived them, nor
ever hath forgetfulness lulled them into slumber. No ! for in them is a
mighty God, and He waxeth not old."
Hyhris breeds the tyrant — hyhris, surfeited (in vain) on many things, things
neither fitting nor expedient, when it hath scaled ambition's summit, down the
steep height into endless ruin plungeth.
Some of our readers may possibly be inclined to say : Why press the old
legend thus ? Why take it all so much au serieux ? The answer lies on the
surface — our master Sophocles took it most seriously, because it was serious to
his age-fellows. To those who thought at all, the story was a great blot on the
justice and goodness of the Divine power. It was a life and death matter to
them, therefore, that the paralysing theory of the domination of "fate" should
be exposed, that they should be enabled to see how a man's real "fate" is
determined by himself, that the reaping in a life is a natural result of the
sowing. On four different occasions in the career of his hero, Sophocles shows
how (Edipus held his fate in his own hands : —
(a) If at the very outset QEdipus had acted prudently, and sought clearei-
light as to his parentage, he would never have gone on to Thebes. We must
endeavour to look at the matter from the Greek standpoint, and bear in mind
that the " history " of CEdipus — that is, the main outline of the saga, as known
to every nation in Hellas — was " historical " to them in our sense of the word.
We know from actual history that there were several ways of putting a ques-
tion to the Oracle. Xenophon, e.g., tells us that Socrates rebuked him for not
having put his inquiry at Delphi (regarding the advisability of his joining the
expedition of Cyrus) in the right way. He received an answer, indeed, but
an indirect one, although Loxias^ could give sufficient counsel on occasion.
A Greek would say, probably, that here (Edipus had been too hasty.
(h) If, again, CEdipus had preserved his self-control (or, to use a common-
place, " kept his temper ") in the Triple Way, the whole tragedy could never
have taken place.
(c) //', later, he had abstained from unjust accusations and threats, the
public denoument would have been avoided. Teiresias is anxious to save him.
1 (Edipus excuses himself later by saying that what he did was done in self-defence ; but it
is evident from the story, as he himself tells it, that the " defence " was, in the first place, not
of his life but of his dignity, for the old man does not raise his staff until his servant has been
struck down. CEdipus it is that begins the fray. It is necessary, moreover, as stated above,
in estimating the moral guilt of CEdipus, as it would present itself to a Greek of the age of
Sophocles, to remember the sacredness that attached to the herald's oflSce. No matter how
insulting might be the mes.sage which he was sent to deliver, the herald was regarded as a
neutral party and protected accordingly. Herodotus tells us two Spartans proceeded to Susa
and offered themselves as living victims to the great king in expiation of the crime committed
by their countrymen, who had killed the Persian heralds sent to demand earth and water of
the Greeks. The presence of the herald in the embassy is twice mentioned by the poet, as
though to emphasise its sacred character and claim to be respected.
2 The name given to the Delphic Apollo on account of the " crookedness " or ambiguity of
his responses. *
404 SOPHOCLES
(d) If, finally, strong in the consciousness of his own rectitude, he had left
judgment to Delphi, the final catastrophe would have been averted.
The *' fate " of CEdipus, viewed thus in the " common-sense " light of events
upon which any man could form a judgment, is something very different from
the awful, mysterious "fate" of the popular mind, the "something" which
gods and men alike were powerless to resist. Fate, as Sophocles shows, is
here nothing less than hybris in one of its hydra-headed manifestations, and,
in his exposure of the popular fallacy, our master stands beside Homer in his
exposure of the ate.^ Every age has its veil, more or less cleverly woven, ready
to throw over the ugly thing called " sin " and its consequences, and he is the
real teacher of his age who withdraws that veil and shows the thing concealed
in all its nakedness.
True, Sophocles nowhere directly blames his hero. Does Shakespeare any-
where blame Lear ? The sufferings which both heroes endure constitute, to
the mind of both poets, the " blame." Direct reproach, indeed, comes from
the lips of bystanders and enemies in both cases ; but nowhere is the artist
lost in the preacher. Sophocles and Shakespeare are both content to give
their personages fair play ; they tell their own story in their own way, and the
progress of events reveals the moral. Thus it is that (Edipus and Lear, with
all their faults, their violent outbursts and their unjust judgments, remain
great and lovable — thus it is that our fullest sympathy is enlisted on their
side, whilst our moral judgment on their acts remains free.
GEDIPUS AT COLONUS
The companion drama opens upon one of the most touching scenes in
the whole range of literature. An old man is seen approaching ; his dignified
mien betokens that the frail body is indwelt by a noble spirit, but suffering,
severe and terrible, is stamped upon his face (^d. Col., 75, 149, 555). He is
sightless, and his steps are led by a young girl (CEd. Col., 170). It is (Edipus,
once the famed, the stalwart, the energetic ruler and benefactor, now the
rejected, the feeble, the homeless, the beggar.
To understand the change, we must premise that the earnest plea of
QEdipus, at the great crisis of his life, to be permitted to leave the scene
of his shame and agony, had been disallowed (in sheer caprice, as it would
seem) by Kreon, who then assumed the reins of power. Later, after the
unfortunate king has in a measure become reconciled to his position and
seeks for solace in the joys of home, this consolation, with even greater
caprice and cruelty unheard of, is denied him by, not Kreon only, but his own
two sons, Polyneikes and Eteocles. Arrived at man's estate, they would share
the sovereignty of Thebes between them, and to this intent drive forth from
the city the father who might, perchance, stand in the way of their ambitious
plans. Bent down with suffering and sorrow, feeble and blind, (Edipus is
turned adrift to ask of the charity of strangers the means of supporting bare
life.
His daughters alone are faithful to him. Antigone will not leave him ;
Ismene remains at Thebes, but only in order that she may minister to his
wants as opportunity offers and keep him informed of the course of events.
For weary months, and may be years, the old man and Antigone have
led this wandering life, dependent on the bounty of strangers (CEd. Col., 5),
" asking for little, and receiving less." At length they have reached a resting-
^ See ante, p. 287. '
(EDIPUS AT COLONUS 405
place. Behind them is the dreary way to Thebes, with its mournful memories,
its strifes and rivalries ; before them is a lovely spot, set apart and sacred to
some deity. The air is full of sweet scents and sights and sounds ; golden
crowns and narcissus, heavy with dew, shine out amidst the grass ; vine and
laurel and olive cast around a pleasant shade ; the voice of the nightingale
hidden among the clustering ivy, and the murmuring flow of the Cephissus-
stream, with its never-slumbering waters, strike sweetly upon the ear,
bidding the wanderers softly welcome. A House of God it is, a peace ful, k
gentlg._spfltHJr»d-irer0~ttIF Wearied, troubleci soul oi LtJdipu^ iS destined to hnd I
re^L- —
*' Child of the blind old man, Antigone!" he says {(Ed. Col., 14 et seq.^
668 etseq.), " what country have we reached ? What city ? Who this day will
welcome with scant gifts the wanderer (Edipus ? Little he asks, and still
less receives, yet this suffices me, for sufferings and long time, and my own
true heart, have taught me therewith to be content. ^ But see, child, if there
be not here some resting-place — one open to all comers, or sacred to the gods."
Antigone describes the scene before them, adding that in the distance there
rise the towers of a city, which she knows to be Athens. The wanderers take
their seat beneath the shady trees ; but hardly have they done so when they
are accosted by a man, a native of the place, who has perceived their move-
ments, and, hastening to them with all speed, bids them arise and withdraw.
The place wherein they sit is sacred, holy ground that may not be trodden by I
foot of man, for it is consecrate to the fearful deities, daughters of Earth and I
Darkness, known to the Athenian folk as Eumenidae, gracious goddesses ; to
all other peoples of Hellas by a name which may not be outspoken — Erinyes,
Furies, the deities who bear in remembrance and punish sin.
(Edip us receives the inte llig ence wit h a. s^.ii'^T^gft-^y. " Now," he saysi
*' may they graciously receivelEne suppliant, for from this place do I go forthl
no more." Not in vain has he been led thus to take shelter within the sacredl j
spot — he recognises in this the fulfilment of a promise of Apollo, that when hell
shall have reached the last land, taken up the suppliant's seat, and beenV
hospitably received at the shrine of the venerable goddesses, his sufferings and I
his w anderin gs g^qj]! \]h^^^ ^r\ f^r^
Yes! CEdipus, reviled by vulgar minds as "parricide" — and worse — now
stands under the protection of the very powers who seek out and avenge blood-
guilt.. The spirit has once more triumphed over the letter of the law,^ andl
G^dipus is free from curse and penalty. Pathos matlios, learning by suffering J
has done its w ork, and, purified by long years of calamity nobly borne, QEdipual
i¥ accepted o]r~t^e Invk-il?!© Justice. And not accepted merely. The Divine
justice does nothing by halves. CEdipus has honoured it by patient submission
under the penalty of his own " self-chosen woe." Now the Divine j.ustice will
honour him openly and in the sight of all men. Xwb Oracles have gone forth
concerning (Edipus — one, that of the contending factions in TTLebes, that party
alone can triumph which has with it (Edipus, the despised and rejected ; the
other, that his very grave shall be a gain to the land which hospitably receives
him at the last^ — an ate, self -chosen " ruin," to the land which thrusts him out.
In the feeble, sightless old man, therefore, centre the " fates " of two States
great in Hellas — according to their treatment of defenceless CEdipus shall be
their lot in time to come.
1 This is hardly to be understood in St. Paul's sense. (Edipus is content with little because
his own nature, his gennaton, literally his noble descent, forbids his seeking or asking for the
more that would be grudged him.
2 See ante, under ** ^schylus," p. 378.
4o6 SOPHOCLES
Tl^1 > IS tke turning -point in the dr ama ; the question of " fate " now takes
a wider range, and is seen skaping itself "in the conduct of the representatives
of these States, Theseus of Athens and Kreon of Thebes, no less than in that of
the family of CEdipus. (Edipus as yet only knows one of these Oracles, but
that is enough ; and we can understand the eagerness with which he inquires
the name of the place at which he has arrived, the goal so momentous to him,
and of its ruler. The place is Colonus, the ruler Theseus, replies the peasant
who has warned him before as to the character of the sanctuary wherein he
sits. CEdipus earnestly begs that one of the townsfolk may be sent to summon
the king : his message shall be to this effect — that, " for a little present
succour, a great reward awaits him." What reward has a blind man to offer ?
demurs the man ; but there is something about the stranger that overawes
him, and he departs to do his bidding. Will the king -b^jequally willing, and
give his succour to this stranger, whose sole claim to his protection is — his
weakness, thaJtaclthat he is a suppliant ? Time will show.
After the messenger has gone, the elders of the community appear, in hot
haste, upon the scene. CEdipus, however, has vanished from sight. Warned
by past experience, the hapless old man and his defenceless guide have retreated
amid the trees, hiding themselves until they can judge from the tone of the
new-comers whether or not they may safely venture forth. The elders pour
forth their lament over the stranger who has presumed to tread the enclosure
of goddesses so easily roused to ire, whose very name they fear to speak aloud,
past whose sanctuary they themselves are wont to hasten, speechless and
silent.
Upon hearing this, CEdipus comes forward and claims their pity. The
elders are moved with compassion by his appearance, but they insist upon his
withdrawing from the grove — they will hold parley with him only where it is
(permitted unto mortals to speak.
CEdipus is sore distressed. He stands where he does with the sanction of
Apollo, under the protection of the goddesses ; and now these peasants will
drag him forth from this, his last refuge. H^e tu rns piteousl^y t o Antigone :
" What shall I do, my daughter? "
Antigone, with the quick tact which experience has taught her, urges him
f to follow the wishes of the townsfolk, and CEdipus yields. //The incident,
trifling as it appears, sujSices to show the once impetuous CEdipus in the light
of the pathos matlios. He leaves his secure retreat w^ithout further remon-
strance, only bidding the townspeople do him no injustice, since he is trusting
himself to them ; whereupon, like true Athenians, they assure him of his perfect
safety in their care. CEdipus then bids Antigone guide him to a spot where
reverence will allow of his speaking and listening ; he will not " fight against
necessity." He is, however, to be yet more tried, for they insist upon learning
his name.
Again he turns to Antigone with the despairing cry : . " My child, what
will become of me ? " and again Antigone urges him, now that the worst has
come, to yield to the wish of the people. No sooner, however, have the super-
stitious old men heard his name and lineage than they order him forthwith to
leave the town. The story of CEdipus with its horrors has travelled fast, and
they fear lest his presence there should bring a curse upon them. Antigone pleads
for her father and for herself ; she implores them by all that they hold dear to have
pity upon them. In vain — the peasants are inexorable ; they do pity both father
and daughter, but still, forth they must go. CEdipus then, with a biji'st-of
indignajit sporn, appeals to their patriotism. What then is fair fame? he asks.
To what purpose is the repute of Athens — that she of all States is most God-
(EDIPUS AT OOLONUS 407
fearing, that she alone is strong to save the stranger in distress, that she alone
is rich to help — if, trembling at a name, they would now drive him forth ? "jihen
f ollows t^p' pat>ipi t,i(;^ ag(;!ount of his life ■ "All unknowing I went — whither I
went." fLet them take heed, they who profess to honour the gods, lest they
now angfer the gods, for he comes among them holy and God-fearing, and
bearing a blessing to the citizens. / Let them await the arrival of their ruler —
then they will understand all.
To this the elders, moved — despite their fear — by reverence, readily agree.
That the king will know what to do in the matter is enough for them.
The decision is not made a moment too soon, for some one on horseback is
seen approaching. It is Ismene come to warn her father of impending danger.
The two sons of (Edipus are engaged in"arHea3Ty"s^iFe. "nErreocIes'lhe'youngef,
has seized the throne, and driven forth the first-born, Polyneikes, who has fled
to Argos, married into the royal house, and made there a league (the famous
League of the Seven Princes) with the chieftains of Peloponnesus. He is
resolved, with the help of his allies, either to regain Thebes for himself or to
destroy the city.
At this crisis Delphi has sent forth the Oracle with which we are already
acquainted. The sons must seek him whom they have cast out — alive or dead he
must be found ; on this depend their prosperity and safety. Thus, as Ismene
truly says (CEd. Col., 394) : They who overthrew (Edipus (in the days of his
pride) — the gods — now exalt him, for the salvation of Thebes hangs upon her
winning him.
Ismene then informs her father that Kreon is on his track, and will
speedily appear as ambassador for Eteocles, the younger son, and for Thebes.
He comes, however, not to carry out the Oracle in the spirit — to honour the
old man by restoring him to his home and to the throne. No ! the intention
is simply to fulfil the letter of the decree — to gain possession of the person of
CEdipus and keep him in captivity on the outskirts of the State. Its borders
he shall not be permitted to pass, lest he should prove a stumbling-block in
the way of ambitious plans.
" Will they shroud my limbs in Theban dust?" asks the old man quietly —
i.e. will they honour me in my death, if not in my life ?
This last poor token of respect, Ismene rejoins, is also to be withheld.
On the plea of the blood-guilt which he has incurred, (Edipus is to be cast
out from the sepulchre of his fathers.
" Does either of my sons know of this?" inquires the old man again with
that same calmness.
Alas ! both know of it ; and both know also that if (Edipus passes to
the unseen world unreconciled to them, without having forgiven them, it will
be the ruin of themselves and of Thebes. They know this, and yet, in the
madness of their lust for power, they set their ambition before their father.
The decision of (Edipus is quickly made ((Ed. Col., 419). Never shall they
gain possession of him ! And in the bitterness of his soul he utters a prayer
which shows how far apart are ancient notions of the pathos matJws from
the Christian ideal. (Edipus is indeed purified and cleansed from his own
blood-guilt, yet he now prays that the gods may never extinguish the " fated "
feud which rages between the unnatural brothers. May he who in Thebes now
possesses throne and sceptre not abide therein ! May he who has gone forth
never return thither !
The feud between the brotheifs is in the popular legend what (Edipus
calls it" in the drama, a " destined " ieud—pepro7nenen, ordained of fate ; but
what the "fate" is, his next words show. For, turning to the elders of
4o8 SOPHOCLES
Colonus, who have overheard all that has passed between father and daughter,
he tells the pitiful sto ry of his exil e — how, when he who had begotten them
was driven forth shamefully ^rom his fatherland, his sons sought not either
to keep or to defend him. No ! they suffered him, their father, to be
proclaimed an outlaw by the herald's voice. Nor did this happen in the
hot zeal of that fateful day when death itself was coveted by CEdipus. No !
when the slow course of years had soothed his woe, and taught him that h is self-
inflicted punishment exceeded his involuntary sin^lLbis_3ms.Jjll:£jifflil£Eosen^^^^
the State to banish him, and those who could have prevented it, his sons, would
not even luill the effort. Rather than speak the little word that would have saved
him, they suffered him to be cast forth — a beggar, blind, homeless, and forsaken.
But for his daughters CEdipus must have perished. These maidens, so far as their
feeble strength allowed, have provided him with the means of life and safety.
As for his sons, they have chosen before the honour, nay, the very life of
their father, sceptre and throne and pomp of power. Therefore never shall
they have that father for an ally, never will he fight upon their side ; nor
will the sovereignty in Thebes bring advantage to them. This CEdipus knows,
for Phoebus, god of light, has revealed it to him. And they know it. No
god is needed to reveal the truth that the grave of an outraged and rejected
father must be, to sons like these, a danger. Their own hearts could tell them
that {(Ed. Col., 403).
Is then the '' destined " feud between the brothers the result of a terrible
fate, a mysterious and awful something, which they have had no power to
avoid or avert? We know not. The "little word" of filial indignation, of
manly pleading on behalf of him wlio once had saved Thebes, would have saved
QEdipus, and, in restoring to him his rightful place in Thebes, have saved
themselves. Not " fate," but retribution it is that now hangs over them.
CEdipus has still to face his own impending danger. The citizens of.
Colohus, now thoroughly enlisted on his side, urge him to conciliate the vener-
able deities into whose sanctuary he had ventured. CEdipus is willing to do
this, although he knows that he is accepted of the invisible Power behind the
deities. The rites to be gone through, as it proves, are impossible for the
sightless, worn-out man ; he cannot himself perform them, but sends Ismene
with the words so full of meaning, which we already know : —
" One soul can make conciliation for ten thousand, if it approach with pure
intent."
Ismene goes, and shortly afterwards appears Theseus the king, the Sopho-
clean embodiment of all the chivalry and nobleness of Athens. His character
will engage our attention later. Here we need only say that spontaneously,
of his own generous nature, he offers help to CEdipus, and makes the God-
given office which he holds, defender of the suppliant, a reality. Wijihhim
CEdipus finds that protection in life, that honour in death, which are denied
him by his own children and his countrymen.
Not too soon is the covenant made, for Kreon is seen approaching with a
troop of followers — Kreon the sophist, the hypocrite, the man " noble in words
but in deeds deceitful." He concludes a long and artfully worded address to
the men of Colonus and to CEdipus by urging the latter to return to his father-
land and to his home. CEdipus is too well acquainted with the nature of the
man and with the scheme to fall into the trap. He receives the oily words
with an outburst of the old fire. Home ! thou comest to take me with thee,
but not home. And therefore the avenging spirit of CEdipus shall indeed go
with him, but the coveted bodily presence he shall not have.
When Kreon sees that smooth words avail not, he has recourse to threats,
CEDIPUS AT COLONUS 409
and then to violence. He bids his attendants seize the maidens and carry
them off by force. Deprived of his " double staff," the hapless old man will
be fain to follow. Kreon, however, has reckoned without his host. He has
sent away his bodyguard, thinking that he has to do with CEdipus alone ; but, on
advancing to lay hold on the old man, he finds himself a prisoner in the hands
of the elders of Colonus. Their shouts and cries for assistance speedily reach
the ears of the king, who is engaged in offering sacrifice at a neighbouring
altar. In a twinkling Theseus understands the situation, and horsemen are
sent off to guard the mountain-passes, through which alone the fugitives can
make good their flight into Boeotia. The stratagem succeeds, and a£ter short
rlpila.y th ft fl.grnnis(^r| fa.thpir regains his treasures, his all, his " Cjes" through
whom -h©~s^©s. -and. holds communion with the outer world.
This incident seems to make clear a point which it was necessary that
Sophocles should take into account in a version of the legend intended primarily
for Athenians. In his time the existence of the hidden grave of CEdipus
somewhere at Colonus was popularly believed to be a "fact"; and it was
regarded as a fact of importance to Athens, inasmuch as the presence of the
grave of the old Theban king in their midst was supposed to ensure success to
Athens in the skirmishes which took place between her and her Theban rivals.
But how came it that the old Theban king was buried in their midst? Answer :
Cast out ungratefully by his fatherland, Athens, protector of the weak, received
him. And his " protection " the poet emphasises in the scene which we have
just witnessed — the rescue and restoration of the old man's "double staff" by
Theseus, a parable in which are set forth, truthfully enough, the national
characteristics of the two peoples.
Modestly withdrawing from the mutual rejoicing and tearful thanks of the
little group, Theseus, before he leaves, announces that another suppliant has
claimed his protection. A man from Argos sits by the altar of Poseidon
petitioning that he may have a few words with CEdipus, and thereafter be
allowed safe conduct to his own country. When CEdipus learns that the
new-comer is from Argos he divines that it can be none other than his own
son, his eldest-born, Polyneikes. Hi7n, he affirms, he cannot, will not see.
Theseus, who, as ruler and protector, is bound impartially to both suppliants
alike, intercedes for Polyneikes that he may at least have the interview which
he desires, and warns CEdipus that in rejecting the request he may himself be
leaving a higher consideration out of the account ((Ed. Col., 11 79).
" When the seat (i.e. of the suppliant) demands it, look well that thou
respect the providence of the god."
Antigone joins her petition to his, and pleads nobly with all the force of
yet another of the great unwritten laws (Qi!d. Col., 1189) : —
" Thou didst beget him, father ; therefore, and were he guilty of the worst
of crimes against thee, it is not laioful for thee loith evil to requite himr Jjt-is
not themis^to reciuite^ evil with evil in the f amily — a noble anticipation of the
Christian tJiemis in the larger fami!y~of the human race.
CEdipus yields, and Polyneikes is allowed to come in person and plead his
own cause. In the magnificent scene which ensues the interest of the drama
culminates. PoIyneTEes appears in tears, which are probably genuine, inas-
much as he himself is now also in misfortune. Shall he begin, he asks, by
lamenting his own fate, or theirs to whom he finds himself united in misery,
strangers in a strange land ? He is aghast at the tei^rible aspect of his
father — the miserable, travel-stained dress, the unkempt hair fluttering around
"tEe~eyeless head. And he, alas ! sees it all too late. He himself, the worst of
men, bears witness against himself of this his fault ; his father shall hear of
410 SOPHOCLES
his repentance from none other's lips. But beside Zeus on the throne, helper
in every work, is seated the Aidos — mercy. " Let her, my father, stand also
by thy side. Wherein I once transgressed against thee, for that there still is
healing, but not renewal of the sin. Thou art silent? Speak but a word to
me, my father ! turn not from me. Thou wilt not answer ? wilt spurn me, wilt
let me go without a word to tell me why thou art thus wroth ? "
GEdipus still remains ominously silent — not a sound escapes his lips — and
Polyneikes implores his sisters to intercede for him that he, the suppliant,
protected of the god, be not dismissed without reply.
Antigone bids him proceed and tell the object of his visit, for many words,
she says, awakening joy or grief or pity, have even to dumb lips often given voice.
Thus encouraged, Polyneikes unfolds the tale with which we are already
acquainted. He relates how he has been driven out of Thebes — he, the elder-
born — by his younger brother Eteocles, who has gained the crown, not by
force of eloquence nor yet of arms. No ! simply because he won the people —
a true sign to Polyneikes (read in the light of the recent Oracle) that the event
had " its root in the Erinys," the avenger of his father's cause. Ejected from
Thebes, he had gone to Argos in the Dorian land, married the sister of
Adrastus, prince of Argos, and won as allies all who in Peloponnesus were
held as first in rank and best of spearmen. Already the seven bands of the
Sevenfold League with their chieftains encompass the plain of Thebes, and
all as suppliants turn to QEdipus and beg most humbly for his help, since,
if Oracles are to be believed, the victory shall be with those on whose side
CEdipus is found. All implore him, therefore, that he will desist from his
heavy wrath against one who is himself taking up arms to avenge injustice,
to punish the brother who has driven him from the fatherland. " I beseech
thee by the ancestors, by the gods of our race, that thou yield to me in this.
O see ! we are beggars and strangers ; thou thyself art in like case ; we live
by fawning upon others, thou and I, ruined by the same fate. And he —
miserable I ! — he plays the king at home in luxury, makes open scorn of us.
Him, if thou wilt but lend thine aid, I shall cast down without delay or trouble,
and in restoring thee to thine own halls I shall restore myself, and thrust him
out by force. These things I shall accomplish by thine aid ; without thee, for
me is no salvation."
From the foregoing it will be seen that the " many words" of Polyneikes
do not flow, as Antigone had fondly hoped, from a repentant heart; neither
joy nor grief nor pity could they arouse — nothing but disgust and indig-
nation. Ecpm first to last the ego is predominant : " I, wretched I, am a
beggar ; he lives in hixury. ... In restoring thee I restore myself." "N[ot the
desire to fulfil the command of the Invisible Justice by h on ouring hi s father,
but to make use of the letter of the Oracle for his own purposes, is evident
throughout. And not only so, but he would associate his father probably with
his own contemptible career : " We are ruined by the same fate ; we live by
fawning upon others." What ! (Edipus live by fawning upon others, wheedling,
cajoling others ! CEdipus, whose own noble nature has bid him abstain from
asking more than the mere crust that has kept him in life ! CEdipus, who has
submitted patiently to his " fate," nor even dreamt of avenging himself by
taking up arms against his fatherland — he to be now dragged down to the level
of a selfish hypocrite like this !
We are amazed at the calmness with which CEdipus begins his reply. Not
a word would have escaped his lips, he says, but for the intercession of Theseus.
For his sake Polyneikes shall have an answer, but such an one as shall never
gladden his life.
CEDIPUS AT COLONUS 411
" Thou evil-doer," he proceeds, addressing himself to his son, ** when throne
and sceptre yet were thine in Thebes, then didst thou thyself drive out thy
father, madest him homeless, forcedst him to wear this robe, at sight of which
thou weepest, noiv that like misery hath come upon thyself. Not to be wept
over is't by me, but to be borne so long as life shall last in memory of thee,
the murderer. 'Tis thou hast brought me into this distress ; 'twas thou who
then didst thrust me out ; through thee I am a wanderer, begging of others
my daily bread. And had I not begotten these my children, these maidens
here, to be my succourers, long since should I have ceased to be. They have
saved me, they have nourished me — men they are, not women, in bearing
all that I must bear. As for ye twain, some other hath begotten thee, not
I. The god of vengeance looketh not upon ye yet, as then he will, when
once these spearmen move on Thebes' walls. Not with thee is it given to
o'erthrow the city. Nay ! ere then, weltering in thy blood thou shalt fall, and
thy brother with thee. These curses I sent before upon ye, and now again
do I invoke them to come and fight upon my side, that ye may learn that
reverence belongeth unto parents, not dishonour. If justice still, by law
primaeval, sit upon the throne by Zeus, these curses shall take possession of
thy seat and throne. Away from me, thou renegade, thou miserable wretch,
thou worst of evil-doers," pursues the old man, his patience at length breaking
down, as, with an impetuosity that reminds us of CKdipus in the Triple Way,
he invokes his fearful allies from murky Tartarus, invokes the Furies, invokes
Ares, god of war, to perpetuate the strife between the brothers and give
fulfilment to his curse.
And yet, barring this last hot outburst, let us note that, j.n^ "ciir^g"
l^isjinnatumLaoBS^.-CEdipua^ to the ethics of his age. He
is only giv ing them up to the punishment which, even among the chosen
people, wijuld have overtaken them. Here the unwritten law of the Greek
met the written law of the Hebrew. Under the Mosaic law the sentence
stood fast : " He that curseth his father or his mother, he shall surely be put
to death," ^ a sentence which embraced not merely the " cursing " of the lips,
but the unnatural spirit which would withhold from father or mother the
necessaries of life or the honour due to them.'^
Remembering Pindar's warning, " Most of all to reverence Kronos' son
(Zeus), and never to deprive a parent of like honour," we may believe that
not a Hellene in all the vast multitude who thronged the theatre of Athens
to listen to the Sophoclean tragedy but would acknowledge that the sons of
CEdipus had brought their " fate " upon themselves.
But let us note that Polyneikes still holds his " fate " in his own hands ;
he has it in his power still to withdraw, to acknowledge openly that his father's
support is denied him. to beseech his confederates to give up the war which
can only end disastrously for them. In this way the door of escape is still
open to him, as Antigone points out, beseeching him to abandon the fatal
enterprise. This Polyneikes will not do. Urged on by pride and by revenge,
h e wil l neither reveal the truth to the princes of the league, nor forego the
chajice of retaliation. He knows that he is doomed to fall ; but knowing this,
he will go on and drag into like ruin those who have espoused his cause. The
comment of Antigone on this resolve ((ZJc;?. Col., 1424) — ** Seaali>tlae u net h e w
tJw^J^i^, Oraele fulfils itself.? " — isj jhe keynote to the whole problem of " fate. "
Polyneikes is immovable. The curse not on but in kiin is the hyhris of
1 Exodus xxi. 17.
2 Compare our Lord's comment on this passage as expounded by the Pharisees (St.
Matt. XV. 4-6).
412 SOPHOCLES
an utter selfishness ; he goes forward on his awful errand, making his last
request, that after he is dead his sisters will lay him in the grave with due
rites, nor suffer him to be dishonoured. Let us note this last prayer, for, as
we shall presently see, it sinks into the heart of the generous Antigone and
luickens a sacred instinct into life.
And now Polyneikes is gone, the "fate" of both brothers — war to the
fitter end — is sealed by their own voluntary choice ; the *' fate " of both
)eoples, as determined by the possession of the tomb of CEdipus, is also sealed
)y their own treatment of the helpless. Thebes has cast out her former
)enefactor, Athens has protected the suppliant — and now the end, the expected
md, of CEdipus approaches. In a short space the summons comes, and amid
lightnings and thunders and other tokens of Divine interposition, CEdipus is
'emoved from the scene of his earthly trial.
Such, in brief, is the end and consummation of the "fate" of CEdipus as
interpreted by Sophocles, and a more fitting, more majestic ending for the
man ".more sinned against than sinning.". xould not be devised. It is^both.
joiStic^ and cgmpassiojo. meet. CEdipus. is pardoned, but he is also purified.
The ardent, noble soul that found its sphere in generous deeds — "To help,
this is for man the noblest duty " — has learned also the highest of life's
secrets —
" One soul can make conciliation for ten thousand, if it approach with
pure intent."
ANTIGONE
Amid all the noble characters of antiquity there is not one that shines out
so brightly as the Antigone of Sophocles. We have already followed her
fortunes to some extent ; but CEdipus and his sons have hitherto absorbed
our attention and hindered our taking note of the many little loving touches
wherewith, by the way as it were, our master has already sought to enlist our
sympathy for his martyr-heroine before he concentrates the whole strength
of his genius on the development of her " fate." For Antigone, too, has her
fate — she comes of the " fated " race, and her untimely death, too, demands
an explanation.
By the way then, and incidentally, we get to know Antigone. In the
(Edipus at Colonus (345 et seq.) we see the young girl relinquishing without
a sigh the luxury of her palace at Thebes, to become the " eyes " and the
" staff" of CEdipus. " From a child, as the old man's guide," says her father,
" she has shared my wanderings and my pitiable fate — often overtaken in the
wild forest with naked feet and without food, exposed to storm and burning
sun. She thinks not of the comforts of her home, if so be only that her father
may be cared for." This is the old man's testimony to the elders of Colonus.
And then we note-f or ourselves, in passing, her sweet tact and maidenly reserve
— with what diffidence she offers her opinion in presence of Theseus, yet with
what courage she reminds the fiery CEdipus of the great unwritten law of the
family — how she strives to make peace between her father and Polyneikes —
with what true patriotism she urges the headstrong youth to give up his
miserable plot against the fatherland — with what true insight she tells him
that in carrying it out he is himself bringing the Oracle to pass, bringing his own
fate on his own head ; in all these little touches (and yet others, which space
forbids our quoting) the poet brings before us his noblest ideal of woman.
But there is something more for Antigone to do, something higher still. She
has borne testimony, by word and life, to the sacredness of the visible human
ANTIGONE
413
ties and earthly relationships ; now she must bear her witness to the sacred-
ness of the unseen Divine ties, the relation between the spirit and its Author ;
and this must be done by word and death. Antigone has to bear witness
to the truth.
When the action begins in the great tragedy which bears her name, the
masterpiece of Sophocles, we see the two sisters once more in Thebes, Her
father taken from her, the one thought of Antigone is to return home as
quickly as possible. " Send us back to Thebes ! " she says to Theseus, "if so be
that we may yet prevent this mutual slaughter," and Theseus has complied with
her wish. The brothers, however, have persisted in working out their own
" fate " : the curse of CEdipus has been fulfilled ; the Argive army has been
repulsed, the two brothers lie low in death, each slain by the other's hand, and
Kreon has assumed the reins of power.
Antigone has summoned Ismene, her sister, to meet her secretly outside
the palace gates ; she has something of terrible import to impart to her. Has
Ismene heard of the fresh disaster hanging over their dear ones ? No, Ismene
has heard nothing since the death of the brothers and the retreat of the Argive
army, but that something is amiss she can see from the troubled brow of her
sister.
And is there not a cause ? returns Antigone. Has not Kreon just granted
a resting-place to one brother only, and denied it to the other ? Eteocles, so
they say, is to be buried with all honour and due rites, according to the law,
while the corpse of the wretched Polyneikes is to be left unburied, unwept —
exposed a prey to every evil bird. And this decree, pursues Antigone with
bitter irony, "the good Kreon enforces on thee and me — yea, I say, on me/"
as though such a decree could be binding on me, his sister ! So much in
earnest, moreover, is Kreon, continues Antigone, that if any of the citizens
dares to contravene the edict, he shall incur the penalty of death by stoning.
" Now ! " she adds, " show whether thou art truly noble, or, born of noble
blood, base in thyself."
Ismene asks sorrowfully what she can do, for or against, in such circum-
stances ; and when she learns the plan of Antigone, that they two together
shall bury the dead, she exclaims in utter dismay : " Him thou wilt bury,
despite the edict?"
" Yea, for myself I will bury him, my brother," as a sacred duty, " if not
for thee. / will not be found a traitor," leaving him in the hands of his
enemies.
" unhappy thou ! " Ismene can only repeat ; " thou wilt do this against
the word of Kreon ? "
" He cannot withhold from me my own," is Antigone's calm rejoinder.
Polyneikes has, as it were, committed this trust to her, and she will fulfil it.
Ismene in despair beseeches her sister to weigh the consequences of the
deed — to remember the fate of father, mother, brothers — to bethink her that
they two, of all the race, alone are left, and they too must perish miserably
if they array against them the force of law, not heeding the decision or the
power of the tyrant. " And this too we must bear in mind," she adds, " that
we are women, not fitted by nature to contend with men ; to the stronger we
must submit in this and in things yet harder. Therefore," is Ismene's con-
clusion, " will I beg of those beneath to pardon me in this, seeing I am
compelled thereto by force. To go beyond the bounds — is folly."
"Nor will I ask it of thee more," Antigone rejoins indignantly, adding
(with just a touch of the old (Edipean spirit), " Nor, if thou now wouldest do the
deed, could I have joy in sharing it with thee. Do thou what seemeth best to
414 SOPHOCLES
thee. / loill bury him. Right welcome will death be to me — when this is
done — to rest with him, my dear one, for whom / have sinned a holy sin."
And then she adds the words so full of meaning (Ant., 74 e^ seq.) : " Longer is
the time wherein I must please those below" (the Divine powers of the unseen
world) " than those above— for there I must rest for ever. Despise thou, if so it
please thee, that which is held in honour by the gods."
" Despise it I do not," rejoins Ismene, " but to perform the task against
the will of the citizens I am powerless."
" Cloak thou thyself with this excuse — I go to make the grave."
Ismene begs her not to impart her desperate resolve to others. " Keep
thou it secret. I will do the same."
Antigone turns with another flash. " Ah me ! " she says, " tell it out !
proclaim it loud to all men! Far more hateful were it didst thou keep
silence."
Ismene shrinks from the fire which she has kindled. " How hotly, where
I shudder, dost thou glow ! " she says.
" Yea, for so I please those whom most it behoveth me to please." ^
" If only thou hadst the power," expostulates Ismene ; " but what thou
wiliest is impossible."
" When strength fails me, I will desist."
" Even to seek the impossible is not fitting," pursues the sister.
Antigone's time and patience fail her. The precious hours wherein the
deed must be done, if at all, are fleeting fast. " If thus thou speakest," she
says, once and for all, " thou wilt be hateful to me, hateful also to the dead.
Let me be in this my self-willed course (my dys-bouUa), to suffer all their
sorrow. No terror can deprive me of this one thing — a noble death."
The two then separate — Ismene to lament, in the fashion of women, over
Antigone's "self-willed course," her dys-bouUa ; Antigone to carry out her
resolution.
The foregoing sketch of the opening scene, imperfect as is the rendering,
will at least have made clear two things : First, that Antigone is the true
child of her father, both in the generous instinct that prompts to " help," as
" the noblest duty," and also in the determination necessary to make the help
effective. Her father's child she also is, undoubtedly, in her impatience with
Ismene's timidity; but in estimating this, the circumstances must be taken
into account. No half-hearted venture will ever succeed, and therefore
Antigone will rather risk the attempt alone : " No joy could I have, now that
I have seen thy hesitation, in sharing the deed with thee."
Again we note that she speaks of her venture as a dys-boulia, an ill-advised,
reckless act, for so she well knows it will appear in the eyes of all men. Then
why does she persevere in it ? Because, according to the old religious notions,
the salvation of Polyneikes depends upon his burial. So long as the body
remains unburied, so long must the spirit hover homeless and rejected on the
confines of the realms below. Hence the importance of burial with due rites
*' according to the law," the importance also to the dying man of knowing that
some one, of his charity, will perform these last kindly offices for him.
If full interment were not possible, the sprinkling of the body with
earth, thereby committing it symbolically to the care of the great mother,
was held to be sufficient. But, above all things, it might not lie exposed, a
prey to dogs and birds. The decent burial of the dead, in short, of that shrine
which has been the home of the spirit, is one of the great unwritten laws
1 " I would thou wert cold or hot. So then, because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold
nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth" (Rev. iii. 15, 16).
ANTIGONE 415
deep graven in the human heart, and therefore Antigone well knows that in
" sinning this holy sin," in disobeying the decree of man that she may fulfil
the command of God, she is pleasing the Divine Power with whom she herself
must rest in all eternity. The whole conception of the frame of mind in
which Antigone sets forth on her desperate errand, her love, her earnest faith
and grasp of the Time beyond time, is as deeply thought out as it is beautiful.
We must now turn to the new ruler of Thebes, Kreon, the man with whom
Antigone will have to do ; but something of him we know already, for we
have had a fore-glimpse of his mind in his dealings with the helpless CEdipus.
Now the whole might of sovereignty is in his hands, for Thebes is supposed to
be governed by a Tyrannos — not necessarily a bad man, a tyrant in the modern
sense, but a ruler possessed of sole and despotic power. As Kreon himself
puts it, he is the " steerer of the whole State"; as Tyrannos, he is unrestrained
by any fetter save the right will, eu-houlia, which in a political sense may be
interpreted as the disposition to be guided by good counsels and which the
Greeks accounted so precious a treasure. It remains to be seen whether the
new ruler possesses this.
Kreon himself lays great stress on right intentions. He had just made
a long speech, setting forth his own before the elders of Thebes, his future
counsellors, whom he has summoned to meet him.
He begins by enunciating a truth peculiarly true in the present instance,
viz. that it is very hard to know any man, his mind and will and opinion,
before he is entrusted with office and the guardianship of the laws. As for
himself, his opinion, now that he is steerer of the whole State, is what it has
always been (in his private life) — namely, that the man who does not hold fast
to the best counsel, but closes his mouth through fear, is the worst of leaders.
And further, that the man who sets his friends (his private relationships)
before the fatherland, that man is to be counted as nothing.
These are the two principles, the holding fast to the best counsel and the
subordination of private interests to those of the fatherland, by which Kreon
means to raise the State. This policy also, he says, has guided him in his
edict concerning the two sons of (Edipus. The patriot Eteocles, who fell in
the defence of his fatherland, shall be buried with every sacred rite and
honour due to the hero ; but Polyneikes, the renegade, who sought to give
the city up to fire and sword, shall be deprived of sepulture. He shall neither
be mourned for nor buried. No ! his dead body shall be seen, outraged,
dishonoured, devoured by dogs and birds of prey. This, Kreon says, is his
phronema, his mind and will.
Kreon has undoubtedly spoken fluently. His intentions, moreover, on the
surface, are just and upright, whilst the attitude which he has taken up, that
of the defender of the city, punishing the man who would have destroyed it,
yea, even when that man is his own near kinsman, is well calculated to win
over the people who have suffered in the family feud.
Nevertheless, the representatives of the people do not receive the speech
with much enthusiasm. They seem, rather, to feel with CEdipus ((Ed. Col.,
806) that the man who " can speak well on every subject is never just."
Kreon has just said that he holds him who does not abide by the best counsels
{ho2ileumata) as the worst of leaders, and yet what counsel has he asked of
them, the elders of the people, or of any one else ? ^ It is evident that Kreon's
bouJeumata, his counsels, decisions, have been made in consultation with his
own phronema alone, his sole mind and will ; and this is now leading him into
1 Bouleumata are decisions arrived at after deliberation and counsel taken with others ;
especially is the word used of the decrees of a State Council.
41 6 SOPHOCLES
a most unheard-of course. That Polyneikes, the traitor-prince, should be
honoured with a public funeral is indeed not to be thought of; Antigone
herself, the true patriot, would never have expected or desired this. But to
punish the dead body, the vessel (as Plato would have put it) from which the
spirit, the man himself, has fled, is not only a senseless proceeding, but sheer
hybris, presumption, on the part of Kreon. Polyneikes is no longer subject to
the jurisdiction of any mortal, and Kreon, by persistently sitting in judgment
upon him, is usurping the functions of the powers beyond the grave. Nay,
more — according to Greek notions, he is, as we have seen, detaining the spirit
of Polyneikes from at once passing over to the place of the unseen judgment.
Some thought like this is evidently present to the mind of the Theban
elders, for they prudently abstain from comment on the speech, beyond
replying that Kreon it is who has now to make laws for the dead as for the
living. That this reply is dictated rather by the desire to escape responsibility
for such an edict than by obsequiousness is shown immediately ; for when
Kreon asks them to become guardians of the edict, they request him to lay
this burden on younger shoulders. And the mind of the people is even more
clearly expressed when, a few moments later, there appears in breathess terror
a guard — one of those appointed to watch the corpse and prevent any attempt
at burial — and announces that, despite their care, the deed has been done ; the
body has been sprinkled with earth, and the necessary sacred rites performed
with due care by — he knows not whom. No trace of. human handiwork is to
be seen ; the earth around has not been disturbed, nor is there track of wheels.
One of the elders thereupon exclaims : " May this not be indeed the work
of God, O king? The thought hath long been in my mind."
" Desist !" rejoins Kreon furiously, "before the measure of my wrath is
full, lest, old as thou art, thou be found a fool. What thou sayest is intoler-
able ; as if the gods could have a care for such an one as that man lying there."
And then, laying aside the thin veil of courtesy which hitherto he has used,
Kreon proceeds to show the real mind of the tyrant in our sense of the word.
The whole thing is a conspiracy against him. He has noticed, he says,
symptoms of discontent in the city, murmuring and secret shaking of heads ;
the neck is not held submissively under the yoke. By this fashion — those
who do not acquiesce in his rule — the guard, he opines, has been bought up,
bribed to thwart him and do this deed. The love of money is at the root
of the whole thing, as of all evil. And so on Kreon declaims, concluding
finally with the threat, which he confirms by an appeal to Zeus, that if the
guards do not disclose the perpetrator of the deed and bring him before his
presence, death itself shall be too light a punishment for them — they shall
hang, living, until they have disclosed this hybris.
We now know fully with what manner of man Antigone has to do. The
guard and Kreon respectively retire, and there follows the grand and impres-
sive choral ode, with which we are already acquainted,^ upon the greatness
and wondrous achievements of man — his power over nature, his inventiveness,
his ability to follow with speech upon the track of thought, his state-craft, his
wisdom. One thing alone has baffled man — he has no power over death.
The elders suddenly pause, for the guard appears again, this time leading
a woman, whom, to their consternation, they perceive to be Antigone.
" Here is she who did the deed," exclaims the man ; " in the very act we
seized her. But where is Kreon ? " The latter at the moment comes forth
from the palace and to him the guard relates with much detail how the
maiden had been captured.
^ See ante, p. 129.
.•^ I V £. H o i
OF
ANTIGONE N£lJ-'T(tRM:A
417
On returning* from the presence of Kreon, his threat still ringing in his
ears, the man and his fellows first carefully removed from the body all traces
of the earth wherewith it had been so carefully shrouded, and then set them-
selves to watch. Suddenly a mighty storm arises, a tempest of wind which
fills the air and compels the guards to close their eyes, but which some one
utilises to renew the attempts at burial. The storm abates as suddenly as it
had arisen, and Antigone is descried consecrating anew, with the threefold
holy libation, the body which she has already besprinkled again with earth.
The guards descend straightway and seize her ; but " no whit terror-struck
was she," is the comment. " We convicted her of the first attempt as well as
of this repetition, and lo ! calmly stood she there, nor ever denied it. All this,"
the man, with a true touch of nature, admits, '' is joy as well as grief to me.
For to escape evil oneself is sweetest, but to lead those whom one loves into
evil, that is grievous indeed. Nevertheless, mine own safety was to me the
first consideration."
It is evident that the watchman is secretly on Antigone's side, and that,
but for the ferocious threat of Kreon, she would have escaped.
Kreon turns sternly to Antigone. " Thou, standing there with head bent to
earth, say, dost thou deny that thou didst do this deed ? "
" I say," replies the undaunted girl, "that I did it, and deny it not."
Kreon thereupon dismissed the man as free, and continues to Antigone :
" Speak thou, but make thine answer short. The edict that forbade this deed
— didst know of it ? "
" I did ; why not? It was openly proclaimed."
" And knowing, thou didst dare to overstep the laws ? "
Then follows Antigone's noble stand for truth, the ever-living truth that
something higher than the will or law of man exists.
" It was not Zeus that proclaimed me this," she says, " nor hath Justice,
who dwelleth with the gods below, marked out for men such laws. Nor did
I deem thy proclamation of such might as that it, the word of mortal man,
could overpass the unwritten steadfast laws of heaven. For not of to-day
are they — they live for ever ; of their beginning knoweth no man. By these
laws will I not bring myself to be condemned in judgment of the gods,
through fearing the phronemay the mind and will, of any man. That I
must die — what then ? I knew it well before thy proclamation, and if death
take me hence before the time, that I consider gain. Why should it not be
gain to one who lives, like me, encompassed by a thousand ills? This fate
which has overtaken me hath for me no grief ; but to behold him, born of my
mother, lying in death unburied, that were indeed a grief. The other pains
me not. If what I have done seems folly unto thee, then 'twill be a fool
that names it folly."
Alas for Antigone ! her passing thrust at Kreon, however true and well-
deserved, has sealed her fate. As the Theban elders exclaim in their dismay,
she is the true child of her father. She speaks out her thoughts without the
slightest regard to the wisdom or un-wisdom of the proceeding from the point
of view of worldly prudence. To hint that Kreon's judgment, the phronema on
which he prides himself, may be that of a " fool," is but to harden the fool in
his folly. Antigone has done this, too, publicly before the elders of the people,
and Kreon will never forgive it. Neither has he forgotten the humiliation of
his defeat at Colonus, nor the well-merited denunciation of his conduct which
came from the lips of Theseus on that occasion. In the memory of such an one
as Kreon, headstrong and small-minded, such " injuries " live on and rankle
deep.
2 T)
4i8 SOPHOCLES
Antigone has denounced his plironema ; but he will show her, he says, that
her plironemata, her own too stubborn mind and will, must fall, even as the
hardest iron, kept in the fire too long, proves the most brittle. He knows also
that horses the most high-spirited are kept in check by a small bridle ; not to
one in the position of slave is it allowed to think high thoughts. She has been
guilty of a double hyhris, in that she first defied the laws, and then hath boasted
of her crime and answered him with scorn. No longer will Kreon be the man
— but she th e man — if with impunity she now remain the victor. But — and
even though she be his sister's child, nearest of kin to him of all whom Zeus
protects beneath his roof — neither shall she, nor yet her sister, escape the
worst of fates. And Kreon concludes a hot speech iDy bidding the attendants
bring Ismene before him.
Antigone is alarmed for her sister. " Wilt thou have more than my
death ? " she asks.
" Not I," Kreon rejoins. " In that I have all, vengeance for bygone times
included."
"Why then delay?" says Antigone. She knows full well that she will
never satisfy him, nor he her. " And yet," she adds, " what could be said of
me more glorious than this, that to rest I laid my brother, my own brother,
in the grave ? All these," she continues, pointing to the assembled elders,
" would proclaim the deed well done, did not fear close their lips."
Kreon retorts by saying that she alone, of all the Kadmean folk, thinks
thus. '^ And art thou not ashamed to think apart from them ? "
" There is no shame in reverencing those we love."
Kreon tries to shake her resolution by the argument that in thus honouring
Polyneikes she dishonours Eteocles — the one is her brother equally with the
other. In showing sehas (reverence) to Polyneikes, the would-be destroyer
of the land, she is showing dys-sebeicm (impiety) to Eteocles, its shield and
protector.
" So will not he judge who rests in death," rejoins Antigone quietly. . . .
" Hades demands his rights for both."
" But not that the good shall have like portion with the evil."
" Who knoweth whether those below will hold these maxims holy ? "
demands Antigone — a reminder of the difference between God-given and
man-expounded law.
Kreon is tired of the discussion. He ends it abruptly with the words :
" Never, not even in death, can an enemy become a friend."
" / was not born to hate," says Antigone simply, " but to love," a noble
rejoinder from the girl who had suffered so much in. common with her father
at the hands of Polyneikes. *■ .
"Go thou below," says Kreon, with a sneer. "If love thou must, love
there. No woman, so long as / live, shall have dominion over me."
Ismene is then brought in — no longer, however, the timid, hesitating
Ismene of the opening scene. Now that she sees Antigone standing there,
alone in the high courage of her loyalty to truth, Ismene's faltering courage
is quickened. 1 She flies to Antigone's side, has no thought or wish save that
she may be allowed to die with her, and openly avows herself a sharer in
the deed.
" Not so ! " says Antigone. " Justice permits not this, seeing that Ismene
was not willing that Kreon should be disobeyed." And then, repulsing her
1 The constant effect of the witness to truth. Cf. St. Paul's declaration: "Many of the
brethren in the Lord, waxing confident by my bonds, are much more bold to speak the word
without fear " (Phil. i. 14).
ANTIGONE 419
with what looks like hardness, she adds : " The friend who only loves in words
1 care not for."
But the hardness is easily explained by what passes between the sisters.
" My death sufl&ces," says Antigone. ..." It is with grief that I do scorn
thee, if scorn I must. . . . Save thyself" Beneath the hard and scornful
manner is the affectionate desire that not a shadow of suspicion shall fall upon
Ismene in the eyes of the tyrant.
The generous strife between the sisters Kreon professes to regard as
madness. "The one has lost her senses now," he says; "the other was mad
from the beginning."
"What will life be to me alone, without her?" says Ismene, in a paroxysm
of grief.
" Speak not again of /ier," rejoins Kreon sternly. " She is no more ! "
" Wilt thou slay thine own son's bride ? " demands Ismene, and the question
falls like a thunderbolt upon all present. That Antigone, now condemned to
death, is betrothed to Hsemon, the son of her judge, is a fact which, coming to
light now for the first time, quickens in every breast the sense of the self-
sacrifice of the noble girl. In attempting the burial (and, as she thinks, the
salvation) of her brother, Antigone has literally given up every hope, every-
thing that makes for earthly happiness. When she set out on her desperate
enterprise, she knew that she was exchanging the joyous bridal hymn for the
chambers of the dead. Even the pulse of th^ ancient elders beats more quickly
as they echo Ismene's cry : " Thou wilt tear her from thine own son ? "
" 'Tis Hades stops the wedding," rejoins Kreon, a grim allusion to the zeal
of Antigone in claiming the rights of Hades for both her brothers.
" Then," pursue the old men, " it seems determined that she shall die."
" For you and me, it is," says Kreon to the counsellors whose counsel is
not asked. " No more delay ! " and the helpless maidens are forthwith led
within to be kept under closest guard. " Even the boldest will flee," com-
ments Kreon, "when they see their life nearing the open gate of Hades."
Then follows another grand choral ode, in which the elders express the
popular ideas concerning the house of Labdacus (father of (Edipus) and its
attendant " curse." Like the stormy sea, tossed by the north wind, stirred to
its depths, breaking wave after wave on the rocky coast — so does woe upon
woe, the "curse" from generation to generation, break on the doomed house.
And now the last roots of (Edipus, still standing in the sunlight, are about to
be cut down by the blood-red sickle of the powers of death — the senselessness
of speech and the Erinys of the mind.
" O Zeus ! who amongst men by overstepping the bounds can stay thy
power ? 1 — that power which neither sleep, the all-pursuer, hath ever overtaken,
nor the unwearied moons. Through ageless time thou rulest in the radiant
splendour of Olympus. In the hereafter, as in the past, this law holds good.
In mortal life is nothing wholly free from sin and penalty (ate)."
Here the ate — self-chosen sin and its resulting woe — is synonymous with
the senseless speech (logon anoia) and the Erinys of the mind alluded to above.
Kreon has issued a " senseless " edict, wherein he has " overstepped " the un-
written law, and now the avenging Erinys has taken possession of his mind,
i.e. the same presumptuous self-will which dictated the edict now prevents his
abandoning the position taken up. This attitude of mind the chorus calls an
apate, a punishment sent by heaven upon the former ate^ and taking the form
of self-delusion.
1 By hyper-hasia — overstepping of the bounds allotted to mortals.
420 SOPHOCLES
" Evil appears good to the man whom God leadeth to destruction. But a
short space, and ruin draweth nigh."
Is it the meaning of the poet here that God leads men to destruction ? We
trow not. The apate is with Sophocles, as with JEschylus,^ simply the wilful
hardening of the heart which blinds a man and prevents his seeing whither
he is going.
Haemon now appears — a lover worthy of Antigone. Kreon's one redeem-
ing point is his affection for his son, and he fears, not without reason, what
may be passing in Hsemon'smind.
" My son," he says, " dost thou come in anger against thy father, knowing
the sentence passed on thy betrothed ? or dost thou love, despite what we (as
ruler) do?"
Haemon replies gravely : " I am thine, my father, and thou with wisest
judgment shalt guide me. This (the best judgment) I will follow. No mar-
riage could to me be of more worth than thy toise leading."
Kreon replies, well satisfied that his judgment and his leading are both of
the wisest : " Thus must it be within thy heart, my son. To the judgments of
thy father all must give place ; " and he then proceeds to lay down more fully
that doctrine of passive obedience which he had already hinted at in his speech
to the elders of Thebes. The neck of children, as of subjects, must be held
submissive to the yoke. He whom the State has appointed must be obeyed in
all things — small and great, just ^nd hard. There is no greater evil in State
or home than an-archia, lawlessness ; peith-archia, obedience, it is that serves
the multitude. As for Antigone — what will a bad wife profit him ? Let her
go seek a husband in Hades ! She alone of all the city hath defied him, and if
Kreon would not appear false before the city, she must die. Let her appeal
to Zeus, protector of blood ties ! A man must rule his own house first, if he
would rule the State. Good order must be defended. Quite true ; but Kreon
adds a touch which reveals only too plainly the narrowness of the base of his
good order.
''Never must we be beaten by a woman. Better, if need be, to fall man
before man, than to be called inferior to a woman ! "
To this tirade Haemon replies with admirable tact and calmness. He
begins by reminding the tyrant that the gods have implanted in men (in
human beings generally) the phrenes (feeling, mind, will, thinking faculty), of
all possessions the highest. Far be it from him to deny that what his father
has said is right, but — may not other opinions be also right? (Other men
have also that highest of possessions, the phrenes.) It is not possible for his
father to know the real opinions of others, for the man of the people is afraid
to speak the word that may displease the ruler. But Haemon has opportunity
for hearing what is spoken in secret : " The whole city doth lament the maid
— that she, of all women the most innocent, should die the worst of deaths for
the most glorious of deeds. ' She who buried her dear brother, nor left him a
prey to savage dogs and birds, is she not worthy of golden honours ? ' so runs
the opinion of the citizens, passing secretly from mouth to mouth. My
father," he continues earnestly, " there is to me than thy success no greater
treasure. What higher joy can children have than the fair fame of their
father ? or what to a father be dearer than the happiness of his children ?
Bear not, then, within thee one only thought — that what thou sayest, that, and
that alone, is right. For many an one — who deemed that he alone, of all men,
had mind and eloquence and soul — unveiling his true self, hath been dis-
covered empty. Even to wise men it bringeth no dishonour to learn, or to
^ Compare the apate of the Persian monarch in the Persians of iEschylus (see p. 367).
ANTIGONE 421
yield. The tree that bends beneath the rushing torrent saves its branches ;
that which resists is rooted up. The ship that still will keep her sail too
tightly stretched against the wind — that ship must be o'erturned. Do thou,
my father, yield — desist from this thine anger."
Throughout this whole address Haemon hints, not obscurely, that in issuing
the edict on his own sole authority Kreon has overstepped another of the
great unwritten laws — that one which, lying deep within the heart of man,
takes longest to develop — namely, the right of every man to think, the right
Qi free thought in the highest sense. Heaven, he says, has given to men — i.e.
to men everywhere, not to one favoured individual alone — the phrenes^ a term
which, in poetical language, comprehends the whole thinking man — will,
feeling, heart, and mind. Later, with the philosophers, the proud distinction
conferred by " mind " was limited to nous — mind per se, pure intellect ; and
Plato insists, not once or twice only, that nous is a something appertaining
to God and to but few men. With this distinction we need not quarrel ; taken
in the sense of " genius," this limitation of nous is, of course, strictly true.
Nevertheless, Plato, no less than his master Socrates, declares that there
is another something, and that also a thinking something, which every man
possesses, and this is included in the phrenes — the power, namely, of forming
a moral judgment, of distinguishing right from wrong, justice from injustice.
This innate power it is, as the Socrates of Plato points out, which constitutes
the very basis of political freedom. Why do we allow men of no culture, he
asks — the cobbler, the carpenter, and their fellows — to vote in the assembly
(and there perhaps by their votes outweigh the decisions of the cultured)?
Simply because each man, even the most unlettered, has this inalienable
heritage, the birthright of man qvd man, the capacity for forming a moral
judgment. In this process, not keenness of intellect alone is at work. Many
elements, as everybody knows, are concerned in the formation of a judgment,
and by far the most powerful and active of these are what we call the
"natural" or "right" feelings, the intentions of the human heart, what
the Greeks, with a deeper and truer perception, divined to be unwritten
laws, so peremptory, so commanding is their voice within. These laws, as
laws, were not only a force to be reckoned with, but a sure foundation to
be relied upon, in antiquity as now. To this we have the testimony not
only of the poets, but of such men as Pericles, as Thucydides, as Plato, as
Aristotle.
The relation of ruler and ruled comes, like all human relationships, within
the scope of the unwritten laws, and to no people did this particular law
appeal with such force as to the Hellenes, for no people ever more clearly
recognised the Divineness of order, or showed more of what we call a " law-
abiding spirit." Their language itself shows this ; the universe to them was
a kosmos or divinely ordered whole, in which each separate part performs
its own function in subordination to the general well-being of every other
part. Their myths tell the same story ; the legend of the war between the
Titans and the heavenly powers, adopted by the Athenians as specially theirs,
is nothing more than an allegory of the conflict between the forces of order and
of disorder. From the very first the Hellenes recognised, as we have said, the
Divine right of order to reign in society as in nature. This was indisputably
one of the unwritten laws to them. But they also recognised that other and
no less Divine law, that the order must come from within, not be merely enforced
from without. Heaven has given to every man the phrenes, the thinking
power, and from this flows naturally the Divine right of self-government
morally, with its political complement, the right of sharing in the making
45J2. SOPHOCLES
of the State laws, which were to be obeyed by every member of the State, of
fixing the penalty for their non-observance. From natural causes this law
is latest of all in coming to full development, inasmuch as religiously and
politically a people has to grow from childhood into manhood.
Now, returning to the text, we see that Kreon, by his one-man doctrine,
has " overstepped" the law of the universality of the gift of th.Q phrenes. The
condition of society in the drama is, of course, supposed to be that of the heroic
age ; but, even in Homer, we see Agamemnon doing nothing without consult-
ing his counsellors — old Nestor, Odysseus, Ajax, and the other princes — and
the final decision is, in appearance at least, referred to the people, for they
are called to the assembly. ^ Kreon himself says that he has been appointed
by the State ; but he takes a new view of his duties to the State — the people
have chosen him, not to represent them in the maintenance of Divine order,
but to supersede them ! Because they have elected him, they are thence-
forward humbly to hold their neck submissive to the yoke, patient as the
soulless beast of burden ,2 and receive at his mouth the laws of God as he may
choose to interpret them, the laws of the State as he may choose to make
them. To resist this new doctrine is, he says, an-archia, lawlessness.
Not so, says Hsemon. Heaven has given to all men the phrenes, thinking
power, and therefore the opinion of one man may not override the opinion of
all others. He who makes the claim to the sole possession of mind, the sole
right of speech, does but reveal his own emptiness.
By this noble argument, Hsemon, like Antigone, lifts the whole matter
out of the narrow limits within which Kreon seeks to confine it. This is no
question between the head of a household and one of its members whom the
tyrant holds to occupy the position of a slave (doulos) therein, his own niece ;
neither is it the question, to which Kreon would insultingly reduce it, of a trial
of strength between man as man and woman as woman.
Antigone, by her noble protest, has raised it to a far higher level ; it is
a question between the ruler and the ruler of rulers, him from whom in the
olden time all rulers professed to derive their authority, him whose tliemistes
they were bound to defend. ^
And now Haemon, in like manner, shows that it is also a question between
ruler and ruled — between Kreon and those who have entrusted to him their
own powers for one purpose only, the maintenance of Divine order.
To return, the elders, on the conclusion of Hsemon's speech, beg Kreon
to give ear to his son — the son to listen to the father, "for both," they add,
with due caution, " have spoken well."
So does not Kreon think. " Yea," he says, " so we that are old shall now
learn wisdom from the young ? "
Hcemon — Not if this be not just. K I be young, regard not time as more
than deeds.
Kreon — Prithee, is this among the " deeds " — to show reverence to breakers
of the law ?
Hoemon — Never would I claim honour for the bad.
Kreon — And is not she attacked by this disease (of law-breaking) ?
Hcemon — Thebes' united townsfolk with one voice say. No.
Kreon — The townsfolk, forsooth, shall teach me how to rule ?
Hoemon — There spakest thou, my father, all too youthfully.
Kreon — For whom, in this land, do I bear rule, if not for myself ?
^ See ante, p. 275.
2 This is the literal meaning of the term used by Kreon himself.
^ See ante, "Homeric Age," p. 273.
ANTIGONE 423
Hoemon — That State is no State which belongeth to one man.
Kreon — Is not the State governed by its ruler ?
Hoemon — Right nobly in a desert wouldst thou bear rule — alone.
Kreon — (to the elders) — 'Twould seem he is in league with the woman.
Hcemon — Yea, if thou be the woman. 'Tis for thee I am concerned.
Kreon — O miscreant, wilt thou denounce (argue with)i thy father {dia
dikes ienai) ?
Hoemon — I see thee erring in unjust ways {ou dikaia).
Kreon — I err, because my right as ruler here to me is sacred ?
Hoemon — No longer sacred, when thou treadest down the honour of the gods.
Kreon — O shameful state of mind — to be a woman's slave !
Hoemon — That worst of shames thou'lt never see in me.
Kreon — And yet for her alone are all thy words.
Hoemon — Yea, and for thee, and me, and the gods of death.
Kreon — Slave of a woman, prate not to me.
Hoemon — Thou'lt speak, it seems, but wilt hear naught.
Kreon — Think not that her thou'lt ever win alive as bride.
Hoemon — She dies then, and, dying, slays another.
Kreon — What ! thou darest proceed to threats ?
Hoemon — Where is the threat in speaking against an empty delusion ?
The word '' empty " recalls to Kreon's recollection Hsemon's former warning
concerning the " wisdom " proved to be emptiness, and he loses his self-control :
" Thou'lt teach me to thy cost, thou wiseacre, thyself empty in thy wisdom."
" And wert thou not my father," rejoins Haemon hotly, " I'd say thou wert
not over wise."
" Yerily ! " retorts Kreon in a fury. " Now, by Olympus, not to thy joy,
be well assured, shalt thou revile me. Bring forth the hateful girl ! She shall
die straightway, before the very eyes of her bridegroom, by his side ! "
" That she shall never do — think it not ! " responds Hgemon ; " nor ever
upon me shalt thou again set eyes. Rage, then, before thy submissive friends,"
and unable longer to battle with despair, Haemon rushes from the spot.
The elders, in alarm, call the father's attention to his distracted demeanour.
Kreon is blind to all ; the apate is within him, the avenging Erinys. " Let
him go," he replies grimly, " and ponder in his wisdom plans beyond the wit
of man. They will not save the girl."
It then appears that the fate of" Antigone is already sealed. Kreon has
already arranged that she shall be taken to the desert, far from the haunts
of man, and there immured, alive, in an underground vault within the rock ;
but so much bread is to be given her as shall preserve the State from the
agos, i.e. the pollution of the death, and the miasma of blood-guilt. Mark the
surface nature of the man. Deprived of light and air, Antigone must neces-
sarily die, but the State is guiltless ; it has provided her with the means of life.
By such wretched quibbles Kreon, like many before and after him, thinks to
outwit heaven. " There," in the rocky tomb, he says, " let her pray to Hades,
the only god whom she reveres, that he will save her from this death. Or
let her learn at last that 'tis but trouble thrown away to reverence the dead."
Kreon re-enters the palace, and Antigone is led forth by the guards.
When the young girl appears, even the elders are moved from their apathy
and their politic attitude. Opinions are divided amongst them, but some
openly express their concern. " No longer can I keep from tears," says one ;
^ An Attic law term. Kreon evidently fears that Hseinon is about to demand an impartial
inquiry before a court of law (such as the Areopagus of Athens, which is supposed to be in
existence).
424 SOPHOCLES
** this sight draws even me beyond the bounds of the law" — i.e. the law that
no one shall lament the fate of the law-breaker.
With the natural yearning of her age and sex for sympathy, Antigone sees
the partial reaction in her favour, and turns to the ancient men, the repre-
sentatives of " justice" as of law in Thebes.
" See me, citizens of my fatherland ! " she says, " going the last way,
beholding for the last time the light of the sun. Hades, who wrappeth all in
sleep, leads me, yet living, to the shore of Acheron, the river of Death. No
hymensea hath fallen to my lot, no hymn of joy hath been sung for me at
bridal feast. Nay ! but to Death I am wedded."
The well-disposed among the elders seek to console her, while cautiously
framing their words to suit the ruling power.
" Yet to the home of the dead thou goest," they reply, " with honour and
with praise, wasted by no disease, unharmed by the sword, living — a law unto
thyself (autonomos), as no mortal before thee, thou descendest into the grave."
Antigone does not heed the phrase, "a law unto thyself." Absorbed in her
grief, she can think of none whose fate resembles hers in its pathetic loneli-
ness, save that of Niobe, bereft of all her children. Death, she says, will
bring rest to her also.
" Niobe was Divine," say the sympathisers among the elders, " and of
lineage Divine ; we are but mortals, and of mortal birth. And yet, in death, to
share the fate of gods — how great thy fame ! "
The elder had spoken a true word, but Antigone has no thought of fame.
" Ah me ! he mocketh me ! " she says, and turning from the representatives of
the State before her to the ideal State, she calls upon the fatherland to bear
witness to her fate — to say by what laws she hath been condemned, she who
belongs now neither to the living nor the dead.
Others among the elders answer her {Ant., 853-856, 872-875). She hath
been over bold, they say ; she hath defied the mighty throne of Justice ; her
protest is only a continuance of the struggle of her father's, her fate is self-
chosen.
Antigone has now again to endure that bitterest of experiences — the
conviction that she is misunderstood by all. She knows not of the noble
stand made by her lover, nor that the city is stirred in her behalf. All that
reaches her ears is that her fate is due to her own orge — her own stubborn
disposition ; that her defence of truth is only a perverse continuing in the
athlon of her ancestors ; that her death is self-chosen (autognotos). Be it so !
the very consciousness that she stands alone gives strength for what remains.
Kreon appears, inquiring angrily into the cause of the delay ; but neither
he nor his myrmidons dare lay hands yet upon Antigone. She has a last word
to say. Already she has borne witness to the central truth of life : —
" We ought to obey God rather than man. Whether it be right, in the
sight of God, to hearken unto you more than unto God, judge ye." ^
Now she has to give her testimony to a great truth concerning death. The
full truth Antigone knows not, but of this one thing she is sure, that
" God is not the God of the dead, but of the living." ^
" I am going to my own," she says, "and I have the strong hope that there
I shall be dear to my father, dear to my mother, dear to thee, O brother." It
is no eternal slumber in the house of Hades, the giver of rest, to which
Antigone looks forward ; but a joyful reunion with those for whom she has
sacrificed all. She, who is here misunderstood and cast out, will there be dear
and welcome to them. That she will be dear also to the gods the poor child does
^ Acts V. 9, iv. 19. ^ St. Matthew xxii. 32.
ANTIGONE 425
not venture to say. At the outset her faith was strong and clear — she must
be '' hot " in the task before her, she had said, not lukewarm, that she might
please those whom most it concerned her to please — the Divine powers with
whom she must spend eternity. And in thus speaking and acting she had
obeyed the truest instinct of her heart. But now, like many another noble
witness to truth,i Antigone is troubled. On all sides she is told that she is
sinning against the gods. " And yet," she asks, " against what decree of the
immortals have I sinned 1 What availeth it that I, O miserable ! should look
unto the gods? to whom can I now cry for help — I to whom the fear of God
is reckoned as impiety ? "
But the cloud passes over. Antigone is content to leave the decision to the
Invisible Justice. She will soon know the truth for herself — whether she or
her earthly judge is in the right. " If," she says, " these things (the doctrines
of Kreon and his supporters) are pleasing to the gods, then we (I and my dear
ones) will submit and acknowledge our fault. But and if these men are in the
wrong, then may they endure no more than they, unjustly, do now inflict
on me."
Kreon now steps forward, threatening the guards with dire penalties if
there is any further hesitation, and Antigone is hurried away, uttering the
last appeal {Ant., 937 etseq.): "0 land of Thebes! city of my fathers! gods
of my race ! heads of Thebes' State ! behold what I must suffer, and of whom,
because I held sacred the Sacred ! "
But retribution is at hand. Teiresias, the seer, appears, and warns Kreon
that his fate as ruler of 1 Thebes is even now hanging in the balance. Heaven
and earth are full of signs and portents ominous and threatening ; the flame
shineth not upon the altar, the air resounds with the discordant screeching
and clamour of evil birds. The whole city is polluted — the gods will accept no
sacrifice, for the altars are defiled by the dogs that have fed on the flesh of the
unhappy son of OEdipus ; the very birds give forth no joyous cry since they
have drunk of the blood of the dead. " Thus suffereth the city," says the seer,
" because of thy mind and will. And now, my son," he adds {Ant., 1223 et seq.),
" consider this — common it is to all men to err ; but if sin hath been com-
mitted, that man is neither left without counsel {a-houlos) nor yet unblest
who, when he hath fallen, seeketh health, and remaineth not stubborn. Self-
will alone to folly is imputed. Yield thou ! Stab not the dead. Where is
the courage in slaying anew the slain ? "
The counsel is given in the kindliest way, but Kreon puts it from him.
Omens and portents ! he has a mind above such folly. " In the grave," he
says, " this man shall not be laid. Yea, and were the eagle of Zeus itself to
feed upon his flesh and bear it to the throne on high, this would not move me.
For well I know that no mortal can pollute the gods."
True, but a mortal can pollute himself and the whole State.
" Then," says the seer, " if any amongst men did but know, would but
consider " He pauses.
"What then?" says Kreon with a sneer; "what is this * common-to-all '
truth ? "
" This, that the mightiest by far of all possessions is a right and well-advised
will {eu-houlia)."
" Yea," retorts Kreon, '' as the worst by far of all evils is to be devoid of
understanding. ' '
^ John the Baptist out of prison bears noblest testimony to Christ ; John the Baptist in
prison sends the message to Him, " Art Thou the very Christ, He that should come, or look we
for another ? "
426 SOPHOCLES
" The very evil wherewith thyself is filled," gravely rejoins the seer.
From .three different sources Kreon has now heard it hinted, not obscurely,
that his wisdom is not "wisdom" — from Antigone, in defence of the sacred
rights of the human heart, the unwritten laws ; from Haemon, on behalf of
the universal opinion of the citizens ; finally from the seer, as representing the
Invisible Justice. All three appeals he rejects, accusing the seer now of being
bought with money — bribed against him — until the venerable man, his office
thus held up to ridicule, is compelled to disclose to the tyrant the consequences
of his obstinacy.
" Know this," he says, " that for thee the sun not oft shall run his course
before that thou, from out thy very heart's blood, shall give forth a life for
lives. Thou hast thrust down, dishonoured, to the realms below that which
belongeth to the gods above, a living soul ; and hast withheld from gods below
the dead — without its due, without its share in funeral rites, unconsecrate —
from them thou hast kept back by force that which appertaineth not to thee
nor to the gods above. For this cause Hades, the destroyer, and the avenging
Erinys lie in wait for thee to seize thee in thine evil deeds."
The seer concludes with a terrible picture of what must shortly come to
pass. Kreon has scoffed at his words ; let him now look to himself and his own
house for their fulfilment.
He departs, but not in vain has he spoken. Kreon begins to waver.
Haemon in his distraction rises before his eyes. " Out of thy very heart's blood
thou shalt give life for lives." The elders remind him that, long as they have
known the seer — before their dark locks turned white — never in all these years
has a false word fallen from his lips.
" That I know," Kreon rejoins, " and my heart is troubled. To yield is
terrible, but to resist with ruin (ate) drawing nigh ! "
" Good counsel now is needed,'' say the ancient men.
" Say, then, what must be done — speak — I will follow," Kreon rejoins, his
anxiety overmastering his pride.
" Release the maiden from the vault ; give burial to the dead."
" This course thou recommendest — that I should yield ? "
*' As speedily as possible, king, for heaven-sent judgments come quickly
on the heels of folly."
With all this hesitation, as the elders perceive, precious time is being
wasted, and once more they urge the tyrant to begin the work himself, nor
depute it to others. At length Kreon, seeing that he "cannot fight against
necessity," gives the necessary orders for the funeral pyre of Polyneikes, and
vows that he will liberate Antigone. "I bound her," he says, "and I myself
will set her free." But his heart misgives him, and he sets out with the
words : " Alas ! I fear that after all 'tis best to keep unto life's end the laws
decreed."
What need to dwell upon the sequel ? The whole conclusion of the drama
must be read to do it justice. Kreon and his attendants find the poor mutilated
remains of Polyneikes, and give them sacred burial. They hasten then to the
desolate region, far from the haunts of men, where Antigone has been immured.
As they approach the spot sounds of woe and lamentation fall upon their ears,
and the agonised father recognises the voice of Haemon. On looking down into
the vault an awful scene meets the eye — Antigone, dead, suspended by her veil
from the rock ; Haemon kneeling by her side, quite distraught.
Another than Kreon has " set free " Antigone, even Hades, to whom he
wedded her. Unable to bear the awful gloom and solitude of the tdmb to
which, living, she has been consigned — unable to bear the pressure 'of the
THE IDEALS OF SOPHOCLES 427
thought that she is forsaken by all — Antigone, true daughter of her father, has
taken her ''fate" into her own hands, and, like (Edipus, outrun God.
Do we blame her ? Nay, Antigone has but been true to the ethics of her
age. "Nobly to live or nobly to die befits the noble." The one seems to
be denied her now ; the other is within her reach. Antigone is no Christian
heroine. Tried by the standard of her age, she has lived a heroic life and died
a heroic death.
What need to dwell upon the fate of Kreon ? Before his very eyes, from
out his very heart's blood, the father sees " life " exchanged " for lives "
Hsemon plunges his sword into his breast, and dies with his beloved. Kreon
returns to the city, bearing the lifeless body of his son, and is met by the
intelligence that Eurydike, his wife, is no more. Unable to bear the agony of
life without her son, she too has ended her mortal existence, and Kreon utters
the heartrending confession that by his own dys-houlicey Ms own perversities, his
house is left unto him desolate {(Ed. Tyr., 863 et seq.).
" Ah ! were it the lot of my life to keep in sacred purity each word and
work, true to the laws set forth on high ! For they are born in heaven —
Olympus alone is their sire — neither hath mortal nature conceived them, nor
ever hath forgetfulness lulled them into slumber. No ! for in them is a mighty
God, and He groweth not old."
" Alas ! I fear 'tis best to keep unto life's end the laws decreed."
THE IDEALS OF SOPHOCLES
(i) Loyalty to Truth. — Among those for whom Sophocles wrote, belief in
the seer, as in omens and portents, had almost entirely ceased ; faith in the
Oracle was rapidly passing away. Since his day the whole outward apparatus
of religion — that of the chosen people as that of the seekers after truth among
the nations — has changed ; yet the inner meaning of the poet's teaching remains
the same, for our day as for his.
The eternal verities which he proclaimed change not, the great unwritten
laws still stand fast, man's " fate" still depends on their observance.
Human nature also is what it ever was. " Common it is to men to fail."
Ajax with his ego is still among us, Heracles with his hidden, consuming
Nessus-robe, Qj]dipus in hi s_hot-head-ed impetuosity, Polyneikes and Eteocles
in their self-seeking, Kreon in the obstinacy of his one-man doctrine ; but also,
thanks be to God ! Antigone in her loyalty to truth, her spirit of unselfish
love. In her, his noblest ideal, the poet would show the noblest side of human
nature ; but he does more than this, for in her he shadows forth all uncon-
sciously to himself the image of Him who gathers up into Himself all noble
ideals.
The conception of the intrepid girl who stands before the council and the
ruler of her people, and utters the courageous words regarding a hollow,
man-made law (Ant., 450 et seq.) : " 'Twas not God that proclaimed me this,
nor hath justice marked out such laws for men. Nor did I deem thy
proclamation of such might as that it, the word of mortal man, could over-
pass the unwritten steadfast laws of heaven" — the conception of one who
knows that she must be " hot/' yea, hot unto death, in the service of those
Divine powers with whom she must be for ever (Ant., 89, 74) — of one
who has no argument to oppose to taunts save this (Ant., 523) : '' Not
to hate was I born, but to love," and who seals her testimony by her
death, who dies because she " held sacred the Sacred " — may well stand forth
428 SOPHOCLES
as a glorious instance of the " seeking after God " which resulted in a firm
foregrasp of the truth. In the Antigone of Sophocles we see, as in a glass
darkly, Him who also stood before the ruler of His people and spake the
significant words : —
" To this end was I born, and for this cause came I into the world, that I
should bear witness unto the truth." ^
Him of whom it was written : " The zeal of Thine house hath eaten me
up. ^
Him who by His life and death was in Himself the revelation of the truth
that " God is love." ^
True, the Antigone of Sophocles — Ohrist-type as she undoubtedly is — is not
altogether Christ-like. Antigone is no meek lamb led to the slaughter, bless-
ing and forgiving her murderers. No! she is simply a noble, high-spirited
Hellenic maiden, with all the faults as well as all the virtues of the heroic age.
Does this destroy the value of the Sophoclean witness to truth ? We trow not.
In Sophocles, more perhaps than in any other writer, we see what Plato
intended to convey when he said that God taketh away the mind of poets in
order that we may know that He is speaking to us through them — using them
as instruments.
(2) Generosity. — With all his faults QEdipus stands out as the ideal of
generous activity. " To help, so far as means and strength allow, this is man's
noblest duty" (CEd. Tyr., 314)-
Theseus of Athens again presents us with another and a similar conception
in his generous defence of the suppliants admitted to his care {(Ed. Col., 1040) :
" Trust me, (Edipus. Unless I die beforehand, I will not rest until I have
restored thy children to thy keeping " ; in his view of life {CEd. Col., 567) : " I
know that I am a man," and its practical application {CEd. Col., 11 53) : " Nothing
that touches man may he despised," no less than in the genuine ring of his
philanthropy {CEd. Col., 1143) : " Not with words would I bestir myself to make
my life shine forth, but with deeds."
Finally, by the side of (Edipus and Theseus must be placed the noble
Odysseus of the Ajax. He withstands the subtle temptation of Athena : " Is it
not sweet to mock at foes ? " by the simple declaration : " / pity him." And
again, he opposes the contemptible resistance of Menelaus and Agamemnon to
the burial of the fallen hero with the words : " He was mine adversary, but a
noble man" — a sentiment that draws forth from Agamemnon the astonished
exclamation {Ajax, 1355): "Thou wilt show reverence to thine enemy in
death ?" which again elicits in its turn the noble response : " Far over enmity
triumphs in me his excellence " — the memory of his arete.
Odysseus, like Theseus, realises that he is mortal. This realisation it is
that prevents his mocking at a fallen foe ; this leads him to insist on reverent
burial for him. Ajax must be laid with honour in the grave, he says {Ajax,
1365), "/or I myself go thither."
(3) Family Love. — It may seem strange at first to include the mainten-
ance of the family in its integrity among the ideals of Sophocles ; and yet no
one can read the dramas of the master without being struck by the large place
which family affection and the ties of blood hold in his esteem. In this respect
he reminds us of Homer. Homer has his Penelope, Sophocles his Deianeira ;
Homer has his Hector and Andromache, Sophocles his Haemon and Antigone ;
Homer has Laertes and his son, Sophocles (Edipus and his daughters ; Homer,
again, has his faithless wife, his Helen, bringing ruin in her wake — Sophocles,
his faithless husband, Heracles, scattering destruction and desolation broadcast.
1 St. John xviii. 37. '^ Psalm Ixix. 9 ; St. John ii. 17. ^ 3^, John iv. 8.
THE IDEALS OF SOPHOCLES 429
To dwell on this theme would be simply to reproduce great part of the
seven dramas. We must content ourselves therefore with the hope that the
reader will trace out this characteristic of the master in his own pages. No
more beautiful picture of the power of family love has ever been drawn than
that of the blind (Edipus — cast out by the world — finding solace first in his
home life, then, when cast out from his home, in his little maidens — his
" double staff," his " eyes." Nothing more touching can be imagined than the,
old man's joy when they are brought back to him by Theseus. Who cannot
sympathise with his pitiful cry when he hears once more their voices {CEd.
Col., 1 105) : " Let me feel you, my children " ? Not till he clasps them in his
arms can he venture to believe that his treasures are indeed restored to him.
" Now," he says {CEd. Col., 1 1 10), '* I hold my dear ones. While they stand by,
death itself cannot be all-miserable ! "
1
§ X.— EURIPIDES
I.— LIFE A.ND WORKS
Euripides, the third, and in some respects the greatest, of the great Athenian
dramatists, first saw the light on the fateful day which witnessed the defeat of
the Persian fleet at Salamis (480 B.C.). He was born on the island, where his
family, in common with the rest of the Athenians, had taken refuge on the
approach of Xerxes.
Not much is known concerning his parents. Aristophanes, indeed, is never
tired of hinting that the origin of Euripides was worse than obscure ; but that his
father was probably of noble blood, and certainly fairly prosperous, is evidenced
by several attendant circumstances. The boy, for instance, received a liberal
education, and studied under a master who, as is well known, selected his
disciples and exacted large fees.
His father is said to have received an oracle which predicted that his
son should one day be crowned with garlands ; and, interpreting this in the
ordinary way, he had him carefully trained in gymnastic exercises. At an
early age, however, Euripides showed that the crown of the athlete was not
the one at which he aimed, for although he gained, when only seventeen, two
prizes at the Eleusinian and Thesean games, he seems to have devoted himself
immediately afterwards to the pursuits which were making his native city
famou^. With all the ardour of his nature he threw himself into the study of
painting, rhetoric, and philosophy, attending the lectures, not only (as we have
hinted) of the sophist Prodicus, but of the philosopher Anaxagoras.
The outcome of the influences at work upon him was a tragedy composed in
his eighteenth year; but he did not exhibit publicly until 455 B.C., when he
was twenty-five years of age. These seven years we may well suppose to
have been years of mental growth, and to them probably are due the many
passages of deep meaning which we find scattered throughout the plays of
the '' philosopher-poet."
From the performance of the Peliades (now lost) in 455 B.C., Euripides
continued to exhibit regularly — his dramas reaching the enormous total of
seventy-five, or, as some say, ninety-two— until the year 408, when, from some
cause not actually known, but easily conjectured, he left Athens and retired to
the court of Archelaus, king of Macedon, by whom he was warmly received.
Here, two years later, at the age of seventy-five, he died.
Next to the father of poetry, Homer himself, there can be little doubt
that Euripides was the most beloved of all Hellenic poets — not indeed by
his own contemporaries in Athens, for which in many respects he was too
advanced, but later. This is proved by the fact that no fewer than eighteen
of his dramas — more than double the number of the extant tragedies of
^schylus or of Sophocles — have come down to us, whilst the fragments of the
lost plays which have been preserved as quotations in the works of other
writers fill of themselves a goodly volume.
To enter here upon any appreciation of Euripides as a poet would be to
overstep our bounds, inasmuch as we are concerned with him only in connec-
430
LIFE AND WORKS
431,
tion with the development of the religious and moral idea. Nevertheless,
whilst in pursuance of our plan we do our best to ensure that this great
maker of Hellas shall be allowed to speak for himself on these greatest of
all topics, we shall thereby enable the reader to form a more just and true
estimate of the man than could be arrived at by any mere process of literary
criticism. On two points only we must needs say a few words before passing
on to our subject proper. These are — firstly, Euripides in his character as a
philosopher, and secondly, the apparent moral contradictions to be met with in
his works.
Euripides as a Philosopher. — It is hardly necessary to point out that
the very feature which, in many instances, detracts from the artistic beauty
of the works of Euripides enhances their value to us in our present inquiry.
The philosophical and moral reflections in which our poet delights are, it is
true, often absurdly out of place in the mouth of the particular hero or heroine
to whom they are assigned. Nevertheless, such passages are of exceeding
worth to us ; some of them as affording a glimpse into the real mind of
Euripides himself, and all as depicting vividly the life of the Athens of his day
in its wondrous many-sidedness. The religious questions stirred up by Xeno-
phanes and other thinkers, the doubts cast upon traditional beliefs and the
Divine origin of the myths, the quickening of attention as to the descriptions
of the character of the gods given by the poets, the materialistic tendencies
of the age, the origin of evil, the morality taught by the sophists, the new
manner of life recommended by the philosophers, the merits of the rival
polities and forms of government now on their trial in the different States of
Greece, the status of women, the value of education, the position of the slave —
contemporary thought on all these questions, and others which will meet us in
the course of our inquiry, is reflected in the pages of Euripides as in a mirror.
Before all things, therefore, in the study of Euripides, it is necessary to
bear in mind that in him we have to do not only with the contemporary and
rival of Sophocles, but with the contemporary and friend of Socrates. In
point of time he stands midway between the two, for he was ten years younger
than Sophocles and thirteen years older than Socrates.
His apparent Moral Contradictions.— No writer has suffered more
than Euripides from a practice only too common in all ages — that, namely, of
giving extracts from an author without regard to the context in which they
occur — a practice to which the brilliant epigrammatic sayings of our poet lent
themselves only too easily. In this respect Euripides was cruelly treated by
Aristophanes, who persistently held him up to public execration on the
strength of isolated " texts," which in reality only receive their proper
explanation when taken in connection with the whole tenor of the drama in
which they occur. An instance in point is the famous line uttered by Hip-
polytus in the tragedy which bears his name {Hipp., 612): *' The tongue
hath sworn, but the heart knows nothing of it." This was twisted by
the enemies of the poet into a sanction of perjury and an attack upon
the sanctity of the oath ; whereas (as we shall presently see in our ex-
amination of the drama) the man who has been duped and forced by circum-
stances, the conflict of rival duties, to make the remark, dies rather than break
the oath to which he refers.
In order, therefore, that we may not ourselves fall into the error which we
have just condemned, we propose to confine our examination entirely to those
works of the poet which are before us in their entirety, and to bring forward
no " text " which cannot be considered in connection with the story in which
it occurs, or which we have not compared with other utterances of Euripides
432 EURIPIDES
bearing on the same subject. This method will debar us from making use of
the fragments of the lost tragedies, but it has the great advantage of fairness
and of enabling us to build up our knowledge of Euripides on a solid founda-
tion. What we wish to arrive at is not what " they say " about Euripides,
however great may be the authority of the critics, but what the master himself
says.
The nineteen extant dramas attributed to Euripides may be grouped
together as under : —
(i) Nine based on the Trojan Epic Cycle : —
(a) Four following the fortunes of Agamemnon and his family — Iphigenia
in Aulis, Iphigenia in Tauris, Orestes, and Electra ;
(b) Three those of the wife and family of Priam — The Trojan Captives,
Hecahe, and Andromache ;
(c) One devoted to another version of the story of Helen — Helena ;
{d) One dealing with an incident in the wanderings of Odysseus — The
Cyclops, the only existing specimen of the satyric drama.
(2) Two treating of incidents connected with the Theban Epic Cycle —
The Phoenician Women and the Suppliants.
(3) Two relating to Heracles and his family — The Mad Heracles {Hercules
Furens) and the Children of Heracles.
(4) Two dealing with the jealousy of the gods — Hippolytus and the
Bacchantes.
(5) Three taking up incidents linked with other sagas : —
(a) Medeia, based on the finale of the Thessalian story of Jason and his
voyage in the Argo in quest of the Golden Fleece ;
(f>) Alcestis, on two other Thessalian legends connected with Apollo and
Heracles ;
(c) Ion, on the legendary history of the founder of the Ionian race.
(6) Rhesus, the nineteenth drama, founded on an episode in the Iliad, is
regarded with suspicion by some critics as not a genuine work of the poet,
and will therefore not be included in our scheme.
II.— THE IDEA OF GOD
Introduction
Many of the apparent contradictions to which we have just referred in
the writings of Euripides occur in the diverse views which his pages present
concerning the gods. There are not a few passages in our poet which might
seem to warrant the supposition that he had no belief whatever, whilst, on the
other hand, we meet with sentiments of the most opposite character. How are
these differences to be reconciled ? In two ways : —
(i) By treating Euripides as we would treat any other great master of his
art. To this standard of artistic fitness Euripides himself appealed, for he is
said to have declared that he was ready to defend the matter introduced into
his dramas before the theatrical judges — that is, before persons conversant with
the requirements of the dramatic art — but not before any other tribunal.
In order, then, to understand aright his utterances regarding the gods, we
must, as before pointed out, pay heed to the context — we must look at the
''utterance" in the light of the character and circumstances of the person
who utters it. For instance, when Clytemnestra says to Achilles in the
Iphigenia in Aulis (1034) : " If there are gods, thou, being a just man, wilt
THE IDEA OF GOD 433
receive the reward of the good ; but if not, why need we trouble ourselves ? "
we must bear in mind that the speaker is a mother who has just discovered
that she has been most cruelly deceived, and that the deceit has been practised
upon her in order to carry out a command which is announced by Oalchas the
seer as Divine, but which she believes to be a fiction, viz. that her child must
be offered up in sacrifice to the goddess Artemis. Under these circumstances,
Clytemnestra may well be excused the outburst. From her lips it is perfectly
natural.
Again, what are we to make of such a passage as the following ? —
*' Wealth, my little man, wealth is the god of the wise. All the other
gods are but empty boasts and pretty fancies born of words. / do not tremble
at the thunder of Zeus, nor do I know that Zeus is any whit a greater god than
myself. . . . Mother Earth (herself a goddess) is compelled, whether she will
or no, to bring forth grass to fatten my beasts. / sacrifice to no god except
myself and the greatest of all gods — my stomach. To eat and drink every day
to the full, and to torment oneself about nothing, that, to the wise among men,
that is Zeus ! As for those who have made the laws, tricking them out with
fine words, for the life of men, I bid them — go hang ! "
What significance is to be attached to such words as these ? We turn to
the context, and find that Euripides puts them into the mouth of the Cyclops
in the satyric drama of the same name — into the mouth, that is, of the em-
bodiment of ignorance, unrule and savageness. We have in the whole passage
{Cyclops, 315-16, 320, 331-40), beyond a doubt, a most trenchant comment
on the materialistic tendencies of the day, an echo of sentiments which our
poet must have heard often enough expressed, and of which he shows his due
appreciation by allowing them to proceed from the lips of such a being as the
Cyclops, a creature more animal than man. In no more significant way could
the poet express his own opinion of those " whose god is their belly, who mind
earthly things," who say " Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die."
(2) We must recollect that the age of Euripides is an age of transition and
of extremely rapid transition. He himself, as we have pointed out, stands
between the old traditional faith and the new light of philosophy. Euripides,
on the one hand, has broken with the mythical gods, but he has not attained
to clearness of vision. As the disciple of Anaxagoras, he believes that God is
spirit, but the further definition of what that Spirit is, is lacking. Euripides
does not tell us much of what God is, but in no uncertain words he tells us
what God is not. Thus we go forward with him one stage only in the great
journey. This is perfectly in accordance with the orderly, settled lines on
which the evolution of the religious idea proceeded in Greece, ^schylus
showed to his countrymen the Divine Justice at work in the universe ; ^
Sophocles, the action of the Divine Justice in the great social laws ; Euripides
proceeds to develop the same grand theme when he bids his fellow-men note
that the Divine Justice could not possibly emanate from such a source as the
fallible, often polluted beings called " gods " in the myths. Euripides is an
iconoclast, breaking into pieces the idols before which his countrymen wor-
shipped, but he is no atheist. Far from that, he is simply accomplishing, to a
certain extent consciously, the world-task to which he was called. By clearing
away the rubbish that had accumulated for centuries around and above the
old traditions, and leading his hearers to think, Euripides is preparing the
ground for the good seed of a Socrates and a Plato. There is no break in
the continuity of development — each instrument makes ready the way for
the rest.
Euripides' work as an iconoclast will, perhaps, best be seen in a concrete
2 E
434 EURIPIDES
illustration. We shall therefore proceed to examine briefly in its entirety (so
far as it concerns our purpose) his treatment of one of the most popular of the
national legends — the story of Ion.
The Story of Ion. — In the drama entitled Ion, Euripides handles the
mythical history of the founder of the Ionian race. To understand his story
aright, we must take a brief glance at that of the family from which he springs,
the M^echtheidce.
(i) Erichthonius, the founder of the family, is the representative of the
" autochthonous," earth-born Athenians. He springs directly from the soil of
Attica in the form of a serpent, and is, according to one of the oldest sagas,
the son of Hephaestus and Gsea. As soon as he is born he becomes the protege of
Athena, goddess of the land, who entrusts him, enclosed in a chest, to the care
of the three daughters of Oecrops, king of Athens — Aglaurus, Pandrosus, and
Herse — with strict injunctions to bring him up " without looking at him."
Moved by curiosity, however, two of them, Aglaurus and Herse, open the box,
and struck by horror at the sight which meets their gaze, the serpent-bodied
infant, they lose their wits and throw themselves over the Acropolis-rock.
Here we have clearly a very ancient nature parable. Athena, in the earliest
cult of Attica, is the goddess of agriculture. Erichthonius, her protege, is the
child of Hephaestus and Gsea — that is, of Warmth and Mother Earth. His name
is held to betoken the blessings of the earth, and he himself, with his serpent-
body enclosed in a chest, is the long, twisting, straggling shoot springing
upwards from the seed in which it has been encased.^ The lid of the chest is
opened contrary to their instructions by two of the sisters to whom the child
has been entrusted. The seed, that is, germinates prematurely through too
favourable atmospheric conditions ; for the three sisters — Aglaurus, Pandrosus,
and Herse — are, as their names denote, embodiments of the sunny air, the
rain, and the dew, which nourish " without looking " at their charge, i.e.
through the dark earth that conceals the seed from view.
(2) In due course Erichthonius begets a son, Erechtheus, who is finally en-
gulfed in a chasm of the earth by Poseidon, god of the sea, probably the
mythical way of putting the fact that sea- water is inimical to vegetation. ^
(3) To the third generation belongs Creusa, the daughter of this Erechtheus,
and grand-daughter of Erichthonius, the original earth-man. Hers is a tragical
fate, for against her will she is forced to become one of the many brides of the
sun-god, Apollo, who surprises her in a lonely grotto under the Acropolis-rock,
and compels her to yield to his embraces.
The germ of this story, again, is evidently the simple and beautiful fact
that, given the necessary conditions — a seed, a little earth, and a chink through
which the sunbeams can penetrate— even there a plant will nou only grow, but
blossom and fructify against its loill, i.e. against the natural darkness of its
habitat. Possibly the story grew out of the surprise felt by some ancient poet,
or myth-maker, at finding a tender plant blossoming in such a place. " Evi-
dently," he muses, " one sought out and beloved of the sun-god." Hence
the myth.
(4) Following the history to the fourth generation, we arrive at Ion, the
^ Erichthonius is always represented as a serpent. His "double," Cecrops, however,
possesses from the waist upwards the form of a man, whilst the lower part of his body is that
of a serpent. The description of Cecrops, therefore, is a better version of the parable : for he
has the "upward-looking" part which seeks the light, the shoot; and the part which creeps
beneath the earth, the fibrous, serpent-like roots.
^ Of course, there are other ways of interpreting the Attic legends. For the historical
mode, which makes Poseidon the representative of the sea-rovers who invaded the land and
overcame the old Pelasgian population, see ante, p. 154.
THE IDEA OF GOD 435
hero of the drama, fruit of the union, who, as soon as born, is placed
by Creusa in a *' round-shaped casket," " after the family custom of the
Erechtheidse," and left to die. Apollo, however, unknown to her, has the
child transported by Hermes, his brother, to Delphi, his own domain, where
it is taken care of and brought up to manhood.
The explanation of this is palpable enough. The child which is enclosed,
" after the family custom," in the ** round-shaped casket," exposed by the
mother, carried away by Hermes, and brought to maturity in his own domain
by Apollo, is the seed separated from the mother plant and carried by the
winds 1 to a more favourable locality, where it develops and ripens in the rays
of the sun, becoming in its turn the founder or progenitor of a new race.
Turn the actors in the little drama, however, into human beings —
personify them, and we have at once a full-grown legend belonging to the
class of myths which were, at one and the same time, the most shocking to the
later Hellenic conscience and the most difficult to combat or repudiate. Need-
less to say, no suspicion of the connection between their national traditions
and the plant-world ever entered the mind of the Greek of the classical age.
This legend and the many similar stories met with in the myths were regarded
simply as historical facts. The story of Ion, therefore, had to be very gently
handled, for the Athenians were proud of their ancestral hero, and disposed to
glory in the fact that his mother, an Athenian princess, had been thought worthy
of the love of Apollo, the great god of Delphi, who himself became to them in
this very connection Apollo Patroos, the patron-god of the whole Ionian race.
How then does Euripides treat the subject? Does he surmise aught as to
its origin — the little idyll of the plant and the sunbeam? We trow not. ^ The
misery of the unhappy girl, and her overwhelming sense of shame and
resentment against the "forced marriage," are to the poet realities which he
not only hints at but boldly proclaims and denounces. In his opinion, at least,
Creusa is not "honoured " by the " dishonour" thrust upon her.^
To return to the story : Apollo adds yet this other cruelty to his baseness,
that he forbids his victim to make known to her father what has happened.
Consequently, when her child is born, Creusa has no alternative but to expose
it to die, in accordance with the savage custom of the age. She therefore
places it in the usual cradle of the Erechtheidse, the round-shaped box which
we already know, deposits it in the grotto which has been the scene of her
disaster, and so leaves the babe to its fate — as she imagines, death. The box
and its contents are, however, brought by Hermes, in accordance with Apollo's
directions, to Delphi, and placed at the entrance to the temple, where his
prophetess, the Pythia, finds the forlorn infant, compassionately takes it into
the temple, and brings it up, without, however, knowing anything concerning
its parentage.
The child is the future Ion, who grows up in the temple, and when arrived
at manhood is made by the Delphians custodian of the treasures of the god.
^ Cf. Hermes as the wind-god iu our companion volume, p. 161.
2 There is one feature in the story as told by Euripides which might lead us to suppose
at first sight that the poet had an inkling of the origin of the myth. When Creusa, namely,
is visited by Apollo, "with his shining golden locks streaming" behind him (the streaming
sunbeams), she has just been plucking crocuses wherewith to adorn herself. This touch is,
however, in all probability borrowed from the old Homeric hymn to Demeter ; for, in the
scene in which Core is carried off by Hades, the maiden is represented as in the act of
gathering flowers. Core, however, has plucked the hyacinth, the symbol of death, whereas
Creusa holds the crocus, emblem of the spring-time, of life and youth.
2 See especially the well-known passage, Ion, 283-9 ; the outburst of Creusa, 252-4 ; and
the wonderful lines, " my soul, how shall I keep silence ? " 859 et seq.
436 EURIPIDES
He continues to lead what is described as a holy life {semnon bion), devoting
himself to the service of Apollo, whose " slave '' he delights to call himself, and
to whom he gives the honoured name of father, in token of his gratitude, for of
his real relationship to Apollo he has not the remotest idea. Ion is evidently
Euripides' ideal of a pure and innocent youth, brought up, like his Achilles,
far from the conventionalities and the follies of human society. He passes
his days in the discharge of various functions, beautifully described by the
youth himself at the opening of the drama. Thus, he superintends the
attendants, whom he exhorts to come to their duties in the temple, bathed in
the silver eddies of the Oastalian spring, glittering with its pure dew-drops, and
having, too, a good word, a tongue of good import, for the strangers who come
to consult the Oracle. His own duties consist in chasing away with the bow
the birds which swoop down from the heights of Parnassus and defile the
consecrated offerings ; in sprinkling the entrance to the temple with holy
water ; and in cleansing with laurel and myrtle twigs " from the immortal
gardens " (the grove of Apollo) the altar and sacred precincts. In all his
work Ion takes the greatest pride and delight. " O Psean ! Paean! " he sings
(Ion, 125 et seq.), " mayest thou ever be blessed, thou glorious son of Leto !
Noble is the toil which falls to me before thy house, whilst I honour the seat of
thine Oracle. Yea, famous is my toil, for with my hands I help the gods —
not mortals do I serve, but immortals ; in these blessed labours never will I
weary. Phoebus is my father, my nourisher, whom I praise ; to him in his
temple I give the honoured name of father. Thus without ceasing may I ever
serve Phoebus, or, if I cease, may it be to a blessed fate (agathd moird,
i.e. death)."
Thus, in his Ion, Euripides portrays a youth full of faith in the god, loving
him with all the ardour of a grateful heart, and feeling himself ennobled and
honoured by being allowed to perform the humblest offices in the sanctuary.
Imagine now the effect upon such an one of a revelation of the character
of the god as shown in his relation to Creusa. This revelation is made to him
by Creusa herself. The Athenian princess has been given in marriage to the
-^olian Xuthos as a reward to the latter for services rendered in war. The
union proves childless, and the royal couple set out for Delphi to consult the
Oracle on the subject. Creusa arrives before her husband, for she has a
private question of her own to put to the god, her betrayer, viz. what has
become of the fruit of her union with himself ? This question she confides to
Ion (whose duty it is to receive and assist strangers on their arrival), little
thinking that she is telling the secret to her own son. Throughout, however,
she puts the case as that of a friend, in whose sufferings, through the betrayal
and abandonment by Apollo, she takes the deepest interest.
Ion is terribly distressed by the story. He cannot at, first believe it ; the
tale, he says, has been concocted by some one " who has suffered a wrong at
the hands of a man." That a god, and that god the one to whom he is devoted,
should have so acbed, is to him incredible.
Something in Creusa' s manner, notwithstanding, forces upon him the con-
viction that she is speaking truth, but he absolutely refuses to assist her in
bringing so disgraceful a matter before the Oracle " How," he says, " can she
force the god to declare that which he wishes kept secret ? Will he not rather
visit those who dare to make it known in his own house with his displeasure ? "
Creusa feels the truth of this — she is forced to keep silence ; and, her
husband arriving at the moment, they go to make inquiry at the shrine regard-
ing their present childless lot, leaving Ion utterly at a loss to fathom the
mystery. He tries to resume his wonted avocations, the peaceful duties in
THE IDEA OF GOD 437
which he has taken such pleasure, but the real tenor of his thoughts, the out-
come of Creusa's communication, finally shows itself in the following outspoken
words (/ow, 436 et seq.) : " PhcBbus must be warned by me of what he is doing,
wedding maidens by force, and then betraying them, leaving the children
whom he has begotten carelessly to die ! Not thou^ at least (0 Phoebus !), but
since the power is thine, follow after virtue. For whosoever among the
children of men hath an evil nature, him the gods punish. How then can ye
with justice prescribe laws for mortals when ye yourselves are found guilty of
lawlessness ? Suppose — the case, indeed, can never happen, but just let me
suppose — that ye were to give satisfaction to men for such acts of violence,
thou and Poseidon, and Zeus who ruleth on high, ye would empty your temples
in paying the penalties of unrighteousness. For, in following pleasures rather
than wisdom, ye do wrong. No longer with justice can men be called ' evil,'
if they imitate the evil doings of the gods — that name helongeth to the teachers."
Bold words these, but true. The gods are now, in the misunderstood
teaching of the ancient myths, the *' evil " ones, teachers of iniquity ; and in
another of his dramas, the Hippolytus, Euripides shows this teaching in actual
operation in the character of Phaedra, who is led to consent to evil counsels by
the sophistical argument : " Wilt thou he iviser than the gods ? "
To return to the Ion : Apollo, of course, is finally cleared of the guilt of
having abandoned his offspring, but it requires the intervention of Athena, the
patron-goddess of his native city, to convince Ion that his mother's story is true.
What Euripides himself thinks of the legend which he handles with so much
fine feeling is, perhaps, best shown in the motif which brings Athena to
Delphi. Apollo, she says (Ion, 1556 et seq.), was reluctant to appear before
their eyes, " lest he should be reproached for the past," and had for this reason
deputed her to reveal the truth. In other words, Apollo, by his non-appear-
ance, tacitly confesses both that he has sinned and that he is ashamed of it.
To the Athenian many, perhaps, the teaching of the Ion would seem to be
that the end justifies the means — the establishing of the Ionian race in Europe
and Asia through a founder of Divine descent would atone in their view for a
multitude of sins. In the ears of the thinking few, however — and especially of
the few who were possessed by that inborn, God-implanted longing to claim
kinship with the Divine which we have seen in men like Pindar — the words
put into the mouth of Ion would re-echo until they demanded an answer. The
(jods the teachers of iniquity — can such beings be God? are they not rather
the creations of man's imagination ?
III.— THE IDEA OF GOD (continued)
The answer to this question is given by the poet himself in no uncertain
tones. One specially significant passage we may note. It occurs in the Madness
of Heracles, a tragedy dealing with that incident in the life of the national hero
which represents the culmination of the malice of the goddess Hera. Enraged
that Heracles has successfully accomplished his world-mission of " taming the
earth " — civilising it, humanising it by ridding it of monsters ^ — she tries other
measures, and seeks to undo the hero by sending madness upon him. Bereft
of his wits, blinded and utterly unconscious of what he is doing, Heracles
slays his own wife and children. When he comes to himself, his agony and
remorse know no bounds. Now all the world will point the finger of scorn
at him — this is not the son of Zeus, this wife and children slayer ! they will
^ His work is exemerosai gaian {Her. Fur., 20).
438 EURIPIDES
cry. And in his shame he sees no other course open to him but to seek refuge
from the disgrace and agony of his deed in death {Her. Fur., 1289).
Theseus, his friend, seeks to console him by pointing out that the guilt of
the act is not his, but Hera's. No mortal, he goes on to argue, is free from
the taint of such " fatalities " {tais tychais akeratos), nor yet the gods themselves,
if the poets speak truth [Her. Fur., 13 14 et seq.). Do they not allow themselves
in unlawful love ? did they not dishonour their own father by putting him in
fetters in order to obtain the sovereignty ? And yet they dwell in Olympus,
no whit abashed by their sin. And, he reasons, why should Heracles, being a
mortal, be overmuch cast down by these " fatalities " (tychas), when the gods
themselves are not ?
What answer does the hero give to this subtle argument ?
A very noble one. "Alas!" he says (Her. Fur., 1340 et seq.), "this is
beside the mark, and toucheth not my wrong-doing. I do not believe that
the gods ever delighted in unlawful love, nor that the hands of a god were
ever put in chains, nor that one god became the master of another. All this
I never have thought worthy of belief, and never will believe. For God, if
he be truly God (orthos Theos), standetTi in need of nothing. Such tales are
wretched fables, invented by the bards."
In the Iphigenia in Tauris, again, we have another outburst of the same
sort, this time directed against the practice of human sacrifice — a practice so
remote from ourselves, and so alien to the generally humane ideas of the
Greeks, that we are apt to overlook its significance and the fact of its actual
existence amongst them. Fifty years have not yet passed since Themistocles
found himself compelled, at the bidding of an excited mob, to sacrifice seven
noble Persian youths to Dionysus Omestes. The very epithet of this deity,
" eater of raw flesh," is sufficiently suggestive. There is reason, moreover,
to believe that human sacrifice was continued in much later times amongst
several of the ruder peoples of Greece {Welcker). Euripides then, in inveigh-
ing against it, is no Quixote fighting with wind-mills. He is combating no
obsolete tradition, but a frightful belief slumbering for the moment, ready to
rise and clamour for visible expression in any time of popular excitement.
The heroine of the drama had herself, according to the legend which forms
the subject of the beautiful fyhigenia in AuUs, fallen a victim to just such a
fanatical outburst. Offered up by her father, Agamemnon, in order to appease
the wrath of the goddess Artemis, who, on the eve of the Trojan expedition,
detains the Greek fleet at Aulis by a calm, Iphigenia has been rescued at the
very moment of the sacrifice by the goddess herself, who puts a mountain stag
in the place of the human victim, and transports the maiden invisibly through
the clouds to Tauris on the Euxine. Here she dwells for years, serving as
priestess in the temple of Artemis, and entrusted with the horrible duty of
consecrating the human victims offered up in sacrifice to the goddess. This
fate befalls every stranger who is unfortunate enough to be cast upon the shores
of the land, and Iphigenia, consequently, is often obliged to pronounce sentence
of death on her own countrymen. Her whole nature revolts against this
detestable ministry. The goddess to her is " noble in name only," but at the
opening of the drama she fears to speak her mind openly (Iph. Taur., 36).
Later on, the following characteristic speech occurs [Iph. Taur., 380-391) : —
" I blame the inconsistency of the goddess " (lit. the sophistry = sophif<mata
of the goddess, says the latter-day philosopher, speaking through the mouth
of the pre-historic heroine), " for, if a mortal hath but touched a corpse, she
drives him as an abomination from her altar, and yet herself taketh pleasure
in the sacrifice of men, in murder ! No daughter of Leto, consort of Zeus
THE IDEA OF GOD 439
(father of gods and men), could possibly be born to such folly " {amathia = ignov-
ance, want of understanding). <' Therefore,'' she continues, alluding to another
popular myth, an episode in the annals of her own family, " I judge (krino)
the story of Tantalus to be incredible, the fable that he gave a banquet to
the gods, and that they feasted on his son. The people here, themselves
bloodthirsty, do but seek to lay their own guilt on the goddess. For no Divine
being, I ween, is evil."
These utterances suffice to show the attitude of Euripides towards the
myths. With religion itself he has no quarrel, but he cannot away with the
popular conceptions of God. " No Divine being, I ween, is evil." " If God
be truly God, He standeth in need of nothing." Here speaks the disciple of
Anaxagoras, the believer in the doctrine that " God is Spirit, that Mind is on
the throne of the universe." Again, in the words, " I do n^t believe that one
god was ever put in chains by another," and the hint that the gods of the
popular myths are neither more nor less than " teachers of evil," we hear the
friend of Socrates. The reader will recollect the passage in the EuthyphroJi
of Plato, where Socrates handles the very same argument. It is said that
Socrates never visited the theatre except when a drama of Euripides was to be
performed. Granted that the philosopher was a personal friend of our poet,
granted also that the persecution to which both were subjected by Aristophanes
may have helped to cement their friendship into a still firmer bond of union ;
there yet remains the fact that Socrates, the man of truth, the lifelong servant
of the god of Delphi, testified by his presence at the theatre that he was in
sympathy with Euripides, the man who attacked in the most outspoken way
the myths concerning the god of Delphi.
It is not only in the Ion that Euripides assails the legendary Apollo. His
handling of the story of Neoptolemus in the Andromache is another example of
the same kind.
Neoptolemus (or Pyrrhus), the son of Achilles, had, according to the
tradition, on one occasion gone to Delphi, and demanded satisfaction from
Apollo, as the patron of the Trojans, for the death of his father before Troy.
In the version of the legend followed by Euripides, Neoptolemus afterwards
repents of the presumption involved in this act — that he, a mortal, should
have dared to call the god to account — and goes again to Delphi to acknow-
ledge his transgression and make reparation to the deity. An enemy, how-
ever, seizes the opportunity — Orestes, the son of Agamemnon, who owes
Neoptolemus a grudge for having received in marriage Hermione, daughter of
Menelaus, king of Sparta, who had promised him the hand of the maiden.
Out of revenge Orestes also repairs to Delphi and stirs up the townspeople by
suggesting that Neoptolemus has come, not to show his repentance, as he
professes, but to plunder the temple and treasures of the god. Consequently,
when Neoptolemus goes up, alone and unarmed, into the sanctuary to effect
his reconciliation, he is attacked by a troop of armed men who have lain in
ambush among the laurel bushes.
In vain does the defenceless hero ask why they seek to slay him, a
man who has come thither in " the ways of righteousness." A shower
of missiles is the only reply, and Neoptolemus in self-defence seizes
the weapons which are hanging in the temple, and charges his cowardly
assailants, who flee before him like a flock of wood-pigeons before a falcon.
Just at this moment, when Neoptolemus is getting the upper hand, an awful
voice, which thrills the listeners with horror, issues from the innermost shrine,
and summons the scattered crowd once more to the attack. They rally again,
440 EURIPIDES
and Neoptolemus falls pierced by the sword of a Delphian, and bruised beyond
recognition by the vengeance taken upon his dead body.
For this murder, committed in his own sacred precincts, the god is respon-
sible, inasmuch as the deed has been accomplished under his sanction, for the
voice that comes from the temple is his ; and the messenger who brings the
tidings of his grandson's death to old Peleus concludes his narrative of the
occurrence with the following significant words (Aoidi'om., 1161-1165): ''Thus
did the king — he who delivers Oracles to others, he who is to all men the judge
of what is right and fair — to the son of Achilles, when he went to make
atonement for his sin. He bore in mind, like any evil man, the ancient grudge.
How then," concludes the messenger, " can he be wise ? "
Let it be noted that Euripides does not question the justice of a punishment
inflicted for presumption, for Neoptolemus himself confesses that he has done
wrong, and comes humbly to offer satisfaction. It is the meanness of the act,
as set forth in the tradition, the taking advantage of a defenceless man, the
harbouring of the " ancient grudge," that rouses the indignation of the poet,
and inspires the pointed question : How can a god, who acts like a vindictive
mortal, be wise ?
The Slaying" of Clytemnestra. — The wisdom of the mythical Apollo is
also questioned by Euripides as it displayed itself in the ancient legend of the
slaying of Clytemnestra by Orestes, at the command of the Delphic Oracle.
The terrible tragedy, enacted, according to the tradition, at Mycenae, had been
magnificently dealt with, as we know, in the great trilogy of ^Eschylus, who
handled the story on the old heroic lines which we have already examined,^
i.e. that it was necessary to make an example of the husband-slayer, if human
society was not to go to pieces ; that Orestes, as next-of-kin, was bound to be
the avenger of his father's blood ; finally, that the event showed the Divine
wisdom, for the awful nature of the deed led to the practical supersession
of the private or individual avenger by the establishment of a public and
regularly constituted court of justice, the Areopagus, empowered to deal with
such cases, ^schylus, in short, treated the legend, after his usual fashion,
from the standpoint of the Divine necessity, i.e. the Divine justice working
in the affairs of men to uphold the world-order.
Euripides treats the story from his own standpoint in two different dramas,
the Orestes and the Electra, which follow respectively the fortunes of the son
and daughter of Agamemnon. As works of art these plays are undoubtedly
far inferior to the masterpiece of ^schylus ; but they are exceedingly interest-
ing, not only as evidence of the critical spirit of the age, but as marking the
progress of the moral idea. The deed which was accepted as a necessity by an
^schylus now presents itself to a Euripides as a grave moral difficulty in con-
nection with the character of a god. That such an act as the slaying of a
mother by her own son should not only have received the Divine sanction, but
have been initiated and carried out under Divine compulsion, is a " fact "
which Euripides finds it very difficult to accept. The case is pithily put from
his standpoint by the chorus in the Andromache (1027 et seq.). " The son of
Atreus," they say, " fell by the hand of his consort, and she, in return, suf-
fered a violent death at the hands of her children. From God, /ro?7^ God ! "
they add with vehemence, " came the prophetic command that visited her ;
and he, the son of Agamemnon, at the bidding of the Oracle, became the
murderer of his mother. O God ! Phoebus ! how shall I believe it ? "
In the prologue to the Orestes (30), Electra herself admits that the slaying
of their mother by Orestes — a deed in which she herself had taken part, " so
^ See am,te, p. 375.
THE IDEA OF GOD 441
far as a woman could " (i.e. by encouraging and urging on Orestes) — is " not
praised by every one." This mild confession receives amplification a few lines
further on, when she states that both her brother and herself have been put
under the ban of the State : no one dare offer fire to them, the mother-slayers,
receive them under his roof, or speak to them. Nay, their ultimate fate is
already determined, for the council of Argos meets that very day to decide
whether they shall be put to death by stoning or by the sword. Finally, the
death-sentence is passed upon them by the citizens ; the plea that the deed
was done at the bidding of Apollo is not accepted, and the only concession
granted to the two actors in the tragedy is that they are allowed to fall by
their own hand, a fate from which they are, of course, rescued by Apollo.
In this action of the citizens the poet would represent the natural feeling
of horror aroused by the crime in the conscience of humanity, and the refusal
of right-thinking folk to believe that it could have been instigated by a god.
In this feeling Orestes and Electra themselves share. They know that the
Oracle commanded the perpetration of the deed, but they are very doubtful as
to its rightfulness. Thus, when Menelaus on his unexpected return from Troy
finds his nephew half distraught, and asks him what disease it is that so
torments him, Orestes replies {Or., 396): " 'Tis conscience (sunesis); 1 know
that I have done an awful deed." Earlier he has said to Electra in private
(Or., 285 e^ seq.) : " I blame Apollo, who urged me on to this unholiest of acts.
... If I had seen my father eye to eye, and asked him whether I must slay
my mother, he would, I ween, have stretched forth his hands with many
prayers, and begged me not to draw the sword on her who bore me."
As for Electra, she exclaims {Or., 162 et seq.): "Yea, it was a crime that
Apollo, seated on the tripod, the throne of Themis (law and order), unjustly
commanded." And when the chorus try to comfort her by saying that the
deed was " just," she retorts (Or., 194) : " Yes, but not noble."
Throughout both dramas the conflict of duties that constitutes the dilemma
in which Orestes is placed and the doubtful wisdom of Apollo come out vividly.
This is especially the case in a dialogue between the brother and sister in the
Electra (970 et seq.) : —
Or. — Alas ! how shall I slay her who nourished me and bore me ?
El. — As she slew him, my father and thine own.
Or. — Phoebus ! great folly hast thou spoken
El. — If Apollo be foolish, who then is wise ?
Or. — When thou didst bid me slay my mother.
El. — What can harm thee when thou dost avenge thy father ?
Or. — Now, as a mother-slayer, I, once innocent, must flee.
El. — If thy father thou avenge not, impious wilt thou be.
Or. — If I avenge my father, I must answer for my mother's blood.
El. — To him (the god) thou'lt have to answer if thou neglect thy father 8
cause.
Or. — Was't not an avenging spirit (the alastor of our race) that spake in
likeness of the god ?
El. — What ! on the sacred tripod ? That I, at least, believe not.
Or. — And / can not believe that this Oracle hath been well spoken.
Whether the Oracle had been " well spoken " or not was a question that
was probably often discussed in the days of Euripides, and the opinion of the
common man is in all likelihood that put into the mouth of old Tyndareus, the
father of Olytemnestra, where he says (Or., 491 et seq.) that he can never,
indeed, excuse the conduct of his daughter, but that Orestes ought simply to
have put her forth from his house, and accused her before a legal tribunal.
442 EURIPIDES
This procedure, of course, was impossible in the period depicted in the tradi-
tion ; but the obligation which lay upon Apollo, as the dispenser of justice to
men, to establish such a tribunal before rather than after the commission of
the deed, seems to be hinted at. Hence, as we have seen, in the Electra the
Oracle is charged with folly, i.e. ignorance of the right. When Apollo delivered
it, he showed himself, says Menelaus in the Orestes (417), " most ignorant of
what was right and just."
This is evidently the opinion of the ordinary man of the day. As for
Euripides, the friend of Socrates — the servant of the god of Delphi, the god
who alone is " wise " — he does not believe that such an Oracle was ever delivered
by Apollo. As he asks through the chorus in the Andromache: " How shall I
believe it .? " The tradition is at fault.
The Sin of Helen. — That another tradition, perhaps the most widely diffused
of all legends throughout Greece, was also at fault, is declared in very plain
terms by our poet. The story of the sin of Helen, daughter of Zeus, the most
beautiful woman in the world, and the cause of the expedition against Troy, is
discussed by him in the most uncompromising manner in many of his dramas,
and in its popular form rejected.
In order to follow the reasoning of Euripides, it is necessary to bear in
mind that Helen was worshipped in Sparta as the daughter of the highest god
of Hellas and sister of the Dioscuri, This worship follows of necessity from
her birth. Thus Apollo says in the Orestes (1635, 1^75) • " ^^ ^^^ child of
Zeus, she must live . . . and be enthroned by the side of Hera, and be
honoured by men as Divine with libations for ever." That she, the adulteress,
the cause of untold suffering to thousands, should receive Divine honours, must
have been — to judge from the attention given to the subject by Euripides — one
of the moral puzzles connected with the myths which would seem to have
troubled even the ordinary mind of the period. The traditional conduct of
Helen introduced unspeakable confusion into the moral region. Thus the
chorus in the Helen asks (11 37): "Who among mortals can discern what is
God, or not God, or the middle nature," i.e. what is Divine, or human, or
heroic (the race midway between God and man, to which in the popular belief
Helen belonged), when he sees the affair of the gods involved in such unex-
pected contradictions? "For thou, Helen," they add, " art a daughter of
Zeus . . . and yet thou, throughout Hellas, art reputed unrighteous, a
traitress (to thy husband and thy country), faithless, godless ! "
How are these traditions to be reconciled ?
Euripides sets himself to explain the matter in two different w^ays : —
(i) In the one, as a concession to the popular tradition and the fact of the
existing worship, he accepts the story of the Divine birth of Helen ; but, he
says, it was not she, the daughter of Zeus, who wrought the mischief in Hellas.
This version of the legend is worked out in the drama bearing her name, where
Helen is represented as having been carried secretly in a cloud to Egypt,
whilst an eidolon, a wraith or phantom wearing her likeness, is put in her place
in Sparta, and given to the Phrygian Paris in order to accomplish the purposes
of Zeus in the Trojan war.
That war Euripides, in common with Thucydides and the whole ancient
world, accepts as an historical fact, and he endeavours, in his philosophic way,
to show that it was a real benefit to Hellas. For it not only (a) delivered
Mother Earth (as he says in the Helen and elsewhere — Hel., 30 ; Or., 1639) from
the too great burden of men under which she groaned, and (b) made known to
the world the greatest of her sons (Achilles), but (c), as he points out in the
Andromache (680 et seq.), " it trained the Greeks, who were ignorant of arms,
THE IDEA OF GOD 443
to manliness ; for experience," ^ he adds, "is in all things the teacher of
mortals.'"' The argument is, that to bring about all these benefits Helen must
suffer ; but, the poet says, she does so " unwillingly, and in order that the
purposes of the gods might be fulfilled."
This being so, we are told (i7eZ., 45) that Zeus " was not regardless of his
daughter," but brought her to Egypt out of harm's way, in order that she
*' might be faithful to Menelaus." Paris meanwhile is deceived by the wraith,
who accompanies him to Troy ; and the Greeks ultimately find that they have
literally been fighting for a shadow, which vanishes when the purposes of the
gods have been fulfilled in the destruction of Troy {Hel., 12 16).
This legend is miserably weak and unreal in comparison with the noble old
epic as told by Homer. Nevertheless it is not devoid of interest as an attempt
to reconcile opposites and to explain the inexplicable. The heroine of the
Helen is a good and true wife, who prays to be kept pure, so that if her " name
is dishonoured in Hellas," she herself "may be saved from shame" {Hel., 65).
She remains faithful to her husband though sought in marriage by the ruler of
the land, the king of Egypt, and grieves over her own dower of beauty, which
has proved so fatal to her (//eZ., 260). This is the Helen worshipped at
Sparta, the Helen who, on her return home, lives down by her sweetness and
modesty the terrible scandal connected with her name, and is thereby worthy to
receive Divine honours in common with her brothers, the Divine patrons of
Sparta.
(2) The other version of the story, however, is very different, and in it we
have ijeyond a doubt the true mind of Euripides. The ideal set forth in the
Helen was what we have ventured to style it, a " concession" to existing senti-
ment : " If they will worship her, let them have at least a pure woman in their
thoughts." In the other version Euripides is once more in armour, riding full
tilt against every absurdity that comes in his way. In the Iphigenia in Aulis
(798) he cuts at the root of the matter by suggesting that the popularly
received account of her birth as given in the myth of Leda and the swan — a
relic of the animal-worship of the olden time — is only a preposterous fable,
one of the " idle myths which, writ in the tablets of the Muses, have come
down to man in an evil hour." The words translated " in an evil hour "
{para kairon) may also be rendered " out of season." Tales, he implies, which
passed as truth in the infancy of the world cannot be palmed off on a thinking
age. They are simply para kairon, out of season, out of date, and the sooner
they are thrown out of popular currency the better. Even in the Helen the
heroine is very doubtful as to the truth of the tradition respecting her birth. 2
Elsewhere Euripides will not allow her Divine origin in any way whatsoever
{Or., 1584). The Helen of the second version is a traitress to her husband and
fatherland, and as such a wretch bringing pollution to Hellas, one who is an
abomination to the gods, hated of all men as a great evil, and detested by
all women as a disgrace to her sex. Can such an one be the child of Zeus,
highest god ? Never !
" Never, daughter of Tyndareus," says Andromache in the Trojan
Women (766 et seq.), " never wast thou the child of Zeus. From many fathers
I maintain that thou didst spring, first from the alastor,^ then from envy,
from murder, death, and whatsoever evil is brought forth of earth. Never will
I allow that Zeus begat thee, the bane {kera) of barbarians and of Greeks."
The Temptation of Helen. — So much for the story of Helen's Divine
1 Lit. intercourse with others and so instruction = learning by observing what others do,
- She says in the prologue (21) ; " If the fable, logos, is true." *
' The avenging spirit of her race.
444 EURIPIDES
birth. Of the tale of her temptation and its origin — the famous old legend of
the contest for the prize of beauty — Euripides in the same drama disposes in
the most trenchant fashion. Let us follow the course of his argument.
After the destruction of Troy, while the city is yet blazing, we see the
little group of high-born women who have been seized by the Greek chief-
tains assembled in tents by the sea-shore awaiting the pleasure of their new
lords. From these captives the drama of the Trojan Women, one of the most
pathetic ever penned by our poet, takes its name. Among the captives, of
course, are Hekabe, widow of Priam, whilom queen of Troy, now a slave, and
Helen, the traitress. Menelaus, her former husband, appears in quest of the
latter, but this Menelaus is not the loving, forgiving husband represented
elsewhere. No! he comes, surrounded by armed retainers, breathing ven-
geance against the woman who has ruined his life, and bids the attendants drag
" the polluted murderess " forth by her hair. To the ships with her ! She
shall not be granted the luxury of an easy death in Troy, but shall be carried
home, and given over to the hands of those whose friends have fallen through
her sin.
This decision of Menelaus is hailed with joy by Hekabe ; but Helen,
appalled at the fearful prospect before her, begs to be allowed to speak in
extenuation of her fault.
" I am not come to argue, but to slay thee," is the stern reply.
However, at the intervention of Hekabe, who promises to answer her
argument, whatever it may be, Helen is granted leave to plead for herself,
and she makes her defence on the well-known lines.
The three goddesses, she says (Tro., 914 e^ seq.), had endeavoured to secure,
each for herself, the distinction of being styled " the most beautiful," by
offering to the judge a tempting bait : Pallas Athena promises to Paris the
conquest of Hellas ; Hera, the lordship over Asia as well as Europe ; but
Kypris (Aphrodite = Venus), amazed at the beauty of Helen, offers he7' in
marriage to Paris. Now consider, pursues Helen ; ^^ Kypris was victorious, and
my marriage, therefore, saved Hellas" from the rule of the sword of the
barbarian. Through Helen it was that Hellas had escaped the foreign yoke.
What brought safety to Hellas, however, had brought ruin to her. '' I was
sold for my beauty," says Helen, " and disgraced for reasons which should
have placed a crown upon my head." But, she continues, Menelaus will say
that she had not as yet mentioned why she herself had stolen secretly from
his house. " There came," she explains, " with Mm, the alastor, my destroyer
(whom thou mayst call Alexander, or Paris, if thou wilt), a goddess of no
small might. I shall not ask of thee but of myself this question : Where were
my senses when I left my home and followed the stranger, a traitor to my
fatherland and to my house? Chastise the goddess (who robbed me of my
wits), and be stronger than great Zeus, for he who is lord of other gods is
himself her slave. (Do this, if thou canst), but — pardon me."
Blame the gods, and pardon me ! Make allowance for me ! suggnome d^emoi,
have fellow-feeling with me ! is the gist of Helen's argument, and it is not too
much to affirm that the plea would be accepted by the great majority of the
vast audience who, at the Dionysiac Festival, listened to the argument. The
story of the judgment of Paris they had heard so frequently from childhood
upwards, had beheld the scene on Ida so often depicted in works of art, that
the narrative was now received without question as part of the legacy of
tradition. On her own showing, Helen is a martyr, a patriot, who has
averted slavery from Hellas. As to her sin, who among those present had
THE IDEA OF GOD 445
not felt the promptings of that "goddess of no small might" who had stolen
the senses of the frail beauty ?
Undoubtedly, up to this point Helen carries the day, and would have the
full suggnomen, fellow-feeling and sympathy, of the assembly. How then does
Euripides answer the specious argument ?
By the simple process of making his audience think.
" Queen ! help thy children ! " cry the captives ; " defend the fatherland.
Bring to naught her persuasive tongue, for she speaks well who is herself the
evil-doer."
Old Hekabe thereupon takes the word, and through her Euripides himself
makes reply as follows : —
" Fii'st, I will become the ally of the gods," she says, "and show that she
hath not spoken according to the right. For I, at least, do not believe that
Hera and the virgin-goddess Pallas could ever condescend to folly such as this.
Shall Hera sell her Argos to the barbarians, Pallas give up her Athens to the
Phrygian? Impossible ! They came in sport to Ida, jesting about this beauty-
prize. For why should goddess Hera have such longing to be beautiful?
That she might find a nobler spouse than Zeus (the king of gods)? And
Athena, did she seek marriage with a god, she who sought permission of her
father to lead the virgin-life, and fled from wedlock? Make not the gods so
foolish, to cloak thine oion misdeed" is the trenchant command. "The wise
thou It not persuade. And Kypris, so thou sayst," pursues old Hekabe, in
allusion to the alleged "compulsion" by Yenus, the plea put forth by all the
poets, from Homer downwards — " Kyjpris came to the house of Menelaus with
my son ? Most ludicrous ! for could not the goddess, abiding calmly in the
heavens, have carried thee to Ilion together with thy city ? My son was noble
and distinguished, and at sight of him thy mind was Kypris. For every folly
to mortals is Aphrodite, and rightly doth this name rule the senseless.^ Thou,
I ween, didst look upon my son in his shining splendour, and straightway lost
thy wits. For in thine Argive home thou hadst but little, and, leaving
Sparta, didst expect the Phrygian city, with its overflowing gold, would satisfy
thy longings ; for never did Menelaus' house suflB.ce to pamper to the full
thy daintiness. When thou camest to us oft and again, I warned thee.
' Daughter ! ' I said, ' go forth ! my sons will then take other wives. Come !
and in secret I will send thee to the Achaean ships ! ' But no ! the thought
to thee was bitter ; for 'twas thy will to play the wanton in the halls of
Alexander, and to be worshipped by barbarians. This, to thee, was something
great. And therefore, whensoe'er thou didst appear abroad, thy person was
tricked out, and yet" — old Hekabe pauses, and points with finger uplifted to
the pure blue sky above — " thou didst behold, together with thy husband, this
self -same ether ! despicable I "
" Thy mind ivas Kypris ! " At the words the glamour of the old tale
vanishes : the sensitive shrinking which shields as with a veil the hapless
demon-compelled Helen of the Iliad falls away, and the actual Helen of the
real world stands disclosed — the product of desires unchastened and thirst for
vulgar admiration.
" Make not the Gods so foolish, to cloak thine own misdeed." Here, as
in the Iphigenia in Tauris, Euripides boldly proclaims the origin of the moral
contradictions in the myths : " The people ... do but seek to lay their own
guilt upon the gods ; for no Divine being, I ween, is evil."
The Orgiastic Cults. — Against the popular conception of two of the gods
in particular Euripides wages war. These are Aphrodite and Dionysus, deities
^ A play upon the words Aphro-dite, Aphro-syne.
446 EURIPIDES
of semi-foreign character, whose cults were fast outstripping in popularity the
sober worship of the genuine old divinities of Hellas. Zeus, the father of gods
and men ; Apollo, revealer of his will to mortals ; Athena, wisdom personified
— these three representatives of the best early religious belief of Greece — the
deities revered by an ^schylus — are already beginning to retreat in the time
of Euripides into the background before their younger and more fascinating
rivals. That a comparatively pure goddess of love,^ a native, honest old god of
wine, had been worshipped for centuries in Greece, there can be no doubt. In
the days of the reaction, however, these home-born cults had become overlaid
with Orientalism, and to the Greek modes of worship objectionable features,
wild and exciting, borrowed from the East, had been added.
The words of our poet in the Hippolytus (io6), " No worship of the gods
by night delighteth me," are significant of his attitude towards these orgiastic
cults. There were, however, difficulties in the way of his giving too open
expression to his dislike. How to attack the obnoxious cults without at the
same time drawing down upon himself the enmity of the multitude and the
hatred of those who still clung passionately to the traditional faith was a
puzzling problem. The solution of it is, we venture to think, to be looked for
in the two dramas in which Aphrodite and Dionysus are respectively the
dominating influence — the Hippolytus and the Bacchce. In these two tragedies
Euripides seems to have conceived and worked out the idea of displaying by
the whole drift of the story, and in a few significant touches plain enough to
" the wise " among his audience, the true character of the popular deities -
verbum sap. Thus without comment he leaves the leaven to work, a manner of
procedure which we meet with again later on in Thucydides.
In the Hippolytus we have a tragic story, the elements of which will be
more fitly discussed elsewhere, but which culminates in the death of a noble
youth whose only fault is that he prefers Artemis, the goddess of chastity, to
Aphrodite = sensual love. The prologue to the drama is spoken by Aphrodite
herself, and in i^ she reveals {Hipp., 7) iii brief her character. She is wor-
shipped, she says (and truly), from the Pontus to the Atlantic by all who
behold the sun ; those among men who reverence her power she honours, but
whatsoever defies it she overthrows, " for thei-e is innate in hearts of gods
this feeling, that they rejoice when they are honoured by mortals." Hippolytus
alone, the son of Theseus of Athens, resists her sway ; he has called her " the
worst of deities," despises the joys she proffers, and holds in honour "as the
greatest goddess " the virgin sister of Phoebus, with whom he hunts in woods
and fields, enjoying with her a more familiar intercourse than beseemeth
mortals. " Q^„ this I am not jealous. Why should I be ? " says the goddess,
adding with a bitterness which belies her words, " but fer that wherein he hath
sinned against me, Hippolytus shall pay the penalty to-day. For this I have
long since made preparation, and need take little trouble further."
♦ The preparation referred to is of the most diabolical nature — nothing less
than the enticing of a young wife to a hideous sin, the guilt of which is to light
upon the innocent head of Hippolytus. The young wife, Phsedra, is one who
might have expected mercy at the hands of the goddess, for she has erected a
temple to her in Athens. Nevertheless, although Aphrodite knows that the
working out of her revenge will involve the ruin of Phaedra, she throws her
votary overboard with the utmost callousness. " Phaedra shall die with
honour," she says {Hipp., 47), "but die she must; for not so highly do I
rate the evil befalling her as to let mine adversaries slip without exacting
from them such a penalty as I consider adequate." To accomplish her revenge,
1 The Uiania of Plato.
THE IDEA OF GOD 447
then, Aphrodite, this so-called divinity, does not hesitate to adopt the basest
and vilest of means : she destroys in mind and body her own votary, and
compasses by a lie the death of her adversary, a noble and innocent youth.
The' plot of the Bacchce turns upon the tradition that the relatives of
Semele, daughter of Cadmus, king of Thebes, refused to believe that she
had been the " bride of Zeus," and, consequently, that her son, Dionysus, was
a " god." When he comes of age, Dionysus returns from Asia to Thebes for
the express purpose of establishing his claim to divinity. And what is the
proof thereof ? The madness which he sends upon those who have rejected
liim, a madness in which a mother — to gratify the spite of him, the so-called
god — tears in pieces her own son.
There are critics who take the Bacchce as a serious effort on the part of
our poet to uphold the traditional worship of Dionysus. Certainly, if the
drama stood alone, and we had no other evidence of the mind of Euripides, this
interpretation might pass, since there are not wanting passages which seem to
lend it support. The diabolical nature of the punishment inflicted by Dionysus,
however, upon a wise ruler, whose only fault is that he objects to a cult which
leads the whole female population of his city to desert their homes and spend
their nights upon the mountains, must surely be taken into account in con-
sidering the tendency of a drama in which, as we have said, the poet leaves
his audience to point the moral. The action of Pentheus, the victim of the
wrath of Dionysus, would have been upheld by every right-thinking man in
the vast audience who followed the action of the play.^
We must recollect that Dionysus had two sides to his character, both of
which our poet portrays, (i) He is the giver of the wine that cheers the heart
of man, as Demeter is of the bread that nourishes his body ; (2) wine, as the
noblest of gifts, was poured out in libation to the gods, and regarded as
efficacious in securing their favour ; (3) these benefits he diffuses to rich and
poor without distinction. With this side of his character — which is probably
that of the old genuine Greek wine-god, in whose honour the great Dionysiac
Fesjbival was founded — Euripides has no quarrel. This Dionysus, like Demeter,
was both sacred and beloved ; to an intensely democratic people like the
Athenians, he, the bringer of joy to all alike, was infinitely more than the
aristocratic Apollo revered in Sparta.^ But there was another aspect in which
the god was more dreaded than beloved. Attached to the newer developments
of his cult there was a strange frenzy — not attributable to the effects of
wine — which infected the worshippers like a mania, and which is not without
its modern antitypes in certain rites still practised in the East. Against such
frenzies no reasoning could prevail, and this aspect of the Dionysiac worship it
is which is set forth in the drama Cadmus, and Teiresias the seer, both
" wise men," have resolved to take part in it, because the gods have so com-
manded — although, as Teiresias hints, it passes the understanding of man,
and although the divinity of Dionysus may be, as Cadmus openly suggests,
*' a lie." Are we, then, to imagine that because, in the Bacchce (203, 333),
Dionysus triumphs over his adversary, the poet is in sympathy with a triumph
which is nothing but revenge, or with the horrible cult which the tragedy
depicts ?
The whole drift of the mind of Euripides, as we know it already, must
answer the question.
" No Divine being, I ween, is evil." The Aphrodite of the Hippolytus
and the Dionysus of the Bacchce are simply demons. They are possessed of a
1 The orgiastic worship of Dionysus was forbidden by law in Sparta.
2 See our companion volume, under Dionysus.
m.
448 EURIPIDES
demoniac power, but it is that which we moderns call " Satanic." Both
are actuated by the same paltry motive — wounded vanity, the desire to be
revenged for a personal slight. In both cases their victims are infinitely
nobler than themselves : the one perishes because he will not be false to his
oath, the other because he will not worship what he believes to be " a lie."
Euripides is content to tell the story of each as handed down, and leave it to
preach its own moral : —
Hellas^ behold thy gods !
His own attitude is sufficiently indicated by the despairing cry of the dying
Hippolytus : "0 that a mortal might curse the gods ! " i.e. such gods as
these.
IV.— THE IDEA OF GOD— WHAT GOD IS
Communication of His Will. Omens and Oracles
What God is. — The message of Euripides to his countrymen on the most
momentous of questions was then, as the foregoing shows, mainly a negative
one. He could tell them in no uncertain notes what God was not — not
revengeful, not passionful, not evil in any way whatsoever. The old myths
which depicted the Divine nature as sharing in the frailties and sins of men
were in his judgment, as we have seen, nothings, " idle tales," " inventions of
the bards," " follies " to be utterly rejected. And in this iconoclastic destroy-
ing of ancient strongholds Euripides fulfilled his mission. It was his to pull
down — in a far less degree to build up. The development of the idea of God
pursued its own ordered course, and in the historical sequence of things we
have no right to look to him for any clear vision of the Divine to put in the
place of the shattered idol. If the philosopher Anaxagoras himself is wavering
and hesitating, and his Nous a mere abstraction, we need not be surprised that
a contemporary poet should betray uncertainty as to the personality and
nature of that Divine power to whose existence and working in the world he
nevertheless so unmistakably testifies. This uncertainty, we must recollect,
was shared even by an ^lEschylus. *' Zeus ! if so it please thee to be called,"
he says, addressing the power behind the mythical Zeus ; and Sophocles has an
utterance of the same kind.^
In this connection one passage in particular of our poet has been much
criticised, both on account of its assumed " atheistic " tendency and on account
of its equally assumed " want of dramatic fitness," inasmuch as the said
passage is put into the mouth of a woman and a " barbarian." To the present
writer it seems that, if the lines in question be looked at in the light of all
that we already know about our author, both charges will prove to be without
foundation. Let us examine them.
" O thou ! " says the aged Hekabe {Tro.^ 884 et seq.) out of the depths of her
misery, "thou who bearest up the earth, thou who art enthroned above the
earth, whosoe'er thou mayest be, inscrutable, hard to know, Zeus ! — whether
thou art necessity of nature or mind of men — to thee have I prayed, for all
affairs of mortals thou dost lead in silent paths of justice."
Where is atheism here ?
"Zeus! " says Hekabe in effect, " whether thou be the law, innate in the
Kosmos, the world-order, or something distinct — that Nous, the reason which
worketh in the minds of mortals — hard thou art indeed to know, inscrutable ;
and yet to thee have I prayed, for thou dost bear up the earth, art enthroned
^ See ante, pp. 362, 384.
THE IDEA OF GOD— WHAT GOD IS 449
above it, and dost guide in silent paths the affairs of men in accordance with
justice."
Where is the atheism here '^ " Groping after God " indeed we see, but
of the licence that disowns a God not a trace.
And as to " dramatic fitness," the study of our poet as such lies beyond
our province, but we may perhaps be permitted to point out that the Hekabe
of the Trojan Wo7neii is not the Hekabe of the drama bearing her name.
There she is the much-enduring woman, utterly worn down, driven to despera-
tion by the accumulation of misfortune. Here, in the commencement of her
captivity, she still retains possession of her powers, and appears throughout —
not in this one instance only — as a woman of masculine understanding, well
able to think and reason. She it is (as we recollect) who unveils the hypocrisy
of Helen — " Thy mind was Kypris " — and the advice which she gives her
daughters and companions in misery is stamped with the same practical,
matter-of-fact grasp of the situation. The exclamation which we have just
examined is called forth by the determination of Menelaus to punish Helen,
the *' blood-stained murderess." In this decision Hekabe sees a righteous
retribution, the action of Him who leads the affairs of men, " according to
eternal justice," to a fitting issue.
This uncertainty as to the real nature of the Divine power shows itself
also in Euripides, as in his contemporaries, in the substitution of such expres-
sions as the Divinity,^ and the aether, for the name of a god.
For an example of the use of the latter phrase, we need go no farther than
this same drama, where we have already seen it employed with fine effect by
Hekabe in her reproachful address to Helen. " Thou didst adorn thyself,"
she says, " to be admired of other men, and yet thou didst behold, together
with thy {much-wronged) husband, the same aether " — this pure, impalpable,
all -penetrating essence, emblem of the surrounding, all-encompassing power
which moves on in silent paths, leading the affairs of men to the right
A sorry interpretation of this beautiful phrase would it be, indeed, to see
in " the sether," as used by Euripides, nothing but the combination of gases
which we call "the atmosphere." Far rather does he employ it as we our-
selves do "heaven." Substitute the word "heaven" for "sether" in the
passages where it occurs, and we see at once what the speaker means. Thus,
in the Iphigenia in Aulis (365), in the quarrel between the brothers, when
Menelaus reproaches Agamemnon with his change of front, and reminds him
of what he had promised, he says : " 'Tis this self -same aether which heard thy
words " — high heaven is witness. Euripides himself leaves us, happily, in no
doubt as to his intention, for in the drama which we have just been examining
(the Trojan Women, 1077), the chorus says: "It is a grief and care to me
when I wonder whether thou, king, who hast established thy heavenly
throne in aether, takest thought for us and our burning city, or no." Here
Zeus, the king, is perfectly distinct from "sether," and the sentence could be
legitimately paraphrased thus : " O God, who hast established Thy throne in
the heavens, carest Thou for the fate which has overtaken us, or not ? "
His Certainty. — So much for our poet's uncertainties. Let us now turn to
the brighter side, and conclude our survey of his contribution to the develop-
ment of the great idea by a brief glance at a few passages in which, abandon-
ing his questioning attitude, Euripides shows himself imbued with the deepest
religious feeling — that feeling in which the soul is constrained to turn to God
by the impulse of its own nature.
^ To Theion.
2 P
450 EURIPIDES
" Zeus!" prays Menelaus in the Helen {1441) at the supreme moment
when his own fate and that of his wife are hanging in the balance, ' ' thou art
called ' FATHER ' and a wise god. Look down upon us, and deliver us from
these our miseries. If thou but touch us with thy finger-tip, we are at the
haven whither we would be." (Cf. Ps. cvii. 30.)
And so, in the Suppliants (734), when the messenger announces to the
anxious Argive mothers the unexpected triumph of the righteous cause, they
exclaim, " Hereby we believe now in the gods ! " and Adrastus adds, with
evident reference to the all-controlling power behind the gods : —
"0 Zeus! why do wretched mortals say they think?" ^ "On thee we
hang, and do but work out that which thou dost will."
Finally, the same drama has a very interesting passage which not only
reveals to us our poet as the worthy friend of Socrates, but may without
hesitation (for reasons which we shall mention shortly) be regarded as a kind
of Gegenstuch to the celebrated ode of Sophocles on the grand achievements of
man. 2 This passage, put in the mouth of Theseus (the representative of the
purest religious feeling of Athens), is introduced by a reference to a question
which seems to have been a favourite subject of discussion in our poet's day,
viz. " Is good or evil predominant in the affairs of men ? "
We may, therefore, fairly infer that in the whole statement of the
argument we have the mind of Euripides himself, for Theseus is, as we
shall presently see, his ideal of a noble man — not only the noble man of the
monarchy and the hoary past, but the upholder of the modern liberal and
democratic opinions of the poet's own age. Hence the passage is of great
subjective value. " I have often striven," he says {S'uppL, 195 et seq.), "and
contended eagerly with others, who declared that there was more evil than
good upon the earth. Fo?' I hold the contrary opinion. [The goods enjoyed
by mortals are more than the evils. For, if this were not so, we should no
longer see the light.] ^ I bless that God who hath ordered'^ our life, and
brought it out of confusion and brute nature, first by inspiring us with under-
standing (synesin), and then by giving to us speech, the messenger of thought
(whereby intercourse becometh possible), and also nourishment, the fruit of
earth, and rain that droppeth down from heaven, quickening the seed, refresh-
ing man and beast. Yea, more. He hath provided shelter from the winter's
storms and from the summer's heat, hath guided us across the sea, that we
might gain by interchange with others those things wherein our land was
lacking. That which is dark and indistinct to us we learn by divination, by
gazing in the fire, and seers make known to us our destiny by sacrifice and
signs of birds. Do we not therefore sin," so argues the poet, " if, when
God hath made so bountiful provision for our life, we are not content there-
with? But human thought," he adds, " seeketh to be stronger than God, and
in the folly that dwelleth in our hearts we imagine ourselves to be wiser than
the gods."
Here Euripides defends his belief (that the good on earth outweighs the
bad) against the pessimistic thinkers of the day on the evidence of the
beneficence shown in the constitution of man himself and in the provision
made for him in nature. All the " triumphs," therefore, which Sophocles
attributes to the inventive ingenuity of mortals, Euripides traces directly to
^ Phronein = deem themselves to be wise. ^ See ante, p. 129.
^ Lines 199, 200, enclosed in brackets, are held by some to be an interpolation. In any
case, the sense is sufficiently clear without them.
"* Diestathmesato = ordered by rule, measured and bounded our life, assigned us our limits ;
a truly Greek idea. (See p. 99.)
THE IDEA OF GOD— WHAT GOD IS 451
the benevolent purposes of the Divine power. The two poets, in fact, seem to
change places — Euripides, the so-called Rationalist, setting forth the teleological
side of the argument, whilst Sophocles regards it from the purely human side.
Needless to point out, both reasonings have their element of truth. If we
claim for Euripides that he discerns the golden side of the great shield, the
beneficent initiative taken by the Divinity, we cannot but see an intense reality
also in the evolutionary processes described by Sophocles — the working out
and developing by man of the genius entrusted to him.
That the Divine initiative should be recognised by Euripides the rationaliser,
and the human effort by Sophocles the believer in the Divine origin of the
great laws, is in itself a beautiful coincidence, a proof (if such were needed)
that the same Divine Logos worked out His plans by means of both — His
instruments.
God's Mode of Communicating' His Will. Omens and Portents.— It
may, however, appear strange to us that a rationalising thinker should bring for-
ward omens and portents amid the " goods," the benefits conferred by providence
on human life. Moreover, the sentiment here expressed is directly at variance
with opinions set forth elsewhere by our poet. How is this fresh contradiction
to be reconciled ? Let us look into it. Perhaps, with a little patience, we may
be able to look at the matter as it presented itself to him.
In the first place, Euripides, as we have repeatedly pointed out, is before
all else an iconoclast. A sham and a lie usurping the place of God he is
bound to expose. The Divinity of the message must be proved by the purity
of the messenger. Hence, in the Helen (922), the heroine says to the Egyptian
prophetess Theonoe (Divine insight) : '' 'Twould be indeed most shameful if
thou, possessor of all Divine knowledge, knew'st not the right," and Theonoe
reassures both her and Menelaus by the beautiful reply (1002) : "There is within
my breast (as seer) a mighty sanctuary of justice," which prevents her from
taking any unfair advantage arising from her prescience.
Again, with the so-called " seer " of his own day and his pretensions,
Euripides evidently has no sympathy. In this he only pushes a little farther
the dislike to such pretensions found even in Homer. The Telemachus of
Homer says :
'* No more do I put faith in tidings, whencesoever they may come, neither
have I any regard unto any divination, whereof my mother may inquire at the
lips of a diviner, when she hath bidden him to the hall."
So, in like manner, the Achilles of Euripides takes the same ground.
Achilles, be it remembered, is the proverbial man of truth, the man who
" hates a lie more than the gates of hell " ; and he it is who in the Iphigenia
in Aulis (956) exclaims: "What is a seer? A man who hits upon a little
truth amid many lies."
And hence, again, in the Helen, the faithful old slave and friend of
Menelaus, when he discovers that the Greeks have been deceived as to the
presence of the real Helen in Troy, says, in reference to Calchas the seer, who
apparently had been as ignorant of the deception as the others (//e/., 744) :
"As to soothsayers and seers, I see from this how vain they are and full of
falsity. There was nothing sound or wholesome either in the flame of fire or
in the cries of birds (the auguries used by the seer). It is folly even to
imagine that birds can counsel mortals. For neither did Calchas (the Greek
seer) nor Helenus (the Trojan) ever tell the army or give a sign that their
friends were perishing for the sake of a phantom. No ! the city was destroyed
for nothing. You will say, perhaps, that he kept silence because the god
would not allow him to disclose the secret ? Then why should we consult the
452 EURIPIDES j
seer at all ? Let us, indeed, pray to the gods and offer sacrifice, but leave j
soothsaying {inanteia) alone ! for soothsaying was invented as an idle bait. ]
No lazy fellow ever grew rich by gazing into the fire. The best soothsaying is ]
good judgment and good counsel {eu-boulia).'' \
" I, too," chimes in the chorus, " agree with all that the old man says j
about soothsaying. If a man has the gods for friends, he has the best of sooth- \
saying in his house." \
Now, although the seers and the soothsaying thus arraigned in the two 1
passages cited ultimately hold their own by the fulfilment of " the purposes of \
the gods " in both cases, yet it is evident that Euripides is here giving expres- \
sion to a deep-rooted feeling concerning the seer of later times. What called \
forth this antipathy we learn later from Plato, who paints for us the seer of \
his own day, no longer as the dignified prophet of early tradition, but as the j
charlatan living on the strength of the early tradition, pursuing his quasi- I
sacred calling as a trade, and going from house to house and preying upon \
weak-minded people, much in the fashion of fortune-tellers of succeeding ages. |
In the time of Euripides things could not have been much better, and, there- j
fore, here also as elsewhere our poet, in throwing a doubt upon the seer, is ;
simply fulfilling his mission and handing on the torch which Plato took up. \
But the reader will say : Why then does Euripides uphold the seer in j
the Suppliants ? Is not this very inconsistent ? )
Inconsistent from our standpoint it may be, but hardly from that of one i
who is only groping his way to the truth. j
There are two excellent explanations of the " inconsistency " which will ■
readily occur to any one who will put himself in Euripides' place. •
Firstly, although Theseus, as an " ideal," is only the mouthpiece of our \
poet himself, yet it is necessary to make even an ideal speak in character, and i
Euripides cannot shut his eyes to the fact that the seer had come down from :
the times in which Theseus (an historical character to him) was believed to .i
have lived.
Secondly, and chiefly, the " inconsistency " explains itself through the ;
uncertainty which hung over all matters connected with religion. We have :
said that in this matter Euripides handed on the torch to Plato. Between j
Euripides and Plato, however, there stands a man who was acknowledged by \
his own and later ages to have been "the wisest" of the Greeks, even ■
Socrates, and Socrates, be it remembered, sincerely believed that he received j
the Divine guidance necessary for his life through the customary and tradi- I
tional channels. Whatever, therefore, our iconoclast may have thought as i
to the "folly" of omens and oracles, he could not but pause and reflect that j
the best man he knew, a man endowed with an intellect keen as his own, did s
not despise such help either for himself or others. How and in what way i
Socrates accepted the help we shall see presently ; meantime, it is sufficient i
for our present purpose to note the fact that he did accept it, as throwing a \
sidelight on the " inconsistency " of Euripides. We shall probably not be |
far from the truth if we conclude that what Euripides attacks is the abuse, not j
the right use of the traditional institutions. j
The Oracle. — This conclusion will be strengthened if we study the
remainder of the speech, in which Theseus is made to uphold signs and omens
as a " benefit" to mortals.
The speech itself is addressed to Adrastus, king of Argos, leader of the
disastrous expedition of the seven against Thebes. This expedition was under-
taken, according to the tradition, at the entreaty of Polyneikes, son of the
Theban CEdipus, who had married one of the daughters of Adrastus; but, \
THE IDEA OF GOD— WHAT GOD IS 453
equally according to the tradition, it was persevered in against the express will
of the gods, as revealed by Amphiaraus the seer, himself one of the seven
princes who had united forces on the occasion. The result was that six out of
the seven leaders, including Polyneikes, perished, whilst Amphiaraus himself
was swallowed up by the earth.
In addition to this deliberate defiance of the gods, this thinking him-
self " stronger than God and wiser than the gods," Adrastus had committed
another sin in giving his daughters in marriage to two evil-doers, Polyneikes
of Thebes and Tydeus, son of CEneus, the wineman, king of Calydon in
^tolia. Both youths were fugitives from their native land — Polyneikes
cursed by his father on account of his unfilial conduct, Tydeus laden with
blood-guilt, the murder of his brother. Adrastus, nevertheless, had bestowed
the hand of his daughters on these two men, ostensibly in obedience to an
oracle of Apollo, which bade him " give them to the boar and the lion."
When pressed by Theseus to explain how he had interpreted this oracle,
Adrastus relates that both youths had arrived in Argos on the same night, and
that when they met together before his gates a violent quarrel had ensued
between the two, and they had fought — " like wild beasts," interposes Theseus
drily (SuppL, 145), " and thou gavest thy daughters to these men ! " \
Adrastus is obliged to admit that so he had interpreted the command
of Apollo, a confession which brings down upon him the severe reproof of
Theseus. This is the sin of sins, he says — human thought seeking to be
stronger than God, and human folly imagining itself wiser than the gods.
" And to the number of these fools thou seemest to belong," he continues,
addressing himself sternly to the Argive king {SuppL, 219), " in that thou— at
Phoebus' word, as though the gods did live — didst wed, indeed, thy daughters
to these strangers, but hast (thereby) sorely wounded thine own house,
dimmed and defiled its lustre, for never should the wise man mingle the
innocent with the guilty."
The "innocent" are the daughters whom Adrastus has given to the
" guilty " fugitives, and herein, according to Theseus, lies the sin which had
primarily involved him and them in the fate of Polyneikes. And yet Adrastus
defends himself by the plea that he took the step by the direction of Apollo.
He sinned, then, by obeying the oracle ; how is this new " inconsistency " to
be explained?
The answer would seem to be this : in obeying the oracle Adrastus has
failed to discover its true meaning. The commands of Loxias were notoriously
" crooked," i.e. enigmatical, and Adrastus himself admits that the oracle was
difficult of comprehension. "There came to me from Phoebus," he says, "a
riddle hard to guess."
" All the more reason," replies Theseus in effect, " that you should have
tried hard to decipher it. You took no trouble to do this, but gave your
innocent daughters, your own flesh and blood, to two strangers, simply
because they answered the description of the oracle by fighting * like wild
beasts ' ! "
This was the first sin of Adrastus. He professed to obey the oracle " as
though gods lived," but really showed his contempt for it by taking no pains
to arrive at its real meaning. In this connection we must bear in mind the
manner in which the oracle concerning himself was received by Socrates. He
tells in the Apology of the infinite pains which he took — the inquiry, extending
over months and possibly years, he made — in order to discover its drift, and
how at last he proved it to contain a meaning within a meaning. Xenophon
also relates in the Anabasis how Socrates had blamed him for putting his own
454 EURIPIDES
interpretation on an oracle affecting himself and his career, without inquiring
more earnestly into its real significance.
The second sin of Adrastus was, as we have seen, that although by his
outward and superficial obedience to the oracle he professed his belief that
" the gods did live," yet, directly the will of the gods ran counter to his wishes,
he took his own way.
''Thou didst call all Argos to the war," says Theseus (Suppl., 229), "and
when warned by the seer didst bid defiance to the gods, and hast brought
destruction on thy city."
The inference to be drawn from Euripides' handling of the story is then
threefold.
Firstly, that every one is bound to use his judgment, and to obtain good
counsel.
Secondly, that the Divine command can never be at variance with the
right.
Thirdly, that, when once the Divine will has been clearly ascertained, it is
to be obeyed at all hazards.
The teaching of the Suppliants on this subject is, in reality, therefore
strictly in accordance with what we know of the mind of Socrates, "the
wisest " of the Hellenes.
Y.— SIN, MISERY, IMPURITY
The origin and presence of evil, moral and physical, in the world seem to
have been to thinkers of the ancient world a hard and terrible mystery.
Euripides, as we already know, will not allow that the evil outweighs the
good, but yet that evil is there is a fact not to be ignored.
It is not surprising that we should find opinions apparently contradictory
as to the origin of moral evil set forth by our poet. In two passages which
we have examined, he maintains that the evil is in men themselves, but that
they endeavour to throw the onus of it upon the gods. " Thy mind was
Kypris (lust)," says old Hekabe in the Trojan Women ; and in the Iphigenia in
Tauris the heroine remarks : " The people, themselves bloodthirsty, do but seek
to throw their guilt upon the goddess." ^
Nevertheless, as we have also seen in the HipTpolijtus^ the guilt of a certain
crime is represented as directly the work of Aphrodite, who compels her votary
to sin.
In connection with this subject, the Hippolytus is of great interest, inasmuch
as it presents us with both these doctrines of the origin of evil. Let us glance
briefly at the outline of the story.
Hippolytus, the hero, is the son of Theseus, king of Athens, by the Amazon
Antiope. He is brought up in Troezene, and is one of the ingenuous, high-
minded youths whom our poet delights in portraying. If in the Ion of
Euripides we have a sort of foreshadowing of the cloistered recluse, and in his
Achilles the picture of the brave and true knight, Hippolytus presents us with
a mingling of both characters. He is a product of the new philosophic spirit ;
strives after purity of mind and body, to this end eschewing animal diet ; is a
follower of the master Orpheus, and burns incense at the shrine of many books.
Hippolytus, however, has something better than book-learning, for he possesses
that purity of heart which is innate, and which owes " nothing to teaching."
And therefore, as he tells us in a singularly beautiful passage (see Hipp)., 952),
^ See ante, p. 439.
SIN, MISERY, IMPURITY 455
he alone of mortals is allowed to pluck the blossoms from the unmown meadows
sacred to Artemis (the garden of the chaste soul), where neither shepherd
with his flock nor mower with his scythe dare tread ; only the bee comes
hovering over the flowers of spring in that fair region, which Innocence
(Aidos) watereth with her dews (Hipp., 70 e^ seq.).
' This is the youth, then, who by his devotion to Artemis, with whom he
hunts over hill and dale, has incurred the hatred of Aphrodite, who, as we
have seen,i plots his ruin. To this end she contrives that Phaedra, his father's
young wife, shall see and fall in love with him. Phaedra is no feather-brained
Helen. As depicted by Euripides, she enlists our sympathy by the resolute
stand which she makes against the fatal passion. For long she has striven to
overcome it, and at length resolves to die rather than bring dishonour on her
husband and her children. At this juncture the tempter appears in the shape
of her old nurse, who worms out of her the secret of the love which is consum-
ing her, and then persuades her by dint of the sophistical argument with which
we are already familiar — the example of the gods — to give up the struggle.
" Leave off this evil mind," says the nurse at the conclusion of a long speech
(Hipp., 473). " Desist from this presumption, for nothing less than pre-
sumption (%&m = wanton insult) is it even to will to be stronger than the
gods," who themselves yield to sin.
The unhappy Phaedra, weakened in body as well as mind, yields at length,
although unwillingly, and in the absence of Theseus the nurse goes in search
of Hippolytus, to whom she discloses the fatal secret after having extracted
from him a solemn oath that he will not betray her. The agony of mind into
which Hippolytus is plunged by the revelation is terrible. He is torn by
conflicting emotions — on the one hand, filial duty bids him warn his father
against what threatens his happiness ; on the other, he is fettered and tied by
his oath. It is in these circumstances that he exclaims : " The tongue hath
sworn, but the heai't remains unbound," words which were construed by the
enemies of Euripides into a deliberate sanctioning of perjury.
Needless to say, nothing is farther from our poet's intention. Taken with
the context, the meaning is evident. Hippolytus has indeed pledged his word,
yet he did this in ignorance of what was to follow, a proposal, namely, from which
his heart revolts. His tongue may be tied, but nothing can bind his heart,
and the exclamation simply indicates that he is debating with himself whether
under such circumstances it is lawful for him to keep silence.
Ultimately he resolves to say nothing to his father, whilst rejecting with
the utmost contempt and scorn the overtures made to him
Utterly degraded in her own eyes by the issue of the matter, and terrified
lest Hippolytus should betray her, Phaedra determines at once to forestall any
such disclosure, and to be revenged. She conceives the plan of transferring
to him the guilt of the infamous proposal which emanated from the nurse, and
then hangs herself. Theseus returns home to find her dead. Clasped in her
hand is a sealed tablet, on which is written the lie that accuses Hippolytus to
his father.
Beside himself with grief at the loss of his wife and righteous indignation
against the supposed transgressor, Theseus curses his son, and calls upon
Poseidon (Neptune, god of the sea) to fulfil one of three wishes which he had
promised to grant him, by destroying the youth that self-same day.
Hardly has the fatal wish been uttered when Hippolytus appears. He
endeavours to defend himself, but the pure and good life to which he appeals
in vindication of his character is denounced by Theseus as sheer hypocrisy.
^ See ante, p. 446.
456 EURIPIDES
Even with banishment and death before him, the noble youth will not stoop to
break his plighted word, and leaves the town silently, heartbroken, under his
father's curse. The sea god fulfils the latter by causing a monster to rise out
of the waves suddenly before the chariot of Hippolytus as he drives along the
shore. The horses take fright, their master is thrown out of the chariot,
dashed against the rocks, trampled on by his own steeds, and brought back
dying, to breathe his last in his native city. His patron, Artemis, now at
length appears, and reproaches Theseus with what he has done.
Without seeking for proofs, she says, without consulting the seer, without
awaiting the test of time, he has, in a fit of passion, murdered the noblest of
men, his own son. So far Theseus has done wrong. Nevertheless, both he
and Phaedra are absolved by the goddess from the guilt of their actions.
" That belongs to Aphrodite." *' Thou didst destroy him unconditionally,"
she says {Hipp., 1433), "for when it is given them from the gods, men sin
naturally."
This, then, is one way of explaining the presence of evil : men sin because
it is so destined by the gods. Does this hideous fatality, this imperative of
evil, represent the real mind of Euripides ?
Fortunately, we have in the very same drama two proofs to the contrary.
(i) In the first place, Euripides gives another explanation of the matter,
and this is put into the mouth of the unhappy Phaedra. She utters it in the
time of her comparative innocence, when she is beginning indeed to grow
weary of the long struggle with self, but has not yet actually yielded to the
temptation.
" Often," she says {Hipp., 375 et seq.), " I have meditated during the long
nights and pondered upon this — how it is that the lives of mortals are ruined.
To me," she continues, " men do not seem to do evil from the nature of their
minds (their mental constitution), for many think well and rightly. The
matter must be considered thus : We understand and know indeed the right
{ta chresta, that which is really best for us), but we do not work it out {ouk
eponoumen de) — some by reason of slothfulness, others because they choose
some pleasure instead of what is noble {tou kalou)^
The " pleasures " which Phaedra goes on to enumerate are those which
destroy a noble soul by simply frittering away its powers: (i) Love of society
(literally, a prolonged gossiping, lounging sort of club-life — makrai lescliai) ;
(2) leiswe a sioeet evil (really lack of wholesome occupation and incentive
to work) ; and finally (3) the aidos itself, says our poet — that ideal of every
true Hellene — may keep the soul from pursuing the noble. How so '^ Because
there are two qualities bearing the honoured name — one aidos by no means
evil, that good shame, that reverence for God and for others which we know
so well from Homer ; the other, a plague to the house, i.e. the false shame,
the undue modesty, which keeps a man from putting forth his powers — in
a word, from effort.
The sense of the passage is, then, that people err from the right path not
from ignorance but from a certain slothfulness of mind which bids them prefer
a life of luxurious ease and leisure to a life of noble endeavour {to kalon).
As we shall see presently, this doctrine is the reverse of that held by
Socrates, who maintained that men err because they do not know the right—
ta chresta, what is best for them. Phaedra, however, is in no doubt about the
matter. She does not sin in ignorance. She knows perfectly well that what
she is about to do will bring ruin on herself, dishonour to her husband and
children.^ " My hands are clean," she says, adding with deep meaning,
^ See the whole speech of Phaedra (373 et seq.).
SIN, MISERY, IMPURITY 457
** a stain (miasma) is on my soul." And again, when the nurse's suit has been
rejected, Phaedra exclaims {Hij)p., 317): "My punishment hath found me."
Nor is she alone in this insight into the real state of the case, for the women
of Troezene, who form the chorus {Hipp., 672), also detect the specious nature
of the nurse's reasoning, and warn her against it, applauding her resolve to
die rather than yield to dishonour.
And yet — Phasdra yields. Why? Out of that *' slothful ness " of the soul
which she allows to creep over her and lull into slumber the effort after the
noble. Phsedra has ceased to resist.
The real explanation of the fall of Phaedra is then, according to our poet,
to be sought for in the combination of two factors, the one within, the other
without. Within is the " slothfulness " which enervates the soul so that it
succumbs to the tempter from without.^
(2) General Tendency of the Drama. — " Ah, but," says the reader,
*' you forget — Phaedra cannot help herself. She must yield to the compul-
sion of Aphrodite."
Must she? Then how do we account for the successful resistance of
Hippolytus? The imperative of evil has no power over him. Hippoiytus
resists unto the death — resists evil not only in the shape of lust, but in the
shape of perjury. Rather than yield to lust, he incurs the revengeful hatred
of Phaedra — rather than break his oath, he loses, first, as a banished man,
everything in life, then life itself.
Artemis, indeed, declares that there is a " must,'' that men must sin
because it is their destiny ; but Artemis, be it remembered, is to our iconoclast
no Divinity to be blindly worshipped. She is only one of the dramatis per sonce,
whose opinions he states but is not compelled to endorse. No isolated senti-
ment gives the real mind of Euripides. That, as we have repeatedly pointed
out, must be sought for in the context and the whole tendency of the drama.
Now the tendency of the Hippolytus makes for righteousness, and the character
of Hippolytus is the key to it. Hippolytus resists the " must " to which Phaedra
yields — the one has the innate energy of soul which overcomes, the other the
slothfulness which succumbs.^
The Hippolytus of Euripides is, in fact, like the Antigone of Sophocles, a
martyr in the cause of righteousness.
To this Artemis bears witness. "0 unhappy one!" she exclaims (Hipp..,
1389), " into what misery hast thou fallen ! Thy nobleness of soul hath wrought
thy destruction." And Hippolytus himself, conscious of the purity of his
intentions, appeals to the All-Father (ibid., 1363). "Zeus, Zeus," he cries,
when carried back to die, " seest thou this — that I, the innocent, who feared
the gods, and strove after wisdom more than all, must sink forsaken and aban-
doned, beneath the earth to Hades? In vain have I distressed myself, and
laboured to do righteously towards men ! "
Is not this the very complaint of the Hebrew psalmist ? (Ps. Ixxiii. 13, 14-16):
" Verily I have cleansed my heart in vain, and washed my hands in innocency.
For all the day long have I been plagued and chastened every morning . . .
when I thought to understand this, it was too painful for me."
1 This double factor in the working out of evil seems also to be implied in the Medeia.
The heroine says (1013), in view of the awful revenge which she means to take upon Jason :
" Dire necessity compels me, for these things the gods and my own evil thoughts have brought
upon me." Medeia rightly places her " own evil thoughts " as an impelling factor in line with
the gods, i.e. she is conscious of free-will.
2 The nobility of Phaedra is indeed praised by Artemis, but this is in reference to her
struggle with self. She is said to have fallen unwillingly through the deceit of Kypris, the
nurse (1300).
458 EURIPIDES ',
Nevertheless the fate of Hippolytus does not, any more than the complaint ]
of the Hebrew, betoken the triumph of evil. The reverse is the case — not i
only in the drama of Euripides, but in the popular tradition on which the i
drama is based. In the drama Artemis promises that (Hipp., 1422 et seq.), !
in requital for all his sufferings, Hippolytus shall enjoy the greatest honours >
in his native land ; the maidens of Troezenia shall in time to come dedicate i
to him before their marriage a lock of hair, shed their tears in memory of his \
sacrifice, and keep alive his fame in their songs, customs all of which existed j
from time immemorial down to the days of our poet. This, then, is the full \
triumph of the good, as measured by the Hellenic standard ; the example of the \
youth who dies rather than forswear himself has remained for generations a ]
bright onward beckoning star to all noble souls, and Hippolytus himself has \
received that meed of honour for which every true Hellene thirsted — unfading ;
glory.
The Christian and the Pag^an Conception of Sin. — In this recognition j
of the tempter fi'om within, it may be thought that Euripides contradicts the ]
doctrine laid down in the Trojan Women : " Thy mind was Kypris." Such a |
" contradiction " is, however, perfectly in accordance with the experience of j
human life. Who does not know that evil presents itself as a double factor, 1
now in subjective, now in objective form ? The " contradiction " is, moreover, |
expressly recognised by the Christian doctrine concerning sin and moral evil — j
on the one hand, evil is said by the founder of our religion to be within — i
to grow from the heart as naturally as fruit from a tree.^ On the other hand, \
the same authority points to the seducer from without (St. Luke xx. 31): ;
" Satan hath desired to have you that he may sift you as wheat, but I have |
prayed for thee, that thy faith fail not." j
The vital difference between the Christian and the pagan conception of
sin lies of course in the attitude of God towards moral evil. The Christian
believer knows that God is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity, that He j
hates and abhors it ; hence he enters upon the struggle against it in the full \
confidence that the greatest power in the universe is on his side, and will |
ultimately give him the victory. \
The Hellene of the age of Euripides, on the contrary, is just beginning ;
to discern that God and Purity must be synonymous terms ; his eyes are \
just being opened to the real character of the deities of tradition ; the evil j
that exists he still ascribes to gods who are still, in his belief, partially \
good and beneficent. Hence the hopeless confusion — from the so-called good i
proceeds the evil and the misery, a misery which is intensified to the j
sufferer by the notion that the All-Father is perfectly indifferent to his 1
suffering. Hippolytus cries in his dying agony : " Zeus, see'st thou this, that \
I, the innocent, must perish ? " But Artemis has just said to Theseus that |
Zeus himself has prevented her from saving Hippolytus, inasmuch as he will j
not allow his children (the gods) to interfere with one another. Zeus, the ]
father of men as well as of gods, looks calmly on and compels Artemis to |
stand aside whilst Hippolytus is done to death by the vindictive malice of |
Aphrodite. j
Ultimately, as we have seen, the good triumphs, but it is through its own j
inherent force, not through any help vouchsafed in the struggle by the gods ;
of tradition. ;
The indifference to the fate of mortals shown by the gods of tradition is i
another of the moral puzzles which perplexed the nobler-minded amongst the i
Greeks. In Euripides it occurs again and again ; the very passage which we \
1 St. Matt. xii. 33 ; St. Luke vi. 44. I
SIN, MISERY, IMPURITY 459
have cited as proof of a belief in a personal God, conveys also the prevailing
sense of dread lest that God should not concern Himself about His creatures :
"It is a grief and care to me — melei, melei moV^ — says the chorus of Trojan
captives (Tro., 1077), ^^ tvhether Thou, King, who hast set Thy throne in
aether, thinkest upon us,'' and the destruction of our city. In this sense also
must be construed the words of Talthybius, the Greek herald, when he finds
Hecabe, former queen of Troy, prone upon the ground, bereft of husband and
children, herself a slave — "0 Zeus!" he exclaims (HeJc., 488), '' what shall I
say ? Dost thou indeed look down on men, or is it a vain delusion ? Is it
blind chance that ruleth all affairs of mortals ? "
The destruction of Troy was, indeed, as we have seen, regarded universally,
from Homer downwards, as a moral necessity on account of the sin of Paris.
The perplexity betrayed both by the captives and the Greek herald was as to
whether the supreme God felt any compassion, whether He cared for the
suffering which had overwhelmed the innocent and the guilty alike.
The doubt on this vital point naturally engendered a feeling of reckless
defiance, which is well set forth by our poet in the drama which takes for its
subject the Madness of Heracles.
The hero, as we know (He)\ Main., 20), had given up his life to deeds of
beneficence in fulfilling his mission as " humaniser of the earth." The rage of
Hera against him, however, knows no abatement, and she finally sends upon
him the fit of madness in which he slays unconsciously his own wife and
children, his reputed father Zeus meantime standing aloof and leaving him to
his fate. Who can wonder that Heracles in the bitterness of his soul disowns
(Her. Main., 1263) "this Zeus, whosoever he may be," and vows that he
prefers Amphitryon, a mortal and one who loves him, to such a father? In
his agony and shame he determines to put an end to his life.
" Thinkest thou that the gods care aught for thy threats? " says his friend
Theseus (Her. Main., 1242).
" God is unfeeling" rejoins the wretched man, " and I will he the same to
the gods''
" Keep silence ! " implores Theseus, " lest for thy big words worse suffering
come upon thee."
Another example of the same kind occurs in the Phoenician Women, and is
put into the mouth of the unselfish Antigone. When (Edipus, in the ex-
tremity of their misery, bids her make supplications at the altars, she replies,
" The gods have had enough ^ of my troubles, i.e. the gods are tired of me."
The great chasm that existed between immortal and mortal tended, then,
to widen in the days of Euripides, and there was none to bridge it over. It
is the sense of despair and injustice that extorts the cry from the pagan
martyr, Hippoly tus, ' ' Oh, that a mortal might curse the gods ! " True, Artemis
appears to console Hippoly tus, as we have seen. But Artemis leaves him to
die — she cannot defile her purity by contact with the dead. Hippolytus is
still alone in the last struggle, still has the fearful knowledge that he has been
betrayed by one god. Aphrodite, and thrown over by another, Zeus.
Contrast with this the confidence of the first Christian martyr : " Lord
Jesus, receive my spirit." The Greek knows himself to have been abandoned
in the struggle against evil, the Hebrew sees in vision his Lord rising up for
his defence, and has for consolation the true Word : " Lo, I am with you
alway, even to the end of the world."
We must now hasten on to call attention, however briefly, to certain
noticeable points in the conceptions of Euripides as regards sin.
^ Koron = a surfeit.
I
46o EURIPIDES
(i) Moral Purity. — There is a remarkable deepening of the sense of moral
purity. The old idea of impurity as contracted by outward contact no longer
suffices. We have seen one instance of this in the lament of Phaedra : " My
hands are clean — the stain is 07i my soul." A similar distinction is drawn in the
Orestes (1604), where, when Menelaus says disdainfully to the hero, "/ have
pure hands," the latter retorts, in reference to his uncle's selfishness and
secret ambition: "Yes, but not a pure mind.''
Everywhere in Euripides the inward verity and the mere outward appear-
ance are placed in sharp relief.
(2) The Consequences of Sin, — The fact that the consequences of evil
cannot be confined to the individual who commits it is often insisted upon by
our poet. Thus, in the Orestes (980, 985, 1545- 1549), the misery or "fate" of
the house of Athens is distinctly ascribed to the sin of Pelops, its founder, who
treacherously slew the charioteer Myrtilus. On this account the curse has
settled upon his descendants. In the Iphigeiiia in Taiiris (195) the same
belief is expressed, but here the avenging spirit comes by reason of the later
sins of the race. The descendants of Pelops inherit the taint, and still further
develop it.
In thus recognising a moral penalty — the inherited tendency to vice —
Euripides follows his great predecessors, as he does also in his general treat-
ment of the causes of the Trojan War. That war "fulfilled the purposes of
the gods," as we have seen, and the chief of these purposes was the chas-
tisement of Paris, the adulterer and deceiver of his guest-friend. This
chastisement, however, could not be confined to Paris alone, his family and
race were involved in it. So in the Hecahe the chorus (JTec, 629) bewails that
" through the folly of one man there had come upon the Trojans a common evilP
Thus the Christian doctrine of the solidarity of the human race — the fact
that it was possible for " sin to enter into the world by one man" — was by no
means a new or unfamiliar thought to the Hellene any more than to the
Hebrew.
Sin an evil in itself. — Finally we may note a passing anticipation of a great
truth, namely, that the evil which besets the soul is a calamity equally with
any evil that can happen to the body. The passage referred to is placed most
happily in the mouth of a slave — a member, that is, of the class which ex-
perienced to the full the most terrible evils of life. The speaker is the same
faithful retainer who, in the Helen, expresses his conviction that sound
judgment and good counsel are the best soothsayers. The old man is not
ashamed of being a slave : "May it be mine," he says {Hel.^ 728), "although
servitude is my lot, to be numbered in the company of noble slaves. If I have
not the free name, may I have the free soul ! For this is better than to be
possessed of two evils — to have an evil mind and be in bondage to one's
neighbour."
Here we have at least the germ of the idea which was so grandly worked
out by Socrates and Pla1;o. That evil mind which Euripides places as a
calamity on an equality with slavery of the body came to be regarded by the
greatest thinkers of antiquity as "slavery of the soul" and as something
infinitely worse than any physical or political bondage — a development which
reached its climax in Christianity.
VI.— THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS
We have already seen so fully (through Sophocles) the recognition of the
great unwritten laws in the classical age of Greece, that nothing more will
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 461
be necessary here than a few brief notes. These will suffice to show that to
Euripides, as to Sophocles, human society appears to be permeated by the
sense of certain mutual obligations, and that these obligations equally appear
to rest on a religious basis.
I. The Honour due to the Gods. — Whatever the private opinions of
Euripides may have been as regards the gods of tradition, there is abundant
evidence that both he and his countrymen associated the prosperity of their city
with her reverence for an unseen power. Euripides is a fervent patriot, but
his highest and sincerest praise of Athens is that she honours God by observing
the great laws, i.e. the laws regarding the defenceless, the suppliant, the weak,
the dead.
" Thou walkest in a just path, my country, in that thou honourest the
gods. Mayest thou never depart from it ! " says the chorus of Athenians in
the Heradeidoe (901). " He who contesteth this rusheth hard on madness. We
have seen the proof of it, for God Himself giveth the warning, who ever casteth
down the proud in the imagination of their hearts."
The particular instance of " honouring the gods " here referred to is the
succour given by the Athenians to helpless suppliants, the mother and infant
sons of Heracles. Their persecutor, Eurystheus, had gone out against them,
" thinking," as the poet quaintly puts it {Her., 933), " of greater things than
justice ; " hence he is defeated in battle ; overthrown in the pride of his heart.
Again, when the Athenians, true to a noble feeling, will not slay this same
Eurystheus after he is a captive and defenceless in their hands, Eurystheus
himself testifies {Her., loio) of them, that in sparing his life they had "far
more regard to God than to their enmity " against him, which they might have
gratified on the spot.
The connection between the gods and another law of Hellas — that of the
honour (burial-rites) due to the dead — is beautifully shown in the Suppliants.
Here iEthra, the mother of Theseus, when she exhorts him to take up arms in
order to recover the bodies of the princes who have fallen in the war of the
seven against Thebes, bases her appeal on the honour due to the gods.
" First of all, my son," she says {Hik., 299), " I bid thee consider the rever-
ence due unto the gods, lest by dishonouring them thou fall. For fall thou
shalt by this alone, though wise in other things." She urges him to go up
against those who are overthrowing " the customs {nomima) of all Hellas ; for
this it is," she adds, " that holdeth together the cities of men, even the obser-
vance of the laws {nomoiis}." Here the connection between the gods, the laws,
and the customs which are the outward part of the laws, is very close.
Theseus replies that his mother has but forestalled his own intention. He
will go up against the Thebans, but not in the strength of his own arm ; ** One
thing I need," he says {Hilc, 593), "the gods who guard the right. If they
fight with me they give the victory. For naught doth courage {arete) avail to
mortals if God be not on their side." Theseus, be it remembered, is our poet's
type of manliness. The feeling here attributed to him is certainly that which,
according to Herodotus, won the day at Marathon, at Salamis, at Platsea.
II. The Honour due to Parents. — Nowhere does the simple, genuine,
old-world piety of Hellas find recognition so amply as in the scenes of family
life in Euripides. It is not, however, the father so much as the mother around
whom the love of the children centres. This may appear strange to us with
our preconceived notions of the patria potestas and the inferior position assigned
to women among the Greeks. Nevertheless, any one who will take the trouble
to go carefully through the pages of Euripides can verify the fact for himself.
Let us look briefly at one instance ready to our hand.
462 EURIPIDES
We have just heard the warning addressed to Theseus of Athens by his
aged mother ^thra. She speaks it in fear and trembling ; but necessity is upon
her, and speak she must. " I will not keep silence," she says, " lest some day
I should blame myself for being silent — for holding my peace, like a coward.
Nor, through the fear that good words from women's lips bear little fruit, will
I abstain from this my duty (toumon kalon)." Then follows the warning, " I
bid thee first of all, son, consider the reverence due unto the gods," and so
forth.
The admonition, be it remembered, is addressed to a king, a warrior and
hero of renown, and a man of mature age. And not in private is it spoken,
but at the reception of a public embassy before the Temple of Demeter at
Eleusis in the presence of another monarch, Adrastus of Argos, and a crowd of
royal suppliants with their attendants.
How, then, does Theseus, the old-world type of duty and of chivalry,
receive it?
With the utmost respect. Even before ^thra summons up courage to let
her voice be heard in public, he encourages her by the remark that " many a
word of wisdom has, ere this, come from the lips of women." Now he proceeds
to reassure her, as we have seen, by disclosing his own real intent and purpose.
He will only take counsel beforehand with his people, as is right and fitting,
and when he has won them over to his own views he will at once set out upon
the expedition to which she urges him. First, however, he must see his mother
safely to her home. "Now," he says to the royal suppliants, "remove these
sacred olive-boughs " (which they had offered to ^thra as suppliants for her
intercessions), " that I may take by her dear hand my mother and lead her to
my father's house. Miserable, indeed, is that son who doth not requite his
parents, and in return serve them (antidoideuei, slave for them as they have
slaved for him) noblest of services ! For he that rendereth this to them
receiveth from his children that which he himself hath given. "
Have we not here the Hellenic equivalent to the Hebrew " commandment
with promise " ?
The duty of the requiting of parents is also set forth in that most touching
of the many touching episodes in Euripides (/^?A. AuL, 1220 seq.), the scene in
which Iphigenia pleads with her father for her life.
There is no need, however, for us to enlarge further at present upon this
subject, inasmuch as love in all its manifold shapes will meet us again amongst
our poet's ideals.
Here we would only point out that the episode in the Alcestis where Ad-
metus upbraids his old father and mother because they will not consent to die
instead of him, is simply a burlesque of the real state of feeling among the
Greeks. Admetus declaims against his parents' " selfishness" much as, in our
own day, the new woman is made to run full tilt against existing institutions
and the '' old order " in general. The egotism of Admetus, carried to the verge
of the ludicrous, is evidently a hit at " Young Athens " and its presumption.
III. The MaPriage Bond. — Before proceeding to investigate our poet's
treatment of this law we must first consider the position which he takes up
relating to women in general. This is rendered necessary by the fact that
Euripides is commonly regarded and described as, emphatically, a "woman-
hater." To this term we must take exception in toto. That it could have been
applied to the man who has drawn the noblest and sweetest female characters
in the whole range of Greek literature, who has painted an Alcestis, an
Iphigenia, a Macaria, an Andromache, a Polyxena — would pass comprehension,
were it not for that most unfair habit to which we have already called attention
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 463
(p. 431) of judging our poet by isolated sentiments picked out at random without
regard to the context or the circumstances under which they are uttered. Far
from being a misogynist, Euripides is the reverse.
The name is certainly applicable to his Hippolytus, who pronounces the
severest diatribe against the sex — but under what compulsion ? The most
terrible provocation to which a pure and high-minded youth could be subjected
(see ante^ p. 455).
Hippolytus goes the length of wishing that women could be improved oft'
the face of the earth. Why has Zeus given this " deceitful evil " to dwell with
men ? he asks. If he had a mind to create a race of mortals, why did he not
give children to men direct from his own hand in exchange for, and to the value
of, gold, iron, or bronze weighed out in his temple ? Then, indeed, might men
have dwelt at home in freedom from this race of womankind, a race so detest-
able that their own fathers willingly pay a heavy dower to be rid of them. The
only passable women are the stupid ones. They are certainly lazy and good-
for-nothing, but at least their lack of wit prevents them planning evil.
Such is an outline of the famous tirade of Hippolytus. Let us examine
it, and see how much belongs to the hero, and how much (if any) to Euripides
himself.
(i) Woman as a ^^ deceitful eviir — Here Hippolytus is quoting Hesiod. Oui-
hero is represented elsewhere as a great lover of books, and the "deceitful evil "
is a reference to one Hesiodic fable (that of Pandora), whilst the children
whose worth is estimated in " gold, bronze, and iron " is a reminiscence of
another (the Four Ages). Hippolytus is, therefore, simply speaking " in
character " as a bookworm.
(2) Fathers eager to he rid of their daughters. — Is it Hippolytus the misogynist
who speaks here, or Euripides himself ? Let another picture drawn by our
poet answer for him — that of the aged Iphis in the Suppliants, as he mourns
for his daughter. Evadne has thrown herself on the funeral pyre of her
husband, Capaneus, determined to die with him, and Iphis, who has come to
Athens in search of her, must return to Argos — alone. Listen to his lament :
If he had but his life to live over again, he says, never would he seek to possess
children, for now he knows what it is to lose them. What shall he do,
miserable, lonely old man? "Go home?" he asks, "to find all desolate, my
life without resource, bereft of joy ! Or ahaU I turn to his house, the home
of Capaneus, my son-in-law, once so sweet to me, when she, my child, still
lived ? Now she is no more — she whose sweet mouth ever sought the old
man's cheeks, whose hands were clasped round this old head. A father in his
old age," so testifies Iphis {Hik., 1094), "hath nothing dearer than a daughter.
The souls of men may, indeed, be larger (according to the popular notion), yet
are they smaller in sweetness of caressing love. Come, take me home, and
leave me in the darkness — there let this aged body pine away, unnourished."
Here, at least, is one father whose sentiments in regard to his daughter are
not those of Hippolytus, and yet have an equal claim to be regarded as those
of Euripides himself. Hippolytus, the youth, is simply drawing on his imagi-
nation — Iphis, the grey old man, on his experience.
(3) " Stupid women are the only good ones^ — Does this opinion belong to the
misogynist Hippolytus or to his creator Euripides ? Let the scene between
Theseus and .^thra, which we have already witnessed, answer. " Many a
word of wisdom hath ere now fallen from women's lips." Here speaks again
the word of experience.
(4) To sum up : — Taking the speech of Hippolytus as a whole, it must be
regarded, in its sweeping censures of the female sex, as an example of the agan.
464 EURIPIDES ;
that " too-much " which the sober judgment of the Greeks condemned. In his !
wrath and indignation Hippolytus goes too far. He does not confine his \
strictures to the one wicked woman before him (the nurse) and her misguided j
mistress, but attacks women in general. The excessive energy of his denuncia- '
tions is, as it were, dramatically necessary from the Greek standpoint in order <
to explain how it is that he has incurred the hatred of Aphrodite. If all men l
were misogynists, human society and its exponent, the State, would naturally i
come to an end. Hence, Hippolytus — although pure, noble, and innocent — ]
yet brings upon himself, so far, his fate. j
The whole speech is necessitated by the legend on which Euripides worked, «
and must not be taken as expressing the opinions of the poet himself. Hippo- I
lytus is simply speaking throughout on the lines laid down by the old myth. \
A somewhat similar sentiment, again, is repeated in the Medeia (573), |
where Jason also wishes that men could rid themselves of the " evil " of <
woman. Jason, however, be it remembered, is a coward and an ingrate. He \
has basely thrown overboard the woman who had sacrificed all for him, and so j
has brought upon himself the evil which he denounces. He is fitly answered ;
by the chorus, who represent the real mind of the poet (576) : — *\
" Jason, with fine words, indeed, thou trickest out thy speech ; but to me ]
thou seem'st — and this I'll say, even though it be against thy mind — to act i
unjustly, in that thou hast betrayed thy wife." \
In both cases, then, the dramatic situation explains and necessitates the |
outburst. (
The truth is that Euripides was incapable of taking deliberately a one- j
sided view of any social question, and on this particular subject there are I
numerous proofs that he possessed abundance of practical common sense, and i
tried to hold the balance fairly. For example, in the Hecahe (1183), when !
the old queen has visited the Thracian Polymestor with a punishment which i
from the Greek standpoint is perfectly righteous,^ and the wretched man i
inveighs against women as a hateful race, "the like of which is not to be '
found in earth or sea ; " the chorus calmly makes answer as follows, " Be not 1
overbold of tongue, nor visit thine own sins on the whole female sex. Many i
of us, indeed, deserve to be hated, but the number of good women outweighs ;
the bad," a commonplace conclusion which would hardly merit comment were •
it not for the popular notion that credits Euripides with opinions to the \
contrary. So far is our poet from being blind to the good qualities of women |
that he even goes out of his way to find reasons strong enough to account for j
any deviation from the right path. His own standard for women is a high j
one. When a woman falls from this, there must, in his judgment, be some- !
thing behind, which the world does not know. Thus his Clytemnestra, when |
defending herself to Electra, says (1038), " Our sin (the sin of women) '
immediately becomes notorious, but those who are the caiises of it — our 1
husbands — to them no blame is attached." 2 And what the poet means by \
this he shows not only in the Electra but in the Ipliigenia in Aulis, where he ;
makes Clytemnestra unfold the wrongs which she has suffered at the hands ,
of Agamemnon — an awful family history, quite sufficient of itself to goad a |
high-spirited woman to desperation, without the (traditional) insults added j
later. " Clytemnestra," Euripides seems to say, " is a bad woman, but one j
^ Polymestor had betrayed a sacred trust, and murdered her son for the sake of his gold, j
2 (7f . a passage in the!/on (1090) where the chorus complain of the readiness of the poets ■
to censure women, whilst passing over the sins of men, who are in reality more faithless than j
the opposite sex. So at least affirm the women, and Euripides gives expression to their 1
belief. !
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 465
who has been forced into badness." And he invents for her a past which
must have made his hearers wonder — not that the wife of Agamemnon was
a fierce and bitter woman, but that she could have had a grain of womanly
feeling left. Agamemnon is the slayer of her first husband and the murderer
of her first-born ; she has been compelled by her own father to accept this
man as her second husband, and yet she has striven to conceal her repugnance
to him, and to be a good wife and mother, until his conduct in regard to
Iphigenia at length turns the scale. The Clytemnestra of Euripides is, there-
fore, far more sinned against than sinning. In her case, as in that of Medeia,
the sympathy of the poet is enlisted on the side of the outraged wife and
mother. If Euripides had been a woman-hater, would he have taken the
pains to elaborate in this fashion the history of the typical " ruthless wife "
of antiquity? We trow not, for he tells the story in such a way that his
audience detests — not Clytemnestra, but — Agamemnon, the "cause" of her
badness.
Such are some of the negative proofs that our poet was no despiser of
women. It would be easy to multiply them, but our space has its limits, and
we must refer the reader to the abundance of positive evidence supplied by
the portraits of noble, high-minded women which will meet us when we come
to consider his ideals.
Turning now to our immediate subject, we have to ask whether Euripides
made light of the marriage bond, or whether he treated it as something sacred
and indissoluble. Our poet leaves us in no doubt as to his mind on the subject.
If he can trace up effect to cause in the case of a Clytemnestra, he does not
attempt to palliate her sin. Nor has he the slightest sympathy with wicked-
ness self-chosen — witness his treatment of the story of Helen. The beautiful
woman whose " mind was wantonness," who leaves her husband's home from
love of luxury, despising its simplicity, is to him "no daughter of Zeus" — that
is, of a god, whatever tradition may affirm. The thing is morally impossible.
Such a woman is " loathed by the gods," hated by Greeks and Trojans alike.
The consequences of her sin, the misery which it entailed, are described over
and over again, in drama after drama, with a persistence which is not only
an index to the popular feeling on the subject, but may fairly be taken as
expressing the poet's own mind. It was " the hateful marriage of Paris that
brought destruction on the citadel of Troy," says Andromache in the Trojan
Women (598), as she describes the horrors of the scene — the woes upon woes
heaped on the hapless people — their city lying in ruins, vultm?es preying on
the dead before the sacred temple of Athena — the yoke of slavery that has
fallen upon all. And the chorus of captives re-echoes the same truth in the
words (Tro., 780) : —
" Ah, wretched Troy ! thou hast lost thousands through the hateful
marriage of one woman."
Elsewhere {Hec, 948) the union of Helen and Paris is described as "a
marriage that was no marriage," but an evil wrought by the alastor, some
revengeful spirit bent on the destruction of the race.
In Clytemnestra and Helen, then, the poet exhibits the sin of unfaithful-
ness to the Marriage bond in women. Let us now see whether he is disposed
to pass the same sin over lightly when it shows itself in men. The search will
be easy, as his grandest tragedy, the Medeia, is devoted to this very subject.
Medeia and Jason. — The drama is founded on the old story of the voyage
made in the Argo by Jason and his comrades to Colchis on the Black Sea in
quest of the Golden Fleece. The expedition has been planned by the hero's
uncle, Pelias, king of lolkos in Thessaly, in order to rid himself of his nephew,
2 G
466 EUmPIDES
the rightful heir to the throne, who, he fondly imagines, will never return
alive. 1 Jason, however, does survive ; he overcomes the perils of the enter-
prise, and carries off the Golden Fleece by the assistance of the daughter of
^'Eetes, the king of the land, Medeia, who has fallen in love with him, and
helps him by her magic powers to perform all the impossible tasks set him by
her father. Jason promises to make her his wife, and the two escape together
in the Argo. ^etes goes after the fugitives, and has nearly reached them
when, in order to divert him from the pursuit, Medeia cuts in pieces her own
brother, and throws his limbs before the father, thereby gaining time for
Jason. Safely arrived in lolkos, Jason meditates on plans of vengeance
against King Pelias, who had slain his parents, and now keeps the crown
from himself ; and Medeia takes part in the revenge, for she persuades the
daughters of Pelias to slay their father. Finally, both she and Jason are
obliged to flee to escape the avengers of blood, the near relatives of the
murdered man. They take refuge in Corinth, where, finally, Jason, to secure
for himself safety and the crown which he covets, is minded to wed the
daughter of Kreon the Corinthian king, and to cast off Medeia. At this
juncture the drama opens, and the unfortunate woman comes before us in all
the new-felt horrors of her position. Medeia's hands are not pure — she has
committed one murder, and instigated another. Both crimes have been
perpetrated out of love to Jason, and they have barred the way against her
returning either to her own or her husband's native land. Medeia stands
absolutely alone in the world — brother, father, fatherland exist for her only
in the one man, Jason, who coolly throws her overboard as soon as he finds
her presence inconvenient. Not only does Jason propose to wed the daughter
of Kreon, but he acquiesces in the intention of that monarch to banish
Medeia, who has been overheard to use threatening language against himself
and the princess. The woman who has sacrificed all for Jason is to be thrust
out — not only, as the despised wife, from her rightful place in his heart, but
"as a beggar" from her only secure asylum. Jason, therefore, intends to
commit not only the sin against the marriage vow, but the sin against the
guest-friend who had saved his life.
What cares Jason? He cynically tells Medeia that he has given to her
much more than she had ever bestowed on him, "for now," he says (535 et
seq.), '' thou dwell'st in Hellas instead of in a barbarian land, and hast learned
to know justice and to obey the laws instead of the might of force. More-
over," he adds, " all men know thee to be wise, and thou possessest glory ;
whereas, if thou hadst dwelt in the far corners of the earth, no one would have
made mention of thee. As for me, I care not to have wealth at home, nor yet
to out-do Orpheus in his melodies, if therewith I win not distinction."
One can imagine the effect of this speech on Medeia — to talk of justice
and laws to /ler, the wrongfully cast-off wife ! — to cajole her at whom all will
shortly laugh with the idea of glory ! — to speak of distinction for himself to
the one who had brought him whatever distinction he possessed ! No wonder
that the chorus takes up Medeia's cause, and tells Jason (576) that, however
much he may trick out his speech with fine arguments and endeavour to^
deceive himself, "to me thou seem'st (and this I'll say e'en though it be
against thy mind) to act unjustly in that thou hast betrayed thy wife."
In her agony and despair, Medeia plans the most awful revenge that ever
entered the heart of woman to conceive. The love which she had felt for the
ingrate has turned into a hatred equally intense. Jason's deliberate pre-
ference of another woman, his selfish concern for his own safety, his black
^ See our companion volume for the details of the legend.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 467
other, Jason should find solatium in them '
Medeia is torn by conflicting emotions-the jealousy of the outraged wife
and the passionate love of the mother alternately strive for the masTlrv In
the end jeaousy triumphs. Medeia sends her rivll a poisoned rob? emWemo"
adulterous love the same symbol which Deianeira sends to Heracle"' The
maiden naught suspecting, puts it on, and is consumed alive_a fate which is
shared by her father who, whilst endeavouring to tear the burning robe from
off hxs daughter, IS himself caught by it and destroyed. Medefa^hen sLy^
her two sons and escapes through the air, leaving Jason to experience the
misery of that bitterness, the utter loneliness, the childless, dishonoured old
age which he had designed for her. He finally meets his end by the falling
IngSude" °' *'' ^'"^°' ^' ''^ ^'*^ '° """^ sha'de-meet embfemVhillSf
r™,l^"*° ^^^ ^'^^l ™«"*^°f *!>« P'ay we cannot enter here. No criticism
t^t\Zr^'""-:^ir'\t^''''^°'' °f ^^^^^'^ ^-^'f-revelation. To "3
its relation T V», ""T ^' ''^^- ^' ^'^ °"'y '=°'^<'«™«'l ^it^ it here "n
vL^t^ \ J""- fr* "l^ritten law of marriage as affecting the man
From this standpoint two things should be noted •— ^
(i) That, so far as the plighted troth between the two is concerned Medeia
stands under the protection of the divine powers. There can be no doubt as
to the views of Euripides on this point. After reproaching Jason with aU that
she has done and suffered for him, Medeia says (488) : "And thrthou hast
experienced from me and yet thou hast betrayed me, hast taken to thyse
another wife, although thou art possest of children. If thou wert childless I
could forgive thee this new love, but now!-Gone is the truth of the oaths
IwKrf 1v ^''""^ ™f.^?"^ °° '°°«^^ ^'^-tl^-* amongst men NEW
.LAWS exist-for in thine own self thou knowest that thou hast not kept thv
gods before his eyes, he would never have broken the old law of the covenant
which had made them man and wife together in the sight of God and men
And herself strong m the belief that the gods do live, that the old kw stui
herhinds " Plf^ns her terrible revenge. She is not an innocent woman
her hands are stained with blood. Nevertheless, as regards Jason, she is
guiltless; she has been true to him and to the marriage vow, and thereLl
to Tht'i-ITn- ^f ' r. ""i^^-^ ^^'^ (^^'^•' '6°)- She fan confidently Ileal
bound Hm "IrT^f 1 *"''^^'" ^^^ ^reat oaths wherewith she had
bound him. "Hark!" says the old nurse (ibid., 168), "how she cries to
rhemis the avenger, and Zeus who watches over the oaths of morSls- 'Ti^
ao s ight thing that will make my mistress to desist from anger " '
is (t^ty':f"T^'"^Tj"''' T^v"^ °"*^" l"^'"^"^ P'^"' ^^'^ defence to Jason
IS (1372) . The gods know who began this ; " and again, when he in his turn
See ante, p. 393. 2 Here (208) represented as the daughter of Zeus.
468 EURIPIDES
appeals to the gods, she asks (139 1) : " What god, what daemon, will hear thee,
thou breaker of the covenant, thou deceiver of guest-friends ? "
(2) Secondly, there can be no doubt that the "poetic" justice meted out
to Jason by the old legend is, in the opinion of our poet himself, a righteous
retribution. The chorus, who in the old tragedy play throughout the r61e of
impartial spectators, and make their comments accordingly, bid Medeia at the
outset not be too much distressed because Zeus (highest of all gods) himself
(158) "will defend her (sundikesei tade)," literally, will speak on her side, be
her advocate. Why ? Assuredly not because of Medeia's purity or goodness,
but simply because Zeus is guardian of the marriage vow as of all solemn vows
of mortals. And it is with allusion to the unfaithfulness of Jason that the
chorus declare the old order to be turned upside down : " The springs of the
sacred rivers" ( = rivers of truth and fidelity) "flow backwards, justice and
all else is reversed on the earth, deceit is practised among men, and the faith
of the gods no longer prevails. . . . Holy reverence for the oath (Jwrkon) has
vanished, nor doth the aidos dwell in great Hellas — she hath flown back to
heaven." Why? Because the disregard of the marriage vow strikes at the
very roots of the social order ; the aidos — modesty, purity, reverence — has
no place in such a state of things (410-13 ; 439-440).
Lastly, the chorus, although afterwards horror-struck by the final catas-
trophe, the slaughter of her innocents by Medeia herself, nevertheless justify
the punishment which she inflicts upon the princess ; for when the messenger
has told the story of her death by the poisoned robe, they say (1231) : " Many
evils doth the god heap this day upon the head of Jason — and with justice —
{endikos).
So much, at least, is clear from the foregoing that to Euripides, as to
Sophocles, the old law of the marriage covenant was still one of the bases of
human society, the main prop and pillar of the State. Those who sin against
it — a Paris, a Jason — those who aid and abet the guilty — a Priam and his
sons, a Kreon and his daughter — must alike be destroyed, root and branch,
from out the land.
It may, however, be objected that both Paris and Jason had also committed
the sin of betraying the guest-friend, and that it is the breach of this law
which brings down the anger of the gods. Without doubt this aspect of the
matter is brought prominently before us in both cases, but that the chief
sin is the breaking of the marriage covenant admits of equally little doubt.
The sin itself is symbolised by the poisoned robe which Medeia sends to the
woman who is determined to wed Jason, although perfectly well aware that
his love already belongs of right to another. In the Trachinice of Sophocles,
as we recollect, the poisoned robe is also put on by the guilty party, Heracles —
not by lole, who, as a captive, is will-less and helpless in the matter. That
Medeia does not include Jason in this part of the revenge is due to her desire
that he should taste of the suffering which he had intended for her — a dis-
honoured, lonely old age. "Thou mournest not yet," is her parting thrust at
Jason (1396). "Wait till thou art old! Then thou wilt realise to the full
what thou hast done."
But again, another objection which may be urged with some show of
plausibility is, that, in the Andromache, our poet deliberately enlists all our
sympathies on the side of the heroine, who is the slave-wife or concubine of
Neoptolemus, son of Achilles, and into whose mouth he puts an elaborate
defence — not exactly of polygamy — but of toleration on the part of the first
wife, in the event of the husband's choosing to bring home a second.
This must not blind us to the fact that the whole interest of this drama
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 469
{Andromache) turns upon the determined resistance offered by Hermione,
the lawful wife of Neoptolemus, to such a state of matters, as being entirely
opposed to Hellenic laws and customs. With the Greeks, " One man, one
wife," was the rule. Hermione is resolved not to admit of any rival in her
husband's affections, and in this resolve she is stoutly supported by her father
Menelaus. When Andromache, therefore, argues in favour of toleration, she
is simply trying to make the best of the intolerable position which has fallen
to her (Hector's wife !) through the changes and chances of war, and she
argues " in character," as an Oriental and a " barbarian " (foreigner). This
forms the one point which Hermione makes against her: Andromache, she
says (Andr., 170), speaks and acts from the barbarian standpoint, and bar-
barians know no law.
So far from endorsing this " foreign " notion that the wife in such a case
should acquiesce cheerfully in her lord's good pleasure, Menelaus declares that
the rights of husband and wife are equal, theoretically : " Nay more," he
says (ibid., 672), "the man and wife have equal might . . . but he hath in his
hands the power of force, whilst she must look for help to parents and to
friends."
These lines, indeed, have been suspected as an interpolation (in the speech
of Menelaus), but we see no reason for doubting their genuineness, since the
same sentiment meets us in passages which are certainly the work of Euripides.
Thus in the Iphigenia in Aulis, when Agamemnon bids his wife return home,
and informs her of his intention to perform a part in the marriage ceremonies
which by common consent and custom fell to the mother of the bride, Clytem-
nestra flatly refuses to obey. She tells him plainly (Iph. Aul., 739) that he
may be master without the house ; she will be mistress within. And Agamem-
non, king of men, is obliged to retire discomfited, acknowledging that he is
beaten on every point.
In the Andromache, then, however much we may sympathise with the
gentle, lovable heroine through her persecution at the hands of the haughty
Hermione, we must not shut our eyes to the truth of the drama. Hermione
speaks throughout, and rightfully, as one who has Greek law upon her side ;
Andromache as the representative of Oriental customs. We pity an Andro-
mache as we pity a Hagar ; but we concede that a Hermione, like a Sarah,
has rights which may not be passed over.
We cannot conclude this account of our poet's attitude towards women
better than by presenting the reader with the beautiful portrait of this same
Andromache which meets us in the Trojan Women (645). Andromache is
made to describe her manner of life while Hector lived, as follows : —
" Whatsoever is thought to be wise and prudent in women, that," she says,
" beneath my Hector's roof I strove to do. And [first of all — since (whether
scandal hath fastened on a woman's name or not) this of itself brings evil
reputation, if she remain not at home — I put aside all idle longings and kept
within the house. No foolish praters with their boastful words entered within
my doors. The good spirit of the house was my teacher, and I was sufficient
unto myself. Even for my husband I had a silent tongue, a gentle eye — knew
when the victory over me belonged to him, when over him to me."
Modesty, a retired life, tact, gentleness, and discretion — these are the
characteristics which mark, in Euripides' opinion, a good and true wife. Yet,
be it noted, the wife is no slave, for she knows when " the victory" belongs
fitly to her, and can assert herself, if necessary, but she chooses, rather, the
peaceful way of gentle influence. We seem to have here the forerunner of
470 EURIPIDES
the '* meek and quiet spirit " which the apostle commends — the " low, sweet
voice " praised by our own great poet.
YII.— THE GREAT LAWS
Y. The Solemn Oath and Covenant. — As we know, the detractors and
enemies of our poet denounced him as a " defender of perjury." There are two
of these so-called apologice for falsity in his dramas. Let us examine them, and
ascertain whether the apologies emanate from Euripides himself, or no.
(i) In the Iphigenia in Aulis occurs the following passage {IpTi. Aul., 394) :
" The divinity {to Theion) is not without understanding, but takes note of oaths
which rest on no firm basis, and are forced on men by necessity." The words
refer to the plan devised by old Tyndareus, out of his " well-packed " scheming
head, for the safety of his beautiful daughter Helen, and the oath (to defend
and protect the interests of the man who should become her husband) which he
compels all the rivals and suitors for her hand to take. At first sight the senti-
ment may appear to constitute an " apology " for that breaking of the Tynda-
rean oath which Agamemnon contemplates. Two considerations, however, will
show immediately that the passage is simply the outcome of the context.
{a) In the first place, Agamemnon is in dire perplexity. His ambition and
his desire to stand well with the army assembled at Aulis have hurried him into
a dilemma, from which he would give everything, except his position as com-
mander-in-chief, to escape. If he keeps the Tyndarean oath to help Menelaus,
then he must sacrifice his own child, Iphigenia. Is it to be wondered at that,
in such circumstances, he should seek to throw discredit on the oath itself, as
one taken under compulsion ? For the breaking of such an oath, he argues,
the divinity, who is not without understanding, i.e. knowledge of the whole
situation, will make allowance.
(/;) We must recollect, moreover, that the speaker is a shifty, crafty man,
who is represented as having schemed to obtain the coveted post of commander
of the united forces of Hellas, a man who has just deceived his own wife and
daughter in the most heartless way, and whom his brother Menelaus reproaches
with a fickleness and changeableness so marked that his friends never know in
what mind or mood they will find him.
Agamemnon is, therefore, speaking " in character," and the " apology for
perjury " proceeds from him, not from Euripides. In the end the oath is kept
by all the suitors.
(2) With the second and more famous instance, we are already familiar.
In the perplexity caused by the nurse's revelation of Phaedra's love, Hippolytus
says [Hipp., 612, referring to the oath which she has extracted from him) :
" The tongue hath ta'en the oath, but the heart is unsworn." The exclamation
is extorted by the conflict of duties into which he finds himself plunged. Not
to warn his father against this vile attendant on his young wife seems to the
dutiful son as great a crime as the breaking of a promise made in ignorance.
Yet in the struggle the sanctity of the oath maintains the upper hand : " Be
assured of this, woman," are his words to the nurse, " it is my piety that saves
thee. For if thou had'st not bound me unawares by the oaths of the gods,
nothing would have hindered me from disclosing this matter to my father "
{ibid., 656). It is his recognition of the oath as a sacred and religious obliga-
tion which influences the whole conduct of Hippolytus. Witness his appeal
(1025) to Zeus as Horkios, the guardian of the oath, when protesting his inno-
cence, and his declaration concerning the death of Phaedra (1032) : "What she
THE GREAT LAWS 471
feared and, fearing, destroyed herself, I know not : more it is not lawful (themis)
for me to say." Hippolytus here distinctly asserts that he may not divulge the
secret because he is himself bound by the themis — one of the great laws over
which the gods watch.
In these two cases, then, Euripides is simply revealing a mental struggle
which is going on in the mind of the speaker, as to the validity of an oath taken
under certain conditions — by one under compulsion, by the other in ignorance.
To the present writer the poet seems to be simply true to nature. It must have
been the danger in circumstances such as these which made a greater than him-
self forbid the taking of such oaths to His followers : " I say unto you, Swear
not at all."
The tragedy of Hippolytus will ever stand forth, not as an apology for per-
jury, but as a noble example of constancy even to death to the solemn promise
made.^
As the result of a careful study of his writings, we venture to affirm that
every unprejudiced reader of Euripides will see in him an upholder of the great
unwritten law of the sacredness of the oath, written and engraven on the con-
science of humanity. Two further examples of the connection between the
gods and the oath, as popularly understood, must suffice here. When the
" barbarian " Andromache is deceived by Menelaus, and drawn from her asylum
by his promise, afterwards broken, to spare her child, her first thought is {Andr.y
439), " Are the gods no longer gods? are they not just?"
And again in the Phoenissce the inhabitants of Thebes are twice represented
as fearing the coming of the seven princes on the ground that justice is on the
side of Polyneikes. Why? because Eteocles, the present King of Thebes, has
broken the covenant made with his brother as to their alternate rule over the city.
" They come here with justice {sun dike),'' says the old pedagogue to Antigone
(Phoen.j 156), "therefore, I fear lest the gods decide according to the right."
And the chorus say (ibid., 256) that they tremble before the "might of Poly-
neikes, and be/ore the divine power {to theothen), since he cometh not unjustly to
the conflict ; " for the inheritance is kept from him in violation of the oath.
VI. The Law of the Guest-friend and the Suppliant.
(a) Ilie Guest-friend. — In addition to the numerous allusions to the sanctity
of the relationship known among the Greeks as " guest-friendship " — allusions
which run like a golden thread through the old legends of Helen and Medeia —
we have in Euripides another notable example of the action of the unwritten
law in the " revenge " taken by Hecabe on Polymestor, King of Thrace. This
story forms one of the main incidents in the intensely pathetic tragedy to which
the old queen of Troy lends her name.
The scene of the drama is the shore of the Thracian peninsula, opposite the
Phrygian coast, where the Greek army, with Hecabe and the other Trojar
captives, are temporarily encamped, having been detained, on their voyage to
Greece, by a calm sent by Achilles, whose spirit appears and demands that
Polyxena, the youngest daughter of Priam and Hecabe, shall be sacrificed on
his grave, as his " meed of honour " from the spoils of Troy.
All this is narrated in a prologue spoken by the Eidolon (ghost) of Polydorus,
youngest son of Hecabe and Priam, who further relates his own history, and
tells how his father had entrusted him, while still a boy, to the care of his
guest-friend Polymestor, king of the richest part of Thrace, sending secretly
with the lad a large sum of money, which was intended as a provision for the
remaining children of Priam in the event of the Phrygian city being destroyed.
So long as the walls of Troy still stood and Hector lived, Polymestor remained
^ See remarks on p. 458.
472 EUKIPIDES
true to his charge ; but when the fortune of war had changed, and Priam and
Hector were no more, then the boy was treacherously murdered by his father's
trusted guest-friend, " for the sake of his gold," and his body thrown into the
sea. There, " unmourned and without a grave," it was tossed about for three
days by the waves, whilst the spirit of Polydorus escaped from its shell, wan-
dered on earth, waiting for the fulfilment of the promise given to him by the
gods of the unseen world, that his dishonoured body should be found, and buried
by his mother's own hands.
Of all that has happened, Hecabe has a terrible presentiment, for the
phantasm of Polydorus has appeared to her in a dream, and warned her of the
fresh afflictions that await her. On that very day, says the Eidolon, Hecabe
shall behold the dead bodies of her youngest son and daughter, for Polyxena
shall be slain on the grave of Achilles, and his own corpse shall be thrown up
by the sea, and brought to the poor mother, that it may be buried by her
loving hands, and Polydorus thus obtain the rest for which he longs.^
All falls out in accordance with the prediction of Polydorus. Polyxena is
sacrificed, and hardly has Hecabe had time to hear from the Greek herald the
story of her daughter's noble end, when the body of her murdered son is carried
in by a woman who has found it exposed on the beach, where it had been
washed up by the waves. The mutilated body tells its own tale. Polydorus
has not fallen into the sea by misadventure — he is the victim of foul play.
The wretched mother at once perceives the meaning of the warning dream in
which she had seen a tender hind pursued and destroyed by a ravening wolf.
It is her guest-friend, she exclaims, who has done this ruthless, this unnamable
deed. Agamemnon appears at this juncture to urge upon Hecabe the necessity
of burying the remains of her daughter without delay ; and Hecabe, in her
agony of grief, falls as a suppliant at the feet of her direst enemy, and begs of
him to intervene in her behalf, and punish the man who, " fearing neither the
gods below nor those above, has committed this unholiest of crimes. I, indeed,
may be a slave and weak," continues Hecabe, " but the Gods are strong, and
their Law rules with might." This law, she reminds the king, is in his keeping.^
If it is destroyed, if those who slay the guest-friend and trample under foot
the sacred things of the gods escape unpunished, then will nothing more be
lasting upon earth. ** king ! " she concludes {Hec.^ 786 et seq.), " O greatest
light of Hellas, have pity ! lend thine arm of vengeance to the grey-haired
woman — even although she be a nothing, yet hearken ! for it becometh well a
noble man to minister to justice, and in all places and at all times to chastise
the evil-doer."
Agamemnon is touched by the grief of the royal lady — still a lady and
a queen, although a captive. He has just witnessed the heroic death of her
daughter, the maiden who was sister to that virgin whom he had chosen
(sacrilegiously) for himself, Cassandra. The wounds of the lad so treache-
rously murdered plead eloquently that justice may be meted out upon the
murderer. Still, with characteristic cowardice, Agamemnon hesitates and
finally refuses to assist the aged queen. He pities her and her son, he says,
and would willingly accede to her request and punish this impious guest-friend
" both for the sake of the gods and of justice," but — he fears the people, the
Greek army, who regard the Thracian king as their friend, and the murdered
^ See ante for an account of the ancient Homeric beliefs concerning the dead. So long as
the body remained unburied, the spirit, it was supposed, could not obtain entrance to the house
of Hades, but hovered disconsolately on the shores of the river.
* Cf. section on Homer, where the functions of the king are described.
THE GEE AT LAWS 473
son of the Trojan Priam as an enemy. They will suspect him, he says, of
espousing the cause of Priam's house out of love to Cassandra.
" Alas ! " exclaims Hecabe, " there is not among mortals One Free man,"
if this mighty prince, this " great light of Hellas," so fears the multitude that
he dares not carry out the retribution which he acknowledges to be demanded
alike by the gods and by human justice. She herself, she says, will set him
free from his fears ; she herself, a weak and despised woman, with the help
of others equally weak, will carry out the punishment ; all she asks is that
Agamemnon shall stand aside, and not assist the evil-doer.
To this Agamemnon assents, and Hecabe quickly devises with her fellow-
captives an awful plan of vengeance. She sends a messenger to the Thracian
king, begging him to come to her at once with his two sons, as she has some-
thing of importance to tell him, something that concerns him even more
than herself. Polymestor, little suspecting that his sin is known, complies
with her wish, and, in answer to her inquiries, assures her that the youth,
whose dead body lies within a yard or two of him, is alive and well, and longing
to see his mother. Hecabe, restraining her indignation, induces him to send
away his retinue, and then entices him, with a story of a buried treasure, to
enter her tent alone with his sons. Here he is surrounded by the Trojan
women, who deprive him of his eyesight, and slay the children.
The wretched man, crawling out of the tent and feeling his way like a
" four-footed beast of the forest," as he says, appeals in a frenzy of passion to
Agamemnon to avenge him on the women, asserting that he had slain the son
of Priam out of friendship to the Greeks. In vain. Agamemnon cannot accept
this version of the motive which had impelled Polymestor to the deed ; he knows
the story of the gold, and declines to interfere.
" To you," he says {Hec, 1247), " i* ^^7 seem a light thing to slay guest-
friends — but to us, to these Hellenes " (pointing to his retinue), '* the deed is
infamous. How then could I, did I pronounce thee guiltless, myself escape
censure ? Impossible ! Since thou hast dared to do what is base, so take the
consequences."
" Atrocious " as the " revenge " of Hecabe may seem, then, it is — viewed by
the light even of the age of Euripides — not so much " revenge " as a justly
merited punishment, carried out by the nearest of kin, as avenger of blood,
because the king, to whose hands, in the heroic age, was entrusted the guardian-
ship of the sacred laws, refuses to execute justice. " An eye for an eye — a
tooth for a tooth — life for life" — is the maxim universally acted upon by
Phrygian and by Hellene as by Hebrew. To her compatriots, the revenge of
Hecabe is a noble deed, bravely carried out. Just as the Hebrews sang :
" Blessed above women shall Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite be, blessed
above women in the tent," because " she put her hand to the nail and her right
hand to the hammer and smote " the enemy of their country — so do the women
of Troy praise Hecabe and extol the justice of her action. The verdict of the
chorus when Polymestor enters the tent to meet his doom is {Hec, 1029) : " He
is called to account by justice {dike) — is found guilty by the gods — destruction
awaiteth him."
{h) The Suppliant — The beautiful old law that the strong is bound to defend
the helpless who casts himself upon his protection in the name of Zeus, the
suppliant's god, receives ample illustration in the writings of our poet. The
drama which bears the name of the Suirpliants naturally treats of the subject,
but as we shall have to deal with this later, we may leave it for the present,
and confine our attention to another play, the Heracleidas, in which the right
of the suppliant forms the mainspring of the action.
474 EUEIPIDES
The HeracleidsR, as the name implies, takes up the history of the descendants
of Heracles. Eurystheus, King of Argos, the relentless taskmaster of the hero
during his lifetime, continues to display his hatred and fear of the race by
persecuting the children after the father's death. He dreads, not unnaturally,
lest the sons of Heracles should call him to account for his conduct to their
father, and seize his throne. Not satisfied, therefore, with banishing them
from Argos, he is resolved to exterminate them altogether, and pursues them
into every land where, led by lolaus, their father's comrade-in-arms, they
desire to settle, announcing to its prince that he must choose between the
expulsion of the Heraclids and war with Argos. No ruler had hitherto been
found willing to face this danger. As soon as it is seen how weak their leader
is, how small the children, deprived of a father's care, they are driven forth,
and forced to seek another asylum.
When the drama opens, the fugitives have finally reached Attica, where
they have taken refuge " with the gods " until their doom is once more pro-
nounced by the powers that be. The young daughters of Heracles, under the
care of their grandmother, Alcmene, the aged mother of the hero, have sought
safety within a temple ; the boys, with old lolaus, holding the wool-entwined
boughs of the suppliant, encircle the sacred altar of Zeus. Hardly have they
thus entrenched themselves " in sanctuary " than their old enemy is upon
them. The herald of Eurystheus appears, and demands that the children
shall instantly be given up to him. This lolaus refuses to do, whereupon the
herald throws him down ; the old man shouts for help, and his cries bring
first the townspeople, finally the King of Athens, to his help. This king is
Demophon, son of Theseus, and to him, as to the rulers of the other states
whither the fugitives had fled, is presented the alternative : Give up the
children, or prepare for war. Demophon nobly chooses the latter course ; a
battle ensues between the Argives and the Athenians, in which the former are
defeated, and the tyrant Eurystheus, whose life had been spared by his captors,
is delivered over to Alcmene, by whom he is put to death.
Such is the main outline of the story. With it is interwoven the pathetic
tradition of the heroic self-sacrifice of Macaria, eldest daughter of Heracles.
This will engage our attention later on. Here we would only point out the
part played by the unwritten law as the motif of the drama.
(a) The Suppliant. — When Copreus, the herald of Eurystheus, summons
lolaus to surrender, and threatens him with death by stoning, the old man's
retort is {Her., 6i) : "Not so! for the altar of Zeus protecteth me, and this
free land wherein we stand." And when Copreus endeavours to attain his
end by force, lolaus' cry for help is (69) : " To the rescue, ye men of Athens !
They are dragging us hence, us the suppliants of Zeus ! The sacred wreaths
are desecrated, the city is disgraced, the gods dishonoured ! "
(5) T%.e chorus as im2)artial spectators. — The warning of the chorus, the
freemen of Athens, to the herald is couched in the same strain (loi) : " 'Tis
meet, stranger," they say, " to reverence {aideisthai) the suppliants of the gods,
and not to drive them from the seat of the gods by main force. That crime
high justice {potnia dike) will not permit." And again, when Copreus urges
them to deliver up the children, their reply is (107) : " 'Twere godless in
the state (atheos — atheistical), did she turn away the supplicant prayer of
strangers."
(c) The Supreme Power. — When Demophon himself appears upon the scene,
he declares that "three reasons" compel him (anankazousi — force him, of
necessity) 7Lot to yield to the demand of the herald : " The greatest of these,"
he says (236 et seq.), " is Zeus {to men megiston Zeus), by whose altar ye are
THE GREAT LAWS
475
seated as suppliants ; " the second reason is the relationship which had existed
between his father Theseus and Heracles, the father of the suppliants ; the
third reason is the sense of shame, to aischron — the disgrace that would fall
upon him, were he, as ruler of the land, cowardly to give up suppliants at the
bidding of Argos. Were he to do this, says the king, he would no longer deem
himself a dweller in a free land — such a deed were as bad as hanging !
Three motives urge me on, says the king— God, gratitude, fear of disgrace —
but the greatest of these is God !
Copreus finally suggests a compromise : " Take thou them to the frontier,"
he says, " and we will conduct them thence," an artifice which is met with fine
Hellenic contempt: "thou art become a fool (skaios),'' says the king (259),
" thinking thyself wiser than the god ! " — in other words, " Thinkest thou that
the god of suppliants can be so outwitted? that my responsibility for those
committed to my care stops short at the frontier ? "
These quotations, much as they suffer from being taken out of their pathetic
setting, will suffice to show at least the truth of our assertion. The grand law of
the right of the suppliant to protection — with its fellow-law of the guest-friend,
the basis of all international law — had its roots, not in any convention or agree-
ment formally entered into by the peoples of the earth, but far deeper, in the
sanctities of the human heart, the consciousness, suneidesis,^ of the existence of
a power that watched over these sanctities, a power invisible but all-knowing,
that punished the overstepping, and blessed the observance of them.
" Fear not," says the king (248), " that any one shall drag thee or the
children from this altar ; " three reasons compel me not to deliver you up : God,
gratitude, honour, but " the greatest of these is God. " And when his decision
to trust to the arbitrament of war is made known, the comment of the chorus
(amid the naturat excitement caused by the intelligence that a powerful force
is already on the frontier) is (766) : —
" Zeus ( = God) is my ally. I will not fear."
VII. Blood-g'Uilt. — The deepening of the sense of moral guilt, the mental
anguish incurred by the shedding of blood, is evidenced in a very striking pas-
sage in the Hercules Furens. After the fit of madness sent by Hera has passed
away, and Heracles discovers in the dead bodies of wife and children what he,
all-unwitting, has done, the sense of disgrace and shame presses upon him no
less keenly than the intensity of his grief. He realises that henceforward he will
be an outcast — dare present himself in no temple, join no friendly circle. To
such a pass has he, the son of Zeus, come. The misery has befallen him through
no fault of his own — nevertheless, it is there.
The stain of blood is on him, the blood of those nearest and dearest to him,
and in his agony he exclaims {Her. Fur., J 295), "What shall I do? whither
shall I turn ? With voice forbidding, earth calleth to me. Touch me not ! — the
sea, the founts of rivers, ' Fa&s me not I ' — and bound like Ixion to the wheel,
I move in chains." The curse of Cain is on him, " Grievous to mortals," says
the chorus in the Medeia (1268), when the mother in her awful revenge is
about to take the life of her children. " Heavy is the curse that falleth on
those who have shed on earth the blood of kinsfolk, and anguish cmresponding
is brought from God on the house."
Yin. The Rights of the Dead. — It is evident that the sacred obligation
of providing a last resting-place for the shrine of the human spirit is fully re-
cognised by one so entirely in sympathy with the noblest elements of human
nature as Euripides. What the national religious ideas on the subject were
^ Knowledge with some one else.
476 EURIPIDES
we have already examined in our section on Sophocles, and need only point out
here, that, in reverence for this great Hellenic law, Euripides goes even beyond
his great contemporary. Sophocles, in the Antigone, exhibits a sister sacrificing
her own life rather than neglect the duty of giving the last rites to a brother ;
but Euripides, in the Suppliants, shows us the same feeling at work in a stranger
on behalf of strangers. He recognises the right of the dead in its true light as
an international law, part of the common heritage of Hellas.
Let us briefly glance at the drama. In connection with our present subject
it has many claims on our attention. We have already hinted that, in it, Euri-
pides seems to vie with the older poet in his reverential treatment of all that
commends itself as truly divine to his own mind. In the Suppliants, Euripides,
the rationalist, lays aside his weapons for the time, desists from his trenchant
analysis of mythological fables, and contents himself with a sweet and tender
exposition of the great religious truths which lay behind mythology as the sun
behind a cloud. The beneficent initiative and guiding of Divine providence, the
honour due to the Divine power, the respect and affection due to parents, the
gentle treatment of the erring as due from one frail human being to another,
the care of suppliants ; finally, the right of the dead, and the recognition of
the grand fact that the most menial office is ennobled when done out of pity
for others, all find beautiful and truthful expression in this simple old drama.
The Suppliants are the mothers of those princes of Argos who had accom-
panied Polyneikes of Thebes in the disastrous expedition undertaken against
his native city, and against the known will of the gods. All have perished ex-
cept Adrastus, King of Argos, the leader of the united forces. Kreon of Thebes,
now in authority there, refuses to bury the bodies of the slain, and Adrastus
and the mothers of the fallen heroes have come to Attica to protest against this
breach of Hellenic law, and to ask help of Theseus the king. When the drama
opens, they appear at Eleusis as suppliants before the temple' of the two god-
desses, Demeter and her daughter Persephone, who reign supreme in the lower
world, whither the spirits of the departed have gone. So long as the body re-
mains unburied, however, the spirit cannot enter into rest,i a reflection which
intensifies the natural grief of the mothers. In order, therefore, to give the
more effect to their plea for redress, they appeal first to -^^thra, mother of
King Theseus. She, who has with them the common bond of motherhood, will
also feel with them|(they imagine), and urge her son to take up arms in their
behalf.
iEthra does press their claims, ably and successfully, as we know, and uses
no lower argument than the honour due to the Divine power and the law of
Hellas (p. 461). On these grounds, and on his own reputation as a warrior and
a noble man, she rests her appeal, and Theseus — after a show of hesitation, pur-
posely made to enforce upon Adrastus a sense of the sin which he has committed
against the gods — consents to undertake the task of rescuing the bodies of the
slain.
In vain does the Theban herald (sent by Kreon to demand the expulsion of
the suppliants) seek to dissuade him by threats, or by the still more potent
argument of self-love (Supp., 465 et seq.) : "Argos is nothing to Theseus; he
does not belong to it." The king rejects the selfish plea with scorn, and re-
plies (525) that in demanding the burial of the dead he is upholding the law
of all the Hellenes.
"Thinkest thou," he says again (537), *' that by not burying the dead thou
harmest Argos only ? Nay ! this is a matter common to all Hellas."
If his peaceful and just demand is not granted, he adds, he will proceed to
1 Of. the episode of Polydorus in the Hecaht, p. 471.
THE IDEALS 477
take the dead by force of arras (560), '* Never shall it go forth to Hellas that a
law, ancient and from the gods, entrusted to me and to the State of Pandion,
was trodden under foot." And with the approval of his own subjects, and the
verdict of the chorus ringing in his ears (565) : " Be of good courage ! for by
upholding the majesty of justice, thou wilt escape many censures of men,"
Theseus starts on this new expedition against Thebes, one undertaken on
behalf of the gods and the " common " law of Hellas.
His efforts are successful ; the bodies of the soldiery are reverently interred ;
those of the princes brought back to their mourning relatives. And, mark ! the
remains of the princely dead are entrusted to no servant ; they are washed and
made ready for the funeral pyre by his own royal hands. The hero Theseus
performs for these his lifeless suppliants, the representatives to him of two great
laws, the menial offices of a slave. Pity and piety, in Hellenic opinion, could
no further go. Thus Theseus showed " how he loved the decul " (764).
VIII.— THE IDEALS
It is in any attempt to deal with the ideals of the master that the real
difficulty of a commentator on Euripides begins — a, difficulty caused not by the
poverty of the materials at our disposal, but by their wealth ; for we are
confronted by a veritable embarras de richesses. An Hellene of the Hellenes,
Euripides gives up none of the ancient ideals of his people. The aidos, glory,
the mean — these and others meet us in his pages, glowing with fresh beauty ;
and in addition we have new ideals of human life which stamp the man who
gave expression to them as, so far, the greatest of the great Hellenic fore-
runners of Christ. This assertion we hope to justify by the proofs which we
shall lay before the reader. Meantime we would direct his attention to a
passage which seems to offer a fitting introduction to this part of our subject.
It occurs in a speech of Orestes in the Electra ; but, in order to appreciate it
fully, we must take a brief glance at the circumstances under which it is
uttered.
Electra is a younger daughter of Agamemnon, and the only one who,
according to the tradition, remains faithful to the memory of her murdered
father. Hellenic customs call upon the nearest of kin either to avenge the
death, or to see that it is avenged ; and, true to her idea of duty and filial love,
Electra will not condone the sin of her mother, Clytemnestra, nor show honour
to the man who shared it, ^gisthus, the usurper who now bears rule in
Agamemnon's place. She refuses all the joys of life, and seems only to exist
for the hope of carrying out what she conceives to be a righteous vengeance.
Naturally enough, she becomes an object of suspicion to Clytemnestra and
of hatred to ^gisthus, who wishes to kill her, and is only prevented from
executing his wish by his consort. Such, in brief, is the outline of the tradi-
tion concerning Electra, a tradition followed in the main by all three of the
great Greek tragedians.
In the hands of Euripides, however, the story receives a new development :
the guilty man who sits on Agamemnon's throne conceives a plan whereby
Electra's plans of vengeance may be frustrated. Any husband or son of hers
would necessarily (he is aware) be his foe ; he takes measures, therefore, in
advance, to weaken the foe, and to this end gives the princess in marriage to
a man, of good family, indeed, but poor, so poor that he is forced to follow the
plough for a livelihood. No son born in wedlock such as this need cause a
thrill of fear !
478 EURIPIDES
^gisthus, however, has mistaken his man. The husband chosen for
Electra dares not refuse the proffered bride ; he is compelled for his own
safety to fall in, ostensibly, with the plan of the powers that be ; but, in reality,
he receives Electra only as his ward and treats her as an honoured guest, to
whom he offers an asylum and protection until such time as her brother and
natural protector, Orestes, the exiled son of Agamemnon, shall appear.
In due course Orestes does appear, and when he learns the character of the
man whose poor abode his sister shares — a dwelling " fit only for a ditcher or
a cowherd," but made glorious by the great-heartedness of its owner — his
amazement finds vent in the following words {EL, 252) : —
" There is no certain touchstone for true manliness " (euandria, i.e. no
certainty as to where we may expect to find it) ; " for in the inborn qualities
of mortals reigns much confusion. Oft have I seen the son of noble sire a
nothing, whilst children of bad men are good. Want^ have I seen within
the rich man's mind, and judgment mature beneath the poor man's robe.
How, then, shall we sift {krinei) the matter? By riches? Wealth were
indeed a sorry test. By poverty? Nay, for to her there clingeth this
disease that, by constraint of want, she teacheth evil unto men. Or shall
we have recourse to arms? But who, by merely looking at the spear,
dare testify the bearer of it to be good man and true iagathos)1 'Twere
better, after all, to leave the question undecided, for here we find a man —
neither accounted great among the Argives, nor himself inflated with birth-
pride — one of the people and yet noble {aristos = 2^ true aristocrat)." ^
So far Orestes. Now our poet himself takes the word, and as though
irresistibly led on by his train of thought, suddenly turns to his countrymen
with the passionate outburst (^Z., 367-390): "Will ye never understand,
ye, who, full of vain opinions (empty tests of glory), ^ err in judgment? Will
ye not learn to judge of mortals by their dealings, their intercourse with man,*
and test the noble eugeneis by their cJiaracter (ethesin) ? For such men — true
noblemen — serve well both home and State. Bodies of men, empty of mind,
are naught but pillars in the market-place. Neither in conflict doth the
strong endure much longer than the weak, for disposition here decideth and a
noble soul (eupsychia).''
In these few lines Euripides plainly indicates how completely the ancient
ideals are passing away. The grand old words — euandreia, eugeneia, eupsychia,
every one of which occurs in some form in the passage — no longer represent
strength of arm, noble birth, mere animal courage. They are used, one and
all, in connection with a man, a plougher of the fields, whose claim to respect —
to be considered manly, noble, courageous — rests solely on his moral character,
his chivalry towards a helpless woman. The " power of the fist " is no longer
highest arbiter. The body and bodily strength, says our poet, devoid of
mind (phrenon = hra,in), is a mere mass of flesh — its owner nothing better — of
no more avail amid the thousand and one problems of the new time than " a
lifeless statue in the market-place." And even in the arbitrament of arms, he
argues, it is the spirit that decides the day — the eupsychia — the noble courage,
that may find a home within the weakest as within the strongest frame.
This being so, the old tests, to the poet's discerning glance, are valueless.
Wealth and poverty alike are nothing. " Honour and shame from no con-
^ Zmos = famine.
2 The reputed husband of Electra is indeed of good family, but Orestes does not know this.
From the poet's standpoint the meaning is the same — he is still an aristos, although his wealth
is gone.
' Kenon doxasmaton. •* HomUia.
THE IDEALS 479
dition rise"— a consideration which leads naturally to his first great ideal,
TRUE EQUALITY — the man of the people may be as noble, as much of an
aristeus, as the born aristocrat.
This thought, again, leads naturally to insistence on the only real test of
worth : Will ye never understand that a noble soul is revealed in character
and acts? — that by " their fimits ye shall know men" ?
And what are these fruits of real worth as they appeared to this old
heathen (?) thinker ?
The very fruits which, later, came supremely to maturity in the grandest
of human lives — generosity and love, compassion and self-sacrifice.
The Older Ideals. — The mean finds beautiful illustration in the character
of Achilles and of Ion. The former declares (Iph. Aul, gig et seq.) that, as
the pupil of the best of men, old Cheiron, he has learned to have " simple
ways " — i.e. to love truth and sincerity, to grieve over the evils of life, and to
rejoice over its honours, equally, tvith moderation (metrios), for it is men who
are thus minded, he adds, who go through life with judgment {gnomes meta).
The mean is here the thoughtfully chosen middle path of action.
The praises of the mean, again, as a state or condition of life — i.e. the
middle state, equally remote from wealth and want, are sung repeatedly.
During the Great Peritekontaetes, the fifty years that elapsed between the close
of the Persian and the breaking out of the Peloponnesian War, there had
grown up in Athens that bulwark of the State, the middle class, and our
poet is never tired of descanting on its advantages. In the great speech
of Theseus in the Suppliants (237 et seq.), there occurs a description of the
three classes in the State — a passage so irrelevant to the matter in hand,
that it leaves the impression of having been inserted merely in order to give
expression to the poet's own ideas on the subject. There are, he says, three
kinds of citizens in the State —
(i) The wealthy. These are useless and ever crave for more.
(2) Those ivho have not, and lack the wherewithal to live. These are given
to envy, and, deceived by the tongues of bad leaders, they become pricks and
thorns in the side of those who have.
(3) But they who stand in midst of both — (neither puffed up by wealth,
nor harassed by want) — these preserve the State ; they guard its order and
maintain its discipline.
In the same sense, the nurse in the Medeia laments the unbridled passion
of her foster-daughter : " Fearful is the pride of princes," she says. " Rarely
themselves compelled to yield, and ruling many with the strong hand, it is
hard to turn them from their anger. Better, therefore, is it " — so she reasons —
" to be accustomed to live with equals. May it be my fate," she adds (Med.,
119), "to grow old, if not in greatness, yet in security and peace. For the
very name of the moderate {ton metrion) conquers. 'Tis by far the best that
men can wish for. The overplus, the ' too-much,' brings no good to mortals,
but destruction to the house if once the anger of the god be roused."
But not only does the middle state in life ensure safety to society and to
the individual, it also brings with it another very great blessing and one that
commended itself instinctively as the choicest to the Hellenic mind. This is
its comparative freedom from care and anxiety, its sc7ioZe = leisure. This
aspect of the mean is pointed out in the noble speech wherein Ion declines the
offer of his supposed father, Xuthus, to accompany him as heir- expectant of
his throne, to Athens: that much-vaunted thing, royalty, he says {Ion, 621),
is an empty show. Outwardly, indeed, it looks sweet and alluring ; but seen
48o EURIPIDES
from within, at home, it is grievous, a^nd full of care. For who can be happy,
who taste enjoyment, that passes his days in constant fear of lurking danger ?
" Rather would I," says Ion, "live in happiness as one of the people, than be
a king, compelled (by force of circumstances) to be on friendly terms with the
bad, and, trembling for his life, to hate the good. But," continues Ion, " you
will say, perhaps, that gold outweighs all this — that to be wealthy is to be
happy? Nay!" decides the youth, "I love neither to be blamed (as a rich
man) because I keep my money in my hands — nor yet to be overburdened (as
a poor one) with toil. May the middle path {riietria) never become distasteful
to me ! " And then he goes on to draw that beautiful picture of the life which
he had led at Delphi, as an unknown youth, " one of the people" — the quiet,
retired life, which still has attractions so strong for those who are sufficient
unto themselves — the life which offers what Euripides emphatically declares
to be '* sweetest of all to men — schole = leisure ! " — leisure for study, for art,
for thought.
Finally, let us note that Euripides, as a true prophet, does not fail to warn
his countrymen, in his own fashion, against a certain sophistical perversion
of the genuine Hellenic doctrine of the mean. The reader will recollect the
cynical advice given by the nurse to the unhappy Phaedra, when she bids her
cease from the struggle with temptation. The advice thus given is, however,
in keeping with her character, for the woman is introduced to the reader at
the first as a staunch upholder of the mean. Her favourite apophthegm is
{Hipp., 264): "I praise the ^too-mucW {to lian) less than the 'nothing-too-
much ' {to meden agan), and wise men agree with me."
The nurse, however, interprets {Hipp., 433 et seq.) the old saying of the
wise men in her own way by counselling her charge against "too-much"
goodness, " too-much " self-control. Let Phaedra be content, she says, if the
good in her is more than the evil. To attempt more than this were sheer
presumption, hybris, for it would be to try to be better than the gods, who
certainly, according to the myths, were not troubled by the too-much in the
ways of righteousness.
Glory. — The counterfeit of another Hellenic ideal — ambition and self-
seeking posing as the thirst for true glory — is also detected and exposed by
Euripides. Philotimia — in its primary sense a noble word, love of honour,
generous rivalry in the good — has, like many another noble word, been abused,
and come to have a baser meaning. In the Phoenissoe (529) it is that which
causes the strife between the two sons of OEdipus — the desire of one to become
sole possessor of the throne — and Euripides therefore calls this grand old
Philotimia " the worst of goddesses," a daemon who has ruined many a house
and state where she was worshipped.
Elsewhere, true fame, the generous appreciation by others of some
excellence in oneself — doxa — is to our poet what it was to every Hellene —
the crowning charm of life, that something, the absence of which spoils all
other blessings. The early Greeks had no notion that talents should be
exercised in stillness, or valiant deeds done in a corner. Until brought to
the touchstone of competition in the blaze of the noonday sun, talent and
valour, they imagined, availed their possessor little. The cynical speech of
Jason to Medeia, with which we are already acquainted (p. 466), is simply
an expression of this great factor in Hellenic character. When Medeia
reproaches Jason with ingratitude, his contention is that he has given to
her more than she could ever give to him ; for, not only has she been made
acquainted, through him, with justice and Hellenic laws, but, he adds,
" every one in Hellas knows that thou art wise, and thou hast won glory —
THE IDEALS 481
doxa! " As for himself, Jason says {Med., 534), he would not wish to possess
either wealth or the power of melody of an Orpheus, if Fortune did not grant
him therewith distinction — episemos — i.e. if he did not stand out before the
world as a marked man, stamped with the approval of his fellows — a sentiment
which, we may be perfectly sure, would be applauded by an Athenian audience
to the echo.
Even more significant is the passage in which Hecabe finds consolation
for her woes in the thought that her story will be sung by poets, and go down
to posterity. She, once Queen of Troy, is a slave ; her husband and sons are
slain ; her city lies in ruins ; her grandson. Hector's child, has just been torn
from its mother, thrown from the battlements, and killed. And yet, amid
all this, one ray of light darts through the mind of the bowed-down woman ;
she suddenly raises herself upright and exclaims to her companions in
misery {Tro., 1237): —
" dearest women ! "
A something in the ejaculation, some alteration in the tone, takes her
fellow-captives by surprise : —
" Hecabe ! " they say, " what means this cry ? " — what is this thought of
joy that has flashed upon thee like a message from on high ?
And Hecabe proceeds to explain it. The gods, she says, have willed
nothing more than her miseries, and Troia they had hated beyond all cities —
they had offered sacrifice in vain. All this was true. Nevertheless she adds,
and here is the consolation : If God had not visited them thus, overturned
them, thrown them down to the ground, "w;e," she says, "being unknown
to fame, would have remained unknown, nor have given to the Muses themes
for songs in which we shall live for ever."
The thought that her story will be sung in time to come "in songs
imperishable," is to Hecabe not only consolation, but something more — com-
pensation for her woes. The thought of glory to the Hellenes was, in fact,
nearly akin to the hope of immortality.
The aidos is to Euripides at least as much as to Homer. A short analysis
of a few passages in which the word occurs will suffice to exhibit some of its
many meanings.
(i) In its primary sense, aidos signifies, as we recollect (p. 284), that
honourahle shame which will deter a man from doing anything that might
bring disgrace upon him. It thus differs from aiscJiyne, which denotes rather
shame after the event, the disgrace as actually existing. In Euripides the
two words are generally distinct, although they occasionally seem to overlap.
Even in the overlapping, however, the " distinction with a difference " is
often clear enough.
(a) We have a beautiful example of this in the Madness of Heracles.
Just after the hero awakes from his stupor and discovers the awful deed
which he has committed, his friend, Theseus of Athens, is seen approaching.
Heracles immediately covers his head, with the words {Her. Main., 11 60):
" I am ashamed {aischynomai) of the evil deeds which I have done." When
Theseus asks Amphitryon, however, why Heracles has covered his head, the
old man replies (i 199), " Because he is ashamed {aidomenos) to meet thine eye."
Here the chief actor in the scene, acutely conscious of his own disgrace, uses
the expression aischynomai, whilst Amphitryon, who knows that the deed
was committed unconsciously, whilst the Hero "was not himself," attributes
the shame to the aidos. The mind of the real Heracles revolts from the
atrocity perpetrated by the mad Heracles, and the aidos compels him to cover
his head " in very shame."
2 H
482 EURIPIDES
(b) A distinction even more subtle is drawn in the Hecahe. When the old
Trojan queen has sent for Polymestor (the Thracian king, whom she intends
to punish for his treachery), she receives him veiled, and accosts him thus
(see ante, p. 472): "I am ashamed (aischynomai) to look thee in the face,
Polymestor, amid these troubles which encompass me, for shame itself (aidos)
prevents me from meeting with open glance those who knew me in happier
days " (Hec, 968). Here the aischyne springs from the aidos. It is because
Hecabe possesses the aidos, the noble sense of honour, the royal conscious-
ness of what she has been outwardly, is still inwardly, that that other con-
sciousness — of being a slave — brings with it a sense of disgrace, aischyne,
which is intolerable.^
(c) The same distinction is noticeable in the Orestes. Helen has just been
brought back to Greece by Menelaus, who sends her to Mycenae under cover
of the night on account of the feeling that prevails against her among the
people. Next day she says to her niece Electra, that she would fain honour
the grave of her sister Clytemnestra^ but cannot go to it herself. She there-
fore begs Electra to discharge this duty for her, and take the customary
offerings of the dead. Electra inquires why she will not go herself, and
Helen's reply is {Or., 98) : —
" I am ashamed {aischynomai) to show myself to the Argives."
'"'■Late comes the thought of wisdom to thee," bitterly retorts Electra;
" disgracefully {aischros) didst thou leave thy home." The meaning is : 'Tis
a pity this sense of disgrace {aischyne) comes so late — the disgrace really
began then, when thou didst leave thy home.
"Thou speakest truly — but not as a friend," replies Helen meekl}^
Electra, however, is not to be mollified, and asks cynically what aidos
{i.e. what nohle shame) now deters her from facing the Mycenean folk? — a
thrust which brings out the confession that it is no real aidos, no noble shame,
but bodily fear which keeps Helen within the castle walls — the fear of those
whose sons had perished before Troy. Helen knows that her life would be
in danger were she to show herself openly, and Electra confirms the fear by
telling her that every tongue in Mycenae cries out against her. The expres-
sion, therefore, which Helen uses of herself at the beginning of the dialogue
is correct — aischynomai = I am disgraced. Had she possessed the aidos, the
fear of disgrace, the aischyne, disgrace itself, would never have come upon her.
{d) As shame the aidos came to have (as Euripides himself tells us in the
Hippolytus) a bad sense. If people realised this, he says, they would not have
given the same name to two different things. This bad aidos is either {a) some
confusion with aischyne wherein the aidos = disgrace, or it is {b), as we ventured
to suggest (p. 480), the " too-much " of modesty, that difiidence and distrust of
his own powers which prevents a man from accepting responsibility and coming
to the front in public life, whereby, says the poet, shame comes to his house.
(2 ) Then, again, the aidos is — still in the strict primary sense — the honourable
shame which fiees the stigma attaching to cowardice. Thus, in the HeracleidcB
(813), the servant who has been sent to inform Alcmene of the victory won by
Athens, in giving an account of the battle, relates how Hyllus, her grandson,
the eldest son of Heracles, had flung himself from his chariot between the con-
^ The whole passage is dramatically fine. The real reason why Hecabe will not look
Polymestor in the face is, of course, because she dare not betray the revengeful feelings which
actuate her. She is so conscious of this, that she hastens to put forward another excuse for
remaining veiled, viz. that custom forbids women to look men in the face. Polymestor, in his
turn, appears rather surprised that Hecabe should consider apology necessary, and simply
replies, "I quite understand." Hecabe, in fact, very naturally, overdoes her part, in her
anxiety to conceal her intentions.
THE IDEALS 483
tending forces, and proposed to Eurystheus of Argos that the question at issue
should be decided by single combat. The whole army shouts applause, the
word, they say, is well and courageously spoken, but Eurystheus refuses the
offer. Says the messenger emphatically : —
" He, the general, was neither ashamed {aidestheU) of his words nor of his
own faint heart, but showed himself most cowardly {kaldstos). And such an one
was he who came to enslave the sons of Heracles ! "
(3) Yet again the aidos retains its old and most beautiful meaning of re-
verence for the Divine unwritten laws ; that holy shame which will not let a
man do violence to his own best impulses and feelings.
(a) Reverence for Suppliants.— In the Heracleid(je (101) the chorus bids the
Argive herald " reverence (aideisthai) the suppliants of the gods, nor attempt
to drive them from the altar by force." And in the same drama it is said (236)
that the disgrace {to aischron) which most of all a man must flee, is the giving
up of suppliants (the defenceless) at the bidding of a stronger.
Again in the Hecahe (286), when the old queen is pleading with Odysseus
as a suppliant for the life of her daughter Polyxena, she says : " Reverence me
(aidesthete me) and have compassion ! "
(b) The Reverence due to Old Age. — In the Madness of Heracles (556), when
the hero suddenly returns from the lower world, and finds his old father as
well as his own wife and children prisoners in the hands of Lycus, tyrant of
Thebes, he asks of Megara : " Had he no aidos, no reverence, that he thus dis-
honoured the aged ? " And Megara's reply is emphatic : —
" Aidos I verily he dwelleth far from that divinity."
(4) This brings us naturally to another aspect of the aidos closely allied to
the last, viz. compassion. It is said of the ananke — that mysterious all-compel-
ling necessity (natural law) which was supposed in the popular belief to hold
supreme sway over all things, and even to share the throne of Zeus^ — that "in
her harsh purpose there is no aidos, no ruth." The passage (Ale, 982) occurs
a propos of the death of Alcestis, and is simply an allegorical way of putting
the fact that Death is inexorable — knows no compassion.
A striking example of the aidos, as both compassion and reverence for law
combined, occurs in the Iphigenia in Tauris (947 et seq.), in the passage in
which Orestes describes how he, the mother-slayer, fared as a stranger in
Athens : "I went thither (at the command of Apollo)," he says, " but at first
none of my friends received me willingly, regarding me as a man hated by the
gods. Yet those who had aidos provided hospitality for me on a table set apart
for myself. One roof sheltered us, but they sjit silently, so that I became
speechless and asked no share of their feast. Their own cups they filled to the
brim for every one alike, and had their pleasure. And I ? — I ventured not to
blame my friends ; in silence I suffered, and made as though I heard not, saw
not — and groaned aloud, the murderer of my mother."
Here the aidos both bids, and forbids, at the inner compulsion of the un-
written laws : the law of the stranger and guest-friend bids offer hospitality,
the law of the most sacred of family ties bids hold aloof.
(5) The last scene leads us again naturally to that aspect of the aidds which
may best be described as right feeling towards relatives. This is happily illus-
trated in the Iphigenia in Aulis, a drama which will afford within itself nearly
all the remaining examples which we require to bring forward.
In the quarrel between the Atreidae, Agamemnon says that he will not
answer the reproaches of Menelaus haughtily, but " more wisely, for," he
adds {Ijph. Aid., 376), "thou art my brother, and a good man loves reverence
1 See ante^ p. 248.
484 EURIPIDES
(aideisthai)," i.e. a good man has such a regard for family ties as will restrain
all presumption. Agamemnon, therefore, resolves to reason with Menelaus
gently, and not from his vantage-ground as commander-in-chief.
(6) Noblesse oblige. — In the same drama, when Agamemnon finally realises
that he will be compelled to sacrifice Jphigenia, he describes the mental
struggle which he is enduring as a contest between two different impulses of
the aidos: " lowly birth ! " he exclaims {Iph. Aul., 446), " what great advan-
tages dost thou possess ! To thee is granted easily the right to weep, to speak
out all in freedom. But to the high-born, this were a disgrace. In the front
rank of life we stand and bear this burden, slaves to the multitude. I am
ashamed (aidoumai) to weep, and again I am ashamed {aidoumai) not to weep."
Agamemnon is torn between his feeling as a father and that noblesse oblige
which compels him as one in high position, standing out before the crowd " in
the front rank of life," to hide what he feels and make the awful sacrifice
cheerfully. The aidos here again both bids and forbids.
(7) Again, as honourable shame the aidos is that sense of modesty which
shrinks into itself, recoiling from the reproach of impurity.
(a) In this significance aidos appears in the Medeia (439. See ante, p. 468).
When Jason breaks his doubly-plighted troth to Medeia, the world is said to
be turned upside down — " aidos hath flown back to heaven."
The aidos appears also in the Hippolytus as innocence, in the beautiful
little allegory of the untrodden meadows sacred to Artemis (Chastity. See
p. 456).
{b) In this sense also must be interpreted the delightful little scene in the
Iphigenia in Aulis (801 et seq.), in which Achilles makes the acquaintance of
Clytemnestra. The queen and her daughter, Iphigenia, have just arrived in
the Greek camp at Aulis, whither they have been lured by Agamemnon under
the pretence that Achilles has sought the hand of the maiden in marriage and
wishes to celebrate the nuptials before the sailing of the fleet for Troy. With
very different intent has Iphigenia been summoned to Aulis, for it is her
father's resolve to offer her in sacrifice to Artemis ; but Achilles knows nothing
either of Agamemnon's real purpose or of the base use that has been made of
his name. Iphigenia and her mother are equally in the dark, and the scene
to which we now direct attention follows immediately upon a stormy interview
between Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, in which the king has vainly endea-
voured to induce his wife to depart from Aulis and return to her home in
Argos. This Clytemnestra positively refuses to do ; she, and none other, she
vows, shall carry the torch before her daughter in the nuptial procession ; this
is her prerogative, a ceremony devolving upon her as the mother of the bride.
Agamemnon retires discomfited to consult with Calibas, the seer, and Clytem-
nestra withdraws into the house.
Presently the quiet is broken by the appearance of one who little dreams
that his presence is anxiously desired, Achilles, the unconscious " bridegroom,"
who demands loudly to see the commander-in-chief : will no one let him
know that Achilles, the son of Peleus, stands before his gates?
Achilles is excited, and bent upon bringing certain grievances to the ear
of Agamemnon; but his rehearsal of what he means to say to the king of
men is cut short by the appearance of a vision of grace and beauty, before
which the youthful hero is struck dumb. Never in old Cheiron's cave, never
in camp or court, has such a sight met his astonished gaze as that which he
now beholds. Needless to say, it is Clytemnestra who comes forth, beaming
with satisfaction at the opportunity thus unexpectedly afforded her of becoming
acquainted with her future *' son-in-law."
THE IDEALS 485
" Son of the Nereid-goddess," she says, " I heard thy words within the
house, and am come forth to greet thee."
" divine aidos !'' {0 potnia aidos) stammers Achilles, who really believes
that he beholds the divinity in person, " is it a woman that I see, endowed
with beauty so glorious ? " (Clytemnestra, be it remembered, is the sister of
Helen, the most beautiful woman in the world.)
" 'Tis not surprising that thou knowest us not, for we have never met,"
the queen replies, adding graciously, in return for the youth's homage to her
own charms, "Thee do I commend for that thou honourest understanding" — a
compliment which implies that, although they have never met, Clytemnestra
knows all about her visitor, his manner of life, and his old master Cheiron.
" Who art thou?" pursues Achilles in his downright way, " and wherefore
art thou come to the camp of the Achseans — a woman, amongst armed men
who bear the shield ? "
" I am the daughter of Leda," replies the queen with no little dignity ;
*' my name is Clytemnestra, and my consort — King Agamemnon."
Achilles perceives that he stands before the highest lady in the land, and
makes his obeisance in his own soldierly fashion, paying the queen what he
conceives to be the highest of compliments : —
" Thou hast told me what is necessary," he says, " well and briefly. I
hate to bandy words with women," with which candid addition he prepares to
take his leave.
"Stay!" cries Clytemnestra, advancing towards him, ''why wilt thou
go ? Take my right hand in thine, as the beginning of a happy married
life."
Achilles retreats in horror. All the warnings of old Cheiron rise up before
him, as he realises that he confronts the sister of Helen.
"What sayest thou?" he exclaims, "7 take tJiij right hand? Truly, I
should be ashamed before Agamemnon, were I to touch that to which I have
no right."
It is the aidos which speaks here, that reverence for another man's wife
which was lacking in Paris when he " looked straight into the eyes of Helen."
" Loving, they loved, and fled." — Achilles, the Hellenic, is in all respects the
antipodes of the Phrygian hero. He will not so much as touch the hand of
Agamemnon's consort— it is not themis, not allowed to him. Clytemnestra,
of course, endeavours to persuade Achilles that it is most certainly themis for
him to take the hand of his mother-in-law-to-be — but Achilles imagines that
she has lost her wits. For all the details of the denoHment we must refer the
reader to the drama itself.
(c) Another beautiful example of the aidos appears later in the same scene.
When — through the intervention of an old slave, who is privy to Agamemnon's
secret — Clytemnestra and Achilles have been made aware of the father's in-
tention in regard to Iphigenia, the hero promises {Iph. AuL, 973 et seq.), in
response to the mother's agonised appeal, to do his utmost to save the maiden
from the fate awaiting her. " To thee I seemed a great god — I, who am but
a mortal, — and yet — a god I will become — for thee," says the young man in
the ardour of his indignation against Agamemnon and the deceit which has
been practised on the unfortunate ladies.
With tearful gratitude Clytemnestra accepts his proffered aid, and asks
with hesitation whether it will be necessary for Iphigenia to follow the usual
custom and entreat him personally (as a suppliant).
"Wilt thou that she shall clasp thy knee as suppliant? — Thisbefitteth not
a maiden," says the mother {ibid., 992). " Nevertheless, if it seem good to
486 EURIPIDES
thee, she shall come hither, and preserve her free glance through modesty
{aidos). But if / can do this for her, let her remain within, for she payeth
heed to what is maidenly {semna = sacred). Nevertheless, we must, as far as
possible, show respect where it is due." Clytemnestra means that, if neces-
sary, Iphigenia will not fail to show the customary tokens of respect to her
protector.
Achilles replies with the innate tact and fine feeling of the true gentle-
man : —
*' Bring not thy daughter to my sight, lady," he says, " lest we come under
the tongue of the ignorant. The army assembled here, away from cares of
home, and idle, loves scandal and foul-mouthed gossip. To me it is the same
whether you come to me as suppliants (technically) or not. For one thing
only I shall strive — to free you from these troubles. And know one thing as
to myself — I never say what is untrue. Rather than be found a liar and an
empty boaster unto thee, I would prefer to die. But die I would not, an I
€Ould save thy daughter."
It would be hard to match the foregoing for real chivalry of feeling in any
modern work. The aidos alone restrains the poet from bringing Achilles and
Iphigenia together on the stage as protector and suppliant. Euripides has
all the materials here for a most effective scene — the maiden appearing in her
bridal dress — summoned to meet him whom she has been led to expect as her
bridegroom — learning the truth of the situation, and clasping the knees of the
^'bridegroom" to implore deliverance from a terrible death: all this could
have been worked out dramatically so as to earn the applause of the thousands
assembled in the theatre. But Euripides, with rare self-control, puts the
temptation from him — noblesse oblige ; and his Achilles comes down to our day
as the type of the aidos in man — noble, manly, self-respecting, and respecting
the self-respect of others.
{d) The aidos in ivoman, as understood by Euripides, shows itself a little
later in the drama. Iphigenia is alone with her mother, when suddenly she
starts in affright : —
" Mother! " she exclaims (Iph. AuL, 1338 et seq.), " I see a crowd of men
approaching ! " She knows that Agamemnon has just gone to complete the
preparations for the sacrifice, and imagines that her last hour is come.
Clytemnestra tries to reassure her : "It is the son of the goddess, child,
for whom (as bride) thou didst come hither."
This information brings to the poor child a terror worse than the first.
" Open the door, maidens," she cries in dismay, " that I may hide myself ! "
<' Why wilt thou flee, child?" asks the mother.
" I am disgraced {aischynomai) in the sight of this Achilles."
" But why?"
" This wretched marriage brings me shame {aidos)" replies Iphigenia.
Here the recollection that she has exulted in the idea of the union with
the goddess-born — that she has come to the camp to give herself to a man who
had never so much as bestowed a thought upon her — rushes upon the unfor-
tunate girl like a whirlwind. The whole aidos of her nature — maidenly
reserve, modesty, self-respect — has been wantonly trifled with ; and her one
desire is to fly from the presence of the man in whose eyes she thinks she has
been degraded. It is not until Clytemnestra bids her stay, with the stern
reminder : " This is no time for such refinements," that she consents to remain
and face the hero in whose strong arm lies her only hope of deliverance.
It would be easy to supply other illustrations of the aidos, but the fore-
THE IDEALS 487
going will, perhaps, suffice to show something at least of the nature of this
delicate, subtle, truly Hellenic characteristic. One passage alone remains
to be quoted heie. It occurs in the same great drama which has already
furnished so many examples, and is spoken by the chorus, who here un-
doubtedly represent the true mind of the poet {Iph. AuL, 563 et seq.) : —
" Reverence is wisdom. She hath a changeful charm, and knoweth of
her own clear insight that which is right, whence cometh to the life a glory
and a fame that dieth not."
Golden words ! linking together as in one strong chain the noblest aspira-
tions of the Hellene — reverence, wisdom, charm, clear insight, duty, glory.
To the Greek as to the Hebrew, reverence (to aideisthai) is the beginning
of wisdom (sophia), the root whence springs that indescribable (jrace of
character {chares) which reveals itself amid all the " changes " and chances of
this mortal life, and enables its possessor to discern (esoran) of his own clear
judgment {hypo gnomas) that which is fitting and vightixA = duty {to deon),
whence cometh to the life unfading fame {kleos ageraton) and glory (doxa).
REVERENCE = WISDOM
The Charis = Clear Judgment
Power to discern Duty
Fame and GLORY
Such, in Euripides' own " clear judgment," is the natural process of evolu-
tion of the old Hellenic ideals. Could anything be more beautiful?
IX.— THE IDEALS
I. Equality. — It would bp strange indeed if, in a poet so truly representative
as Euripides, we found no sympathy with the stirring political life of his day.
The reverse is the case. The poet's patriotism — his love for the fatherland
and appreciation of the generous spirit of his countrymen — leavens his whole
work. Especially do the democratic institutions of Athens commend them-
selves to his broad and liberal mind. That freedom of which ^schylus was
the champion and the apostle presents itself to Euripides under the form of
equality, isotes, the law of fairness, of equal civic rights for all.
Our readers will recollect the passage recently quoted from the Electra
(p. 478), in which the poet declares that it is impossible to tell what a man is,
essentially and in himself, from his surroundings— the accidents of birth, high
or low— of state, wealth or poverty — of bodily condition, strength or weakness.
It is MIND alone, he argues, that makes the real difference between man and
man, and mind revealing its quality in its dealings with men. Mind, however,
before it has had scope for action, is an invisible quantity, and it is impossible
to tell in whom it may be lodged. Hence it is equally impossible to assign its
possession to any privileged class, since it may be revealed in the poor as in
the rich, in the weak as in the strong ; and this consideration it is which lies
at the root of our poet's doctrine of equality or fairness.
"Equality," he says elsewhere, "is Nature's law for man "i— the norm
1 Donner's version {Phcen., ^t,2>) = Gleichheit ist der Menschheit Urgesetz.
488 EURIPIDES
state of things. Euripides nowhere asserts that men are born either equal in
intellect or to equal fortune. This, as we have seen, he expressly denies,
but he does maintain that all men have equal rights as citizens. r^-,i.
This is only the natural development of the doctrine of Herodotus that
freedom is as necessary to man as the air which he breathes. He is born to
freedom as his natural condition ; but freedom is only secured by equal laws,
laws which contemplate all as on an equal footing in regard to justice.
" There's nothing more disastrous to the State than tyranny," says our
poet (in that most patriotic of his dramas, the Sii2^jpliants, 429), " where that
which is the highest — the common law for all {nomui koinoi) — does not exist ;
but one hath ta'en possession of the law, and ruleth, a law unto himself, and
banisheth equality {to ison). But where the laws are written, the poor man
and the rich have equal justice, and the weak, if right is on his side, bears off
the victory from the strong."
These words are put into the mouth of the hero Theseus, who is contrasting
the condition of Athens, where the people had a voice in the Government, with
that of Thebes under the Tyranny. Of course they are applicable only to the
Athens of the poet's own day.
" No one man ruleth here," the patriot-king is made to say {Swppl., 403).
"The State is free — the Demos ruleth, the people hold office by the year in
turns. Neither is preference given to the rich — the poor hath equal civic rights
{to iso?i)."
Throughout Euripides is on the side of the people. " One man, the general,"
he says in the Andromache (693), " bears off the glory and the fame," and yet
the one has oftentimes done nothing more to earn it than the thousands who
have shared the danger with him ; are (it may be) a thousandfold wiser than
the leader, and are scarcely heard of. The sympathy of the poet is, then, clearly
with the people, and yet he is by no means blind to the faults of King Demos.
That he knew his countrymen thoroughly is evident from the passage in
the Orestes {6g6), where the people, roused to anger, are compared to fire. But
(hints the poet), if a leader has the wit to wait until the fire has burnt out, he
can then do with them what he pleases, and turn them as he lists, " for," he
adds, " in them compassion dwelleth, and a great soul {thymos megas) " — a beau-
tiful touch, but no less true than beautiful.
Our poet knows equally well, however, the evil resulting from this very
temperament. In every great aggregate of men, he says {Hek., 606), there is
the " undisciplined crowd " (the akolastos ocTilos), whose boldness passes so
easily into an " anarchy stronger than fire," than that fire which may safely
be allowed to burn itself out.
The description, again, of the sea-army, the soldier-sailors of Agememnon in
the Iphigenia in Aulis (914), as " hard to govern, bold to evil, but apt for good^
when thp.y icill" is clearly applicable to such a community as the sea-faring
population of the Peirseus — at all times bold, fickle, and hard to hold in check ;
but with the element of good predominating when the right leader had come to
the front.
Nor is Euripides blind to the defects of the democratic institutions of which
he is so proud — witness the allusions {Suppl., 420) to the risk of ignorant,
narrow-minded men being allowed to hold office — men who have had no oppor-
tunity of acquiring the habit of looking at things from the broad standpoint neces-
sary for the common weal. Witness also the descriptions {Hec, 1 30 ; Suppl. , 240)
of the demagogue, the flatterer of King Demos (the democharistes), the wily-
minded orator {poikilophron), fawning on the people with sweet words, and urging
them on to be pricks and thorns in the side of the rich. Witness further the
THE IDEALS 489
allusions in the Iphigenia in Aulis {Iph. AuL, 336, 25), to the weary efforts neces-
sary to get into office, and the constant friction after the fortunate candidate
has obtained the coveted post— " the many opinions of men hard to please,"
wearing awdy—llL " grating away "—by little and little the happiness of life.
Witness, once more, the testimony of the /oti (595) to the intensity of the envy
and jealousy of the baser sort, when a man has arrived at the object of his
desires, and has succeeded in securing a place '' among the rowers on the first
bench " of the ship of the state— rendering the position of those in power so
intolerable that " the best men — those who really have the ability to guide the
helm — hold aloof from public affairs, and laugh among themselves at any one
who is fool enough to seek office in a city so full of danger."
That these pictures are not too highly coloured, there is abundant evidence
in contemporary history to show. Witness, finally, our poet's warnings (Her.
Fur., 30, 272 further) against that "sickness" of the body politic— faction
and revolt — as leading, necessarily and inevitably, to the snatching of power
by the one : —
" When the fierce breath of the storm assails the ship," say the chorus in
the Andromache (479), " and opinions are divided as to the guiding of the helm,
one man — albeit weaker in wit — if acting with autocratic power, is better than
a multitude of wise men, if the favourable moment for saving the ship is to
be seized."
These, then, are the dangers to which the ship of the democracy is exposed
— the demagogue, the ignorant man in power, envy, hatred, and jealousy — the
*' sickness " of faction and revolt. Euripides sees them all clearly, and yet he
holds to his ideal. Equality before tyranny — before, even, the rule of the one
capable man ! But, as a God-given prophet, he shows his countrymen what
the true ideal is, and how it is to be reached. The equality of Euripides, it
cannot be too emphatically pointed out, is not equality in worldly goods, in
intellect, in strength or fame. Such an equality, if desirable, is not attain-
able in the present life. Our poet sees this clearly, and therefore he restricts
his aims to equality in civic rights, and he shows most unmistakably that this can
only be permanently preserved to the state by equality in service. The posses-
sion of equal privileges brings with it equal duties. Each in his place must
SERVE, and serve without grudging.
This doctrine is inculcated in a very striking passage in the Phoenician Women
— a passage put, by the way, like so many of the best thoughts of this so-called
" woman-hater," into the mouth of a woman, Jocaste, wife of QEdipus and
Queen of Thebes.
The interest of the drama ^ centres in the quarrel between Eteocles and
Polyneikes, the two sons of OEdipus. To avoid the curse (of mutual destruc-
tion) pronounced against them by their father, they have agreed not to dwell
together, but to reign by turns in Thebes, each for the space of one year. Ete-
ocles accordingly assumes the sceptre, and Polyneikes in his voluntary banish-
ment repairs to the court of Adrastus, King of Argos, whose daughter he
marries. At the end of his year of office, however, Eteocles refuses to give up
the sovereignty, and Polyneikes, with the help of his father-in-law, forms the
memorable league of the seven princes, and marches against his native city,
which is encompassed, when the drama opens, by his sevenfold army. Before
hostilities actually commence, however, Jocaste, the unhappy mother of the
^ The scene of the Phoenissce is Thebes, and the play takes its name from the chorus,
Phoenician maidens who have been sent from Tyre by their countrymen as an offering to Apollo,
to serve, that is, in the temple at Delphi. On their way thither the war of the Seven against
Thebes breaks out, and they are detained in the city.
490 EURIPIDES
disputants, in the hope of effecting a reconciliation, summons them both to
meet her in a secret interview, and bids each state his grievance.
So far, what meets the eye in the narrative ; but we must pause for a
moment here to point out that, in Euripides' hands, the old story of the quarrel
between the brothers becomes an allegory or parable (Phoef/., 69). This is
evident from the new feature which he introduced into it, viz. the tenure of
power for a year by each alternately. Of this the oldest tradition knew no-
thing 1 ; but in Euripides' version, the yearly tenure is the basis of the compact
between the brothers. When we recollect that this arrangement held good of
civic appointments in Athens, and is alluded to by our poet in the lines with
which we are already familiar as that which made the difference between
freedom and tyranny (SuppL, 403. See ante) — " The State is free ; the Demos
ruleth ; the people hold office by tlie year in turns ; neither is preference given
to the rich ; the poor hath equal civic rights ; " we can hardly fail to perceive
that the two sons of QEdipus are merely personifications of the two rival parties
in the State. The deadly quarrel between the brothers is thus a representa-
tion of that deadly civil war among brethren which was going on all over
Hellas — the struggle for the mastery between autocrats and democrats,
between the "fat men" and the poor of Herodotus, between the notables
and the Demos of Thucydides.
We are now in a position to take up the thread of the narrative — under-
standing by the name " Eteocles " the party in, by that of " Polyneikes " the
party out of office, and so out of power.
The statement of Polyneikes is brief : " The word of truth," he says {Phoen.,
469), "is simple," and the truth is, that he has been defrauded of his just
rights. He has kept out of the land (not interfered) for a year ; but now his
brother has broken the solemn compact, and refuses to give him his share of
the common inheritance. He himself has acted in good faith throughout —
to this he can call the gods as witnesses — and he is ready to withdraw his
forces, if he is met with justice, to rule peaceably for his year, and then to
resign and give place to his brother for an equal period.
" To me," says the chorus, the impartial bystanders — (" even if I have
not been reared in Hellas, amid Hellenic institutions") — "thou seem'st to
speak with understanding."
It is now the turn of Eteocles (the man in power, the party actually in
possession of the sweets of office) to speak. He begins {Phaen., 499) with the
sophistical argument that if the same thing appeared noble and wise to all
men, there would be no strife on earth.^ There is, he contends, nothing
really "shared alike" (homoion), nothing really "equal" (ison), amongst
mortals — " share alike" and " equality" are only names, not facts. He con-
fesses himself not ashamed to say openly, that there is nothing he would not
do for power. He would strive upwards, if he could, to the rising of the sun
and stars, downwards to earth's innermost recess, if, by so doing, he could
win over to himself the greatest of divinities — supremacy and power (the
tyranny). This best of all goods he will yield to no one — nay, he will keep
it for himself. " To give up ' the more,' accept ' the less ' — this were
cowardice ! " Eteocles concludes his speech with the cynical remark : "If sin
one must, to sin for power is grandest. In other things be pious ! "
^ Hesiod ( WorJcs and Bays, 162) merely says that they quarrelled over the flocks of CEdipus,
and Sophocles {CEd. Col., 1292 et seq.) makes the strife begin by the seizure of the crown by the
younger, Eteocles, whereupon Polyneikes seeks to enforce his superior right to it as the elder.
^ Cf. Shakespeare, " There's nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so."
THE IDEALS 491
The white-haired mother (maturity of wisdom) then takes the word, and
answers Eteocles out of his own mouth {Plioen., 528) : —
" My son ! " she says, " not everything is evil that appertaineth to old
age ; for experience hath that to say which is wiser than the thoughts of
youth. Why yield thyself to Philotimia (ambition), this worst of deities?
Flee her, my son ! the goddess is unjust. To many a home, to prosperous
states, hath she come, and gone — destroying those who worshipped her. And
for her thou ravest! 'Twere nobler, son, didst thou show honour to the
common right. Fair dealing — that bindeth ever friend to friend, state
unto state, ally to ally. Equality of rights is Nature's law for man. He
who keeps more (than his fair share) hath ever in the weaker an adversary,
keen to begin the day of enmity. Equality it is that sets in order for
mankind measure and weight, the balance and the rule — equality that number
set apart from number. ^
" Yea, the dark eyelid of the night, the sun's bright light, perform their
yearly course with equal step, and neither is jealous of the other's victory.
If, then, day and night alike serve mortals, and thou wilt not content thyself
with thine own portion, and give him his — where is justice ?
"Why honourest thou thus to such excess the tyranny — this sweet in-
justice — and deem'st it something grand to be gazed on by the multitude ?
Empty vanity !
" Or seekest thou to heap up many goods, and therewith many sorrows ?
What is the more ? Only a name. Enough sufficeth for the wise.
" Of our own selves," concludes the mother, "we mortals can own nothing.
We do but have the care of what the gods bestow, and when they will, they
take it back again."
The beautiful thoughts of Jocaste require but little comment. They may
briefly be paraphrased thus : —
(i) Equality of rights is Nature's Urgesetz for man. Only where fairness
is observed can there be lasting union between friend and friend, state and
state, ally and ally.
(2) But, community in rights = community in service. Day and night
share time equally between them ; but far from desiring to lord it over mortals,
each takes office only to serve. Each in turn serves mortals {douleui hrotois
= is slave to mortals). Equality in privilege = equality in bearing the burden.
The concluding words prove how very closely Euripides' ideal of equality
is allied to the grand Hellenic instinct (if we may so call it) of moderation.
Only when all hold fast the golden mean will there be true equality.
(3) What is the more ? asks the philosopher — that " more " which, accord-
ing to Eteocles, it were sheer cowardice to give up. An idle name — since no
one can really use or enjoy more than enough. This sufficeth for the wise.
(4) After all, concludes the poet, why quarrel over nothing ? We mortals
really possess nothing — what we seem to possess we only hold as stewards for
the gods, and when they will, they claim their own again.
Have we not in the whole chain of reasoning the germs of much that
ripened later in Greek thought, and found fullest fruition in the philosophy
of our Lord and His apostle, Paul of Tarsus ? Never were mutual rights and
mutual service fully understood until set forth in the doctrine of the Christian
brotherhood, the true social compact.
2. Compassion. — Strange as it may appear, the next ideal of our poet is
very closely connected with the last. Given the conviction that all men are
1 The principle, i.e. that all have equal rights, or that all are entitled to a fair share, first
led to equal division of land or goods by measure, weight, and number.
492 EURIPIDES
intended by Providence to have equal rights and an equal share of a modest
happiness, the evidence that the rights of the weak are often flagrantly dis-
regarded by the strong — that happiness is often wrecked through no fault of
the individual — cannot but create in a thinking mind a profound sense of
compassion. The greater the inequality, and the deeper the misery endured,
the more intense is the pity inspired in the heart of the one who " knows-
with," and feels with, the sufferer.
The description which Euripides gives of the Hellenes — that in them
dwelt " pity {oiktos) and a great soul " — is applicable beyond all others to
himself. Euripides alone of all the thinkers of antiquity, seems to have
caught the living spark of pity, and kept it burning in the world until the
advent of the Divine Compassion Himself.
In his fellow-feeling for the outcasts of society — the slave, the " barbarian,"
the captive, the sick, the erring, Euripides is the greatest forerunner of the
Christ. The philosophers of Greece, strange to say, lag (in this respect) far
behind the poet whom some of them affected to despise. Their very philosophy
had a tendency to detach them from philanthropy, and it is in this connection
that Euripides utters one of his most pregnant warnings : " Pity," he says in
the Eledra (294), " dwelleth never with the fool, but in the breast of the wise
among men ; and," he adds, " there is a danger in being overwise," i.e. in that
so-called wisdom which bade men steel their hearts against all tender feeling,
and become, as far as possible, passionless.
The contrast between Euripides and such thinkers as, even, Plato and
Aristotle, is best seen in the attitude which they assume, respectively, towards
slavery. To the philosophers named, the slave is little better than a machine,
a " tool with a soul," or a troublesome animal to be kept in order by the whip,
if need be. (See further under the articles Plato, Aristotle.) To our poet the
slave is a man, with all the attributes of man, to be treated as a reasonable,
thinking being. His " slavery," in Euripides' eyes, is his misfortune, not his
fault — it has not unmanned him, nor put him beyond the bounds of human
society. To the slave Euripides says virtually, like St. Paul, " Art thou a
slave ? Care not for it ! Thou art still a man " (one of those whom the Creator
severed and set apart from the brutes by giving to them understanding. — See
ante, p. 84). " One thing alone," he says in the Ion (854), " brings shame
upon a slave — the name. In all else he is no whit inferior to the free man,
if he be good." And it is by the mouth of a slave that he draws the noble
distinction between slavery of the body and slavery of the soul, a distinction
with which we afterwards become so familiar in Plato. " If I have not the
name of free man," says the old slave of Menelaus in the Helena {'j ^o), "at
least my mind is free, and better is this than to be subject to two evils — to
have at once a bad mind " (to be slave to one's self), " and to be slave to one's
neighbour."
Certainly Euripides is not blind to the faults which slavery inevitably
engenders in its victims — witness the remark in the Electra (632), that it is
*' characteristic of slaves to go over to the winning side."
Nevertheless, the examples among his dramatis personoe of slaves who
pursue the opposite course, and are ready to die for their master's house, show
how deeply he felt that nobility of soul was not incompatible with the lot of
the slave. There is a beautiful touch of this sort, doubtless taken from life,
in the Children of Heracles (678), where the penestes (or serf) of Hyllus, who
has been sent to inform Alcmene of the arrival of her grandson, declares that
he must hasten back — the battle is about to begin, and he would'not have his
THE IDEALS 493
lord face the foe alone {eremos, deserted by him). One is glad that in the
end the noble fellow obtains his freedom.
Then, as to the captive — who, before Euripides, ever thought out so
earnestly the hard and bitter consequences of war, the horrors which it brings
in its train? — Who ever felt so deeply the misery of the rude awakening,
when free men and free women found themselves suddenly reduced to that
position which was worse than death — the place of a chattel, absolutely at the
disposal of an irresponsible master ? — The feelings surging in the breast of the
unfortunates on whom the day of captivity has dawned, are pathetically
expressed in the Trojan Women (146, 176 et seq.). Old Hecabe leads the
lament of the high-born prisoners (assembled in the tent of Agamemnon),
" like a bird in fear for her young." All is darkness and despair — no one
knows what is before her, or what her fate will be.
" When do the ships of the Achseans sail, and bear us far hence? " — " Am
I to die?"— ''Of whom shall I be slave ?"—" Shall I draw water from the
spring ? " — and other questions of a like nature burst involuntarily from the
lips of the anxious terror-stricken group. But Hecabe can give no answer —
to her, too, the future is a blank : " Shall I stand portress at the palace-
gates?" she wonders, "or nurse the children of my lord? — I, who, once, as
Troja's queen, was honoured ! "
Then finally comes the hurrying of the captives on board the Greek ships,
whilst the cry of the children, separated from their mothers, goes up piteously :
''0 mother, mother! they are carrying me away — away in the black ship! —
far from thine eyes ! "
The hard lot of the captives, again, in a foreign land, is pitifully described
in the Andromache — where the gentle heroine comes before us as the slave-wife
of the son of Hector's murderer — and above all, in the Hecabe (807), where the
aged queen, on whom blow after blow has fallen, appears as Woe personified :
" Look on me, as a painter looks," she says to Agamemnon, " and behold what
I suffer."
" What's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her?"
asks Hamlet. In the ancient world the sorrows of Hecuba, as set forth by
Euripides, meant a great deal. The story goes that, after the disastrous
collapse of the Sicilian Expedition, such of the Athenian prisoners confined in
the quarries of Syracuse as could repeat the verses of Euripides, were set at
liberty. Who can tell to how many unfortunate captives of the sword in later
times the tragedies of the master, with their depth of pathos, brought at least
a softening of their lot, some mitigation of their hardships?
Nor, in estimating the influence of Euripides over his countrymen, must
it be forgotten that some of those for whom he sought to enlist his hearers'
sympathies were foreigners — " barbarians " — and as such, outside the pale of
ordinary Greek compassion. True, we find in Euripides the sentiment that
barbarians " cannot become friendly with Hellenes " ; but this is put into the
mouth of a "barbarian," Hecabe herself {Hec.^ 1 199), and means that the
speaker is quite aware of the existing prejudice against barbarians, quite
aware also of the futility of any attempt to bridge over the gulf that lay
between the two — between the free aspirations of the Greek on the one hand,
and the habitual tendencies of those reared under despotic rule on the other .1
Some courage, therefore, was necessary on the part of the poet to come before
an Athenian and prejudiced audience with tragedies in which "barbarians"
played the leading part, and were represented (as in the case of a Polyxena
^ "Among barbarians all are slaves but One," says Helen in the drama that bears her
name {Hel., 276).
494 EURIPIDES
and an Andromache) as possessing all the charts of body and soul that apper-
tained to the highest Hellenic type of woman. Here, however, Euripides only
follows the lead of Homer. Both poets were far removed from that patriotism
falsely so-called, which is only another name for the pettiness of race animosity
and jealousy.
We have already spoken of the tenderness which Euripides displays towards
children (p. 436). This is nowhere more conspicuous than in the stand which
he makes against an atrocious practice which prevailed even in historic times —
that, namely, of slaying the infant sons of a vanquished and dead enemy.
This was customary as a measure of precaution against the dangers of the
blood-feud — the assumption that the sons, if allowed to grow to manhood,
would seek to avenge their father's death. Instances of the practice meet
us both in the HeracleidcB and in the Madness of Heracles. In the Trojan
Women (740), the tragic episode of the death of Hector's only son, the little
Astyanax, at the hand of the Greeks, is described with deep pathos. Nothing
more beautiful than the lament of Andromache for her babe has ever been
penned. The little " king " (by the advice of Odysseus) is torn from its
mother's arms, where it lies nestling like a chick under the wings of the
mother-hen, and dashed from the battlements of the ill-fated "city" over
which it was born to rule.^ Its shattered remains are brought back, as a
special act of grace, to the grandmother, Hecabe, for burial. As she lays the
little body ready for the grave upon its father's shield, which is to serve for
coffin, the old queen turns to the Greek herald, and asks with withering
emphasis {Tro., 11 89): "What will ye write upon his tomb? — 'The Argives
slew this child through fear ' ? — Truly, an epitaph of shame for Hellas ! " — an
epitaph, undoubtedly, that must have brought the unwonted flush to many a
rough Greek amongst the poet's audience.
Turning now from the calamities of war to the ordinary troubles of daily
life — sickness and poverty — we find that Euripides has an observant eye and a
corner in his wide heart for these also. The great use of money, he tells us, is
the power which it brings with it of helping others. This beautiful expression
of pre-Christian thought is uttered by our poet's " noble soul," the husbandman
who acts as guardian of Electra. When, in the course of the story, Orestes and
his inseparable comrade, Pylades, appear, the good man — receiving them as
strangers, and without knowing who they are — invites them to partake of a
repast in his humble cottage. Electra thereupon, cumbered, after the fashion
of women, with her notions of the much serving due to strangers evidently of
high rank — reproaches him with his want of thought in offering hospitality to
those greater than himself.
"Why not?" he replies, with truer refinement, "if they are really noble,
as they seem to be, they will be content with little, as with much."
After Electra has retired to prepare the meal, however, the recollection of
his poverty oppresses the worthy man, and he sighs, and says {EL, 426) : —
" When I weigh the matter with myself, it is on occasions such as this that
I see what great power lies in money — to enable one to give to friends and to
bring back the sick to health. For daily needs one wants but little, and if a
man's hunger be appeased, 'tis all the same whether he be rich or poor."
Here again is the doctrine of the mean — with an addition. " Enough
sufficeth for the wise," says our poet in the Phoenissce : " The more is only
a name."
" Yes," he adds in the passage before us, " enough sufficeth for oneself, but
1 As the name denotes {astu-anax, city king).
THE IDEALS 495
— the more enableth one to give to others — to distribute to the stranger and
the sick " — the Hellenic equivalent of the Hebrew " sick and needy."
Finally, we must note another form of compassion to which Euripides was
no stranger — compassion for the erring. This is mirrored in that most beauti-
ful of Attic words, syngnome = knowled(je-witU (the offender, i.e. that all mortals
are alike subject to frailty) — hence fellow-feeling., alloioancefor,foi-giveness, the
attitude which best befits one mortal to assume towards another. ^
A characteristic example of the way in which syngnome is put forward by
our poet as a plea for compassion occurs in the Suppliants. When the Argive
king, Adrastus, and the mothers of the heroes who had fallen before Thebes,
solicit the help of Athens in the task of recovering the bodies of the dead,
Theseus does not immediately grant their request. On the contrary, he puts
Adrastus through a lengthy catechism as to the causes of the war, and then
preaches to him a homily, pointing out the sins and follies which had led to
the catastrophe (p. 452). All that Theseus says is severely true; but such a
reproof, addressed by a younger and a happier man to one bowed down by
years and adversity, is the final drop that makes Adrastus' cup of bitterness
run over. He cannot contain his indignation, and retorts haughtily that he
had not chosen Theseus to sit in judgment on his troubles — no ! he had
come to him as to a physician, that he might profit by his hel'p — not his
censure.
The chorus, however, chooses the wiser course of gentle remonstrance, and
reminds Theseus of two facts which he is apparently overlooking : —
(i) "They sinned, these young men who have fallen," plead the mothers
{hemarton = they missed the mark and failed) — " but this is natural to man, and
for it there must be syngnomen = BWowsmce made, excuse, forgiveness. [For
thou, king, art but a man, and, as such, prone to err, to fall under stress of
circumstance.]"
(2) The second fact is based on the same great principle: "What wilt
thou do?" continue the mothers, pressing home the question. "Wilt thou
betray the suppliants, and thrust us from the land ? — Nay ! for the wild beast
hath a hiding-place amongst the rocks, the slave a refuge in the altars of the
gods — and city flees to city when storms arise — for," they add emphatically,
" nothing amongst mortals continues prosperous to the end."
The mutability of fortune, then, the old Solonian warning, is pressed into
the service, and Theseus is bidden know-ivith those in trouble, because his own
day of adversity will surely come.
Needless to say, Theseus, the poet's second self, has long since learned the
force of both arguments. The object of his lecture, ill-timed as it appears to
Adrastus, is to prove to all concerned that, if he now goes up to Thebes, it is
not as the ally of those who have defied the gods, but as the physician sent by
them to remedy the wrong. That object effected, Theseus has nothing but
syngnbmen for the mourners, compassion for the dead.
This compassion he shows not only by risking his own life in the effort to
recover the bodies, but by that right royal act, the washing of the wounds of
the dead with his own kingly hand — a deed which excites the amazement and
astonishment of Adrastus.
"Hadst thou been there," says the messenger, who tells the story, and
emphasises the fact that the duty had been committed to no slavish hands,
" thou wouldst have seen how he loved them."
"^e washed — himself — the wounds of these unfortunates?" repeats
Adrastus, as though unable to credit the tale,
^ " Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us."
496 EURIPIDES
" Yea, and spread out the bier, and veiled thereon the bodies of the
dead."
" A fearful task for him, and — a disgi'ace,^^ is the comment of Adrastus, the
AUtagsmensch.
" Disgrace ! " echoes the messenger with fine disdain, " lohat disgrace can
come to men through human suffering ? "
What, indeed ? The picture of the hero-king, preparing with his own hand
the bodies of his brethren for their last resting-place, will ever linger in the
memory as a symbol and type of a yet more significant washing — that which
took place in the upper room at Jerusalem by the Royal Hand of One who had
emptied Himself of His glory, and taken upon Him the form of a slave — the
realisation and embodiment of the poet's own belief {EL, 1329).
'' Among the heavenly ones there is compassion for heavy-laden mortals."
(3) Self-sacrifice. — Needless to say, the highest ideal of our poet is,
simply, compassion in its purest, most generous form — compassion so forgetful
of self that it identifies its own personality with that of the sufferer — takes
his place — becomes itself the burthen-bearer. Instances of this noblest
development of the human spirit — that which we call self-abnegation, self-
devotion, SELF-SACRIFICE — abound in the writings of Euripides. His own mind
seems to have been, consciously and unconsciously, in closest affinity with it,
so that he returns to the theme, as it were, instinctively. "Out of the
abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh."
Our readers will remember the passage in which Euripides expresses his
own belief in the prevailing power of goodness, in its beneficent rule over the
world (ante, p, 450, Suppl, 195): "Oft have I contended with others," he
says, " who strove to prove that evil among men was greater than the good.
I hold the contrary opinion. There's more of blessing given to mortals than
of ill. If it were not so, we should no longer see the light."
And yet there have been times in all periods of the world's history, times
within the personal knowledge of each individual, when this " opinion " appears
altogether optimistic. The very reverse seems to hold good. Does our poet at
such times go back from the judgment formed in happier days? By no means,
for he knows there is in existence a remedy — a something that can retrieve the
position, make good the loss, set right the balance.
"When evil is stronger than the good," he says (Phoen., 889), "there is
ONE means of safety, and none other." Bitter it is for him on whom the duty
falls of providing this one sovereign remedy — this pharmakon — but it brings
healing to others, safety to the State.
Needless to say, this remedy is — the sacrifice of self. Wherever evil is
beginning to triumph amongst men — the ills of life to overcloud the good —
this never-failing remedy is at hand — for him who has the courage to make
use of it. Let but the one be found, the One with no thought of self, the
One strong to labour, to lead, to endure even unto death — and straightway
the powers of evil are worsted — the good resumes its sway upon the earth.
Who cannot verify from his own experience the truth of this grand
doctrine? Who does not acknowledge that seZ/-sacrifice — bitter medicine to
the one who offers it — is the salt that keeps the moral world from decay?
What great religious truth can we name, what great scientific fact, what great
idea, what hope of struggling humanity, that has not had its martyr — one who
has sacrificed himself — before the doctrine, the fact, the idea, became part of
the universal heritage, or the hope passed into realisation ?
That a people like the Hellenes realised intuitively the force of that
universal law : " The one must suffer for the many,^^ is manifest. Their early
THE IDEALS 497
sagas and traditions are full of it, and it is upon these that Euripides draws for
his examples.
These belong to all the great branches of the Greek race — they are not
confined to one. Thessaly is represented by Alcestis, by Achilles and Peleus ;
Argos by Macaria and lolaus, by Evadne, by Iphigenia, Orestes, and Pylades ;
Thebes by Menoekeus ; Athens by Theseus and his sons ; Troezene by Hippo-
lytus. Of these types, six are martyrs in will and intent, if not in deed : old
Peleus risks his own life to save Andromache and her child; Achilles will
withstand the whole united force of Hellas, that he may rescue Iphigenia ;
Theseus and his sons take up arms in defence of the great unwritten laws
and on behalf of strangers of another nationality ; Orestes and Pylades vie
with one another for the honour of death, each seeking to lay down his life
for the other ; lolaus, finally, the type of that rarest of friendships, friendship
for the dead, spends and is spent for the children of Heracles.
The remainder prove their devotion by their death. One is a martyr to
an idea — Hippolytus to the sacredness of the oath ; Alcestis lays down her- life
for her husband — Macaria for her brothers — Menoekeus for the fatherland —
Iphigenia for " great Hellas." The self-devotion in one and all is the same :
" They loved not their lives unto the end ; " but the object of the self -oblation
broadens and widens out until it embraces the furthest bound to which a Greek
owed fealty. Beginning with the nearest tie — the devotion of wife to husband
— it finally includes within its scope all who (to use the old formula) " are of
like blood, have like manners and customs, and worship the same gods." The
enthusiasm of humanity in ancient times could no further go.
It is not at all probable that our poet planned his dramas with the
deliberate intention of illustrating the doctrine in this way. Not so ! these
old sagas were of exceeding interest to him as exemplifying what he held
to be noblest in human character, and he simply used them to suit his own
artistic purpose.
2 I
§ XL— HERODOTUS— I
When we turn to the historians of Greece, we cannot fail to note that the
impartiality of the chronicle seems to be provided for in the choice of the men
selected to record it. In the case of Herodotus it is not without significance
that he is of Asiatic birth — a native of Halicarnassus — belonging to neither of
the peoples whose history mainly interests us. He occupies a neutral stand-
point, and hence, when he praises or censures the actions of Spartan or
Athenian, there is no reason to fear any undercurrent of race-sympathy or
bias.
In Herodotus we meet for the first time in these pages with another
development of the active Greek mind, thought clothing itself for practical
purposes in the language of everyday life. Hitherto it is with the poets of
Hellas alone that we have had to do. Now we have arrived at the first of
a line of noble writers, for Herodotus is the father, not only of history, but of
Greek literary prose. As in the case of poetry and philosophy, so do prose
and the writing of history take their rise in Asiatic, not in European Greece,
although it is in the latter that all four reach their highest development.
Herodotus was born about 480 B.C. in Halicarnassus, a city which had once
formed part of the Dorian Hexapolis ^ of Asia Minor, but had been thrust out
by the other five cities of the confederation thenceforward known as the
Pentapolis.2 He was by no means the first thinker of Hellas who had essayed
to record the events of the past, nor yet the first prose writer, for in the
former of these capacities he had been preceded by the poets, and in the latter
by the logographers or chroniclers, such as Hecatseus and others, whose
writings are now lost. In the attempts of the poets, however, the mythic
element predominated too largely to satisfy the awakening consciousness
of Hellas ; and not only Herodotus, but the logographers (as the name
logographos = nsiYrsitor of facts, implies) would seem to have been moved to
their task by the same impetus which urged on the philosophers, viz., the
desire to find out the truth about things. What the philosophers attempted
in the world of nature, the logographers endeavoured to do in the world of men.
Herodotus himself calls his work a Historia — a narrative of what he had
learned by inquiry — and the name could not have been better chosen. Of
materials ready to hand for the writing of history in the modern sense,
Herodotus had few, if any, at command. To the archives, official registers and
documents, preserved in the temples of Egypt and other lands, access was
denied ; and even supposing that examination of them had been allowed, we
cannot credit Herodotus with the knowledge necessary to decipher them. It
is more than probable that he knew no language but his own. Herodotus was
thus thrown back upon two channels of information — personal observation and
what he could learn by " inquiry," and the result of his use of both is set forth
in his great and charming Historia.
The history of Herodotus is, therefore, literally, an " experiment." True,
he utilises the labours of the most famous of his predecessors, Hecatseus of
Miletus, to whom on several occasions he expressly refers. In the main, how-
1 Union of six cities. - Union of five cities.
498
HERODOTUS 499
ever, the freshness and naivete of his style are such as could only flow from
a first-hand acquaintance with the men and manners, the lands and scenes
which he describes. Le sti/le, c'est Vhomme, and one cannot but feel in reading
Herodotus that his information has not been derived from books, from either
parchment or papyrus, but gained by first-hand " inquiry," direct questioning
of the persons most trustworthy and most likely to know the truth about
things. Not that we can accept all that Herodotus tells us as ** truth," he
was far too dependent on others for that, but of this we may be certain, that
he tells us honestly all that he himself knows.
Let us examine one or two features in the old master's method of conduct-
ing his inquiry, and see whether we are justified in making this statement
or not.
(i) First, then, we note his fairness of presentation. Herodotus always
takes care to put his readers on their guard where there happen to be
several versions of the same story, and he often places the conflicting accounts
fully before them,^ in order that they may form a judgment for themselves.
Instances of this abound. We select the following : —
(a) He relates that version of the wonderful career of Cyrus, his mar-
vellous preservation, and his overthrow of the power of Croesus, which is given
" by those Persians who do not wish to embellish or magnify the history of
Cyrus, but to tell the plain truth,^ although," he adds (i. 95), "I am well
aware that there are three other ways of telling the story."
(6) He relates (iv. 1 1 ) three versions of the origin of the Scythian people,
whilst pointing out the one which he himself considers the most probable.
(c) He gives (vii. 148 et seq.) three different accounts of the reasons which
induced the Argives to remain neutral during the Persian invasion ; and
((^) {Ibid., 1536^ seq.) Two explanations of the causes which kept Gelon of
Syracuse from coming to the help of the mother-country.
(e) He gives (v. 45) two stories current about the connection of Dorieus
with the Sybaritic War. Any one is at liberty to select that which he thinks
most probable.
That this determination to bring forward every aspect of the subject
proceeds neither from loquacity nor inability to sift evidence, but from a
sheer sense of honour towards those who look to him for an unbiassed account,
is abundantly evident. On one of the debatable points referred to above
(the neutrality of the Argives), he says, " I am bound (opheilo) to relate all
that is told, but," he adds (ibid., 152), "I am by no means bound to believe
all — let this remark apply to the whole history." The aim of Herodotus is at
once to secure for his readers the same liberty of judgment which he claims
for himself, and to prevent that judgment from being one-sided. " Hear the
other side," is his own maxim, as well as that of the Athena of ^schylus.^
(2) Closely connected with this fairness of representation is the next
feature which we note in Herodotus, viz., his impartiality. Impartiality,
indeed, is the keynote of his history, the basis on which it rests, and it is
struck in the opening words (i. i), "This is a publication of the inquiry of
Herodotus of Halicarnassus, in order that the actions of men may not be
effaced by time, nor the great and wondrous deeds wrought, either by Hellenes
or barbarians, become deprived of renown, and amongst other things for what
cause they made war upon one another."
^ Or, rather, in the first instance, before his hearers. The " history " was in all probability
more often heard in public recitals than read. In those days readers were few, whilst hearers
at the festivals could be reckoned on in thousands.
2 Ton eonta logon — thsA which actually is, fact. * See p. 378.
500 HERODOTUS
The fact that they did " make war upon one another," and that the
Hellenes suffered grievously at the hands of the " barbarian," does not blind
Herodotus to any good points which the latter might possess. He agrees with
Pindar that the great deeds even of an enemy are to be duly chronicled.
Thus, if Herodotus notes the cruelty of a Darius or a Xerxes (iii. 159; iv.
84 ; vii. 38, 39), he also faithfully records the magnanimity of which each is
capable on occasion (vi. 30, 41, 191 ; vii. 136). If he does not conceal his
opinion that the Hellenes are now far above the barbarians in intelligence,
" the Hellenic race," he says (i. 60), " has long been distinguished (literally,
separated) from the barbarian, as being more quick-witted ^ and free from
foolish simplicity " ; he is also careful to point out how many things they had
learnt in bygone days from these very " barbarians." ^
When he turns to his own countrymen again, he brings forward innumer-
able instances of their readiness for self-sacrifice, their courage, their generosity,
their real nobleness of nature, but his patriotism does not blind him to their
faults. He openly ascribes the troubles of Hellas, not only to that which
came upon her from without, what she suffered from the Persians, but to that
which went on within, the disputes amongst her leading men for the possession
of power, their accessibility to bribery, &c. (vi. 98). Nor, hard task though
it must have been, does he shrink from recording the miserable result of these
jealousies and rivalries, the disgraceful part played by Hellenes in hastening
the invasion of their country. He shows us (v. 30 et seq.) the "fat" men of
Naxos, the men of substance, when excited by the people, appealing to the
Persian for help, and so bringing about the subjugation of the Isles of Greece,
which up to that time had been free. He shows us the first Persian spies
coming to view the land of Hellas led by a Greek physician, who, detained
against his will at Susa, has deliberately planned an invasion of his native
country in order to regain his own personal freedom (iii. 132). He shows us
a Hippias and a Demaratus, representatives respectively of the two noblest
nations of Hellas, Athens and Sparta, taking refuge with the Persian, and
marching with the armies of the great king against their countrymen, that
they may obtain revenge for personal injuries and satisfy personal ambition
(v. 96 ; vi. 70). He shows us a Miltiades saving his country at Marathon,
and then deceiving his countrymen and leading them to make war upon fellow-
Hellenes, in order to gratify a personal grudge (vi. 1^2 et seq.). He shows us,
finally, a Themistocles, saving his country at Salamis, and all the while playing
a double part which, in the event of a defeat, would have secured for himself
the favour of the Persian monarch (viii. 75, 109, no).
In every way, and at the risk of wounding the vanity and exciting the
anger of the different Hellenic peoples, Herodotus speaks the truth concern-
ing them and their great men impartially.
(3) Truthfulness — Sifting of Evidence. — A third feature in this first experi-
ment in the writing of history is the clear-sighted and clear-headed observation
which Herodotus brings to bear upon his subject. He thinks himself bound
to describe the various countries whose inhabitants figure in his pages ; but he
^ Dexioteron — more dexterous with (more ready to use the right hand) tlie mind.
2 Thus, he mentions that the Lydians were the first to coin gold and silver (i. 94) : he
attributes the invention of geometry, or land-measuring, to the Egyptians, from whom, he says,
it had passed to the Hellenes, whilst from the Babylonians they had derived the sundial and the
division of the day into twelve hours (ii. 109) ; and he traces the letters of the Greek alphabet
to the Phoenicians (v. 58), and the customs of wearing crests in helmets and placing devices
and handles on shields to the Carians (i. 171). Indeed, in his desire to do justice to those
without, Herodotus goes too far, as in his supposition that the names of the Greek gods and
many of their religious observances were Egyptian in their origin (ii. G. 50 ^^ seq.).
HERODOTUS 501
everywhere distinguishes between what he has himself seen of them and what
he has learned about them from others.
So far as his own personal observation is concerned, Herodotus comes before
us as a true precursor of our own men of science. The priests of Egypt inform
him that the Nile delta had been " acquired " by the Egyptians, and Herodotus
gives it as his own opinion that it had once been a bay of the sea, filled up in
the course of thousands of years by alluvial deposits brought down by the
river. This opinion he bases on strictly scientific reasoning — the character of
the soil and the fact that shells were found on the neighbouring mountains
(ii. 10-12). Again, his description of the plain of Thessaly, with his surmise
(vii. 129) that the gorge through which the Peneius makes its way to the sea
is the result of an 'earthquake, is accepted by geologists at the present day.
To the general truthfulness of his picture of Egypt the monuments of the land
still bear witness.
The information, on the other hand, which he derives from others is in-
variably prefaced by a phasi = ^^ they say," " it is said " ; and several of these
on dits, formerly ridiculed as " travellers' tales," have been confirmed by
recent research and exploration. ^ That Herodotus always attains to truth in
his guesses at science cannot for a moment be afl&rmed ; but neither can we
say that the statements of Aristotle — the typical Greek man of science — are
invariably correct. What we may fairly claim for Herodotus is that he
endeavours to approach his subject in the true scientific spirit — wherever it
is practicable inquiring into the truth of things and trying to find out " the
cause." His ethnographical and geographical lore has little to do with our own
inquiry, but it is well for us to note the way in which he deals with these sub-
jects, for we have in it a pledge that he will take equal, if not greater, pains to
ensure accuracy in his statements regarding things of yet higher importance.
Our examination of the method employed by Herodotus in conducting his
investigation, then, warrants us in believing that he has really set before us a
fair, all-round, impartial and accurate account (so far as his own knowledge
goes) both of his countrymen and of the " barbarians " with whom they came
into contact. This is the substantial contribution made to our present sub-
ject by the " experiment" of the genial old father of history.^
^ As, e.g., his account of the African pygmies (ii. 32). That some of his "travellers' tales"
are and must always remain mere fables should not be put down as an evidence of credulity
on the part of Herodotus. In retailing the stories (folk-lore) current among the peoples whom
he visited, he is only following out his self-imposed rule : *' I am bound to relate all that is
told, but I am by no means bound to believe all."
In another place, regarding a mythos of the Egyptians, he says : " Those to whom such
statements appear credible may believe them ; my object in my whole history is to write what
I hear concerning everything" (ii. 123).
It is amusing to find him explaining one of the current stories quite in modern fashion.
*' The Scythians report," he says, " that in the parts behind the most northerly of the inhabited
districts of their country the air is full of feathers " — these "feathers" Herodotus interprets as
"snow " (iv. 7, 31).
2 An objective guarantee that Herodotus is telling the truth about his own countrymen is
to be found in the miserable rivalries of the different peoples of Hellas. A Lacedaemonian or a
Theban, e.g., would not have allowed praise of Athens to pass unchallenged had it been false or
even exaggerated. Similarly, any want of accuracy in his statements about Sparta would have
been seized upon by the Argives. It must be remembered that, if the story can be accepted as
genuine, the History of Herodotus was first published [i.e. publicly read) at the Olympian
games, where representatives of all the Hellenic peoples were congregated. The only point to
which exception seems to have been taken, however, is the account of the discussion by the
Persians concerning the best form of government.
502 HERODOTUS
THE IDEA OF GOD AS FOUND IN HERODOTUS
The theology of Herodotus presents two very striking features — the first is
connected with his conception of the Divine, the other with his philosophy of
history.
(i) In his idea of God, Herodotus, like Xenophanes, breaks with the cur-
rent anthropomorphic traditions. He says openly that Homer and Hesiod made
the Greek theogony. His words are : " Whence each of the gods sprang,
whether they have all existed always, and in what form they exist — this was
not known until, so to speak, yesterday or the day before. For I consider that
Homer and Hesiod lived about 400 years before my time, not more ; and it is
they who made a genealogy of their gods (flieo-gonia) for the Hellenes, and
gave to these gods their names, and distributed honours and arts amongst them,
and stamped their forms" (ii. 53).
Herodotus is not literally correct, as we know, in saying that Homer and
Hesiod made the Greek theogony, for these poets only represent the final stage
of a long process of development. Nevertheless, if we substitute the words
" human fancy " for " Homer and Hesiod," and read " human fancy made the
Greek theogony," we have the thought which Herodotus intended to convey.
The statement is the more remarkable as coming from one whose whole mind
is permeated by the idea of a Power more than human controlling and leading
the destinies of men. Herodotus breaks, indeed, with anthropomorphic notions,
but he does not cast away the idea of God any more than did Xenophanes or
Anaxagoras. He believes most firmly in the JDivine Power, which he speaks
of habitually as to , Theioii = the Divinity ; ^ but he does not believe that the
Greek theogony has any claim to be regarded as the representative of that
power. The Greek theogony is only a local manifestation of the belief in that
Divine power. Herodotus has travelled much, visited many countries, and
seen for himself many forms of religion.^ Everywhere he finds a belief in a
power more than human ; the outward expression which that belief takes is
the local or national religion. To the Greek, the Divine enshrines itself in
human form ; to the Egyptian, the animal world affords its symbols of deity ;
to Herodotus, the Divine is in neither, but behind and above them.
To this feeling — that God is something different and distinct from all
human conceptions regarding Him — we must attribute the great reticence
shown by Herodotus in speaking of religious subjects (ii. 3, 65, 170, 171).
He does not consider that they form a fit subject for discussion — " Let these
things be as they have even been," is his formula (ix. 65).
To this feeling also must be ascribed his tolerance ; he holds that any
one who wilfully ridicules the religious beliefs or the established customs of
another nation is nothing short of a madman (ix. 65).
Another reason, of course, for the silence of Herodotus is probably to be
sought in the not unnatural desire to avoid sharing the fate of Anaxagoras
and being banished as an " atheist." Herodotus is no atheist, but his own
ideas of the Divine are not ripe enough to be brought forward in opposition to
the popular cults, and he contents himself with now and again dropping a hint
which is evidently meant for those who have ears to hear. Thus he says of
the Persian religion : "I know that the Persians observe the following cus-
1 The reader will recollect the hesitation shown by both -^schylus and Sophocles in using
the name Zeus to denote God (see ante, pp. 361, 384).
"^ There can be little doubt that the purer religion of the Persians had an influence upon
Herodotus, and through him upon his age (see further below).
THE IDEA OF GOD AS FOUND IN HERODOTUS 503
toms. It is not their practice to set up images or altars or temples ; hut they
charge those ivho do so with folly, because, as it seems to me, they do not believe
that the gods have human forms, as the Hellenes do " (ii. 13, i).
Again, he describes the horror felt by a barbarous nation at the orgiastic
cult of Dionysus (Bacchus) — a horror which led the people to depose, and
finally to kill, one of their kings who was found to have sought initiation in
the Bacchic mysteries. " The Scythians reproach the Hellenes on account of
their Bacchic worship," says Herodotus (iv. 79) ; " they say that it is not right
to invent a god who drives men to madness." Mark the irony — to invent a
god — and this put into the mouth of the despised barbarian !
Speaking in his own person of the popular deities, Herodotus is very
cautious ; but we cannot mistake his meaning. Thus, relative to the formation
of the so-called "vale " of Tempe, he writes (vii. 129) : " The Thessalians say
that Poseidon (Neptune) made the ravine through which the Peneius flows,
and what they say is probable. For whoever believes that Poseidon shakes
the earth, and that rents made by earthquakes are the work of this god, would
say, on seeing this, that Poseidon made it. For the separation between the
mountains (Ossa and Olympus) seems to me to be the work of an earthquake."
Here the physical phenomenon is placed over against the popular belief, but
not in such a way as to give offence.
So, on another occasion, regarding the destruction of the Persian fleet off
the Magnesian coast, he tells (vii. 189) the story of the Athenians having
called to their aid their " son-in-law," Boreas, the north wind, and invoked
him by prayers and sacrifices to help them and destroy the ships of the
barbarians, as he had done at Mount Athos, and adds : " Whether it was on
account of this that the north wind fell upon the barbarians as they rode at
anchor, I cannot undertake to say." Herodotus believed firmly that the
destruction of the Persian armament was the work of the Divine power, but
he will " not undertake " to link together as cause and effect sacrifices offered
to a physical power and this destruction.
(2) Herodotus' Philosophy of History. — We have seen that the avowed
object of the old master's inquiry is to do justice to the memory of the great
deeds wrought by Hellenes and barbarians alike. He has, however, another
and a deeper motive for undertaking the inquiry, and this is nothing less than
the tracing of the hand of God, or the working of the Divine power, in the
affairs of men. As a first attempt at a philosophy of history, this hidden
motif, which pervades the whole, is of exceeding interest. We may observe in
it four leading features — two strong points and two weak ones.
(1) Herodotus' Belief in the Divine OversigJit. — First of all we note that he
finds evidence of a Divine forethought in the realm of nature, and herein is
the direct forerunner of Aristotle. The fact that savage and hurtful animals
are unprolific, while such as are timid and fit for food bring forth abundantly,
is, he says (iii. 108), a proof of the wisdom of God. It is what "is likely,
seeing that the forethought of the Divine power is wise."
Turning to the affairs of men, Herodotus sees in everything a Providence,
or, as he calls it, a Divine chance or a Divine fortune {Tlieia tyche). Thus, in
the speech in which Cyrus incites the Persians to revolt from the Medes
(i. 126), he tells them of his own persuasion that he was born by Divine Pro-
vidence to lead them to freedom. Again, when the seven leading Persians
have resolved to kill the false Smerdis, they are encouraged by an omen to
dare the deed at once, and, says Herodotus (iii. 77), they passed through the
guards stationed at the entrance to the royal palace " by Divine guidance "
{TJieia pompe).
S04 HERODOTUS
Further, on the most trivial occurrences may hang momentous issues, be-
cause they are directed by this Divine chance. Thus, in a very beautiful little
nature-touch we are told (v. 92) that when the infant Cypselus was about to
be put to death by the ten conspirators, who, on account of an Oracle, were
alarmed at his birth, and had repaired for the purpose of making away with
him to the house of Eetion — the babe, innocently entrusted by its mother to
the leader of the band, " by a Divine chance " smiled into the face of the
would-be murderer. The man, touched with pity, is unable to carry out the
plan of dashing it on the ground. He hands it to the second, the second to
the third, and so on — until finally the whole ten withdraw, and the infant's
life is saved by the " Divine chance" of the smile.
That this Theia iyche is not blind fate is evident from the words which
Herodotus (ix. 16) puts into the mouth of a Persian, who says to a Greek just
before the battle of Platsea : " No man can avert that which must come to pass
— from God {ek tou Theo^iy
So far the old master is in entire agreement with that thought which sees
a Providence directing all things — fashioning and shaping all our ends, "rough-
hew them as we may."
(2) Herodotus^ Belief in the doctrine of Retribution. — Then, secondly, we note
in Herodotus, as in Homer, that the Divine Power is an avenging Power. The
doctrine of a Divine retribution, or nemesis, looms large in his pages. This
subject, however, we must reserve for our next section, inasmuch as it belongs
not only to the individual philosophy of Herodotus, but to the universal con-
science and consciousness of Hellas. That " God is a God of judgment " was a
truth well understood in antiquity.
(3) Fate in Herodotus. — These, then, are the strong points in the philosophy
of Herodotus — his belief in the Divine Providence and in the Divine aveng-
ing. We approach, on the other hand, one that disappoints us much, when we
turn to the support which he lends to the popular theory of fate. That evil
doctrine which, we imagined, had been exorcised by Sophocles reappears again
in Herodotus. God is undoubtedly the Moral Governor of the Universe — and
yet, strange contradiction, man seems once more to be the plaything of fate.
" Man is all chance," says the Solon of Herodotus to Croesus (i. 32) ; and
phrases such as " He was fated to be miserable," " destined to be unhappy,"
will readily occur to the memory of every reader (i. 8; iii. 161; iv. 79).
Nevertheless, the true doctrine of fate as taught by Sophocles (and as we saw
it in the great Trilogy) — viz., that a man determines his own fate by his own
actions, that " as a man soweth, so shall he also reap " — is writ large in Hero-
dotus for those who have eyes to see — both in his fully worked out doctrine of
the Nemesis, and also in the materials which he supplies in abundance, as we
know, for the express purpose of enabling his readers to form a judgment for
themselves. The weakness of Herodotus' presentation is that these materials
are not fully worked out, and hence his reasoning sometimes appears to us both
shallow and superficial. He ascribes to fate what a Sophocles (as in the case
of the sons of QEdipus) would have shown to be retribution.
Let us take an instance in point — the well-known story of the " fate " of
Croesus.
There is probably no reader of Herodotus who is not exceedingly sorry for
Croesus — his griefs, in the loss of his son, and his reverses, in the loss of his
empire, are so heartrending. And when we find, moreover, that all this comes
upon one who is described throughout as a pious man, one who makes the most
wondrous of offerings to Delphi, we find ourselves asking (as in the case of
(Edipus), "Why did such a man incur such a fate?"
THE IDEA OF GOD AS FOUND IN HERODOTUS 505
" Oh ! " said the tradition, " Croesus must suffer for the sin of Gyges, his
ancestor in the fifth degree. The Fates would not be appeased until the
punishment had been inflicted" — and this explanation (?) of the fall of Croesus
Herodotus complacently repeats (i. 91).
Now let us turn to the materials which the old master industriously places
before us, and ask ourselves what a Sophocles would have made of these, had
he undertaken to dramatise the story of Croesus.
(a) We should in all probability have seen the monarch commencing his
career by that deed of horrible barbarity which Herodotus chronicles (i. 92),
and which was perpetrated by Croesus upon his own half-brother, Pantaleon,
whom a part of the Lydians desired to place upon the throne. Not content
with taking precautionary measures against his rival, Croesus puts him to death
by tearing his flesh with a fuller's thistle, and then salves his conscience by
dedicating the murdered man's property to Apollo. By this act alone Sopho-
cles would have shown that Croesus had brought himself within the sweep of
the great unwritten laws — the law of blood-guilt and the law of kindred.
Blood, and that a brother's blood, cried against him from the ground to that
mighty God who is in the laws and who groweth not old.
(b) Then we should have seen Croesus convicted by the law of justice for
having planned the schemes whereby the Asiatic Greeks were reduced to
slavery. Before his time the Greeks in Asia were free, Herodotus tells us
(i. 5), and Croesus was " the first to begin unjust practices (erga adika) towards
them," taking possession of their cities "on the most frivolous pretexts"
(i. 26).
(e) Next Croesus would be condemned by the law concerning rulers and
ruled. He declares war against Cyrus in order to avenge the deposition of
Astyages, king of the Medes, and his own brother-in-law. By taking the part
of Astyages, however, Croesus is attempting to bolster up the cause oF one who,
like himself, has been guilty of an act of atrocious cruelty towards a subject.
Herodotus tells the whole revolting story (i. 121-130), and concludes with
" Astyages, after he had reigned thirty-five years, was deposed from the sove-
reignty, and by reason of his cruelty the Medes submitted to the Persians "
(i. 130), and yet this is the man whom Croesus would have replaced upon the
throne had his expedition been successful.
(d) Finally, we should have been shown Croesus in the act of disbanding
his army — and that in the face of the enemy ! — a want of common prudence
which would doubtless have been described as an apate, a judicial blindness
sent upon Croesus as a punishment for the blood-guilt which he has incurred,
his injustice towards the Hellenes, and the badness of the cause which he had
espoused (i. 77).
Of all these materials for explaining the " fate " of Croesus on the highest
grounds Herodotus makes absolutely no use, although the whole story "fits
in " so admirably with his own theory of retribution that we are surprised to
see the Sophoclean method not applied to it. We cannot suspect Herodotus of
not seeing the true solution, for he expressly declares Croesus to have been
"the first to begin acts of injustice towards the Hellenes." We can only
repeat that in his philosophy the doctrine of fate is not worked out — the
declaration of the Oracle, the " explanation " on the surface, is emphasised ; the
real explanation left in the background. Consequently Croesus, the fratricide,
has come down in his pages for all time as a man much more sinned against
than sinning — one who suffers for the sins of an ancestor in the fifth degree,
rather than for his own.
(4) The Jealousy of the Divine Power. — This superficiality is still more
5o6 HERODOTUS
apparent when we turn to what is the very kernel of the philosophy of Herodo-
tus, the pivot on which all else turns — his theory of the " jealousy (phthonos)
of the Divine Power."
That the troubles of mortals are due to the envy experienced by the gods
at the sight of human prosperity is a conception by no means confined to
Herodotus. We have seen it even in a Pindar. ^ The idea seems to have
arisen from the contemplation of the " ups and downs," the many " changes
and chances " (to use our own phrase) of this life, changes and chances which
seem to befall the good in common with the bad. On Herodotus this muta-
bility of fortune made a deep impression. He concludes his prooemium, or
introduction to his inquiry, with the words (i. 5) : "I shall further proceed to
describe the estates of men, both small and great. For those that were great
of old have become small, and those that were great in my time were formerly
small. Knowing, therefore, that the prosperity of men is not lasting, I shall
commemorate both alike.''
This undoubted fact, that the prosperity of men is not lasting, the popular
feeling ascribed to the " jealousy " of the gods ; and Herodotus is apparently
content to follow the popular feeling,^ for he puts it into the mouth of the
wisest of his characters, Solon, the Athenian, and Artabanus, the Persian.
Thus, when Crcesus presses Solon to pronounce him, as king of Lydia, the
happiest of men, Solon replies : "0 Croesus, I know that the Divine Power is
all jealousy and delights in confusion,^ and thou askest me concerning human
affairs ! In the lapse of time men are constrained to see and to suffer many
things which, willingly, they would neither see nor suffer. . . . Man is all
chance " ; and the moral is — look to the end before pronouncing any man happy
— call no man happy before his death. " For to many God hath vouchsafed a
glimpse of bliss, and then uprooted them utterly." And in the same strain
Artabanus is made to say (vii. 46) : " God, having allowed men to taste the
sweetness of life, is jealous of His own gift."
The grand exemplar of the instability of fortune is Croesus. Concerning
him Herodotus says expressly (i. 34) that, after the departure of Solon, "a
great nemesis fell upon the Lydian king from God (nemesis ek TJieou), probably
because he considered himself the happiest of men." This nemesis is the
death of his eldest son and heir — a nemesis which a Sophocles would undoubtedly
have traced to the cruel murder of Croesus' half-brother.
Of the grand deep teaching of -i;Eschylus again — that there is no such
thing as "jealousy" with God, that the suffering which He sends is intended
to lead men to wisdom — pathos mathos = learning by suffering — there is no
trace. ^ Herodotus appears to know ^schylus,^ but he ignores him, although
his own history affords at least one notable instance of the pathos mathos, this
very case of Croesus, for the monarch becomes a wiser, if a sadder, man after
his great reverses.
Nor has Herodotus, with all his clearness of observation, noticed in his
countrymen that which Xenophon remarks ( Cyrop., viii. 4, 14 ; cf. Schmidt,
Mhik, i. 82) concerning them, that "few of them bear prosperity well," other-
wise he might have taken his opportunity, as did Pindar, to warn them against
that hybris, that insolent pride, which infallibly draws down upon its harbourer
the Divine wrath.
^ See p. 342.
2 But see the remarkable story of Pheretime, whose excessive vengeance is said to have
roused the "jealousy" of the gods, p. 510.
^ Tarachodes, delights in troubling men.
^ See ante, p. 365.
^ He alludes to him at least as one of the "earlier poets" (ii. 156).
THE IDEA OF GOD AS FOUND IN HEKODOTUS 507
Polycrates of Samos is the standing exemplar of the popular notions con-
cerning the "jealousy" of the deity. He is ruler of the island of Samos, and
among the most " magnificent " of the tyrants who had ruled over the Asiatic
Greeks. He is a man whose good fortune becomes proverbial — as with the
golden touch of Midas, everything to which he turns his hand and his scheming
brain prospers. He conceives the unique idea of plundering all, friends and
foes alike, and makes the pleasing discovery that he gratifies his friends more
by restoring what he had taken from them than if he had left them undisturbed.
In fact, his prosperity reaches such an alarming pitch that his friend and ally,
Amasis, king of Egypt, sends him the following characteristic epistle (iii. 39,
40).
'* Amasis to Polycrates thus sayeth : It is a pleasure to hear of a friend
and ally prospering, but thy exceeding prosperity doth not cause me joy,
forasmuch as I know that the gods are envious. My wish for myself, and
for those whom I love, is, to be now successful, and now to meet with a check ;
thus passing through life amid alternate good and evil, rather than with
perpetual good fortune. For never yet did I hear tell of any one succeeding
in all his undertakings, who did not meet with calamity at last and come to
utter ruin. Now, therefore, give ear to my words, and meet thy good luck in
this way : Bethink thee which of all thy treasures thou valuest most and canst
least bear to part with ; take it whatsoever it be and throw it away, so that it
may be sure never to come any more into the sight of man. Thence if thy
good fortune be not thenceforward chequered with ill, save thyself from harm
by again doing as I have counselled." (Rawlinson's trans.)
Polycrates thinks the counsel of Amasis good, considers with himself how
he may best afflict his soul, and finally throws into the sea a costly seal, the
most prized of all his possessions. Now, he thinks, he is safe ; by this
voluntary sacrifice he must have conciliated any god who happened to be
watching him with jealous eye. Alas ! the seal returns to him — a fisherman calls,
a few days after, at the palace with a lordly offering, a splendid fish, of which
he begs the tyrant's acceptance as worthy of himself and his might. The
servants proceed to prepare the fish, when lo ! within it is found the fatal seal
— the gods will not accept the sacrifice. Polycrates' T^rites an account of the
event to the Egyptian king ; Amasis reads the letter and perceives that it is
"not possible for man to deliver man from impending calamity, and that
Polycrates, who was always fortunate, and who even found what he had
thrown away, could come to no good end." Amasis, therefore, sends a herald
to Samos, and formally renounces guest-friendship with Polycrates, lest, when
the great and fearful calamity overtook the latter, his own soul should have to
be given for one who was his guest-friend.
The expected " bad end " does come to Polycrates, for he is enticed to Sardis
by Oroetes, the Persian governor, who wishes to seize Samos, and put to death
in a shocking manner (iii. 120-125).
Thus, owing probably to the expression in the letter of Amasis, Polycrates
has travelled down through the ages as an example of that "jealousy" of the
gods which cannot tolerate the prosperity of man — a theory which .^schylus
had shown to be utterly false. And yet, by a little more thought, Herodotus
could have so presented the story as to give in Polycrates an example
either of deserved retribution, or of that aspect of the "jealousy" of the
Supreme Being which is not inconsistent with His character. But Herodotus
loses the opportunity — he shows indeed (iii. 39), and that with unction,
nemesis falling upon Oroetes, the Persian governor, for his treachery to
Polycrates, but he does not see that the " fate " of Polycrates is due to the very
5o8 HERODOTUS
same nemesis, for the tyrant had established himself on the throne by the
murder of one brother and the banishment of another. Like Croesus — like
the (Edipus of Sophocles — Polycrates had also brought himself within the
sweep of the great law of the requital of blood-guilt. Zeus Herkeios, Zeus
of the family, was the " jealous " god who watched him, and who would not
accept the propitiatory offering of the fratricide.^
Then, again, his " fate " overtakes Polycrates at the moment that he thinks
himself about to realise his grandest schemes, for he is lured to Sardis by the
promise of treasures sufficient to help him in his "great hopes" of becoming
potentate of Ionia and the isles (iii. 122). In this plan he sins against the
Hellenic notions of rulers and ruled ; he is cut off in the very act of trying to
exalt himself above his brethren, by which act he has attracted to himself the
" jealousy " of that Being whom the Hellenes themselves knew as Zeus the
giver of freedom, Zeus Eleutherius.
Thus the two great instances of the " jealousy " of the Divine Power as
shown in the vicissitudes of life — the stories of Croesus and of Polycrates — are
singularly alike. Both potentates secure the throne by bloodshed, both are
fratricides,' both endeavour to disarm the Divine wrath by voluntary gifts, both
are the first " in the historical age " to attempt the overthrow of the liberties
of the Hellenes on a large scale ; the plans of both are nipped in the bud just
when they seem to be blossoming into fruition.
This brings us to the second aspect of the Divine " jealousy," as found in
the philosophy of the old master, and in justice to Herodotus let us say
emphatically that it is that aspect which predominates — the idea that God
holds the balance of the universe, a truth which was stamped, as it were,
upon the conscience of mankind by the stupendous events of the Persian
wars.
This part of the subject is brought out in the speech of the discreet and
able Artabanus, uncle to Xerxes, who endeavours to dissuade that monarch
from carrying his arms into Europe.
Xerxes, we must premise, has convened an assembly of the chief Persians
in order to lay his intention before them, and in his speech to them has just
explained his object in undertaking the expedition. This is not only that he
may punish the Athenians for having come to the help of the lonians and
burnt the city of Sardis, not only that he may avenge the ignominious defeat
of the Persians at Marathon, but that he may make " the Persian territory co-
extensive with the aether of Zeus " — or, as we should say, with the air of heaven
— and to this end " not only the guilty but the not-guilty must alike be brought
under the yoke of slavery " (vii. 8). Thus the openly expressed aim of the
expedition is self-aggrandisement, to be achieved at the cost of all that others
hold dear. Xerxes will make himself, in fact, an earthly Zeus.^
Mardonius, the Persian who afterwards gives '' satisfaction" to the Spartans
for the death of Leonidas, applauds the resolution of the king ; but Artabanus
warns him most solemnly by every means of persuasion in his power against
it. His chief argument is as follows (vii. 10): "Thou seest that God
strikes with His thunders the tallest animals, nor suffers them to be
ostentatious, whilst the smaller ones do not offend Him ; thou seest that
He even hurls His thunderbolts against the greatest buildings and the
highest trees. For God is wont to cut off all that overtops the rest (is too
1 Compare the voluntary offering of Polycrates with the dedication of his murdered brother's
property by Croesus.
2 We recollect ^schylus' description of Atossa, the consort of Darius and mother of Xerxes,
as " wife, yea, and mother of the Persians' god" (see ante, p. 366).
SIN AND RETRIBUTION 509
highly exalted). Thus, a large army may be defeated by a small one, when
God's jealousy awakes, and He strikes it with terror or with lightning, so that
it perishes in a way unworthy of itself. For God will not allow any one to
cherish lofty thoughts — except Himself."
This reasoning Herodotus applies in propria ]jersona where he remarks
concerning the destruction of the Persian fleet off Euboea (viii. 13): "All this was
done by God, that the Persians might be made equal to the Greeks— or at least
not much superior." And we may remark, again, that on one occasion Herodotus
shows a true appreciation of the Cause of the cause. God upholds the " balance "
of the universe, not only as Ruler of the rulers of this world, and therefore
resolved like an Eastern potentate to suffer no rival, no one thinking " lofty
thoughts " beside Himself, but in order to preserve the moral order of the
universe. That Herodotus clearly saw this is evident from the words which
he puts into the mouth of Themistocles after the momentous battle of Salamis
(viii. 109). " It is not we," says Themistocles to the assembled captains, " who
have wrought out this deliverance, but the gods and heroes, who were jealous
that one man should reign over both Europe and Asia, and he unholy and
wicked." ^
II.— SIN AND RETRIBUTION
The evidence afforded by the old epic poets, by the tragedians, and by
Pindar, of a strong moral consciousness deeply inwrought in the Hellenic
peoples, is most strikingly confirmed in Herodotus. What Homer knew as the
02ns of the gods appears in Herodotus as nemesis, or tidis = retribution. His
theory of the Trojan War — to Herodotus, as to all the Hellenes, Thucydides
included, a real historical event — is the following (ii. 120): "I am of
opinion," he says, " that the total destruction of the Trojans was ordained by
Providence, in order to make it clear to all men that, for great crimes ^ great
punishments are in store at the hands of the gods." Crime, and punishment
from an unseen but avenging Power, are, in fact, throughout the whole his-
tory linked together, either explicitly or implicitly, as inseparable companions.
In the stories of Croesus and Poly crates (i. 8-13), the theory of a personal
retribution is obscured by Herodotus' favourite doctrines of fate and the
jealousy of the gods. Nevertheless, retribution appears here also, for the fate
which Croesus suffers is the penalty (tisis) for the sin of his ancestor Gyges,
who had murdered his master. And we may note that it is the fear of retri-
bution which induces Cyrus to liberate the hero of the story. When Croesus
is already standing on the funeral pyre, Cyrus recollects that the rival whom
he has condemned to be burned alive was, but a few hours previously, a
monarch as great and powerful as himself, and considering that he also is a
man,3 and fearing the vengeance (tisis) of the gods, he commands that the fire
shall be extinguished.
In the story of Polycrates, again, the governor, Oroetes, who lured the
tyrant of Samos to his destruction, is himself put to death by order of Darius
— a "fate" which Herodotus twice describes (iii. 126-128) as vengeance
(tisis) overtaking him on account of Polycrates.^
^ Anosios kai atasthalos. ^ A dikemata = acts of injustice.
^ The same reflection induces the Theseus of Sophocles, as we recollect, to protect OEdipus
(see p. 408).
■* It is noteworthy that in the original the phrase is : " The Avengers overtook Orcetes " —
the avenging powers being, as it were, personified. Herodotus has broken with the Erinyes
and the other machinery of the old mythology, but he clearly believes that the avenging
powers are Divine agents.
5IO HERODOTUS
In the story of Pheretime, again, Herodotus seems to have a glimpse of the
great truth implied in the claim so familiar to the Christian : " Vengeance is
Mine — I will repay, saith the Lord." Pheretime is queen of Cyrene and
mother of Arkesilaos, who has been put to death by the men of Barca because
they had suffered many and grievous things at his hands (iv. 167). Phere-
time gains over the Persian governor of Egypt to assist her with an army,
gets possession of Barca by a dishonourable stratagem, and then proceeds to
wreak her vengeance not only on the men of the city, but their hapless wives,
impaling the men and mutilating the women in a savage manner. Pheretime
herself retires to Egypt, and there, immediately after her revenge on the
people of Barca, dies a horrible death, which may be compared with that of the
Herod of the New Testament. The comment of our historian is (iv. 205) :
" So hateful to the gods are the excesses of human vengeance." The phrase
rendered " hateful " is epiphthonioi — literally, the gods become jealous of the
excesses of human vengeance. In working out this awful revenge Pheretime
had overstepped the limits assigned to mortals, and arrogated to herself, like
Herod, something that belongs to God.
Other instances of punishment following swiftly on the heels of crime
abound. As an example of real spiritual insight, we may remind the reader of
the story of Glaucus and his attempt to induce the Oracle to sanction his
breach of the trust reposed in him.^
The history of the Spartans affords two remarkable examples of retribution
as viewed from the standpoint of the people.
(i) The Story of Demaratus and Cleomenes. — Cleomenes and Demaratus are
the reigning kings of the period. 2 Demaratus has made an enemy of his col-
league by thwarting his policy in the expeditions which they jointly led ; and
he has incurred the hatred also of Leutychides, a man of his own royal house,
whom he has disappointed of his affianced bride by taking the lady to wife
himself. Cleomenes and Leutychides, being thus both aggrieved, plot the
downfall of Demaratus, and accomplish it jointly by maintaining that Dema-
ratus is not the son of his reputed father, and consequently not the rightful
king of Sparta. In this allegation they are supported by the Oracle, the
Pythia (or prophetess) having been persuaded by a man of great influence at
Delphi, one Cobon, who is in the interests of Cleomenes, to give a false
response and " say what Cleomenes wished to be said " (vi. 66).
Justice is thus poisoned at its earthly fountain-head — by the decision
of Delphi Demaratus is deposed and takes refuge at the Persian court, and
Leutychides is appointed king in his stead. But retribution comes upon all
the conspirators. The deceit practised by the Pythia is detected ; she herself
is deposed from office, and Cobon, who had induced her to comply with the
wish of Cleomenes, is forced to fly from his native city. Leutychides, who had
profited most by the plot, is convicted of accepting bribes from the Thes-
salians ; he is banished from Sparta, and his house razed to the ground. Thus,
as Herodotus puts it (vi. 72) : "Leutychides did not grow old in Sparta, but,
as it were, paid the penalty (tisis) to Demaratus."
As for Cleomenes, the instigator of the nefarious scheme, his end is most
miserable of all, for he becomes mad, and in his mania hacks himself to death
— thus, as it were, inflicting the penalty upon himself. Madness, as we have
seen,2 was regarded as a disease of Divine origin, i.e. sent by God as a punish-
^ See ante, p. 322.
2 The Spartans, as the reader will recollect, had two joint-kings, whose functions were
mainly those of commanders-in-chief.
^ In the case of Ajax, p. 389.
SIN AND RETRIBUTION 511
ment for some sin, and the Hellenes busied themselves in trying to discover
the cause of the visitation on Cleomenes. These reasons, set forth in full by
Herodotus with his usual impartiality, are most instructive as affording an
index to the national ideas on the subject of sin and its consequences.
(a) Most of the Hellenes, says Herodotus (vii. 75), ascribe the madness of
Cleomenes to his having persuaded the Pythia at Delphi to say what she did
concerning Demaratus.
(b) The Athenians, however, assigned the judgment on Cleomenes to his
having ravaged the sacred precincts (the temenos) of the two goddesses at Eleusis
during an invasion of their territory.
(c) The Argives attributed the calamity to his having treacherously mas-
sacred fugitives who had taken refuge in the sacred grove of the national hero,
Argos, and then contemptuously 1 set fire to the grove itself.
{d) The Spartans declared that Cleomenes became mad from no Divine
impulse, but from a habit which he had learned from barbarians, the Scythians,
of drinking unmixed wine.
Thus the general consensus of opinion throughout Hellas is that Demaratus
did suffer on account of some sin — injustice, or impiety, or treachery combined
with cruelty, or drunkenness. Herodotus himself says (vi. 84), like a judge
summing up the results of an inquiry, '* Cleomenes appears to me to have
paid this penalty to Demaratus," i.e. he suffered for his own treachery and
injustice.
(2) The Heralds of Darius. — Finally, we may adduce as an evidence of
national feeling the beautiful story of the two Spartans (vii. 133-137) who
voluntarily surrendered themselves to the Persians, a living sacrifice, in satis-
faction for the sin of their nation in slaying the heralds whom Darius had
sent to Sparta to demand earth and water. Indignant at the claim, the
Spartans had thrown the unfortunate messengers into a well, and bidden them
fetch earth and water thence for the king. Somehow things did not go well
at Sparta after this act of barbarity ; the omens were not propitious, and it
became evident that the Spartans had incurred the wrath of one of the national
heroes, Talthybius, the herald of Agamemnon, who had a sanctuary in the
city. Consequently, after due deliberation, inquiry was made by public pro-
clamation whether any Lacedaemonians were willing to die for Sparta. Two
men of noble birth and great wealth — men, that is, who had everything this
world could offer to make life worth keeping — voluntarily presented themselves
to give satisfaction, by their own death, for the wrong done to the heralds of
Darius, and actually proceeded to Persia for the purpose. Of these courageous
men we shall hear more presently. Meantime, suffice it to say that, when
they arrived at Susa, they found the great king not wanting in magnanimity.
In reply to their simple statement that "the Lacedaemonians had sent them to
give satisfaction (to pay the penalty) for the death of the heralds who had
perished in Sparta," Xerxes expressed himself as unwilling to follow the
example of the Lacedaemonians, who " had violated a custom held sacred by all
men. He would not himself do what he blamed in them, neither by killing
them in return would he release the Lacedaemonians from the condemnation
which they had incurred. " The two brave men, therefore, returned to Sparta,
and the wrath of the hero Talthybius was apparently appeased. Nevertheless,
it broke out again. Herodotus notes it as a remarkable fact that the sons of
those men both died a violent death, thus, as it were, paying the penalty which
was not accepted at the hands of their fathers.
^ The phrase means, literally, with utter want of reason, without regard to the sacred
character of the place.
512 HERODOTUS
We must not allow the supernatural intervention of Talthybius, the national
hero, to blind us to the fact that we have in the story a genuine instance of
the awakening of the national conscience. During the height of their excite-
ment and resentment the Spartans had allowed themselves an act reprobated
by all civilised nations. When the excitement is past they realise what they
have done and seek to make atonement. In other words, they recognise that
upon sin must follow nemesis, retribution.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS
Nowhere in Greek literature is the action of the unwritten laws among
the Hellenic peoples more evident than in Herodotus. It runs like a deep,
strong undercurrent throughout the whole inquiry, betraying its existence by
its tendency and influence — moulding and shaping their history, as it were,
before our eyes. A very brief survey of the field will enable us to judge
of this.
(i) Reverence for the Unseen Power. — This subject will meet us
again when we come to consider the Hellenic ideals. Meantime, we would
only point out here that Zeus is still God to the Hellenes. They worship gods
many and lords many ; the hero-cult absorbs a large share of their love and
reverence. Nevertheless, there is One who represents to the ordinary Hellenic
mind what to Theion = the Divine Power represents to Herodotus, and that One
is still Zeus.
It is to Zeus Herkeios — Zeus, whose altar stands in the court of every
house — god of the household and family, that Demaratus appeals at the crisis
of his life, when his birthright has been sworn away by Delphi, and he urges
his mother to speak the truth (vi. 68). It is in the name of Zeus Eleutherius,
giver of freedom, that Masandrius seeks to restore their rights and liberties
to the Lamians after the death of Polycrates. His intention is frustrated, but
his design in renouncing the tyranny and erecting an altar to be the token of
that design is that he " may prove himself the most just of men." Of this
intention Zeus Eleutherius is the witness (iii. 142).
It is reverence (the aidos) for Zeus Hellenius (Zeus, the god of the Hel-
lenes) that restrains the Athenians from betraying Hellas (ix. 7).
Finally, in their hour of direst need, we note that it is Zeus who comes to
the help of the Hellenes in general and of the Athenians in particular. It is
Zeus — not Apollo, the mouthpiece of prophecy, nor Athena, the patroness of
the city — who decrees that their " wooden walls " shall be a shelter and a refuge
for the Athenians when the Persians in their myriads swarm into Attica,
devastating and burning all before them. Now, as before, the Aryan
Heaven-Father is He to whom the hearts of the people turn in their
distress (vii. 141).
(2) Reverence to Parents. — The honour held to be due to parents is
well exemplified in the story of the Argive priestess and her sons, as told by
Solon to Croesus. Possibly the action of the law is all the more impressive
in that the story itself is related with quite another purpose in view (i. 31).
When the Argives were engaged in celebrating a festival of Hera (the
patron deity of the land), it was necessary, says Herodotus, that the priestess
of the goddess should drive to the temple in state. On one occasion it hap-
pened, unfortunately, that the oxen for her chariot were not at hand ; the
people awaited the sacrifice ; time pressed, and in the dilemma the two sons of
the priestess — who were both athletes and had both been crowned in the games
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 513
— put themselves under the yoke, and drew their mother's car a distance of 45
stades, to the temple, where they arrived amid the plaudits of the assembled
multitude — the men praising the manly strength of the youths, the women
blessing their filial piety. The proud and happy mother thereupon besought
the goddess to grant to the sons '' who had so highly honoured her the greatest
blessing that man could receive." Her prayer was answered, but in an un-
expected way ; for the youths, after they had sacrificed and partaken of the
feast, fell asleep in the temple itself, and never awoke again.
The direct object of the story, as put by Herodotus into the mouth of the
wise man, is to prove the historian's own theory regarding the mutability of
fortune — to prove, as Solon declares, " that in these young men God clearly
showed how much better it is for man to die than to live," since death was
undoubtedly the answer to the mother's prayer. But we have here evidently
a standing national tradition handed down from one generation to another, for
the story concludes with the remark that " the statues of the young men had
been made by the Argives and dedicated (as a national monument) at Delphi,
in commemoration of their having attained to the highest virtue." ^ Hence,
Pindar only expresses the national feeling in the admonition (also traditional)
which he gives — " to reverence most of all Zeus, and never to deprive of like
honour a parent's spell of life" (c/. p. 353).
(3) To the Position of Women among the Hellenes there is not
wanting a clue in the pages of Herodotus. From him alone, apart from
other sources, we can gather : —
(a) Firstly, that domestic life among the Hellenes was infinitely purer
than among the barbarians. This is evident from his significant observation
concerning the Lydians. "The Lydians," says Herodotus (i. 94), "observe
nearly the same customs as the Hellenes, except that they prostitute their
daughters."
(b) Secondly, that there was no polygamy among the Hellenes — a fact
attested by our historian in the same incidental way. Of the Egyptians he
remarks (ii. 92) that " each man has but one wife, like the Hellenes." And
again in relating the story of Anaxandrides, king of Sparta, he tells us (v. 139
et seq.) that when pressure was brought to bear upon him by the ephors to put
away his wife, by whom he had no children, and marry another, in order that
the royal race might not become extinct, Anaxandrides absolutely refuses to
deal thus with a wife who was blameless and whom he loved. The ephors and
the senate then proposed to him to marry a second wife whilst retaining the
first. To this, as threats were held out, the king consented ; and " after-
wards," says Herodotus, " he had two wives and occupied two houses — doing
what was not at all in accordance with Spartan customs." The phrase rendered
"two houses" is literally "a double hestia," or hearth — a significant word, for
let us note that the hearth was the shrine of the household deities, the sacred
place of the family and of the suppliant. It is plain that, in Herodotus'
opinion, although Anaxandrides is represented as doing all that he could to
spare his first consort's feelings, yet that he has outraged a sacred principle,
for the historian proceeds to chronicle what he evidently considers to be a sort
of nemesis on this violation of the sacred hearth. The second wife, he tells us,
bore one son, and one only, Gleomenes, who " was not in his right senses, but
almost mad " ; 2 whilst, by a strange fortune, the first and childless wife became
later the mother not only of Dorieus, held to be the first among the young men
^ Lit., the statues were made "as of those who had become the first of men" — in filial
piety.
2 As we know, he died in raving mania (see ante, p. 510).
2 E
514 HERODOTUS
of his day, but of Leonidas, the lion hero of Thermopylae, and a twin brother.
Thus was the sanctity of the true family hestia, the hearth of the first wife,
vindicated.
(c) The Home Life. — So much for the mother of Leonidas. Concerning his
wife also, Herodotus has two anecdotes which let a little light — all the brighter
because unexpected — into the Spartan home life.
In the first (v. 51) we see Oleomenes — the son of Anaxandrides, now one
of the reigning kings of Sparta — standing by the same hestia with his little
daughter, Gorgo, his only child, by his side. A stranger appears — it is Arista-
goras, tyrant of Miletus, who has crossed to Europe to solicit the aid of Sparta
in his revolt against the Persians, has already had public audience of the king,
and been refused the expected assistance. He now has recourse to other means —
enters the house of Oleomenes bearing the olive-branch of the suppliant, and
begs the king to send away his little daughter, for he would speak with him
alone. Oleomenes bids him proceed, and take no account of the child, where-
upon Aristagoras renews his petition for help, this time enforcing it by a bribe.
Beginning with the offer of ten talents, and finding the king proof against
temptation, he gradually increases the bait until it has reached the dazzling
amount of fifty talents. Possibly Oleomenes shows signs of yielding, for the
little maid, who has hitherto been a silent auditor of the colloquy, suddenly
cries out : *' Father, the stranger will corrupt thee if thou go not away ! "
And, says Herodotus, the father was so pleased with the counsel of the child
that he did " go away " into another room, and left Aristagoras to make the
best of his way home, his mission unfulfilled.
In the second anecdote (vii. 239) this same quick-witted little maiden —
then of some eight or nine summers — is grown up and the wife of Leonidas,
and it is she who, by her clear-headedness, secures for the Hellenes early
intelligence of the intended descent of the Persians upon their country. It
happens thus. No sooner has Xerxes definitely resolved to undertake the
expedition than Demaratus, the unjustly deposed and self-exiled Spartan king,
then living at Susa,i determines to send home news of the coming disaster —
either out of goodwill to his countrymen, or from malice, says Herodotus.
Whatever the motive that dictated the message may have been, how to get it
transmitted is the difficulty, for the great king has his officials and his spies all
along the royal road that runs from Susa to the coast. At length Demaratus
bethinks him of the following device : he scrapes off the wax from an ordinary
writing-tablet, inscribes the message on the wood beneath, then pours fresh
wax on the top, and so entrusts it to the messenger, to all appearance a new
tablet which has not yet been used. When the Lacedsemonians receive it,
they are all at a loss ; no one can guess what it means, until the solution of
the riddle occurs to Gorgo, daughter of Oleomenes, and wife of Leonidas. Her
counsel is that, if the wax be scraped off, the message will be found beneath.
The counsel is followed, the message read, and afterwards sent to the other
peoples of Hellas.
It is pathetic that the first effect of this counsel, which no doubt Gorgo
gave to her husband in private, was an intimation that she herself must lose
her husband. For the Spartans sent to Delphi to inquire concerning the secret
message and the impending war, and the Oracle made answer that " either
Lacedaemon must be overthrown or their king perish." There were two kings
of Sparta, yet Leonidas seems to have taken the warning as intended for him,
for Herodotus tells us (vii. 220) that he remained at Thermopylae with the
express determination of fulfilling the Oracle — resolved to " perish " himself
^ See ante, p. 510.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 515
that Sparta might not be "overthrown." Had any further ''counsels" of
Gorgo aught to do with this noble resolve? From what we know of the
Spartan women, and of Gorgo herself, we may be tolerably sure that the wife's
single-heartedness fanned the flame of the hero's devotion. We may, further,
be justified in thinking that the marriage of Leonidas and Gorgo had been one
of affection, for the youths and maidens of Sparta had opportunities of seeing
one another before marriage — opportunities denied, so far as we know, in the
other Grecian States. ^
(4) The Faithful Oath and Covenant appears often in the pages of
Herodotus, not only as binding between State and State, but between man and
man. No better instance of Hellenic feeling as regards the sacredness of
obligations can be given than the story of Glaucus the Spartan.
Everywhere we find evidence that the Hellenes recognised uprightness
and integrity as a great moral force, as a law binding them to pursue a
certain definite course and no other. If their great men accept bribes, they
know perfectly well that they are doing wrong, and the very children have
the same innate consciousness. It is not the result of direct teaching from
without, but the spontaneous dictate from within, that resounds in the
warning of the little Gorgo : " Father, go away, or the stranger will corrupt
thee!" "Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings" comes evidence of
the Divine law written on the tablet of every human heart. The Spartans
are often held up as the " awful warning " against bribery and corruption.
It is true that they who, of all Hellenes, could make the least use of money
had the most intense money-hunger. Nevertheless, Herodotus relates (iii.
148; V. 51) that even the "mad" Cleomenes showed himself "the most
upright of men," for on two different occasions he turned away from the
temptation, and took steps to have the briber ejected from Sparta.
(5) Treatment of Strangers and Suppliants.— That such a custom
as the protecticrn of the suppliant — of the fugitive, even when that fugitive
happened to be an enemy — should have held its ground in an age when the
fiercest passions were too often excited is in itself a proof of the silent reign
of law. We have seen (p. 511) how in Sparta the national conscience was
^ Regarding a certain Callias of Athens, it is chronicled (either by Herodotus or one of his
commentators) — the passage (vi. 122) is regarded as an interpolation — as a very remarkable
instance of generosity that, when his three daughters had arrived at marriageable age, he not
only gave to each of them a most magnificent gift, but actually allowed each to gratify her wish
by marrying the man of her choice I That this liberty of " choice " should be deemed worthy
of special mention speaks volumes. Even at this early period Greek marriages seem to have
been pure and simple mariages de convenance. And yet there must have been exceptions.
How, otherwise, can we account for the love-story of Hsemon and Antigone ? — unless, indeed,
Sophocles is there describing "men and women as they ought to be," rather than men and
women as they were in his own day. One, at least, of his characters, however, Sophocles cer-
tainly drew from life — his Kreon must have had many a prototype, and in nothing is the egoist
more true to nature than in his tirades against women. Kreon yield to an Antigone — to a
woman ? Never ! It is amusing to see the same spirit on the arena of history. Against none
of the princes, governors, captains, or leaders of the hosts of Xerxes did the Greeks cherish
animosity, save only against Artemisia, queen of Halicarnassus. On her head the Athenians
set a reward — to the man who should take her alive was promised the glittering prize of ten
thousand drachmas. And why ? Not because she was fighting on the wrong side ; not because
she had proved herself the wisest of the counsellors of Xerxes ; not because she alone had given
the great king advice that would seriously have damaged the Hellenes if it had been followed ;
no ! but because, as Herodotus naively informs us (viii. 93), "they thought it fearful {deinon)
that a woman should fight against Athens ! " Fortunately for herself, Artemisia showed her
ability in this also, that she contrived to make good her escape. We can have no great esteem
for the Halicarnassian queen as the leader of a Greek State, voluntarily espousing the cause of
the enemy of Hellas. Nevertheless, so evident is the animus against her that it is a relief to
find Artemisia clever enough to disappoint it.
5i6 HERODOTUS
roused in the case of the murdered Persian heralds, who, apart from the
" sacred " nature of their office, were so far suppliants, and therefore entitled
to protection, in that they were defenceless and strangers, and consequently
under the special care of Zeus Xenios, Zeus Hiketesios, the god of the
stranger and suppliant.
The custom was, in fact, regarded as so plain an obligation that no
guidance or direction from without concerning it was necessary. To consult
the Oracle about so self-evident a matter as the protection of the suppliant
was really "to tempt the god," precisely as in the case of Glaucus (p. 322),
who asks Apollo whether it is lawful for him to steal. The one duty is as
clear as the other. This is set forth in the story of the Cymaeans, who
inquired of the Oracle of Apollo at Branchidse as to whether they should
deliver up Pactyas, the governor of Sardis, who had fled to Cymae for refuge
after his revolt against Cyrus. The Oracle (ironically) bids the inquirers
deliver him up to the Persians, whereupon the Cymaeans prepare to carry
out the command. But, says Herodotus (i. 157 et seq.), although most of
them had come to this determination, Aristodicus, a man greatly esteemed
among them, distrusted the response, suspecting that the ambassadors had
not spoken truly. He therefore went himself, with others, a second time to
Branchidae, and put the question in the name of all, and in the following
form : " king, there has come to us a suppliant, Pactyas the Lydian, in
order to escape a violent death at the hands of the Persians. They now
demand him, and bid the Cymaeans deliver him up. We indeed fear the
might of the Persians, but we have not dared to give up our suppliant before
it has been made clear to us by thee what we should do." Thus they asked,
and the second time came the same answer, bidding them give up Pactyas
to the Persians. Thereupon, says Herodotus, Aristodicus did what he had
resolved beforehand to do in the event of such an answer being given (so
incredible did it appear to him that this could be the mind of the Divine
power). He walked round the temple and began to remove the sparrows and
other birds which had there built their nests. And as he was doing this
there came (so it is said) from the sanctuary to Aristodicus a voice,
exclaiming: "Most impious of men! what is this that thou darest to do?
Wilt thou tear my suppliants from my temple ? " But Aristodicus, without
losing his presence of mind, replied : ''0 king, dost thou thyself come to the
help of thy suppliants, and yet biddest the Cymaeans deliver up theirs ? "
And the answer came again : "Yea, I bid you do so, to the end that, having
acted impiously, ye may the sooner perish and come no more to consult the
Oracle about the delivering up of suppliants," i.e. that ye may no more hypo-
critically ask counsel concerning what is perfectly clear, and thus try to
shirk a plain duty.^
Herodotus adds that the Cymaeans, finding themselves in a terrible
dilemma — not daring to deliver up Pactyas lest they should themselves
perish, nor yet daring to keep him with them lest they should be besieged
by the Persians — sent him away to Mytilene. Hearing, however, that the
Mytilenaeans were preparing to surrender him for a price, they sent again,
took him out of their hands, and entrusted him to the Chians. The latter
were not proof against the temptation of a strip of land on the continent,
Atarneus in Mysia, offered them as a bribe by the Persians. They tore the
unfortunate Pactyas from the temple of Athena, where he had taken refuge,
and delivered him up ; but the Chians knew well that they were doing
^ Cf. the remark of (Edipus concerning his sons' duty to himself (p. 408). "No Oracle,"
he says, "is needed for that — their own hearts might tell them, if they would listen."
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 517
wrong. Not one of them, says Herodotus, dared to offer to any of the gods
the fruits of the acquired territory of Atarneus. All that that land brought
forth was carefully " excluded from the temples," because it was the price of
blood.
Treat this beautiful story as we may — as fable, allegory, or tradition —
it is nevertheless another evidence of the existence in the age of Herodotus
of the thing called "conscience." Herodotus tells us (vi. 91), moreover, that
the ^ginetans had contracted an agos^ a pollution or defilement, which
" could not be expiated by any means," in that they had forcibly removed a
suppliant from the door of the temple of Demeter. This occurrence will
engage our attention later.
Meantime we have said enough to show that this "felt" duty of pro-
tecting the suppliant is, for those who have eyes to see, another beautiful
evidence that the Great Father left not Himself at any time without witness
in the hearts and minds of men.
(6) Blood-guilt.— That the Hellenes knew the force of a law which im-
peratively demanded life for life is abundantly proved by the case already
familiar to us — that of the two Spartans who voluntarily offered themselves
in the place of the murdered heralds (p. 511). Almost every instance of the
tisis, or retribution, noted by Herodotus shows that the national feeling was
alive on the subject.
(7) Reverence for the Dead. — The Hellenic feeling regarding the respect
due to the dead is nowhere more clearly shown than in the account given by
Herodotus of the treatment after death of the body of Leonidas, the Spartan,
by the Persians, and of that of Mardonius, the Persian, by the Spartans.
After the battle of Thermopylae, Xerxes goes to view the slain, and descry-
ing the body of Leonidas, orders the head to be cut off and impaled. The
comment of Herodotus (vii. 232) is that the king must have been more
incensed against Leonidas whilst yet alive than against any man, otherwise
he would never have " committed such an outrage upon the dead." The word
rendered " committed such an outrage " is, literally, he would never have so trans-
gressed the law (parenomese) — that unwritten law which demands respect for
the shrine of the spirit. The king's command, he adds, was carried out.
A short time passes ; the position of affairs is changed in Hellas ; the sea-
fight of Salamis has been won, and Xerxes is on the eve of his disgraceful
flight, when a herald suddenly appears in the camp of the Persians in Thessaly,
insists upon being admitted to the royal presence, and addresses to the king
the following bold words : " king of the Medes, the Lacedaemonians and
Heraclidae of Sparta demand satisfaction for blood, because thou hast slain their
king while defending Hellas."
This "satisfaction" the Spartans demand at the bidding of the Oracle,
which has also told them to accept as an omen the king's reply. Xerxes
laughs at so preposterous a demand, contemptuously allows the herald to wait
for a length of time, and then finally points to Mardonius — who had en-
couraged him in his designs against Hfellas, and whom he is leaving behind
as commander-in-chief — with the words (viii. 114): " This Mardonius will give
you such satisfaction as is fitting." The herald accepts the " omen " and quits
the camp.
Time passes ; the situation is still further changed in Greece ; the great
victory of Plataea has been won ; the Persians are utterly routed, and
Mardonius himself has fallen. Not content with this visible " satisfaction,"
a man from the camp of the ^ginetans (one Lampon, a man of repute) goes
to the leader of the combined Hellenic forces, Pausanias the Spartan, having
5i8 HERODOTUS
what Herodotus calls " a most unholy (anosiotaton) proposal " to make. This
"unholy" proposal, together with the reception accorded to it, we must relate
in the words of our historian (ix. 78, 79). "O son of Cleombrotus," says
Lampon to Pausanias, " thou hast accomplished a marvellous, ^ a great and
noble work, and to thee God has granted to deliver Hellas and to win for
thyself a glory such as hath been achieved by no Hellene that we know.
Do thou now what yet remains to be done, that thy fame may be still
greater, and that in time to come the barbarian may take good heed to commit
no reckless deeds upon the Hellenes. For when Leonidas fell at Thermopylae,
Mardonius, as well as Xerxes, cut off his head and stuck it on a pole. Now do
thou pay him back in like manner, and thou shalt have praise from all the
Spartans first, and afterwards from the other Hellenes. For, when thou hast
impaled Mardonius, thou wilt revenge the death of thine uncle Leonidas."
This he said thinking to please Pausanias, but the king replied : " O
^ginetan friend, thy goodwill and thy foresight I appreciate, but thou
hast erred in thy judgment. ^ First thou settest me, my race, and my work on
high, and then thou sinkest me down to nothing by advising me to mutilate
the dead ; and if I do this thou promisest me yet greater honour ! Such a
deed befitteth better barbarians than Hellenes, and even in them we detest it.
At such a price I will not seek to gratify the ^ginetans, nor yet any whom it
would please. It is enough for me to win the approval of the Spartans by
acting and speaking in the fear of God.^ As for Leonidas, whom thou biddest
me avenge, I say that he hath been amply avenged, both he and the others
who fell at Thermopylae, by the countless lives of these slain. And now," adds
Pausanias, with a meaning which might well make the putter-forth of the
unholy proposal tremble, " do thou never again approach me with such reason-
ing or such counsel, and be thankful that thou goest forth untouched." And
when he had heard this the ^ginetan went his way, doubtless with a slightly
quickened pulse.
Thus we see that neither the natural impulse to requite " like for like " — and
in so doing at once to avenge the cause of Hellas and the insult offered to the
noblest of her sons, his own near relative — nor yet the recollection that the
Oracle had sanctioned the demand for " satisfaction " — the " omen " pointed
specially to Mardonius — sufficed to induce Pausanias to " transgress the law "
by the '' unholy " treatment of the dead.
III.— THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS {continued)
(8) Rulers and Ruled. — As was to be expected, no inner law shows more
outward change since Homeric days than this. The days of the recognition of
kingly rule as rule by right Divine are gone, and the age described by Hero-
dotus shows us State after State in the birth-throes of political freedom. The
monarchy, " one-man rule," had been succeeded by the oligarchy, " rule of the
few " — the great nobles probably, and former counsellors of the king ; disputes
among the oligarchs had given the opportunity to one-man. rule again — this
time the rule of the strong man, the tyrant. Now everywhere the effort is
being made to displace the tyrant in order to make way for a constitutional
regime under Demos, " the people." Democracy, " power of the people " — or, as
^ Hyperphues — literally, a work beyond the course of nature, bej'ond the power of man.
2 Literally, sinned, missed the mark, in this thine opinion [gnome).
^ Literally, doing holy deeds (hosia) and speaking holy words (hosia). Hosia always implies
that which is done in accordance with Divine, as contrasted with human, law.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 519
Herodotus calls it, isocracy, " equality of power" — is everywhere aimed at, if
not established. Sometimes the conflict is between t^e people and the oli-
garchs, sometimes between both these classes and the tyrant, against whom
they have combined ; but everywhere equality of rights is gradually growing
into the watchword in places where the people have begun to think at all.
The reason of all this seething and agitation is not far to seek, for in
endeavouring to establish the right of self-government the Hellene felt that
he was working out a law of his nature. To say that the Hellenic idea of
" equality " was in the age under consideration the same conception that it was
in the age of Pericles — that is, at the time when Herodotus penned the results
of his inquiry — would be absurd. We may even admit that the historian read
not a few latter-day notions into his inquiry. ^ Nevertheless, after making all
allowances on this score, enough remains to prove that the doctrine of equality
of rights was in the age of the Persian wars already a definite something, a
factor to be taken into account.
We have said that self-government was an inner necessity or law to the
Hellene, and nowhere is this more clearly shown than in the earnest protest
made by the Corinthians against the proposal of the Spartans to restore by
force Hippias and the tyranny to Athens. " Surely," says Sosicles (v. 92),
spokesman of the Corinthians (in the assembly of the Peloponnesian allies
whom the Lacedaemonians had summoned in order to lay before them their
scheme concerning Athens) — " Surely the heavens will now sink beneath the
earth, and the earth rise to mid-air above the heavens ; men will have their
dwelling in the sea, and fishes dwell where men are now, when you, O
Lacedsemonians, are preparing to abolish equality and bring back tyranny to
the cities — tyranny, than which there is nothing among men more unjust or
more blood-stained."
In other words, to the speaker's mind the attempt to impose a despotism
and abolish the equal rights of citizens is as much a turning upside down of the
law universal as would be the cataclysm or the absurdity which he pictures.
" Men may as easily breathe in the sea," he says, " as freemen breathe the air
of slavery."
Sosicles proceeds to ask, first, why the Lacedaemonians do not themselves
try this tyranny which they are seeking to force upon others, and then illus-
trates his argument by relating the experience of the Corinthians under the
tyrants Cypselus and Periander, concluding with a solemn appeal to the
religious sense of the Spartans. " We call upon you," he says, " and adjure
you by the gods of Hellas not to establish tyrannies in the cities. But," he
adds, "if ye will not desist, but attempt, in defiance of right, to restore
Hippias, be it known to you that we Corinthians do not approve your doings."
And, says Herodotus, when the other allies heard the Corinthian speak
thus freely and generously,^ they too plucked up courage to oppose the dominant
power. " They, every one, raised their voice in support of the opinion of the
Corinthian, and called upon the Lacedaemonians to introduce no strange ways
into an Hellenic State."
Thus the scheme of Hippias and his Spartan allies to reintroduce that
nsoteron, that " strange and novel thing," a tyranny, was shattered by the
sturdy adherence of the Corinthians to the unwritten law.
That they regarded this law as something Divine is clear from the appeal to
the gods of Hellas. Hippias indeed in his rejoinder (v. 93) declares that he,
too, appeals to the same gods ; but, as we have seen, the allies simply pass over
1 See under " Herodotus: his Ideals."
2 Eleut7ier6s = Sia befitting a freeman.
520 -^''' ' HERODOTUS
this statement as, like the scheme itself, too monstrous to be worthy of con-
sideration. That Zeus, highest god, had already received the name of
Eleutherius, " giver of freedom," is testimony enough that the people sincerely
believed the Divine power to be on the side of freedom. ^
Another instance of the innate consciousness in the Hellenic mind of the
justice, i.e. the rightfulness, of equality amongst citizens is to be found in the
story of Cadmus the Coan, and his resignation of the sovereignty of Cos, to
which he had succeeded on the death of his father. Herodotus tells us (vii. 1 64)
that Cadmus had received the tyranny " firmly established, but gave it up
willingly, and through fear of no one, for righteousness' sake." For this reason
simply he lays down the government of the beautiful and fertile little island
*' in the midst of the Coans," to use the pregnant phrase of Herodotus, and
himself withdraws to Sicily. Here he attracts the attention of Gelon of
Syracuse, and is chosen by that most astute of rulers, who knew that Cadmus
" had come in this manner, i.e. for righteousness' sake, to Sicily, and who had,
moreover, other proofs of his uprightness " — to convey his treasures to Delphi
during the Persian invasion. Cadmus has instructions to watch the contest,
and, if Xerxes should prove victorious, to present him with the treasures, and
also with earth and water on behalf of the territory over which Gelon rules ;
but, in the event of the defeat of the king, he is to bring back the treasure to
Sicily. And Herodotus mentions as " not the least proof of the righteous-
ness of Cadmus " that although he is thus entrusted with vast treasure, and
has it in his power to appropriate it, he yet, after the great sea-fight which
forces Xerxes to retire, actually does bring back the treasure untouched to
Sicily,
That Cadmus should have undertaken this temporising mission does not
on the surface say much for his love of the fatherland. Nevertheless, we
must bear in mind that Sicily, his adopted country, was threatened at the time
by another invasion, that of the Carthaginians, with a force of 300,000 men
under Hamilcar. It was impossible for Gelon to cope with both foes, and the
threatened attack of Carthage is indeed allowed by Herodotus (vii. 165), in his
1 It is true that freedom in Hellas, as elsewhere in antiquity, was essentially a restricted,
one-sided thing. These very Corinthians, who could thus speak and argue, themselves main-
tained their freedom, their commerce, their arts, and manufactures at the cost of others whom
they held in bondage. The same holds good in regard to Athens, to Argos, to Thebes, to all
Hellenic States, and especially in regard to Sparta. The dominion of the Spartans was built
up on slavery ; their helots consequently, as well as the conquered Messenians, felt towards
the Spartans precisely as did the Spartans towards the Persians. Freedom, therefore, in Hellas
means simply the continued freedom of the free, i.e. of the citizens, not the extension of the
powers of freedom to those who had never enjoyed them, and who are not reckoned amongst
the citizens. Slavery as an institution looms large in Hellas. Nevertheless, in this Hellas
sinned not more than her neighbours. The existence of slaves — of a large body of hewers of
wood and drawers of water — was considered in antiquity everywhere and at all times absolutely
essential. The why and wherefore of this belief will meet us later on in its own place. Here
we would only point out that slavery as an institution is not discussed by Herodotus. His
whole narrative centres in the desperate struggle for freedom made by his countrymen ; yet he
nowhere even stops to apologise for the existence of such an institution as slavery in their
midst, so natural does it appear to him. In this he falls far short of Homer, who undoubtedly
felt sympathy with the slave. (See ante, " Zeus takes away the half of a man before he makes
him a slave.") Nevertheless, we must take things as we find them, and not fall foul of
Herodotus because he is a true son of his age, and does not seem to be aware of any incongruity
between the struggle for freedom on the one hand and the possession of slaves on the other.
"Freedom" and "equality" then in antiquity, and not in Herodotus alone, mean the con-
tinued freedom and equality of the freemen, the only "citizens" (in the true sense) of the
State.
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 521
fair-minded way, to be possibly the real reason why Gelon did not come openly
to the help of Hellas in her hour of need.^
Cadmus may thus have felt that to assist even a tyrant at so terrible a
crisis, when the barbarians of both Asia and Africa were pouring down from
different quarters upon Hellas, was admissible in a true patriot. By his
co-operation, at any rate, Gelon's hands are set free ; he knows that he has an
ambassador who will be absolutely faithful to his trust, and make peace for
him, if need be, with the great king. He himself, therefore, is able to con-
centrate all his energies on meeting Hamilcar and the Carthaginians, with the
result that they are vanquished in the great battle of Himera, and that on the
very day which witnessed the defeat of the Persians at Salamis (in 480).
Hence, we can admit that Cadmus may, after all, have been impelled by
patriotic motives in acting as ambassador for the tyrant Gelon; and at all
events his probity and honesty of purpose in both great actions of his life are
beyond dispute. He seems to have restored the government to the citizens of
Cos in the same spirit as that in which he restored the treasure to Gelon, i.e.
he gave both back from the conviction that he was restoring both to their
rightful owners, out of a sheer sense of justice and right-dealing. " He came
to Sicily," says Herodotus, "for righteousness' sake {apo dikaiosynes)" — a noble
record for any man, for dikaiosyne, let us note, is more than mere justice. It
implies the idea of being " just with " some one else, and is the word constantly
used in the New Testament to express righteousness — the state of being just
with God. It is on those who "hunger and thirst after dikaiosyne" that our
Lord pronounces the blessing (St. Matt. v. 6), and St. Peter declares (Acts x.
34) that " God is no respecter of persons, and that in every nation he that
feareth Him and worketh dikaiosyne is accepted of Him." May we not,
therefore, think that Cadmus, the ex-tyrant of Cos, like Cornelius, the cen-
turion of Rome, was a sharer in the blessing, when he " laid down the govern-
ment in the midst of the citizens," and made himself an exile " for righteousness'
sake " ?
If we ask now why the Hellenes should have had this intense inner con-
viction that the desire for equality of political rights was in itself a something
that made for righteousness, and therefore pleasing to the Invisible Justice,
the answer is not far to seek.
(i) In the first place, the Hellenes from earliest days seem to have been
dimly conscious of that which Sophocles later formulated in the pregnant
words, " God hath given to every man the pTirenas" the thinking-power, and
with it the power to form a moral judgment.
(2) This being admitted — the fact that the thinking-power is not con-
fined to the few or the one — it followed as a matter of justice that every man
should have the right of helping, by his own judgment and his vote, to
shape the policy to which as a citizen he was required to submit, or expected
to carry out.
We cannot for a moment suppose that the Greek reasoned out the matter
at this early stage as a question of politico-philosophical ethics — the child does
not attain to manhood without passing through an intermediate stage, in which
he is led by instinct rather than guided by reason and deliberate thought.
^ The reason assigned by the Spartans and Athenians for Galon's neutral attitude during
the Persian invasion is that he considered it disgraceful for the tyrant of Syracuse to be under
the command of the Lacedaemonians, and would give assistance on no other condition than
that he himself should be commander-in-chief, a course to which neither Lacedaemonians nor
Athenians would consent. Herodotus impartially gives the Sicilian version, which is probably
the true one, viz. that Gelon literally was unable to give help the Hellenes of the continent
(vii. 157 et seq.).
52 2 HERODOTUS
What we may accept, however, as probably the true version of the political
development of Hellas is (i) that that instinctive consciousness of capacity for
freedom of which we have already spoken, acting as an inner necessity or law,
urged the people on from step to step ; and (2) that this consciousness of
capacity was quickened by what they suffered at the hands of their rulers,
whether rule was represented by the few or the one.
That this capacity for freedom was innate in the Hellenic mind from the
first appears certain, for in no other way can we account for the marvellous
succession of political " experiments " made on Hellas. ^ Where the people
happen to come under the power of a "beneficent" tyranny, as was the case
in Athens, under Peisistratus, they remain quiescent for a time, only to wake
up later, after the long dormancy of the " political capacity," with tenfold
energy. But, where the people have to suffer, there begins that seething and
agitation, and demand for a share in the government, which is implied in the
phrase iso-cratia = equality of power, which can be paralleled in the history
of no other race. And it must be admitted that the people proved themselves
not only as capable of rule as either the few or the one, but also less blood-
thirsty and cruel than either.
Three instances of the treatment meted out by their rulers to the people
may suffice : —
(i) The royal rule has already been exemplified by the conduct of Pheretime
to the people of Barca (p. 5 10).
(2) The oligarchical rule by that of the wealthy citizens of ^gina to the
commonalty (p. 517).
(3) How the tyrants treated the people is best seen from the account given by
Herodotus of the doings of Gelon of Syracuse. When the Sicilian Megara was
besieged by him and the inhabitants finally obliged to sue for peace, the " fat "
men (pacheis = men of substance), who had raised the war against Gelon and
consequently expected to be put to death, he simply removed to Syracuse,
where he made them citizens. The demos or common folk, on the other hand,
who were not to blame for the war, and consequently anticipated no harm, he
also removed to Syracuse, but for transportation (as slaves) out of Sicily. The
Eubceans of Sicily he treated in the same way, making the same distinction,
and this he did to both, adds Herodotus (vii. 156), "because he considered
Demos a most disagreeable neighbour."
Royalty slays and mutilates the people, both men and women ; oligarchy
(or plutocracy) cuts them down ruthlessly, nor even spares the suppliant ;
under the tyranny they are sold like brute beasts. What wonder that the
slumbering " capacity for freedom " is roused by such pricks and goads, and
begins to assert itself ? What wonder, either, that it should have considered
Divine justice to have been on the side of their demand for equality of rights ?
To the honour of the people be it said that when they have the power
to retaliate they are merciful, and content themselves with banishing their
oppressors. 2 Long-suffering has taught them mildness and forbearance.
The Effects of Equality of Rig"htS. — As to the effects of equality on a
people, Herodotus himself has no doubt whatever. Referring to the achieve-
ments of the Athenians after the overthrow of the Peisistratidge and the increase
^ Aristotle gave an account of more than a hundred political constitutions, each of which
in the form in which it had survived to his day represents the outcome of many political
attempts.
^ Sometimes the people would better have consulted the true interests of Hellas had they
not been so merciful ; for, as we have seen, it is the exiled " fat " men of Naxos who, on being
banished by the people, hasten to Miletus, and, by soliciting the help of the Persians, bring
about the subjugation of the islands (p. 500).
THE GREAT UNWRITTEN LAWS 523
of liberty given them by the reform of Cleisthenes, he says (v. 78) : " And now,
indeed, the Athenians grew in power. Hence it is clear — and not from one
instance only, but in every way — what an excellent thing equality is.i For
under the tyranny the Athenians were no whit superior in war to their neigh-
bours, whereas after they shook off the tyrants they became by far the first.
And this proves that when they were oppressed they had no goodwill to fight,
as for a master ; whereas, now that they are free, each man works eagerly, as
for himself."
The Inner Law of Liberty is not Licence.— That the sound, God-given
instinct which demanded liberty demanded also law and government is, even
in these early days, clearly enough demonstrated. Let the following examples
sufiice.
In the expedition against Greece, Demaratus, the ex-king of Sparta,
accompanies Xerxes in the hope that the result of the campaign will be to
restore him to the throne. Xerxes several times avails himself of the exile's
knowledge of his countrymen in order to become acquainted with their mind
and habits. On one occasion he asks Demaratus whether he really believes
that the Spartans will venture to oppose him and his tremendous host.
Demaratus cautiously inquires on his part whether the king wishes to hear
the truth or not, and on being reassured makes the following justly celebrated
answer (vii. loi e^ seq.) : " Since thou biddest me speak the truth in all things,
know, king, that poverty indeed is always at home with us in Hellas, but that
manliness {arete) has been acquired as the fruit of wisdom and stern law. By
it Hellas has warded off both poverty and despotism." As to the question
raised by the king, Demaratus can only say that it is not possible for the Spar-
tans to accept proposals which would bring slavery to Hellas ; even if the other
Hellenes ranged themselves on the side of the king, they, the Spartans, would
oppose him. It avails not either to ask their number, he adds, for if there were
but one thousand of them that thousand would still withstand him.
Xerxes laughs at the notion of a thousand men facing his myriads. If the
Spartans numbered five thousand, he says, the Persians would still outnumber
them by a thousand to one. Moreover, he asks. How would free men venture
such a thing ? If, like the Persian hosts, they were subject to one individual,
then through fear of him and urged on by the lash they might perhaps measure
themselves against a greater number ; but as the case stands, being free men
(left to their own free will), the Spartans would do nothing of the kind. Such
is the despot's notion of valour — the spur is to come from without in the shape
of the lash, or at least the fear of the disapproval of the one all-powerful
individual.
Demaratus quickly undeceives him. According to Greek notions, both the
spur and the bridle must come from within. " The Spartans," he says, " are
the bravest of all men, for, although they are free, yet they are not entirely
free. Above them is a master, even the law, and it they fear, sire, far more
than your subjects fear you. They do whatsoever it commands, and it always
enjoins the same thing, forbidding them to fly before any number of men, but
to remain in their ranks and conquer — or die ! "
Xerxes had later an opportunity of verifying the truth of the words of
Demaratus. In the pass of Thermopylae he saw them literally fulfilled. And
what was true of Spartan reverence for law in time of war was true also in
time of peace.
The attitude of the Athenians towards law is perhaps best illustrated by
^ The word rendered " equality" is isegorie = ivQedom of speech, hence equality before the
law. The sentence might be translated thus : What a stirrer-up of zeal is freedom of speech !
524 HERODOTUS
their attitude towards their brethren of the dodekapolis, or union of the twelve
cities of Ionia, in Asia Minor. Herodotus tells us (i. 143) that the Athenians
" shunned " (fled from) the name " Ionian," and did not wish to be called by it,
and that even in his own day they appeared to be ashamed of the name. Why
so ? The historian explains the feeling on the ground that " weak as the Hel-
lenic race then was " (i.e. in the age of which he is speaking, the age of Croesus
and of Cyrus), " the lonians were weakest and least of all." They had no cities
of any renown except Miletus and the mother-city Athens, both of which refused
to be classed with the twelve cities as "Ionian." Yet the lonians had, in the
beginning, conquered the territory which they inhabited by the sword ; they
had advanced steadily in civilisation, and developed all the peaceful arts of
life long before Athens herself. Moreover, on the termination of their Lydian
servitude by the defeat of Croesus, after their overtures for peace had been
rejected by Cyrus (who would treat with no Ionian State except Miletus), they
made a brave stand for freedom. Rather than submit to the slavery by which
they felt themselves "aggrieved," says Herodotus, the Phocseans and the
Teians quitted their respective cities in a body, and sailed as exiles in quest of
new homes. 1 The lonians of the other cities gave battle to Harpagus, the
lieutenant of Cyrus, and, as Herodotus himself testifies (ii. 169), showed them-
selves "brave men." It was not their fault that the Persian proved too strong
for them, or that they thus became a second time enslaved. Why, then, should
the Athenians, even in the age of the historian, have been ashamed of them as
kinsmen ?
The true answer would seem to be' that the lonians of the twelve cities
had deteriorated — they had no moral backbone. However brave they might
show themselves upon occasion, they had no sustaining power. If they felt
"aggrieved" at slavery, they felt still more aggrieved at the " stern law" and
discipline which, the Spartans knew, could alone ward off slavery. 2 This is
emphatically shown in the account given by Herodotus (vi. 7) of the third
enslavement of Ionia. After the lonians had been induced by Aristagoras to
throw off the yoke and strike once more for independence, the plan of pro-
cedure agreed upon was that the enemy should not be met on land, where he
had every advantage, but on the sea, where the Hellenes and the Persians had
to depend upon Phoenician and Cyprian help. The united Ionian and ^olian
fleets, therefore, assembled off Lade, a little island near Miletus. Their vessels
numbered, however, only 353, whereas the Persians could boast of 600, a fact
which made it clear that everything depended, humanly speaking, on the
superior courage and seamanship of the Hellenes. The united forces of the
latter, however, seem to have been without leadership, until the general of
the Phocseans, Dionysius, an able and energetic man, becomes keenly alive
to the critical position of affairs, and, in a council held on the island, addresses
the assembled captains in an animated speech, pointing out the danger of the
situation.
" Men of Ionia ! " he says (vi. 11),*' our fate stands ' on the edge of a razor '
— whether we shall henceforth live as free men, or as slaves, and that, too, as
runaway slaves. If ye are willing to endure hardness now, the toil for the
moment will indeed be great, but ye will be able to overcome the enemy and
maintain your freedom. But if ye go on in softness and disorder, I have not
the slightest hope for you ; ye will have to pay the penalty of this rebellion
^ That this giving up of home and fatherland was a terrible wrench is clear from the fact
that more than one-half of the Phocseans were seized with a yearning and home sickness which
compelled them to return to the old city and abandon the enterprise (i. 165).
^ See ante, p. 523.
THE HELLENIC IDEALS 525
to the king. FolloV me therefore, entrust yourselves to my guidance, and I
promise that, if the gods are impartial, ^ the enemy will not venture to meet us,
or, if he does, he will be beaten."
The lonians see the f orcibleness of the argument, and entrust themselves
to the leadership of Dionysius, who at once begins to train them for the
inevitable conflict before them. The ships are ordered to sail out every day in
a long line, one behind the other ; the rowers are exercised in manoeuvring,
cutting through the line ; and the marines have to stand at arms ; and, when
this is over, the ships are kept at anchor, and the men at work all day long.
" For seven days," says Herodotus, " they obeyed and did what was ordered ;
but on the eighth day the lonians, unaccustomed to such toil, and worn out
by their exertions and the heat of the sun, spake to one another as follows :
' Against which of the gods have we sinned, that we fill up such a measure of
affliction ? We must have been beside ourselves — nay, out of our senses — when
we entrusted ourselves to a braggart Phocsean, who has only contributed three
ships to the fleet. And, now that he has got the upper hand, he treats us
shockingly. Many of us are ill now, many are likely to become so. Instead
of enduring evils such as these, it would be better to suflFer anything, and
submit to the impending slavery, be it what it may, rather than be oppressed
as at present. Come ! let us no longer obey him ! ' Thus they spake, and from
that moment no one would obey. They pitched their tents upon the island,
and encamped just as if they had been a land force, and stayed comfortably
within in the shade. No one was willing to go on board ship again, or to go
through the exercise."
The word anapeirasthai, used here in the military sense, " go through the
exercise," signifies literally '' to try again," " make fresh attempts." The
lonians would make no experiments that cost them anything in the cause of
freedom. Hence ensued the result that Dionysius had foreseen — the little
force was demoralised, the Persians gained the day, and the lonians were
reduced a third time to slavery.
In this one instance we have in a nutshell the reason why the Athenians,
the greatest experimenters in the cause of freedom that the world has ever
seen, were ashamed of the name " Ionian." The lonians had divorced the two
partners who by the inner covenant are eternally and inseparably one — the love
of freedom and loyalty to law.
IV.— THE HELLENIC IDEALS
Hitherto the ideals of individual thinkers have engaged our attention,
thinkers who naturally in some points represent the mind of their country-
men, whilst in others they were far in advance of the latter. Now we come
to examine for ourselves the great motive-powers that actuated the mind of
the Hellenes collectively. Beyond a doubt, these were, as shown by the
inquiry of Herodotus, the aidos and the burning love of liberty. To put it
briefly, faith and freedom are the wings of Hellas in the age of the Persian
wars ; on them she escaped from the barbarian who sought to bring her down
to his own level ; on them she soared to the intellectual heights marked out
by Providence for her. And without the faith, let us note, the freedom
would have been impossible.
This will, we think, be evident to any one who studies the account of
1 An allusion to the "jealousy" of the gods, or to the favouritism shown by them in the
Iliad.
526 HERODOTUS
Herodotus. Simple and unembellished as his narrative is, it nevertheless
rises to the majesty of the epic, solely from the pathos and dignity of the
subject, the struggle of a handful of freemen against the most tremendous of
odds. The seventh and eighth books of Herodotus are as full of true poetry,
of that something which rises above materialism, as is anything to be found in
the Iliad, and in impressiveness Herodotus undoubtedly exceeds Homer, from
the conviction left on the mind of the reader that the historian is dealing with
facts, not drawing upon his fancy.
It may be that, now and again, Herodotus consciously borrows his treat-
ment of the subject from the Great Unknown, who, unconsciously to them-
selves, had so large a share in moulding the thoughts of the thinkers of
Hellas. It may be, e.g., that the scene on the walls of Ilion, whence Helen
describes to old Priam the leaders of the Achaean forces, suggested to Herodotus
the scenes in which Xerxes, seated on his glittering marble throne, reviews,
first from the heights of Abydos in Asia, and then at Doriscus in Thrace, the
hosts arrayed against Hellas. And, again, the contest for the body of Hector
may be held to be the prototype of the fight for that of Leonidas. Neverthe-
less, although Herodotus follows the old master (who. be it remembered, was
a true historian to him), it is only because, from the nature of his subject, the
Homeric method offers the best mode of presentation. It is probably per-
fectly true that Xerxes did review and number his forces at Doriscus, and
Herodotus seizes the opportunity to marshal them with rare skill before our
very eyes (vii. 59 e^ seq.). In no other way could he enable his readers to
realise the tremendous nature of the impending danger. Host after host,
nation after nation pass before us at Doriscus — Persians and Medes, with their
tiaras, gay kirtles and scaly breastplates, their osier bucklers, short daggers
and swords ; Syrians and Assyrians, with brazen helmets, linen cuirasses and
wooden clubs knotted with iron ; Bactrians, with their turbans and bows ;
Scythians, with pointed caps and formidable battle-axes ; swarthy Indians, clad
in cotton, and carrying bows with iron- tipped arrows ; Caspians, in shaggy
goat-skins with scimitars ; Arabians, clad in mantles ; -(3j]thiopians, in panther
and lion-skins, other yEthiops wearing skins of horses' heads as masks, mane doing
duty as crest, ears standing erect ; Libyans, in leathern garments ; Thracians,
with fox-skins on their heads, gay-coloured cloaks round their bodies : all these,
with other hordes, tribes and peoples innumerable, march past us at Doriscus
as they enter, nation by nation, the enclosed space in which, massed close
together ten thousand at a time, they are counted.
Then our historian shows us the cavalry — the Persians, with their splendid
steeds ; the wild nomadic Lagartians, carrying instead of arms ropes, where-
with to entangle the enemy, as in a noose ; the Indians, with their chariots
drawn by horses and wild asses ; the Arabians, with their camels.
Lastly, we see the ships drawn up — triremes to the number of over 1200,
furnished by Phoenicians, Egyptians, Cyprians and others, including, alas!
Dorians and lonians of Asia, forced not only to contribute ships towards
the attack on the mother-country, but themselves to join in that attack, and
3000 penteconters, light boats, and vessels of transport, all manned by Persians
and men of other nationalities, serving as marines.
To complete this bird's-eye view of the expedition, we have only to add
the leader, him to feed whose insatiable vanity the mighty host has been
assembled, Xerxes — noble and stately in person, beautiful in body if not
in mind, surrounded by the flower of the Persian army, the ten thousand
immortals, with their glittering spears.
Imagine now this host of fighting men with its supplementary host of
THE HELLENIC IDEALS 527
attendants, computed to amount in all (without reckoning the women who
made bread or the camp-followers) to over five millions (vii 157); contrast
it with the little force of some five thousand Hellenes assembled to resist it
in the pass of Thermopylae, or with the few ships in the land-locked bay of
Salamis, and it requires no prophet to proclaim that, humanly speaking, there
is no hope for Hellas (vii. 202). Simply by weight of numbers, by these
countless myriads who literally drink up the rivers as they advance, the little
land will be laid waste, her people trodden literally under foot.
How, then, under such circumstances could the aidos, could any ideal, save
the people ?
In order to answer this question, we must arrive at a clear understanding
of what the aidos, what freedom, meant to the Hellenes.
Freedom. — On this subject we need add but little to what has been
already said. Freedom in its double aspect — the power of self-government
and the recognition of the submission to law as essential to the security and
preservation of that power — is an inner necessity of the Hellenic nature : "As
well may human beings exist in the sea as freemen breathe the atmosphere
of slavery."
This panting and yearning after freedom, although shown everywhere, is
best summed up in the words of those Spartans who have already twice served
as examples of the noblest side of the Hellenic character (vii. 135).
On their way to Susa to surrender themselves in satisfaction for the
murder of the heralds, Sperthies and Bulis are received and hospitably
entertained by Hydarnes, a Persian by birth, and governor of the maritime
peoples of Asia. Hydarnes endeavours to win over men of such dauntless
courage to the side of the king, and for this purpose makes use of the speaking
argument — himself and his position. *' Men of Lacedsemon," he says, " why
do ye flee from the friendship of the king ? Look at me and my affairs, and ye
will see that he knows how to honour brave men. And ye also, if ye would give
yourself to the king — for he deemeth you to be brave men — would obtain at
his hands, each of you, a government somewhere in Hellas." To this they
replied : " Hydarnes, thy counsel is not impartial. For thou recommendest
only the condition which thou hast tried, but of the other thou hast no
experience. What it is to be a slave thou knowest well ; but freedom thou
hast not tasted — thou hast not made the experiment as to whether it be sweet
or no. If thou hadst tried it thou wouldst counsel us to fight for it not merely
with spears but even with hatchets ! " — to hew down every obstacle that stands
in the way of obtaining it.
Memorable words these in the mouth of men who are going to surrender
not only freedom but life itself on behalf of the excited mob who in the
cause of freedom had forgotten law.
Freedom, then, to the Hellenes is not only an inner necessity, but a some-
thing infinitely sweet, to be striven for not only with the spear but with the
hatchet — the putting forth of the energy of the whole man.
The Aidos. — The aidos, as we recollect, was one of the ideals of Homer,
that great pledge of the future of his people ; and it is also the characteristic
to which Plato in the Laws unhesitatingly ascribes the achievements of his
countrymen in the age of which we are speaking. The Homeric aidos includes
reverence to God, and to man where due ; the Hellenic aidos includes no less.
The Hellenic aidos shows itself —
(i) First of all, in the clear distinction drawn between the things of God
and the things of Csesar. When the two noble Spartans go up to Susa to
offer satisfaction for the death of the murdered heralds, Herodotus relates that
528 HERODOTUS
the guards endeavoured by force to make them prostrate themselves before the
king. But, notwithstanding the peril of their position, the knowledge that
the barbarian potentate has the power to subject them to unheard-of tortures,
the Spartans refuse to comply. They simply said that they would by no means
obey, '* for it was not their custom to worship man, nor had they come thither
for that purpose" (vii. 136).
(2) Then, secondly, the aidos shows itself in the preference given to the
things of God over the things of man. We may call the obedience shown to
the Delphic Oracle " utter superstition " if we choose ; nevertheless, it was a
superstition which led to many unexpected results. We may pity the people
whose faith was imposed upon by the custodians of the shrine at Delphi ;
nevertheless, we must recognise the fact that the faith itself was there, and
that it probably touched, and worked with, the Divine Overruler of events,
the Power (to Theion) whom all the thinkers of Greece recognised as behind
the Oracle and behind the popular pantheon. The spirit of this faith is best
shown in the comment of Herodotus on the action taken by the Spartans in
the setting free of Athens from the tyranny of the Peisistratidse.
The latter had driven out, amongst other rivals, the Alcmseonidse, an
Athenian family, who, after failing in an attempt to deliver Athens by force,
had recourse to stratagem, and by bribery — so it was said — had won over the
Delphic priestess to their cause.^ Thenceforward, the Pythia never failed to
impress upon every Spartan who came to consult the Oracle the doctrine
that Athens must be set free. The Spartans, therefore, after receiving this
injunction concerning Athens time after time, resolved to send an army into
Attica to expel the Peisistratidse, although the latter stood to themselves in
the close relation of guest-friendship, " for," says Herodotus (v. 63), " they
considered the things of God {ia tou Theou) more worthy of honour than the
things of men {ta ton andrdn)^ A tyranny in Athens would better have suited
the purposes of Sparta ; ^ nevertheless, a command which they believed to be
Divine is sufficient to make the Lacedaemonians put their own interests, and
even the guest-friendship, in the background. The good faith of the people is
there, and whether the Delphic command originated in bad faith or not, the
good faith brings forth good fruit in removing the obstacle to the free develop-
ment of Athens.
Such, then, is the aidos of the Hellenes Godwards : " They were not accus-
tomed to worship man." "They esteemed the things of God more worthy of
honour than the things of men."
The Aidos in its Aspect Manwards. — But the aidos, as we know, has
another side. The grand old Homeric aidos included not only reverence for
the Unseen Power, but reverence for those in authority, for the aged, the
suppliant — in short, for all who had any claim to consideration or kindly
feeling. Thus we remember how Diomedes is represented as sternly rebuk-
ing his comrade-in-arms for resenting even an unjust accusation from the
anxious Agamemnon, because on him, as leader, devolved the whole responsi-
bility. And this beautiful feature of Hellenic character, this generous con-
sideration for others, is still present in Hellas. It manifests itself most
strikingly in the Athenians, as the following instances will suffice to show.
At the commencement of the Persian wars, the Lacedaemonians were
^ The accusation of bribery seems to be hardly credible in this case ; for the action of
Delphi is quite consistent — it had ever been its tendency to foster the growing liberties of the
people (see ante, p. 324) — to say nothing of the munificence of the Alcmseonidae in the building
of the temple, munificence which was at least openly displayed.
2 As we know, the Spartans tried later to restore Hippias and the tyranny in Athens, when
they discovered, or heard the rumour, that they had been deceived by "lying Oracles" (v. 91).
THE HELLENIC IDEALS 529
undoubtedly the strongest people of Hellas, and therefore their right to
command the united forces by land was cheerfully recognised by the
Athenians. In regard to power at sea, however, the case was reversed —
Sparta was far inferior to Athens. In the fleet which assembled at
Artemisium, for example, the Athenians had 127 ships of their own, besides
20 which they had supplied to the Chalcidians, and which were manned by
the latter. The Lacedaemonians, on the other hand, appear with lo, or,
including all the vessels contributed by their Peloponnesian allies, with 67
ships only. The Athenians, then, as furnishing by far the largest con-
tingent — to say nothing of their superior seamanship — had indisputably the
right to command the naval force. Nevertheless, on finding that the
Peloponnesians refused to sail under any other leadership than that of
Sparta, the Athenians gave way. The comment of Herodotus is memorable
(viii. 3). " There had been a talk at first," he says, " that it would be well
to entrust the fleet to the Athenians. But when the allies opposed this
the Athenians yielded, for the safety of Hellas was their great care, and
they knew that if they quarrelled about the leadership Hellas would be
destroyed. And they were right," adds the old historian, "for intestine
strife is as much worse than war carried on in unison, as war itself is
worse than peace. And just because they knew this they did not dispute
the point, but gave way."
Because they knew this, that strife about the leadership would ruin Hellas,
the Athenians yielded — not because they felt themselves inferior to the Spar-
tans. When the war was over, as Herodotus points out, they speedily deposed
the latter from the hegemony (or leadership) ; but while it lasted, rather than
embarrass those chosen by the general voice to lead, they, with their numerical
and " scientific " superiority, cheerfully took the lower place.
Again, at Salamis, the same thing happens. Although, as Herodotus says
(viii. 142), the Athenians " furnished the best ships and the largest number " —
180 against 89 contributed by the Lacedaemonians and their allies — they did
not press their right to command, and Eurybiades the Spartan remained
admiral-in-chief.
Finally (ix. 26), at Platsea, when the men of Tegea dispute with them the
honour of commanding the left wing of the united forces — the right wing
being led by the Lacedaemonians, who had the power of choice — the Athenians
make answer, indeed, to the boast of the Tegeans concerning their prowess in
the old mythic times, by rehearsing their own record, and specially that crown-
ing achievement at Marathon, where they " alone of all the Hellenes fought
the Persians single-handed, and conquered six and forty nations." Their manly
argument, however, they conclude as follows : " ' May we not, then, from this
one single action justly claim the post ? Nevertheless, at such a time it is not
fitting to strive about place. Therefore, Lacedaemonians, we are ready to
obey you, and to stand wheresoever and over against whomsoever it may seem
best to you to set us, for wherever we are placed we will try to do our duty.
Command, then, and we will obey ! ' And when they had thus replied, the
whole Lacedaemonian host shouted that the Athenians had a better right to the
wing than the Arcadians. Thus," says Herodotus, " the Athenians obtained
it, and got the better of the Tegeans."
'And thus, we may add, by their generous and unselfish spirit the Athenians
in reality got the better of the Lacedaemonians also. For let us never forget
that by their generous aidos, their resolve to sink themselves and their rightful
claims rather than embarrass the leader, the Athenians were making that which
was to a Hellene the greatest of all possible sacrifices — in that they were
2 L
530 HERODOTUS
relinquishing the kudos, the glory, to another. Eurybiades the Spartan at
Salamis, Pausanias the Spartan at Plataea — these were the accredited leaders
to whom the glory of victory would attach.
Nevertheless, who does not heartily endorse the verdict of Herodotus that
"the Athenians were the saviours of Hellas"? Posterity has amply avenged
the cause of the Athenians.
" Yes ! " some one of our readers may possibly say. " It is easy to see how
what you call the aidos manwards helped the Greeks. The courtesy and for-
bearance of the Athenians undoubtedly prevented the splitting up of the whole
into rival sections, and brought about the union that is strength. But how
the aidos Godwards helped them is not so clear. To speak of the ' faith ' of
believers in a false religion as a saving and effectual power is nothing short of
a contradiction in terms."
Again we must ask such an one to suspend his judgment until he has
examined tlje data on which the statement that " faith saved the Hellenes " is
based. We must remind ourselves again of the eternal distinction between
religion and mythology, the two streams which, starting from different
fountain-heads — the one Divine, the other human — have in the course of the
ages so mingled their waters that it requires analysis to separate them — the
analysis of careful thought and unbiassed judgment.
" Thus saith the Lord : If thou take forth the precious from the vile, thou
shalt be as My mouth." ^
Y.— THE HELLENIC IDEALS {continued)
The question, then, before us is this : How did the aidos Godwards,
reverence for God, help the Hellenes in their hour of need ? Let the Hellenes
themselves reply.
(i) Listen to the message sent to the allies who were asked to join
the little force at Thermopylas (vii. 203): They were told that they "had
nothing to fear, for he was no god that was advancing upon Hellas, but a man
— and there was no mortal, no, nor ever should be one, who did not receive evil
mingled with good from his very birth, and the greatest of ills were reserved
for the greatest mortals. And so it would be with him who was marching
against them — being a mortal, he would fall from his high estate."
In other words : " The potentate at whose nod Asia and Africa tremble — he
who passes himself off for the Persians' god,^ who is even now over-running the
land with his slavish hosts — he is no more than one of ourselves, the creature
of a day. A day has made, and a day can unmake him." ^ Is there no indica-
tion here that the clear distinction drawn by the Greeks between the Divine
and the human helped them ?
" "We are not accustomed to worship man." When the Phocseans and others
heard the message, says Herodotus, they joined the little band at Thermopylae.
The coming Persian was no god.
(2) Then, secondly, it was their preferring things Divine to things human
that saved Hellas. The Delphic Oracle to the Greeks was a Divine voice, and
it was in obedience to the Oracle that Leonidas remained at Thermopylae,
that the Greek fleet remained at Salamis.
Had Leonidas followed the dictates of natural feeling, he would have with-
drawn from a hopeless position on learning that he and his followers were
betrayed and caught in a trap. There was time to withdraw, for the troops
1 Jer. XV. 19. "^ See under ^schylus, p. 366. ^ See under Pindar, p. 353.
THE HELLENIC IDEALS 531
whom he sent away escaped safely. No one would have blamed him as
commander-in-chief for abandoning an untenable station and removing the
line of defence farther south — say, to the passes leading into Attica. The
Greek army had retired before from Tempo ; why does not Leonidas now retire
from Thermopylae ? Simply because the Oracle had foretold that one of her
kings must die if Sparta is to be saved, and the lion-heart, believing in the
truth of the prophecy, remains at his post to fulfil it (vii. 220).
This is expressly stated by Herodotus (vii. 228). The celebrated epitaph
afterwards inscribed over the Spartans, "Stranger, go tell the Lacedaemonians
that we lie here in obedience to their commands," gives but half the truth in
regard to Leonidas. He " lay there," indeed, obedient to the command of the
State ; but behind the State was the Oracle, and the command to himself was
interpreted by the Divine voice (vii. 220) : —
" For you, O inhabiters of wide-spreading Sparta ! either your great and
glorious city shall be destroyed by the sons of Perseus, or, if not, the watchers
of Lacedaemon shall mourn the loss of a king of the race of Heracles. Neither
the strength of bulls nor the resistance of lions shall hold him (the destroyer)
back, for he hath the strength of Zeus ; neither, I say, shall he be restrained
until he have the one or the other to his share."
" The one or the other," wide-spreading (eurychoros) beautiful Sparta, the
fatherland, or the life of the noblest of her sons — this is the alternative set
before the lion-king. He believes that no "resistance" offered either by
himself or the " lions " with him will avail, and therefore he " gives his life for
his friends," ^ and remains at his post.
True, Herodotus says that Leonidas was moved thereto by a personal
motive as well — by the all-absorbing thirst for glory, that master-passion of
the Hellenes. He considered, says the historian, that "if he remained, great
renown would be his, and the happiness of Sparta would not be effaced."
Nevertheless, behind both motives — the thirst for the glory of the patriot, the
grandest form that ambition can take, and the love of the fatherland — lies the
word of the Oracle and the faith in it, the real source of the self-sacrifice.
But, it may be objected, Leonidas did not save Hellas. Grand as was the
sacrifice, it availed nothing, neither did it stay the onward march of the
Persians. " To what purpose was this waste ? "
We shall much misread history if we argue thus. To say nothing of the
simple and far-reaching fact that, wherever the "inquiry" of Herodotus
has been read, there also has this story of Leonidas been read, there
remains the further undoubted fact that in its immediate consequences the
" defeat " at Thermopylae was a moral victory ; the Persians were hopelessly
demoralised by it, they had no mind to come to close quarters again with
such an enemy. No one can read the account of the magnificent defence
of the pass without seeing this. First of all there is depicted for us
the insulting leisureliness of the Persians, the four days' waiting at the
entrance in the expectation that the Greeks "will betake themselves to flight";
the growing anger of Xerxes against the men who are thus "arrogant" enough
and " ill-advised " enough to remain ; his sublime command to " bring them
alive " into his presence ; the attempt of the ordinary troops. Modes and
Cissians, to carry out the command, and its failure ; the contemptuous advance
of the immortals themselves, the very pick and flower of the army (" they
will easily settle the business "), and their failure ; the awaking of Xerxes to see
with what manner of men he has to deal ; his intense alarm as eye-witness of
1 "Greater love hath no man than this, that he give his life for his friends" (St. John
XV. 13).
532 HERODOTUS
the scene — three times does he spring from his royal throne in fear for the
safety of his immortals ; his perplexity — he is " at his wits' end " ; the
treachery of Ephialtes the Malian — his proffered guidance over the mountain ;
the great betrayal and the terrible scene which ensues ; the attacking forces
pouring in from both ends of the pass, hounded on by the lash to what they
know to be certain death ; the defenders still " resisting " with the strength of
despair, when spear and sword are gone fighting with hands, yea, and with
teeth. Who that pictures all this to himself can resist the conviction that even
then, at the moment of their nominal victory, the Persians were thoroughly
beaten? The so-called "defeat" at Thermopylae was in reality the most
glorious of moral victories. The "god "-king is utterly baffled, the "immortals"
have been repulsed, the troops have to be driven into the pass under the lash ;
not by Persian might but by treachery alone was Thermopylae taken.^
" Stranger, go tell the Lacedaemonians that we lie here obedient to their
commands."
" Either your great and glorious city shall be destroyed by the sons of
Perseus, or the watchers of Lacedsemon shall mourn the loss of a king."
" They considered the things of God more worthy of honour than the things
of men."
The Battle of SalamiS. — When we turn now to the great engagement
that determined the fate of Hellas, the sea-fight off the island of Salamis, we
find the same connection between the Oracle and the course of action resolved
upon by the Greeks. Here, however, it behoves, not one, but all to obey.
We must premise that the Athenians, like the Spartans, had sent for counsel
to Delphi in regard to the Persian invasion, and had received for answer a
response which might well freeze the blood of the boldest (vii. 140).
" wretched men ! " exclaimed the Pythia to the envoys from Athens
assembled in the temple, " why sit ye here ? Flee to the uttermost ends of
the earth ! Abandon your dwellings — leave the high citadel of your wheel-
shaped city. For neither doth the head remain steadfast nor the body,
neither the feet beneath her nor the hands, nor is there aught left in the
middle — all lieth low. For upon her there dasheth destruction, fire and swift
Ares speeding the Syrian chariot. Many other strong towers shall he destroy,
and not yours alone. To raging flames shall be given many temples of the
immortals. Alas ! even now do they stand dripping with sweat, quaking with
fear. Down from their topmost roof poureth black blood, presage of woe
inevitable. Hence from my house ! arm your soul for misfortune ! "
Such were the words of the priestess, and we can well imagine the effect
produced upon the minds of the hearers. How could they return home with
such an answer? In their dejection a Delphian of high repute counsels them
to go once more to the shrine — this time not as inquirers only, but in the
more lowly attitude of suppliants, placing themselves immediately under the
protection of the Divine power. The envoys obey, and approach again with the
words, " O king, grant unto us a better answer concerning our fatherland.
Reverence these boughs which we bear before thee as suppliants — or we will
^ That Xerxes was conscious of this may be further inferred from the hatred which he
displayed towards Leonidas even in death. Herodotus is at a loss to account for the violation
of the dead body of the great Spartan, "for the Persians," he says, "most of all men with
whom I am acquainted, are wont to honour men that are brave in war" (vii. 238). The true
reason would seem to be that Xerxes felt himself humiliated. He was not devoid of magnani-
mous or generous feeling, as we know ; but the consciousness that even in death Leonidas was
the victor, and immeasurably superior to himself, proved too strong for him and urged him on
to the dastardly revenge.
THE HELLENIC IDEALSi
533
never depart from thy sanctuary, but remain here until we die. " Then the
prophetess spake to them a second time : —
" Pallas 1 seeketh in vain to propitiate Olympian Zeus, pressing him with
many beseeching words and wise counsels. But another word, strong as
adamant, do I declare unto you : When all else is taken that lieth within the
bounds of Cecrops and the recesses of sacred Cithaeron,^ one thing doth far-
seeing Zeus grant to the Triton-born goddess,^ a wooden wall to be a sure
defence to you and to your children. But do not ye await in quietness the
coming of the foe from the mainland, the multitude of his horsemen and his
footmen. Withdraw ! turn your back ! Ye shall yet be able to face them.
Divine Salamis ! many sons of women shalt thou destroy, whether Demeter
be scattered or gathered in." *
With this grain of hope the envoys depart — but great is the perplexity
caused by the Oracle, and many are the conjectures hazarded as to its meaning.
Some old men, misled by the fact that the Acropolis had formerly been
defended by a wooden fence, took this to be the " wooden wall." They erected
a palisade of planks on the rocks, and themselves took refuge in the temple of
Athena, imagining in their simplicity that Xerxes would respect the suppliant.
All these came to an untimely end. By far the greater number of the
Athenians, however, preferred the interpretation which bade them see in their
ships the wooden wall which should serve as a sure refuge. But again another
difficulty arose, and this presented itself in the last two lines : " Divine
Salamis, many sons of women shalt thou destroy." If there was to be " de-
struction," why remain to await it ? Why not fly ? It was then proposed that
Attica should be definitely abandoned, that the Athenians should indeed put
trust in their "wooden wall," but only in order that they might betake them-
selves to some other land and settle there. This course was perfectly feasible
to those to whom the founding of colonies was no strange or unfamiliar thing,
but it still left unsolved the initial difficulty of all, inasmuch as such a removal
would be only a temporary escape from the Persian. What guarantee had
they that the conqueror would not pursue and follow up the advantage given
him by their flight ?
Fortunately, this scheme was defeated by Themistocles, whose clear
intellect perceived that a decisive stand must be made once and for all — the
issue faced, not evaded. And the same clear intellect enabled him to find in
the very words which terrified his countrymen the assurance of victory :
" Divine Salamis," he argued — why Divine ? Surely the Oracle would never
pronounce a shore " Divine " that was to witness the destruction of the sons of
the land ? Nay ! the destruction foretold was certainly that of the enemy.
Clearly this must be the meaning of the words ; the Athenians accept the
reading of Themistocles, and make preparations to oppose the foe on the sea.
By a " strange chance," as we are apt to say, ships were in readiness, ships
that had been prepared by the advice of the same Themistocles for quite
another purpose ° — and so, says Herodotus (vii. 144), "it was resolved to await
the barbarian with the whole of the folk on shipboard, in obedience to the god,
together with such of the Hellenes as wished to join them."
1 Athena, the patron of Athens.
2 Athens and Attica — the range of Cithseron is the boundary separating the latter from
Boeotia.
^ Athena, called Tritogeneia from the tradition which connected her with Lake Triton in
Libya.
^ The meaning is obscure. Demeter is the patron of agriculture, and the sense may be
" whether this happen at the time of seed-sowing or of harvest."
5 The war with ^gina.
534 HERODOTUS
By this decision, then, taken in obedience to a voice believed to be Divine,
the Athenians saved not only themselves, but Hellas. There is no doubt
about the fact. " The Athenians were the saviours of Hellas," observed
Herodotus (vii. 139), and he proceeds to say that he is constrained to speak
his mind upon the point, although the statement will "excite envy in most
men" (belonging to other States). " If," he argues, " the Athenians, dismayed
at the approach of danger, had abandoned their country, or if, while not
abandoning it, they had given themselves up to Xerxes, no other people would
have attempted to oppose the king at sea." And if Xerxes had been master
at sea, he would have held the key of the situation. Of what avail would the
walls built across the isthmus have been, if the Persian had had the command
of the sea which encompasses Peloponnesus ? None whatever. The cities of
Greece would of necessity have been taken, one after the other, by the com-
bined land and sea forces of the barbarian. " Now," concludes Herodotus
deliberately, "if any one should say that the Athenians were the saviours of
Hellas, he would not deviate from the truth, . . . for, having chosen that
Hellas should continue free, they were the people who roused such of the
Hellenes as had not sided with the Medes, and who, next to the gods, repulsed
the king. Neither did fearful Oracles that came from Delphi and inspired
them with terror induce them to abandon Hellas, but they stood their ground
and remained to face the invader on their own shores."
" They remained " — yes, because, although they were indeed terrified
by one Oracle, yet they were reassured and inspired by another. " Divine
Salamis " and the " wooden wall " were bulwarks which they accepted in simple
faith.
"They remained on their own shores." This, too, marks a noteworthy
point, for if the Athenians had sailed out and chosen to face the enemy in the
open sea, their chances of success would have been greatly diminished. But
here, on their own familiar shores, the very winds and currents favoured
them. In the open, the Persian would have had abundant space for the
manoeuvring of his ships, but here, in the land-locked bay of Salamis, his
very superiority of numbers was against him. Thus all conspired, the winds
and the waves, to favour the Hellenes who remained " in obedience to the
god " on the shores of " Divine Salamis."
We are too much accustomed to treat the decision taken at this critical
moment as entirely the work of Themistocles. It is true that Themistocles
induced the Athenians to build the ships which rendered such noble service ;
it is equally true that it was he who divined the meaning of the Oracle, and
who finally so managed matters that the engagement did take place at
Salamis, and that at the time most favourable to the Greeks. But let us ask. Of
what avail would the advice or arguments of Themistocles have been, addressed
to a people who had no faith? It was the faith of the Athenians in an
assurance which they believed to be Divine, not their faith in the wisdom of
Themistocles, that induced them to remain.
This consideration for the safety of the whole on the part of the Athenians
was subsequently put to two very severe tests : —
{a) After the victory of Salamis and flight of Xerxes, Mardonius, who was
left in charge, made a serious effort to win over the Athenians to the side of
the king. He thought, says Herodotus (viii. 136 et seq.), that the Athenians
were the chief cause of the defeat at Salamis, and he hoped by gaining them
as allies easily to become master at sea. Accordingly, he sent to Athens, as
ambassador or go-between, Alexander of Macedon, who was in touch with
both parties, being connected with the Persians by family relations, and
THE HELLENIC IDEALS 535
acceptable to the Athenians as their own proxenos or public guest, and also
a benefactor of their city.
Alexander was empowered to hold out a most tempting bait to the
Athenians. He promised them from Xerxes himself : —
(i) A general amnesty; forgiveness for all wherein they had "sinned"
against him in the past ;
(2) The restoration of their territory ;
(3) The gift of another country, whichsoever they might choose ;
(4) The assurance that they should have full autonomy (be their own law,
live under their own institutions) ;
(5) And last, but not least, the rebuilding of all the temples which the
Persians had burned down.
" All these things will I give you," said the tempter, " if you will make
peace with me." And to this message of the Persian Alexander added his
own persuasions as their friend and well-wisher. " The king's power," he said,
" was more than human, and his arm exceeding long ; " they could not possibly
resist it, and moreover, he added, they ought to consider it a great honour to
be thus singled out from all the Hellenes to receive the offer of forgiveness
and the friendship of the great king.
The Lacedaemonians, however, had heard of the mission of Alexander to
Athens, and in mortal fear they too sent ambassadors to beg of the Athenians
not to yield to his persuasions, promising, on their part, that since Attica had
been laid waste they (the Spartans and their allies) would provide for the
wives and families of the Athenians so long as the war should last.
The Athenians arranged that the Persian and the Spartan ambassadors
should both have audience together, in order that the latter might hear with
their ears both the offer of Alexander and their own intentions.
Accordingly, after both parties had spoken, the Athenians made answer
as follows. We give the speeches in full, for undoubtedly, considering the
circumstances, they deserve to be ranked amongst the noblest ever uttered by
mortal man.
"To Alexander, then," says Herodotus (viii. 143), "the Athenians replied
as follows : ' That the power of the Mede greatly exceeds our own we knew
already, and there was no need to taunt us with that. But, notwithstanding,
we mean to strive for freedom and defend ourselves as best we can. And do
not thou attempt to persuade us to come to terms with the barbarian, for
we will not be persuaded. Go now and tell Mardonius the answer of the
Athenians. So long as the sun shall hold on his course, we will never make
peace with Xerxes, but resist him, trusting in the gods who fight for us and
the heroes whose temples and images he, having no fear of the Divine
judgment,! j^ath burned down. And do not thou in future come before the
Athenians with such proposals, or deem it a good thing to counsel us to do
what is not lawful (athemisfa).^ For we do not wish that thou, who art our
public guest and friend, should suffer aught ungracious (acharista) at the hands
of the Athenians.'
" Such, then, was their answer to Alexander, but to the ambassadors from
Sparta they spake as follows : —
" ' That the Lacedaemonians should fear lest we should come to terms with
the barbarian was very natural.^ Still, such fear is unworthy of you, for ye
1 The Divine opis (see ante, p. 269).
^ The themistes were the laws which the gods were believed to have under their special care.
Kings in the Homeric age were only their deputies in this respect (see ante, p. 247).
' Lit., very human (karta anthropeion).
536 HERODOTUS
knew well the Athenian way of thinking — that nowhere on earth is there so
much gold or a land so rich in beauty and excellence that we should be willing
for such a price to side with the Mede and bring bondage upon Hellas. For
many and great are the considerations that forbid such a thing, even if we were
willing to do it.
*' ' First and chief of all, the burnt and ruined temples and images of the
gods : these of necessity we must avenge to the uttermost, and not make terms
with him who has wrought such deeds.
" ' And then again the Hellenikon — the recollection that we are of the
same blood and the same tongue with the Hellenes, that we have sanctuaries
in common and like sacrifices and customs — for the Athenians to become traitor
to these, this were not well.
" ' Understand therefore now, if ye did not really understand it before, that
never so long as there is one Athenian left will we make peace with Xerxes.
As to your consideration for us, in that ye take thought for our ruined homes,
and are willing to provide for our families, we admire you for it, and your
kindly offer well deserves our thanks. But we are minded to go on as best we
can without becoming burdensome to you. And now, seeing that matters
stand thus, do ye as speedily as possible send out an army. For it seems
probable to us that the barbarian will make no delay, but will fall upon our
land as soon as he learns that we will do none of the things which he requires
of us. Therefore it is right that we should march out and meet him in Boeotia
before he reaches Attica.'
" And when they had heard the answer of the Athenians the ambassadors
departed into Sparta."
Here, then, is the first temptation — a proffered amnesty and gifts not to be
despised. How is it met? It is rejected, and that by a people whose land has
been devastated, their homes wrecked, and their numbers reduced by war. And
what motive actuates them ? A religious motive in the first place — they will
not make peace with a man who has laid in ruins the temples of the gods ; a
religious motive in the second place — they cannot betray those who are of the
same blood and tongue, and who worship with themselves in common sanctuaries
and with like sacrifices.
(h) The second temptation comes from a totally different and most un-
expected quarter. It results from the conduct of the very people who had
urged them not to accept the overtures of Persia. Once they have gained their
end and satisfied themselves that the Athenians are in earnest in their deter-
mination to continue the struggle for freedom, the Spartans think no more
about them, or the advanced and exposed post which they occupy. They coolly
proceed with their own defences, the fortifying of the isthmus, and leave the
Athenians to bear the brunt of the Persian onset.
The Athenians wait for the promised army from Peloponnesus in vain, and
at length, hearing of the rapid advance of Mardonius — who, as they predicted,
had set out with his host immediately on learning the failure of Alexander's
negotiations — they once more retreat, as they had done ten months previously,
to the comparative security of their wooden walls and " Divine Salamis."
When Mardonius arrives in Athens, therefore, he finds the city deserted.
Unable to believe that the Athenians really intend to try the fortune of war
again, he sends another ambassador to Salamis to renew the proposals which
Alexander of Macedon had been commissioned to lay before the Athenians. So
far from being more inclined to listen to them now — now that they see their land
a second time in the possession of the enemy — the Athenians are more resolved
than ever to adhere to their decision ; and a member of the council who gives
THE HELLENIC IDEALS 537
it as his opinion that the proposal should be entertained is stoned to death by
the excited populace, although the ambassador from Mardonius is allowed to
depart unharmed.
The Athenians, however, cannot but feel acutely the ungenerous and selfish
course pursued by those who have thus basely deserted them at the eleventh
hour, and accordingly ambassadors are despatched on their part to Lacedsemon
bearing the following message (ix. 7) : —
" The Athenians have sent us to inform you that the king of the Medes is
willing, in the first place, to restore to us our country ; and secondly, that he
wishes to make us his allies on fair and equal terms without guile or deceit,
and will give us moreover another land in addition to our own, whichsoever we
may choose. But we, reverencing Zeus Hellenius, and fearing to betray Hellas,
have not accepted his offer, but refused it, although we have been unjustly
treated and abandoned by the Hellenes, and know full well that it would be
more to our advantage to make peace with the Persian than war. Nevertheless
we will never willingly come to terms with him. Thus sincerely have we acted
towards Hellas.
" But you, who were then sore afraid that we should make terms with the
Persian, now that ye know clearly our mind that we will never betray Hellas,
and that your wall across the isthmus is approaching completion, have no regard
whatever for the Athenians ; and, although ye covenanted with us to advance
to meet the barbarian in Boeotia, ye have betrayed us and suffered him to
invade Attica. The Athenians are now therefore indignant, for ye have not
acted aright. But now they call upon you to send out an army speedily, that
we may receive the enemy in Attica ; for, since we missed Boeotia, the most
suitable place to give him battle in our territory is the Thriasian plain."
Will it be believed that the Spartans, after hearing this most just and
moderate appeal, deliberately put off from day to day their answer to the
ambassadors until ten days — days of anxiety amounting to agony on the part
of the homeless Athenians — had elapsed ? And what was the reason for the
delay ? Simply this, that the wall was all but finished, and they cared not a
jot for the homeless Athenians. " I can assign no reason," says Herodotus,
" for the great pains taken by the Spartans, when Alexander of Macedon went
to Attica, to prevent the Athenians from siding with the Mede, and then their
being so indifferent about it, except that the isthmus was now fortified and
they thought they had no further need of the Athenians."
Well might the Athenians say, " We have been betrayed " — used as the
cat's-paw to enable the Spartans to ensure the safety of their own territory.
Nor would the Spartans in all probability ever have redeemed their word and
sent the promised army had not one of the allies, Chileus of Tegea, opened
their eyes to the exceeding short-sightedness of their folly. He reminded
them that, strengthen the isthmus as they might, there still remained open to
the Persian " great and wide gates into Peloponnesus." With the sea beating
on three sides of Pelops' isle, what might not the Persians, with such allies as
the Athenians, effect? And allies the Athenians would be forced to become if
they found themselves abandoned in this way by all Hellas.
This appeal to their own safety prevailed where honour and generosity were
powerless, and the Spartans straightway sent forth the promised assistance.
The allies immediately followed, with the result that the Persians retreated
from Attica and ensconced themselves in Boeotia, where the famous battle of
Platsea finally put an end to their pretensions.
Such then was the second temptation that beset the Athenians — the
temptation to throw up all from the galling conviction that they had been
538 HERODOTUS
betrayed, the sense that they had not only been abandoned, but used as a tool
for the purposes of others — an experience perhaps the most painful that a high-
spirited people can make. And how did they meet it? The aidoii in its
secondary sense — consideration for others — could not help them here, for this
very aidos — their generous spirit of self-sacrifice — had been taken advantage
of and trampled upon, treatment which human nature cannot but resent. Let
the Athenians themselves say why they persevered, why they did not at this
crisis go over to the Mede. " We," they reply, " reverencing Zeus Hellenius,
and fearing to betray Hellas, have not accepted the offer of the king, although
we ourselves have been betrayed by the Hellenes."
The reverence for Zeus of the Hellenes, for that power in whom centre the
highest religious convictions of the Hellenes, that power behind the power who
had led the Aryans in their journey from the old home, and assigned to each
branch of the people its own world-work — the Heaven-Father — this it was,
the aidos in its highest sense, that came to the rescue now and enabled the
Athenians to hold on their generous course under provocation so great.
Read in the light of the treatment which they had received, of the great
betrayal at the hands of Lacedsemon which had bereft them of their land a
second time, how noble is the attitude of the Athenians at Platsea ! " We
might well have a claim to command the left wing Nevertheless, at such a
time it is not fitting to strive about place. Therefore, Lacedaemonians, we
are ready to obey you [who abandoned us] and to stand wheresoever you may
think best to place us. For wherever we may be placed we will try to do our
duty."
We venture to think that the foregoing has supplied a very clear answer
to the question from which we started, How did the aidos towards God help
the Hellenes in their hour of need ? For, as we have seen, it was faith in the
Divine power —
( 1 ) That removed as far as possible the fear of the Persian — he is no god ;
(2) That inspired the individual : in obedience to it Leonidas remains at
Thermopylae ;
(3) That inspired a whole people to remain on their own shores and face
the enemy ;
(4) That inspired the same people with strength to overcome the two most
powerful temptations that could possibly have been presented to them.
Plato was thus perfectly right when he traced {Laws, iii. 698) the achieve-
ments of his countrymen in this age to their possession of the aidos. Aidos,
" reverence for God and man," he says, "was then our queen." And thus it
was that their faith saved the Athenians, and through them Hellas.
Then again this question naturally raises another, Was the belief of the
Hellenes that the Divine power was on their side, or, as they phrased it, that
" the gods were fighting for them," mere sentiment ? or had they any reasonable
grounds for their belief 1
Herodotus, at least, has no doubt upon the point. Just as Thales believed
the world to be " full of gods," i.e. of Divine powers, so does Herodotus believe
it to be full of indications of Divine intervention in human affairs (ix. 100).
" The interposition of heaven is manifest," he says, " by many plain signs."
Granted that some of these signs appear trivial to us, there yet remain abundant
and most significant proofs that Herodotus was right in believing God to be
Master in His own world. The Governor of the universe will not abdicate His
throne in favour of any earthly potentate, be he a Darius, a Xerxes, or a
Napoleon. Was it by " chance," let us ask, that the first expedition against
Greece, led by Mardonius in the time of Darius, came to a sudden end, that a
THE HELLENIC IDEALS
539
storm arose just as the Persian fleet was attempting to double Mount Athos,
and, by destroying 400 ships and some 20,000 men, forced the Persians to
retreat ? (vi. 43 et seq.). Was it a " chance/' again, that in the expedition of
Xerxes the same fate overtook 400 vessels off the coast of Magnesia 1 (vii. 188).
Or, again, that the 200 ships appointed to sail round Euboea in order to catch
the Greek fleet in a trap, as the land forces had done at Thermopylae, were
dashed to pieces on the rocks of the Coela ? (viii. 6-13). Is it not more reason-
able, as well as more reverent, to say with the old master (viii. 13) : " All this
was done by God in order that the Persians might be made equal to the
Greeks, or at least not much superior " ?
Or, yet again, can we account for the terrific havoc of the Persians at
Marathon (where 6400 perished against 196 Athenians), at Thermopylae, at
Salamis, on the theory merely of the superior courage of the Greeks, or the
superior skill of their leaders ?
Granted that the "superior courage" was there, of little avail, indeed,
would the insignificant Greek force have been, either on land or sea, confronted
with the enormous hosts of Persia, had not a Divine Providence appointed the
spot where in each instance the confronting was to take place, allowing a
Hippias to forget the marshes at Marathon, and a Xerxes to disregard the
counsels of. those who advised him not to try the fortune of war in the narrow
gulf of Salamis. Granted that "superior skill" was abundantly manifested
in the human instruments employed as leaders on the Greek side, a Miltiades
and a Themistccles, what did the leaders themselves think of the victories
which they had helped to decide ? They knew better than to claim them as
victories won merely by their own intelligence. " It is not we," says Themis-
tocles to the assembled captains after the battle of Salamis (viii. 109), "who
have wrought out this deliverance, but the gods and heroes, who were jealous
that one man should rule over both Europe and Asia, and that man unholy
and wicked."
That these are the words of Themistocles renders them doubly emphatic as
a testimony to the belief of the Greek leaders whom he addressed, for a man
so shrewd would never have given utterance before an assembly of glory-
loving Hellenes to the sentiment that the gods and not they had wrought the
deliverance, had he not been very sure that he was expressing the thought
which was uppermost in the minds of all. And the words of Themistocles are
echoed again and again by a Pindar and an ^schylus. " Had not the Lord
been on our side," well might Hellas say, " then had the proud waters gone
over our soul."
" Let no boast be heard," says Pindar.
" The history of the world is not intelligible," says Wilhelm von Humboldt,
" apart from a government of the world."
This brings us now to the third of the problems raised by the inquiry of
Herodotus, and we ask finally (and, let us add, reverently) : What was the
object of the Divine Ruler in this most unmistakable of " interventions in
human affairs " ? To this question the subsequent history and development of
Hellas give the answer.
(a) The first object was undoubtedly one which the Greeks themselves
recognised, at least in its primary aspect. It was a " levelling " of that high
thing, the hyhrls of presumption, the pride which exalted itself beyond mea-
sure. If God be Ruler, He must maintain the balance. This truth, as we
shall presently see, was apprehended most clearly by all the great thinkers
of Hellas.
540 HERODOTUS
(b) In its secondary aspect, it was the rolling back of a wave which
threatened to drown Europe and advancing civilisation. If Xerxes had gained
a permanent footing in Hellas, the intellectual fire which was destined *to
blaze into the light that for centuries irradiated the surrounding darkness
would have been hopelessly stifled. Only as freemen could the Hellenes
breathe.
There yet remains a third object to which we shall do well if we give heed.
The Persian invasion was a sifting and a testing of the nation, of the Hellenes
themselves. In this great experiment many of the Hellenic peoples were
called, many tried, but one only was chosen. Thessaly was found useless,
Thebes turned traitor, Argos remained utterly indifferent, Sparta showed her-
self supremely selfish ; Athens, and Athens alone among the great States,^
proved true of heart, and Athens, also well-nigh alone, is chosen as a conse-
quence to do that world-work which we, loosely enough, associate with the
name of Hellas. In art, in literature, in science, in philosophy, it is thence-
forward Athens through whom and by whom the torch is handed on. Thence-
forward the intellectual and spiritual history of Hellas centres in Athens. Look
at the greatest names amongst the Hellenes — Pindar, ^schylus, Sophocles,
Euripides, Herodotus, Thucydides, Socrates, Plato, Aristotle ; of the nine
seven are Athenians. Pindar, the man of truth, is by birth a Theban, but in
his sympathy wholly an Athenian. Herodotus, the Halicarnassian, himself
thoroughly honest of purpose, is chosen necessarily, because an impartial
recorder is required, and he, as an Asiatic Hellene, is able to hold the balance
evenly between the rival nations of European Hellas, and hand down to
posterity an unbiassed account.
With these two exceptions, as stated above, the intellectual and spiritual
glory of Hellas shines out from Athenians. Nor is the reason far to seek. It
is not to be looked for in the climate, or soil, or site, or mingling of races in
Athens. 2 All these form the environment only, and were undoubtedly used by
the great Husbandman for His own purposes. But we must look deeper for
the cause, and this is to be found in the honest and good heart which could
respond to the voice of the Logos Spermatikos, the seed -sowing word. Be it
said, with reverence truly, but yet with boldness — for hath not the Master
Himself declared it ? — The Divine Logos can only work with and in willing
instruments. He forces into His service neither the individual nor the
aggregate of individuals which we call the nation. What chance then could
the Divine seed have had by the wayside of self-indulgent Thessaly, or the
shallow soil of jealous, indifferent Argos, or the hard rock of cruel, treacherous
Thebes, or among the thorns and briars of selfishness in Sparta ? Only amongst
a people who could subordinate self to the good of the whole, who could
respond to noble and Divine impulses, could the Logos find fitting agents and
sow the seed to profit. Hence it is that one after another of the Athenians
is called to the glorious work. "To him that hath" the responsive heart,
saith the Lord, " shall be given." And never in all the history of the world,
so far as the " secular " pen has chronicled it, was progress so rapid made in
preparing the way of the Lord, as in the years which begin with the Persian
wars and end with Aristotle. A nation equally with an individual must pass
through its Calvary to its resurrection, and the absolute self-sacrifice of the
Athenians was the gate by which they entered into the glory that followed.
^ Among the smaller States, Thespige and Platasa deserve honourable mention.
2 See ante, p. 150.
§ XII.— PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
I.— PLATO AND THE POPULAR RELIGION
(i) What God is not. (2) What He is
Plato and the Religion of his Day.— Before Plato could proceed to
demonstrate with any force his own conception of what God is, he was obliged,
like all reformers, to clear the ground. He had to remove obstructions and
show first what God is not ; to do this he was compelled, like Xenophanes
before him, to attack the popular mythological notions. Let us note here,
however, that Plato did not attack the popular religion as a whole. To many
of the religions, beliefs, and practices of his time, Plato was far from being
opposed. On the contrary, it is evident — not only from the reverence with
which in the Republic and the Laws he speaks of Apollo and the venerable
Oracle at Delphi, but from many little touches throughout the dialogues —
that he appreciates fully the influence of outward religious observances. The
picture in the Lysis (207 A.) of the Hermsea, the boys sacrificing in white to
the patron of athletes — that in the Republic (i. 328 0.), of Cephalus, the
embodiment of a sunny, peaceful, unselfish old age, sacrificing in his own home
to Zeus — the remark in the Laws (ii. 653 0.) that the festivals had been
instituted for the express purpose of giving men leisure for self -culture : " the
gods pitying our life of labour, have given us periods of rest, and Apollo and
the Muses and Dionysus as companions, that they may advance our nurture
and education" — and the keen insight shown in the direction given in the
same dialogue {Laws, v. 738 B.) that no change is to be made in religion, and
the festivals are to be continued in order that men may learn to know each
oth&t', in other words, in order to promote peace and goodwill — all this (and
much more that might be quoted) shows that Plato was far indeed from
depreciating the outward observances of religion. He recognises in them an
influence distinctly elevating and refining ; his attitude towards them is simply
that of one who would fain see them permeated by a higher, purer spirit, for
he knows how intimately they are connected with the great unwritten laws,
those laws which he compares to the props of builders — " If disregarded," he
says (Latvs, vii. 793), " they fall out of place and bring ruin on all." Not
against religious observances as such is his " irony" or his censure directed,
but against the superstitious way in which they were regarded, as in the case
of the mysteries. Nor does he attack any belief in things Divine, in so far
as they are truly Divine, and bonds of the Unseen. It is against the anthropo-
morphism of the day that he wages war — against the prevailing false and
unworthy conceptions of God.
Like his master, Socrates, Plato goes to the root of the matter. He
attacks not the taught, the multitude, but the teachers, the poets. He finds
the poison-spring in the pictures of the gods, above all in those given by
Homer and Hesiod, and accordingly with these two he will make no truce.
Of the poets as a class he is no lover — they are mere " imitators at third
hand," whom he caricatures on every occasion ; but it is on Homer that his
541
542 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
heaviest anger falls, as that of Socrates had more deservedly fallen on
Hesiod.
Plato can make no allowance for progress, for the intellectual growth of
the centuries which have passed since the Homeric poems came into being —
he does not seem to see that Homer may have been as truly as himself a
teacher of his own age. The immense influence still exercised by Homer, the
influence of which we have a picture in the Ion (535) — the great audience
of 20,000 assembled at the Panathensea to listen to the State-prescribed recital
of Iliad or Odyssey— the rhapsodist clad in purple, with golden crown and
wand of ofl&ce, holding the people spellbound by the magic of the poet, moving
them now to laughter, now to tears — the 20,000 upturned faces on which are
stamped successively the varied emotions of the moment, the wonder, pity,
sternness, called forth by the words of the speaker : the thought of all this,
an influence which he is powerless to arrest, seems only to have inspired Plato
with greater zeal in his determination to expose the Homeric conceptions of
the Divine — to show Homer as he really was — in Plato's eyes — and, it must be
conceded, in regard to Plato's age. Plato was right in his estimate of the
disastrous effect of much in the Homeric poems on the men of his own day —
and therefore the idol must fall — it must be broken to pieces.^
The main points of Plato's indictment against Homer and the poets may
be summed up briefly as follows {Rep., ii. 377 E., 378 C.) : (i) He accuses
them of fabricating that "greatest of lies against the greatest" — the tales of
Uranus and Kronus,^ and of the disputes and wars amongst the gods ; (2) of
making God the author of evil, in that He instigates to the violation of the
solemn oaths and covenant, and to contention (379 C.) ; (3) of saying that He
deceives men by sending a lying dream and changing His form (380 D., 383) ;
(4) of representing the gods as not only behaving in an undignified manner by
giving way to immoderate laughter, but as indulging passion and appetite (389,
390 B.); (5) of depicting them as partial and capricious in the bestowal of
their favours, giving to many good men trials and a sad life, and to bad men
the very reverse (364 B., 379 D.) ; {§) of saying that the gods have made vice
easy and pleasant, but virtue hard and toilsome (364 C.) ; (7) of representing
the gods as bribing men, as it were, to goodness and virtue, by promising them
rewards and blessings in this life (362 E.) ; (8) of saying that the gods them-
selves in turn may be bribed by prayers and sacrifices, and their anger
^ Yet, as Plato himself avows, he shrinks from the task — he says in the Republic (x. 595 C.)
that a certain love and reverence which he has had for Homer from his childhood hinder him
from speaking freely, for Homer is the great teacher and leader of all the noble tragic com-
pany — but — "the man must not be honoured before the truth," and therefore the truth about
Homer must be spoken. Who, he asks (x. 599 C), has ever been really educated or improved
by Homer ? Was he a great legislator like Lycurgus ? or did he help his followers by giving
them a wise and good way of life, like Pythagoras ? No ; we may call him the greatest
of poets if we like. To this title Plato will not dispute Homer's claim ; but as to calling him
the educator of Hellas, or studying him so as to regulate one's life by him — of that Plato will
not hear. Yet there is, after all, far more in common between Homer and Plato than the
latter is at all aware of — the aidos drives him to expose Homer as it drove Achilles to pursue
Hector, and yet the aidos was in the heart of both philosopher and poet as it was in the heart
of both heroes. It is consoling to lovers of Homer to find that in his old age Plato is a little
less unjust to the old master. He has liberated his soul by showing wherein he who was in
truth the leader of the makers of Hellas had erred and gone astray, and he can now afford to
love and enjoy him. He brings back the memories of early days and strikes a true chord when
he says {Laws, ii. 658) that the greatest of pleasures to an old man is neither to listen to
tragedy nor yet to comedy, but simply to hear a rhapsodist reciting well the Iliad or the
Odyssey.
^ See Hellas. Of these tales, given in the Theogony of Hesiod, Homer was, as we have
seen, perfectly innocent. They are the inventions (or Phoenician importations) of a later age
(p. 311).
PLATO AND THE POPULAR RELIGION 543
appeased thereby (364 B., D., E.). (9) He further accuses the poets of pro-
ducing unmanly cowardice by their descriptions of death (386) ; and (10) of
painting degrading and demoralising pictures of the life after death (363 C).
Our examination of Homer and Hesiod has shown us that the foregoing
accusations are true in the main. Zeus and the gods of Homer and Hesiod
are very far indeed from approaching Plato's standard either of the Divine or
of a noble human character. On these details we need not linger ; the whole
survey of Greek thought up to the protest of Xenophanes and the appearance
of Socrates has made us familiar with them. We would only point out in
passing that Plato is often — no doubt quite unconsciously — unjust to the poets.
Sometimes the passages which he quotes from them are reprehensible, not in
themselves, but in the use made of them by the unscrupulous sophists and
teachers of the day, who wrested what suited their purpose from the context
and gave it altogether a new meaning. The passage in the Iliad, for example,
where Phoenix warns Achilles against the harbouring of his implacable resent-
ment, and reminds him that even the gods may be turned by the prayers and
humble vows and offerings of men, is one of the most beautiful and touching
in Homer. Nevertheless, Plato is, as it were, obliged to include it in his
denunciation, for it has been twisted to a hateful purpose — the " prayers "
have become " magic spells" by which the gods can be bound even to evil, the
" vows and offerings " bribes by which they may be turned. All this, with its
disastrous effects, will engage our attention later on. Here we mention this
practice of deceitfully wresting the text of our author as explanatory of much
of Plato's indignation against the poets. They should not have written, he
implies, in a way that was liable to such misinterpretation !
Then again it is not difficult for us to see that Plato standing, prophetically,
on the eve of the new dispensation — anticipating it, as it were — was not in a
position to grasp the full import of the older period. When he denounces
Homer and Hesiod for promising temporal blessings to the righteous — the
oaks bearing acorns on their tops and bees in their middle, the thick- wooled
sheep bowed down by fleecy weight, the black earth bringing forth wheat and
barley, the very sea yielding fish abundantly for the god-fearing and the just
— he does not see that such incentives formed part of the necessary training of
man. First the natural, then the spiritual. Jehovah Himself proceeded on no
other lines in the education of His ancient people Israel. All this is perfectly
plain to us, but we can easily see that it could not be so evident to Plato ; and
bearing this in mind we must sympathise in full with his noble indignation
against the sophistical arguments of those who used the promises of heavenly
blessings as bribes to righteousness, instead of setting forth the unspeakable
dignity and blessedness of the possession of righteousness in itself.
Plato, however, does not content himself, like the Sophists, with pointing
out inconsistencies, and then leaving matters in apparently hopeless confusion.
He points out error in order to get rid of it, as men pull down a hideous and
unsightly building in order that the ground may be clear for the erection of a
temple noble and grandly proportioned. And therefore he immediately pro-
ceeds to lay down, as the basis and very foundation-stone of his temple, two
grand thoughts or first principles. ^ •
I. God is good, and the Author of good. — Of good only and not of
evil. Ought not God, he asks {Rep., ii. 379 et seq.), to be represented always
as He is ? And that being admitted, how can we represent Him otherwise
than as He is in reality — good? — Can the good do harm? — Certainly not.
And if it cannot harm, can it do evil ? No. — And can that which does no evil
544 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
be the cauise of evil ? — Impossible ? — Then, again, we admit that the good is
beneficial? And therefore the cause of well-being? Yes. — It follows, there-
fore, says Plato, that God, since He is good, is not the cause of all things, as
the many say, but He is the cause of a few only of the things that happen to
men, and blameless as regards most. For the goods of life are far fewer
than the evils, and of the goods there is no other author than God, but we
must seek the source of the evils elsewhere, and not in God.
Hence the poet must not be allowed to say that the miseries which men
bring upon themselves by their own fault are the work of God, Or, if he
maintain that they do proceed from God, he must say that God, in bringing
those miseries on man, did what was just and good, and that they were bene-
fited by being punished. But — that those who are enduring a penalty are
miserable, and that God is the author of their misery — this the poet must not
be allowed to say ; although he may say that the wicked are miserable because
they need correction, and that by suffering the penalty of God they are bene-
fited. But — that God, being good, is the author of evil to any one— this is
a statement which must be earnestly combated in every way, and must neither
be said nor heard by young or old, whether it be couched in verse or in prose,
for such fictions are neither pleasing to God nor profitable to us, nor consistent
in themselves. This, then, is Plato's first principle, his first foundation-stone,
that God is not the cause of all things, but of the good only.
And the second is like unto it. It is this —
II. God is True ; God is Simple ; He changes not ; neither doth
He deceive (Rep., ii. 380 D. et seq.). — God cannot change : the best human
things change least — this lies in their very nature — the strongest human body,
the bravest, and wisest souls are least affected by outward circumstance — how,
then, can He who is emphatically the best be liable to change from without ?
But can He change from loithin ? Can He will to change ? Impossible ! How
can He who is the most beautiful and most ex,cellent wish to change, since such
change could only be for the worse ? But, again, can God deceive ? Can He
will to lie either in word or deed ? Can He deceive men in the noblest part of
their nature, about the highest matters, even Himself ? Can God take part in
what Plato calls " the true lie," that is " deception within the soul itself, the
being deceived and ignorant about the highest realities. There, in the noblest
part of ourselves — there to have and to hold a lie — this is what men would
least of all choose, most of all hate." Can we believe that God would Himself
deceive us about Himself ? Impossible ! There is no motive such as actuates
men which could move God to lie. "In every way the superhuman and divine
is free from falsehood, perfectly free. God is absolutely simple and true in
deed and in word. He changes not, neither does He deceive by words or by
the signs which He sends, either in waking vision or in a dream."
Note the beautiful expression, God is simple — haplous — single, without folds
— in Him is no variableness neither shadow of turning. That He is simple
and true, that He changes not — this is Plato's second foundation-stone.
I. God is good and the author of good only.
II. God is simple and true — He changes not.
II. GOD IN RELATION TO THE Ylt^IBLE WORLD— GOD AS
THE CREATOR
In attempting within the brief space at our disposal to give a survey of the
views of the great thinker of Hellas on the highest of all subjects, we must
take the very bold course of beginning with a dialogue, which is at once the
GOD IN RELATION TO THE VISIBLE WORLD 545
most difficult of all the Platonic works and, in parts, to us moderns, even
repellent — the Timxus. If our object were simply to exhibit a beautiful mind
showing itself in language no less beautiful, we certainly should not begin
with the Timaeus — we should turn with eagerness to the Phsedo or the Phsedrus,
to the Symposium or the Republic. Nevertheless, the Timeeus for our present
purpose is of the deepest importance, and — its difficulties once mastered — we
shall find not only that it supplies the answer to many questions raised by the
other dialogues, but that, despite the drawbacks on the surface, it abounds in
the most noble and far-reaching thoughts.
As we have hinted, the language itself is difficult and in places obscure.
For this there are two causes — first, that Plato is evidently following some
Pythagorean model and makes great use of mathematical reasoning ; and,
secondly, that he is grappling with what to him is a new subject — natural
science.
The Tim3e,us professes to give an account of the creation of the world, but
it is not content to deal only with the theological side of the question. In
working out his plan Plato brings in theories of the most varied kind — astro-
nomical, chemical, mineralogical, anatomical, physiological, pathological — and
the attempt to give adequate expression to his conceptions of these subjects at
a time when scientific nomenclature was in its infancy, must have been fraught
with immense difficulty. Aristotle is justly praised for the great services which
he rendered both to science and philosophy by the clearness and precision of
his language, but it must not be forgotten that Aristotle followed Plato and
still later writers, and had the benefit of their labours, just as Plato himself
reaped the fruits of those who before him had acted as pioneers in the field.
Plato is as keen a. logodaedalus'^ as Aristotle, and the difficulties with which he
had to contend were greater.
Then, again, natural science had no attractions in itself for Plato, and he
has told us why : " Even if a man imagines that he is inquiring into nature
(peri physeos)," he says (Phil., 59), " you know that he is really occupied with
things of this world — how it arose, and how it is changed and changes. This
is the sort of inquiry in which his life is spent. His labour is bestowed, not
on that which always is" — (true being, the things of eternity) — " but on things
which are becoming," i.e. entering for a brief space into existence, and then
vanishing.
This then is the true reason why Plato passes over nature-studies — they
belong to the perishing things of time, and are already, when we examine
them, being swept along by the river of Heracleitus. Plato has elected to
labour for the meat that perisheth not, and therefore it is that philosophy
absorbs his whole soul — because it deals with the things that are eternal and
unchanging.
So marked is this neglect of natural science in his other works, that some
writers have hesitated on this account to include the Timxus among the genuine
works of Plato. The doubt, however, is now allowed on all sides to be un-
founded. No critic can now dispute its claim to be the product of Plato's
intellect. We can see, moreover, that, viewed in their connection with things
eternal, the. things of time do possess an intense and abiding interest even for
men of Plato's mental bias, and it is precisely in this light that they are treated
by him in our dialogue. Its very object is to try to explain the connection
between the eternal and the transitory — to determine the relative place of
both in that grand conception of the world harmony which forms the centre of
the Platonic system. The Tima&us itself is not the centre of that system ; but
^ Word-coiner.
2 M
546 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
without it the system as a whole would have been incomplete — without it, as
stated above, we should have been left in doubt as to Plato's real mind on many
important points. With the Timse-us in our hand, we go back upon the other
dialogues, and find that it explains and sheds a light upon them all.
With the scientific and most difficult parts of the dialogue we have, strictly
speaking, nothing to do in our present inquiry ; but we may just note in pass-
ing that it was impossible for Plato to labour even in a domain uncongenial to
him without producing genuine fruit. Flashes of genius (which have inspired
many other investigators) light up the whole work, and in more than one
instance we find the discoveries of our own age anticipated.^
One other preliminary observation, and then we pass on to the work itself.
We must note beforehand that Plato's account of the Creation takes the form of
a story or " mythos," but it does not follow that Plato expected his hearers to
accept his mythos in the sense of history. His cosmogony is not put forward
like the Theogony of Hesiod, as a true and genuine record of events that actu-
ally occurred at one period of the world's history. The very reverse is the case.
Timseus, the narrator, reminds his audience no less than six times {Tim., 29,
4^5 5I5 55^ 59? 72) ^li9.t he is only giving them a "probable account." " Do
not be surprised, Socrates," he says in one place {Tim., 29 C), "if, amid the
many things that have been spoken concerning the gods and the origin of the
universe — we are not able to advance a wholly consistent and precise state-
ment. You must rather be satisfied if our account is as pi'ohable as any other,
bearing in mind that I, the speaker, and you, my judges, are only mortal
men."
Plato has glimpses of the truth — he " touches " it in his seeking, now and
again ; but he is not in possession of the whole truth, and he does not imagine
that he is. For the presentation of this shadowy " dawning " truth, the form
of the myth seems to the poet-philosopher the most suitable. He often makes
use of it elsewhere, as we shall see, and such myths he calls (Gorgias, 523)
"true" myths — i.e. myths that hold beneath the mythical, symbolical, or
allegorical veil, an element of real truth. " To find out the Maker and Father
of this universe," he says, "is difficult, and when we have found Him, to speak
of Him to all men is impossible " ^ — impossible, that is, to give such expression
to the dawning truth as shall make it clear to all men. And therefore it is
^ e.g. Hearing is produced, according to Plato, by a blow which disturbs the air, and sets it
vibrating more or less rapidly (our sound-waves). Again, in his account of the solubility of
some of the elements and of the bodies formed out of them, he at least foreshadows the course
of scientific chemistry. Further, we may note that he conjectures the close union of the respi-
ratory and nutritive processes, although he does not know the blood-oxidising activity of the
lungs ; he even gives fire a role therein, and makes the blood arise from a sort of burning pro-
cess, thus anticipating the results of modern research, and to this he attributes its red colour
(Liebig's Letters on Chemistry, 22). He speaks also of a continual decay by fire and air going
on in the organism, and of the necessity of a continual replacement by nourishment akin in its
composition to that of the human frame, and easily assimilated. These he finds mainly in
plants, and recommends, like Pythagoras, a vegetable diet. Finally, we may note that he
gives to plants a nature akin to that of animals, and here once more anticipates modern science
in its discovery of the similarity of animal and vegetable cells (Liebig, Letters 25 and 29. See
Steinhart's able introduction to Miller's translation of the Timceus, pp. 60, 61, 127, 128).
All this belongs rather to the history of the Greek experiments in science than to our present
subject, but we have thought it well to call attention to Plato's notions here, premising that
our philosopher would himself have been the first to repudiate any claim to the title of "physio-
logist." He was no inquirer into nature, and we must therefore look upon his anticipations of
modern science rather as the brilliant conjectures of a clear-sighted man of genius than as the
results of patient experiment. In this light Plato, beyond a doubt, himself regarded his
" guesses at truth." They represent, according to him, the probable.
2 Cf. St. Paul's " things which it is not lawful " — i.e. possible — "to utter."
PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF THE CREATION OF THE WORLD 547
that he chooses the form of the " true myth," as being that which will be most
readily understood.
As Steinhart beautifully remarks (Introd. to Miiller's transl. of the
TimcBUs, p. 74): "The myths of Plato connect as by a bridge of air two
contrary but never separated worlds." The bridge itself has no substantial
existence, nevertheless it serves the purpose of bearing us froni the world of
becoming and perishing to the world of true being, from the land of mortality
to that of immortality, from the things of time to the things of eternity. " The
prohaUe in Plato's sense is the nearest approach to truth that is possible."
Having now (as we hope) enlisted the interest of the reader in this great
work, we may proceed to give such a summary of those parts of it which
concern us more immediately, as will enable us at least to grasp the salient
points.
PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF THE CREATION OF THE WORLD.
" It is now your turn to speak, Timseus," says Socrates, " after you have, as
is customary, called upon the gods."
" All men do that, Socrates," Timseus replies, " who are in any degree
right minded. At the beginning of any enterprise, great or small, they always
call upon God (Theos)."
Before proceeding with his narrative, Timaeus asks and answers three
questions of great importance.
(i) First question. — The first thing we have to do, he says, is, in my
opinion, to distinguish between that which akvays is, and had no beginning (the
eternal), and that which is always becoming (entering into existence only to
perish) and never really is. That which is apprehended by thought and reason
always is, and is the same (the eternal and unchanging) ; that which is appre-
hended without reason by the help of the senses is in a process of becoming
and perishing, and never really is. Now everything that becomes or is created
must of necessity be produced by some cause ; for it is impossible that any-
thing can be created without a cause.
Was, then, the Kosmos (the wondrously-ordered universe) always in exist-
ence, without a beginning ? or was it created and had a beginning ?
Answer : I reply. It was created, for it is visible and tangible and has a
body, and all things that are apprehended by the senses (may be seen, felt,
handled) are created.
(2) Second question. — If then the world was created and if everything that
is created must have a cause — how shall we find out the Maker and Father of
this universe ? And when we have found Him, how shall we speak of Him ?
Ansioer : We shall find Him and trace out His nature and His mode of work-
ing by asking yet another question : In every act of creation (Divine or
human) there are two modes of procedure : If the demiurgus or master-builder
looks to the things that are eternal and unchanging, and works out his plan
on an eternal pattern, what he produces must of necessity be wholly beautiful,
but if he looks to the things that perish, and fashions after a created pattern,
his work is not beautiful. After which pattern, then, did the master-builder
fashion the world ? — after the abiding and unchangeable pattern or after the
fashion of things that perish ?
Ansioer : If this our world is indeed beautiful and the Maker of it is good,
it is plain that He must have looked to that which is eternal. And certainly,
every one must see that the framer of the world looked to the eternal, for the
548 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
world is of all creations the most beautiful, and He is of all causes the best.
Being thus created, the world has been framed with a view to the things that
are apprehended by thought and reason and are unchanging.
(3) Third question. — But, let us ask. Why did God make the world ?
Ansicer : He was good, and with the good no jealousy can ever in any way
arise. And being free from jealousy He willed that all things should be as
like unto Himself as possible. Most justly may we accept this — on the testi-
mony of thoughtful men — as the chief cause of creation and of the world —
God willed that all things should be good, and nothing as far as possible bad.
God's Method of Working*. — Perceiving then, that everything that was
visible was not at rest, but moving in a faulty and irregular way, He brought
order out of disorder, deeming order to be far better than disorder. Now, to
Him who is the best, there neither has been (hitherto) nor is there now, any
other law of work than the law of the most beautiful ; and when He reflected
upon the things that are visible by nature, He found that nothing devoid of
mind {nous = intelligence, reason) was ever more beautiful, taken as a whole,
than that which possesses mind, taken as a whole ; and that mind could not
possibly exist in anything (material) apart from soul {psyche — the living
sentient nature).
For these reasons He placed mind in soul, and soul in body, and framed
the universe so that it might be the most beautiful and the best work in the
order of Nature. Thus, using the language of probability, we must acknow-
ledge that this world became a living creature, endowed with soul and with
mind in truth, in the providence of God.
Before proceeding further, let us gather up the chief points in this most
beautiful prooemium : —
(i) The grand distinction between the unchanging and the transient. — The
unchanging apprehended only by thought and reason ; the transient by opinion
and the senses. The unchanging is eternal, has no beginning ; the transient
has a beginning and a cause.
(2) The two patterns and the two laws ofivork. — The eternal and the perishing.
(3) The inscrutability of God. — How can we find Him, the Maker and
Father of all? Ansicer: The Kosmos proclaims Him. "Every one must see
that the world is the most beautiful of creations and its Master-builder the
best of causes."
(4) Wliy did God make the world ? — Because He is good, because in Him
jealousy can have no place, — because He willeth that all should be as like unto
Himself as possible — an answer as sublime as it is true.
(5) How did God make the ivorld ? — By the law of His own nature, the law
of the most beautiful.
(6) What is the most beautiful ? — {a) That which possesses mind = intelli-
gence ; (&) that which possesses order = harmony.
How much have these few sentences already revealed to us of the nature
of God ! He is unchanging, eternal, invisible, only to be apprehended by
thought ; He is good ; He is free from jealousy .and human weakness ; He
delights in beauty, order, intelligence — they are the very law {themis) of His
Being.
The Body of the Universe. — When God framed the universe. He
willed to make it one visible living creature, as like as possible to that which is
of all things conceivable the most beautiful arid in every way perfect {i.e. the
heavenly pattern, the invisible world of ideas). And therefore the universe
PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF THE CREATION OF THE WORLD 549
is to be conceived of as one (not as many worlds) comprehending within itself
all other living creatures.
Now that which is created must have a body, so that it may be visible and
tangible. Without fire it would not be visible ; unless it were solid, it could
not be tangible, and without earth it could not be solid. Wherefore God first
made the universe of fire and earth, and then bound these together in the best
possible way by means of air and water, harmonising the four elements in
due proportion, so that they stand firm in the unity of friendship, and are
indissoluble by any other than the hand of Him who bound them thus
together.
Now when the Creator thus united the whole of the elements — fire, water,
air, and earth collectively — He left behind no part nor power of any one of
them, it being His purpose, first, that the living creature should be, as far as
possible, a perfect whole, made up of perfect parts ; secondly, that it should
be one, nothing being left behind out of which another similar universe might
be made; and thirdly, that it should be unageing and free from disease. For
these ends, the universe was made one whole, made up of entire parts, and
therefore perfect, ageless, and not subject to disease.
"And he gave to the universe the form which was proper and natural.
Now for the living creature which was to embrace within itself all other
living creatures, that form was fitting which comprehends within itself all
other forms ; wherefore on this account he made it spherical, like to a globe,
rounded as by a lathe, equally distant everywhere from the middle to the
extremities — of all forms the most perfect and the most like to itself, for He
considered that the like is infinitely more beautiful than the unlike.
This great living creature has neither eyes nor ears nor breathing apparatus,
nor organs wherewith to receive nourishment, for all these would have been
useless to him, inasmuch as there is nothing visible, nothing to hear, no air
to breathe outside of himself ; he nourishes himself by his own decay, and by
design is so formed that he does and suffers all things in himself and by
himself, for his maker considered that to be self-sufficing is better than to be
dependent on others. Hands and feet he has none, nor any of the seven
movements except that which is most appropriate to his form and akin to
mind and reflection, wherefore he revolves in the same way and in the same
course, turning within himself in a circle.
The Soul of the Universe. — Such was the scheme of the Eternal God
concerning the god that was to be. . . . And He placed a soul in the centre,
and diffused it throughout the whole, and also spread it around and without
the body. And He formed the one single solitary heaven, a circle revolving
in a circle, able by its own excellence to hold converse with itself, and requir-
ing no companion, being sufficient as friend and lover for itself. And in all
these ways He fashioned him (the universe) to be a blessed god.
But the soul was not created last, although we speak of her in this order,
as though God had made her to be the younger creation ; for having joined
them together, He would never have suffered the elder to be ruled by the
younger — this we said heedlessly, being ourselves greatly affected by chance ;
but He made the soul, the first and elder by birth as well as excellence, to be
the mistress and ruler of the body, over which she holds sway ; and He formed
her out of the following elements and in the following way : Of the indivisible
and eternal essence, that which is always the same, He took one part, and
of the divisible substance of the body another part, and a third part, or
intermediate species. He formed by mixing together the two first. Then,
taking the three substances, He mingled them all into one form (idea), and
550 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
the uncongenial element (the corporeal and earthly), which was difficult to
mix, He brought into union with that which is always the same (the eternal
and heavenly) by force. "... And when the Creator had thus made the soul
and diffused her throughout and around the whole body of the universe, she
began the divine beginning of an endless rational life throughout all time.
And the body of the universe is visible, but the soul is invisible, and she even
partakes of the reason and harmony of intelligent beings, and having been
created by Him who is the best, she is herself the best of all things that are
created.
Chief Points. — Before proceeding further, let us again gather up into a
focus the leading ideas in Plato's theory.
(i) The universe as a rational living creature. — That a great thinker like
Plato should have conceived of the universe as endowed with rational life,
with mind and soul, able to think and reflect, may come upon some of us as
an unwelcome surprise. Nevertheless, to antiquity there was no other way
of explaining natural phenomena either of the heavens or of the earth — the
movements of the heavenly bodies or the periodical return of the seasons —
except by some such hypothesis. Explanation by natural law was as yet
undreamt of, although indeed it lies so close to Plato's theory that it seems
almost within his grasp.
Nevertheless, let us note well that although Plato believes in the universal
soul, he is no pantheist. God, in his view, is perfectly distinct from matter.
This is proved by his statement that the world, although a " blessed god," is
yet created by the Eternal God, and although it has a soul, yet this soul is
only partly formed of the indivisible unchanging Divine Essence, whilst its body
can be dissolved again into the original four elements of which it is composed
at the pleasure of Him who bound them together.
(2) The universe as one, or ivhole made up of entire and perfect parts. — Let
us ponder well the grand idea involved in the statement, repeated with
emphasis several times, that the universe is one, not many independent
worlds. This is nothing less than the central idea of the world-harmony, the
mutual interdependence of the heavenly bodies, an idea originally Pytha-
gorean but developed by Plato. H. Miiller has a good note on this
" The Heaven," he says, " or the world-order, or the all — Timseus uses
all these terms to express the same idea, what we understand by ' the
universe ' — forms a whole ; there is only one world, not many worlds inde-
pendent one of the other. This was the teaching of Pythagoras as of the
Platonic Timseus, and with this assertion the discoveries of modern astronomers
are in accord. It becomes more and more probable that the most distant
stars and world-systems obey one law, that of gravity, and exercise a mutual
influence one on the other."
The Pythagorean-Platonic theory of the oneness of the universe is,
therefore, another of those grand " guesses at truth " which proved so
fruitful.
(3) The union of the elements. — In this w^e have another application of the
same grand law of harmony. What can be more opposed in their nature than
fire and water, air and earth ? And yet the opposition between them is over-
come so entirely that the balance of the universe is maintained by the " friend-
ship " of the elements — a Platonic expression for perfect proportion. None
outweighs or crushes the other, a pregnant idea which he works out afterwards
in the moral world (Steinhardt, Introrluction, p. 92).
(4) The form and movement of the universe. — Fresh developments of the
PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF THE CREATION OF THE WORLD 551
law of harmony. The spherical form is not only that which would least lend
itself to any attempt at personification of the universal living creature, but it
is also the most harmonious. In the same way and for the same reason, the
only movement allowed to the universe is that which is " most appropriate to
its form, and akin to mind and reflection." The universe revolves and turns
within itself, as thought turns, so to speak, and revolves within the brain.
The six less perfect movements— backwards and forwards, to right and left, up
and down — are not given to the universe, and the motive is obvious — any
one of them would have taken it out of the perfect harmony of its course
(Steinhardt, Introd., p. 93).
(5) The soul older than, and mistress of, the body. — This doctrine we shall
meet with so often in the course of our investigation, that here we need do no
more than draw attention to it. The priority, supremacy, and superiority of
the soul forms one of the main pillars of the Platonic system. Remove this,
and the whole building falls to pieces— hence the apology of Timseus for having
inadvertently mentioned the body before the soul.
(6) Finally, let us note the two further developments of Plato's conception
of the Mind of God — one intensely Greek, the other as intensely Aryan : —
(a) The Greek thought. — God considered that " the Hke is infinitely more
beautiful than the unlike." Here we have the Hellenic love for proportion,
symmetry, quiet grace — the aversion to startling and violent contrasts.
(h) The Aryan thought. — God considered that " to be self-sufficing is better
than to be dependent on others." Can we wonder that Plato the Hellene
should have transferred this, one of the root-principles of all original experi-
ment, of all creation, to the Mind of the Creator ? He enunciates here, as it
were, the law of work for the whole Aryan race — the law of independence, of
individuality.
The Joy of God in His Creation.— Now when the Father and Creator
perceived the image which He had made of the eternal gods moving and living,
He was delighted, and in His joy He resolved to make it yet more like the
pattern on which He had framed it, for as the pattern — the living being —
was eternal, He had endeavoured to make it as far as possible the same.
God creates Time. — Now the nature of the living being is eternal, and
to impart it wholly to the creature is impossible. But He resolved to make a
moving image of eternity ; and as He set in order the heaven, He made that
which we call time to be an eternal image — moving in accordance with number
— of the eternal things that abide in unity. For days and nights and months and
years were not in existence before the heaven was created, but He devised that
they should come into being together with it. All these are parts of time, and
the past — that which was — and the future — that which shall be — are created
species of time, which we unconsciously, but wrongly, transfer to the eternal
essence. For we say, indeed, that " He was, is, and will be " ; but, speaking
in accordance with truth, " He is " alone fittingly expresses Him, and the
" was " and " will be " are properly used only in reference to things generated
in time, for these are movements ; whereas that which is immovably the
same is not concerned with time. The " was " and the " will be " are con-
ceptions of time when it intimates eternity, moving in a circle regulated by
number.
Such, then, was the birth of time out of the Mind and Thought of God,
and in order to accomplish this work, " He made the sun and moon and five
other stars, which are called the wanderers (planets), for the purpose of dis-
tinguishing and preserving the numbers of time. And when God made the
bodies of the stars. He gave to each an orbit . . . seven orbits for the seven
552 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
stars. The moon He placed in the orbit nearest the earth, and the sun in the
second nearest, beyond the earth," and so on. . . .
And that there might be some visible measure of the relative slowness and
swiftness of the eight heavenly bodies as they moved in their courses, God
kindled a light in that star whose orbit is second in nearness to the earth,
that which we have just called the sun, in order that the whole heaven might
be made manifest as far as possible, and that such living creatures as were
by nature fitted for it might participate in number, learning this from the
revolutions of the heavenly bodies.
Points, (i) Resemblances between the Mosaic and the Platonic
Accounts of Creation. — We can hardly be surprised that Plato was long
supposed to have borrowed his account of Creation from the Hebrew Scrip-
tures — a theory now entirely discredited. The resemblances are great and
striking — " the earth was without form " — Plato's chaos, the order of Creation
God's joy in His work — but the resemblances are outweighed by the differences.
It is essentially a Greek and not a Hebrew presentation with which we have
to do. Between the universe as conceived of in the Mosaic account of Creation
and Plato's universal living creature, there is no compatibility.
(2) Note the grand conception of the eternal nature of^ God. " He is "
alone expresses it. "I am " is God's self -revelation in the Old Testament as in
the New (Exod. ii. 14 ; St. John viii. 58).
(3) Note the explanation of the purpose for which light is handled — " that
the whole heaven might be made manifest, in order that such creatures as
were by nature fitted for it (human beings) might participate in number," i.e.
in order, rhythm, and harmony, " learning this from the revolutions of the
heavenly bodies." This teleological view of the universe, the grand purpose
for which it was formed, is a great development on the Socratic doctrine of
utility — nevertheless, it is a development only.
The FOUF Races. — When the universe was first made, it had within it
no living creatures, but now the Creator supplied this want, framing them,
as before, after the nature of the pattern — the invisible world of ideas. He
devised four races — one, the heavenly race of the gods ; another, the birds that
cleave the air ; the third, the species that dwell in water ; the fourth, the
animals that go on foot on the dry land.
Creation of the Visible Gods. — The Divine race He fashioned mostly
of fire, that they might appear the brightest and most beautiful to sight, and
He made each a fair round globe, like to the universe, and gave them to
know the best and to follow that, distributing them all over the circle of the
heaven, that it might be in very deed a brilliant Kosmos throughout (a world
of light exemplifying the grand world order). . . .
"And the fixed stars also He made to be living creatures. Divine and
eternal, ever-abiding, and revolving in the same way and in the same
place. . . .
" And earth, which is our nurse — fastened (or circling) 1 round the pole
which is extended throughout the universe — He devised to be the guardian
and maker {demiurgos) of night and day, the first and eldest of the gods that
are in the interior of heaven. . . ."
^ The word eillomene has this double significance, hence it is uncertain whether Plato
believed that the earth remained immovably fixed in the centre of the universe — stretched on
the world-pole, while the heavenly bodies revolved around her — or whether he conceived of the
earth as circling round the world-axis which is to be understood as only a prolongation of her
own. Commentators are divided on the point ; but the first interpretation, viz. that the
earth does not move, is confirmed by other passages in Plato (Miiller's Translation, Note 62,
P- 275).
PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF THE CREATION OF THE WORLD 553
To attempt, however, to describe the figures of the heavenly bodies when
they meet as in a choral dance and return again on their orbits — or one veiled
from sight (eclipsed) and appear again, sending fears upon those who do not
understand the real meaning of their movements, and take them to be signs
of coming events— would be labour in vain. " Let this suffice as to the nature
of the visible and created gods."
Creation of the Invisible Gods.— To speak of the other gods, however
(the gods of tradition), and to know their origin, Timseus declares to be beyond
his powers: "We must," he says, "believe those who spoke of old. Being
descendants of the gods, as they declared, they must clearly have known the
truth about their own ancestors. It is impossible not to believe the sons of
the gods." And what these sons of the gods had handed down is, that the
children of Heaven and Earth (Ouranos and Ge) were Oceanus and Tethys ;
that from these again sprang Phorkys and Kronus and Rhea, and those who
were born after them ; and from Kronus and Rhea sprang Zeus and Hera,
and all who are known as their brethren; and from these again others are
descended.
Address of the Eternal God to the Created Gods.— Now when all
the gods had come into existence, both those who are visible and are called
Wanderers (the Planets), and those who only appear when they will (the gods
of tradition), the Creator of the universe spake to them as follows : —
" Gods of Divine origin, my works, ye of whom I am the Creator (demiurgos)
and Father, that which has been created by me, is indissoluble, without my
will. Now all that has once been bound together may be dissolved again, but
to wish to dissolve that which is happy and beautifully harmonised were the
wish of an evil being. You, inasmuch as you have been created, are neither
immortal or altogether indissoluble; but ye shall certainly not be dissolved
nor liable to the fate of death, for ye have in my will a stronger and more
powerful bond than those by which ye were bound when ye were created.
Hear ye now my instructions : There yet remain three mortal races to be
created ; unless they come into existence, the universe will not be complete,
for it will not contain all the races of living creatures which it must have,
if it is to be perfect. But if these were created and received life through me,
they would be on an equality with the gods. In order, therefore, that there
may be mortals, and that the universe may be really all-embracing, do ye apply
yourselves, according to your nature, to the fashioning of living creatures, and
imitate the power displayed by me in your own creation. That part of them
which is fittingly called immortal — the Divine — which shall be a leader and
guide to such of them as are willing ever to follow justice and the gods — the
seed and beginning of this, I myself will give you ; but the rest, do ye.
Around the immortal, weave mortality ; form and fashion living creatures ;
provide food for them, let them increase, and receive them again in death."
Thus He spake, and again poured the remains of the elements into the cup
in which He had previously mingled the world-soul, and mixed them somewhat
in the same manner — no longer, however, pure as before, but diluted to the
second and third degree. And when He had framed the whole, He divided
the souls in numbers equal to the stars, assigning a soul to each star, and
having placed them as in a chariot. He showed them the nature of the
Universe, and declared to them the unalterable laws decreed for them.
What these laws were, and how the created gods succeeded in the task
assigned them, we shall show in a later section. With the delivery of the
laws the active part taken by the Creator ceases. He leaves His injunctions
to His children, and He Himself remains " in His own place."
554 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
Chief Points. — Let us briefly note the following : —
(i) The created gods. — We may be surprised that Plato, after rising to
the conception of the One Supreme God, should have deliberately gone out
of his way, as it were, to introduce other gods. One explanation would seem
to offer itself in the Hellenic aversion to abrupt transitions. Between the.
Supreme, Eternal God and frail humanity there must be, he implies, some
intermediate stage, and the beings who belong to this intermediate stage are,
moreover, necessary to his purpose.
One thing, however, is abundantly clear, viz. that Plato is no polytheist.
His "gods," like the universe, are created and dissoluble at the will of the
Creator. The part they play is simply that of ministers or delegates who
carr}' out the purposes of the Creator. ^ We may regard them as Divine forces,
if we will, although they seem to correspond rather to our conception of the
angels, except that they are entrusted with the creation of the animals and
the mortal part of man.
Of these created gods there are two classes : —
(a) The visible gods, or heavenly bodies. When we read therefore in the
Laws that the sun and stars are " gods," we know in what sense the statement
is to be taken. They are Divine powers, endowed with rational life, and
entitled to reverence on account of their great superiority to man — but they
are created, and their nature is not in itself eternal.
(&) The invisible gods, the gods of tradition, i.e. the gods of Homer and
Hesiod. Zeus himself — who, as we know, is the representative of the
universal Heaven-father, the Aryan Dyauspita, appears in the category of
created gods. His functions as ruler are transferred to the supreme God —
and rightly, for the true Zeus had become eclipsed. Zeus at the first reigns
alone, as we have seen ; the mythological elements which gathered around him
are accretions of later ages — his father and mother, grandfather, brothers,
sisters, children, are all gradually evolved in the slow process of time, as the
idea of the one god becomes more and more obscured. Plato therefore does
well to introduce the created gods in order to mark this deterioration. He,
like Aristotle, recognised in the popular mythology relics and fragments of a
more ancient primal truth, and probably his aim here is to show pointedly
the antithesis between the primal truth and the popular notions. The true
Heaven-father is not the Zeus of poets and mythologers — the latter must
take his place as a created god, created out of human fancies.
We need not be surprised, nevertheless, to find Plato himself applying
elsewhere the designation " Zeus " to the supreme God. He seems indeed to
have had a love for the name ; and makes it the subject of one of his curious,
and yet instructive etymologies in the Cratylus (396). " The name ' Zeus ' is, as
it were, a sentence," he says, "which we divide into two parts, and some use
one part (Bia) and some the other (Zena).^ The two together set forth the
nature of the god, for neither to us nor to others is there any cause of life
save the ruler and king of all. It is therefore right and fitting that the God
1 The reader will recollect that in Homer, also, all the other gods are subject to Zeus.
Plato's conception, of course, totally transcends the Homeric idea, but this point of contact
remains.
2 Two forms of the accusative. Brugmann shows {Comparative Grammar of the Indo-
Germanic Languages, vol. i., translation by Dr. Wright, §§ 69 and 498) the process by which
the Aryan Bieus became Sanscrit Dyaus, and Greek Zeus — the di in Greek becomes Z and
the digamma is omitted.
Nominative : Zeus (from Zeus, dieus, dieus).
Genitive : Dios (from diFos).
Dative : Dii (from diFi).
Accusative : Zen (here the U has disappeared entirely).
PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF THE CREATION OF THE WORLD 555
who gives life (Zen) always to all living creatures should be so named (Zena)."
Etymologically, of course, Plato is hopelessly wrong — " Zeus " is not connected
with life, but with light. However, it is not probable that he himself attached
importance to any one of his derivations, as such. They are simply pegs on
which he hangs some striking thought, and viewed in this light as a revelation of
himself, his explanation of the word " Zeus " as the life-giver is very instructive.
As to the application of the name to the supreme God, Plato undoubtedly felt
with ^schylus.i If it be His good pleasure to be called " Zeus " let us invoke
Him by this name, time-honoured as it is.
(2) The 2^reserving bond of life — the will of God. — Observe, finally, a last
revelation of the nature of the eternal God — and a very beautiful one. Thfe
created gods may rest assured that, although not in themselves eternal, yet
they have in the will of Him who made them the strongest of preserving
bonds : " To wish to destroy what is harmonious and happy were the wish of
an evil being" — such a wish is therefore impossible to God. He knows not
caprice — He can only will and work the good — a bond of anticipation of the
apostles, "with Him is no variableness, neither shadow of turning," and this,
as Plato well sees, is the strong ground of confidence for His creatures.
Some difficulties of the " Timseus."— With the difficulties, philosophical
and scientific, of the Timaeus we are not concerned here. There are, however,
one or two questions which we must consider, briefly, inasmuch as they are
intimately connected with Plato's religious belief.
(i) God and mortality. — Why does Plato represent the Creator as retiring
from His work before the creation of mortals ?
The answer would seem to be partly the one given by himself, viz. that
there cannot be a distinction between the created gods and man — man is not
to be equal with the gods. Another answer, however, is this, that the state-
ment, " God created mortality,''^ would have been tantamount to saying that
" God created death^^ and from such a statement Plato, like every true Greek,
shrank. The reluctance to associate death with the gods is nothing less than
a national characteristic. We must recollect Plato's own interpretation (the
" Life-giver ") of the national name for God, and there is historical testimony
for the pious dread with which every sign and token of death was removed
from Delos, the supposed birthplace of Apollo, the healer.
That Plato does not regard matter 'per se as altogether evil ^ is evident from
the statement that the Creator Himself makes use of it in framing the universe.
But there lay of necessity in the plan of the demiurgos, the creation also of
mortal races, and because of necessity these mortals must suffer the pangs of
dissolution, therefore Plato hesitates to bring the Creator into immediate
contact with matter as connected with mortality. And hence it is, perhaps,
that he is represented as relegating the framing of the mortal races to the
created gods.
We cannot be surprised that even the most penetrating of ancient thinkers
failed to grasp the moral significance of death. Death to us is the punishment
of sin — death to the Greeks is necessity — the death due to Nature, the repay-
ment of the borrowed elements.
(2) God and the creation of matter. — In the Timceus Plato apparently does
not rise to the sublime conception of creation by the fiat of the Almighty :
" Let there be light, and there was light," and it has been repeatedly urged
against him that he represents the Creator as making use simply of materials
already in existence — the Ur^ or original elements — thus leaving the ques-
tion of the creation of matter unsolved. This objection is valid so far as
1 See antet p. 362. 2 ge©, however, § 3.
5S6 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
the Timoeus alone is concerned — the want of clearness on this point is one of
the great defects of the work. But, just as the Ttmceus supplements and
explains other dialogues, so do they in turn supplement and explain it, and in
the Sophist — one of Plato's most abstract and logically thought out works — a
definition of creation is given, and the relation of God to matter clearly set
forth : " There are," he says, " two kinds of creation. Divine and human. By
creation we mean every power that brings into existence things which before
had no existence. Now," he goes on to ask, " what are we to say concerning
the world around us — all the creatures that live and die, the plants that spring
from seeds and roots, the lifeless things, soluble and insoluble, that are formed
within the earth — shall we maintain that they, having no previous existence,
were brought into existence by a creator (a demiurgus) — working for the
people, who is none other than God, or shall we say with the multitude that
Nature gives birth to them from some automatic or accidental cause ? Shall
we not rather hold that they owe their being to Divine reason and a knowledge
which comes from God ? "
A little later in the same dialogue {Sophist, 265 E., 266 B.), it is stated,
not only that " things which are said to be made by Nature are the works of
Divine art (techne),^' but that the materials on which the Divine artist works
are created by Him : " We know that we and the other creatures, and the
elements out of which things are made — fire, water, and the like — are each
and all the creation and work of God — Is it not so?" "It is," rejoins
Thesetetus.
God, therefore, according to Plato, does create matter, and if he does not
expressly say this in the Timoeus, we may explain the omission by supposing
that he regarded creation as a progressive act, and that his " probable account "
begins at the point or stage where the Creator proceeds to shape and form
the materials previously created.
(3) Does Plato regard ruatter as evil? — At first sight it would seem so, for
he says {Tim., 153), that when God undertook to perfect the elements out of
which He constructed the world, "they were all in such a condition as we
might expect to find them in the absence of God — they had neither form nor
number" — but were moving irregularly in chaos. "God made them," adds
Timseus, " as far as possible the most beautiful and the best out of things
which were not beautiful and good."
We must bear in mind here, however, Plato's definition of the " most
beautiful" — it is that which possesses mind. Matter, therefore, in his eyes
can never be either beautiful or good in itself, or except in so far as it is
controlled by mind.
Again, the very qualities of matter, as such, are necessary to the existence
of the world as such, and yet they bear within them of necessity a certain
something that causes friction and destroys harmony. To be tangible, as Plato
tells us, the world must be solid ; to be visible it must possess fire — but solidity
easily passes into resistance and fire into destruction, except when under the
strictest control of guiding reason. Hence from its nature — a nature necessarily
suited to its purpose — matter can only be made "as far as possible" the fairest
and best.
We shall find that Plato develops this theory in the moral world also, for
in the Statesman {Pol., 273), he says: " From its constructor (God) the world
receives all its beauty, but from its previous condition {i.e. from matter in
itself as it was before the framing of the universe) it has received whatever of
evil and unrighteousness exists within it. This the world has itself from its
primal condition, and also reproduces in living creatures." We shall see when
PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF THE CREATION OF THE WORLD 557
we come to study Plato's theory of the constitution of man how he works out
this idea.
(4) God and necessity. — When Timseus has ended his narrative of the
creation, he begins afresh to describe various matters in greater detail, and
this new phase of the discussion he opens with the (to us) startling statement
that the " creation of the world is mixed, and was produced by the union of
mind and necessity" (Tim., 48). Mind here is God,i but what is necessity
(ananke) ? Can it be that Plato, after all, accepts the popular fatalistic theory
that the world is dominated by a gloomy, all-powerful necessity, to which
even God Himself is subject? Assuredly not. Plato himself dispels the
doubt, for he adds immediately : " For mind, the ruler of necessity, persuaded
her to bring the greater part of created things to perfection." Necessity is
simply that which must be — what we should nowadays call natural law, the
action of material forces. Over necessity God stands supreme ; but although
the ruler He is represented as " persuading " her, for to a Greek and especially
to Plato, persuasion is always better than force. Nevertheless, as we have
seen (p. 553), the uncongenial and intractable forces of matter are compelled
to mingle with the Divine element. When persuasion fails, the ruler uses
force.
The true explanation of the union of mind and necessity would seem, there-
fore, to be that mind is the great originating, shaping, and formative cause ;
necessity the secondary cause or causes, the material forces, which mind uses for
its purposes. 2
A very good illustration of the union of mind and necessity, and of the
confused notions entertained by some would-be philosophers concerning the part
played by each factor is given in the Phoedo.^
" When I was a young man," says Socrates the aged — he is in the prison
and is just about to receive the poison-cup — " I was wondrously eager after that
kind of wisdom which they call natural science. For it seemed to me truly
grand to know the cause of things — how a thing arises, and how it perishes, and
how it subsists ; and ofttimes I rang the changes high and low in my own
mind, speculating on such questions as these : whether it is, when heat and
cold have come to corruption, that then, as some say, living creatures arise — or
^ We need not be surprised to find PJato often speaking of God, impersonally as it were, as
mind. It is a favourite expression with him, and may have been adopted, partly as a protest
against the popular anthropomorphic notions. He makes use of the terms God (Theos), the
Creator (Demiurgus), mind (supreme reason), the gods (Zeus), just as each best suits his
immediate purpose.
^ "All that becomes, or comes into existence," says Steinhardt {Introd.,p. 84), "must have
a cause, and when Plato places this cause in being — that which has life in itself, he, first of any
thinker, gives the true explanation of necessity. The phrase, therefore, that everything is
made by mind and necessity is only another way of expressing the necessary connection be-
tween being and becoming — cause and effect."
2 This passage is unique in one respect, viz. that it is probably the only bit of autobiography
to be found in Plato. But whether it is the autobiography of Socrates or of Plato himself, is
doubtful. The mouth that utters the words is indeed the mouth of Socrates, but the spirit
that prompts the words seems to be the spirit of Plato. This self -revelation, as stated above,
occurs in the Phcedo, where the real Socrates has passed into the platonic Socrates.
The reasons for assigning the episode to Plato rather than to Socrates, are (i) that Socrates
is nowhere represented as eagerly pursuing natural science. The reverse is the case. Xenophon
{Mem. i. 6, 14) makes him allude to the treasures left in the books of wise men of old, which
he reads with his friends, but these are evidently the poets, for no other wise men does Socrates
quote ; (2) the episode leads directly up to the doctrine of ideas, which is distinctly Platonic ;
(3) it is connected with the discussion on immortality, in which the views expressed by Socrates
are greatly in advance of those to be found in the Apology. Why Plato should have thus
veiled himself under the guise of Socrates is a question which we have already discussed. [The
reference is to an unwritten portion of the work. — Ed.]
558 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
again, whether the element by which we think is the blood, or air, or fire, or
nothing of the kind, but the brain, which may produce in us the perceptions
of hearing and sight and smell, and from these may proceed memory and
opinion, and from memory and opinion again when they have attained to fixity,
knowledge. And then I went on to think about the destruction of these
things, and the changes that take place in heaven and earth, and at last I came
to the conclusion that I was utterly unfitted by Nature to undertake such
investigations."
Socrates, in short, was fast getting into that condition which he ascribes
elsewhere {Crat., 411 B.) to most of the "wise men "of his generation — "they
are perpetually going round and round," he says, " and get dizzy, and so they
imagine that everything else is going round " — when, in fact, the cause of the
whirl is in themselves.
And while he is in this state of mind, he hears some one reading from a
work of Anaxagoras, and maintaining that the orderer and cause of all things
is, not matter in any shape whatsoever, but mind {nous) ! Here, at last, is an
answer to satisfy an intelligent inquirer. Socrates, as he says, was delighted
at having discovered such a cause. It seemed to him the right solution of the
question, for, " If this be so, then mind the orderer will dispose of all things,
and place each individual thing in such a way as shall be foi- the hesty The
hope thus awakened in him Socrates says he would not have given up for
much ; he seized the books with avidity and devoured them. But alas ! this
" wondrous hope," as he calls it, was doomed to disappointment. Anaxagoras,
as we know, did not follow out his grand idea to its legitimate consequences ; ^
and as the eager reader went on, he soon perceived that the man made no use of
mind, and did not seek the cause of the order of things in it, but in air and
ether and water, and many other extraordinary ways. His mode of explaining
things seemed to me, Socrates continues, " just like that of a person who should
say in general terms that the cause of all that Socrates does is mind, and should
then go on and attempt to explain the cause of each particular thing that I do,
by saying first, that I sit here now because my body is made of bones and
sinews — that the bones, indeed, are firm and divided from one another by
joints, but the sinews can be stretched and relaxed, and they surround the
bones with the flesh, and the skin keeps all together. And because the bones
are raised at their joints, and the sinews relax and contract, therefore I am
able to bend my limbs, and this is the reason why I am sitting here now,
bent together. And then again he would explain my talking to you by
other similar ' causes,' ascribing our conversation to voice and air and hearing,
and ten thousand things of the kind, and paying no heed to the true cause which
is — that because it seemed better to the Athenians to condemn me, therefore
it seemed better to me also to sit here, and more righteous to remain and suffer
the penalty which they have inflicted. Otherwise, I trow, these sinews and
bones would long ago have made off to Megara or Boeotia — by the dog ^ they
would, if they had been moved only by their notion of what was for the best,
and if I," the controlling mind, " had not considered the juster and nobler
part — instead of taking to flight and running away — to stay here and undergo
the penalty which the state has imposed. But to call such things the ' cause,'"
he adds, " is surely very strange. It might be said, indeed, that unless I pos-
sessed bones and sinews, and all that is comprised in my body, I could not carry
out my purposes — and that would be true. But — to maintain that I do what I
^ See ante, p. 334.
2 Socrates' favourite mode of asseveration, adopted probably to avoid using the name of any
deity.
PLATO'S ACCOUNT OF THE CREATION OF THE WORLD 559
do by means of these things, and that this is the way in which mind acts, and
not by my choice of the best — that would be a most careless and shiftless way of
speaking." And this is the way, he continues, in which the many argue.
They grope about as it were in the dark, trying to touch the cause, but be-
cause they do not distinguish between the cause and the condition which it
produces, they mistake and call the condition the cause. Just as the supposed
philosopher imagined the contracting and relaxing of Socrates' bones and
sinews to be the cause of his sitting still in the prison-house so do the thought-
less many imagine that the earth remains in her place because of her bones
and sinews, the natural laws of her existence, according to the theories of the
day, the surrounding vortex which steadies her, or the air which acts as a prop.
They cannot see that just as a nobly-reasoning mind kept Socrates firm to
what was for the best, so the earth and her natural laws, her " bones and
sinews " are held together by a noble-reasoning power, which has ordered all
for the best — even the good {to agatlton). They try to find out some physical
cause, some giant Atlas, which shall be sti-onger and more imperishable than
that which is immortal and invisible, the good.
The inherent defect of materialism could in no way be better emphasised
than in the pithy homely words of Socrates. As has been well observed, 1 " The
want in all materialism is this, that it ends with its explanation of phenomena
where the highest problems of philosophy begin." — "Why do I sit here?" —
" Because of your bones and sinews." Does the answer satisfy any one? We
trow not, and yet it is an answer still served up in other shapes to thinking
people even now.
In the Philebus, again, one of his most carefully reasoned works, Plato
gives a more strictly philosophical explanation. He divides all things into four
classes. These in the ascending scale are as follows : —
( 1 ) The unlimited ;
(2) The limiting ;
(3) That which is produced by the mingling of the limiting with the
unlimited ;
(4) The cause.
(i) Here the lowest in the scale, the "unlimited" or "the infinite" {to
apeiron), is, to use Professor Jowett's words,'^ " the unthinkable, the un-
knowable, of which nothing can be affirmed ; the mixture or chaos which
preceded distinct kinds in the creation of the world."
(2) The next above it, "the limiting" {to peras), which mingles with and
regulates the unlimited, "is best expressed to us by our word 'law,' that
which measures all things, and assigns to them their limit, and preserves
them in their natural state."
(3) The third, that which is produced by the limiting law working on the
unlimited, as, e.g. natural law producing the seasons, the law of music pro-
ducing harmony, and so on.
(4) The fourth and highest is the cause of all.
The cause we may define in Plato's own words {Phil., 26 E.) : —
{a) Everything that exists must have come into existence by means of a
cause ;
(6) The working-power that brings into existence and the cause are one
and the same ;
(c) From its nature the working-power or cause leads, and that which is
effected follows, being made by it ;
^ Lange, Oesch. d. Mat. i. 20, quoted by Zeller, Pre. Soc. PhU., ii. p. 265, Note i.
2 Jowett, Introd. to the Philebus, vol. iv. pp. 527-8.
56o PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
{d) Therefore, the cause and that which serves it in bringing things into
existence are not the same, but different.
(e) Finally, the cause is that which fashions all, the artificer, the
demiurgus.
That which the cause uses in bringing things into existence — call it what
you will, natural law or the principle of order — is hence the servant or slave
of the cause. 1
Then, what is this cause ? " Whether," says Plato {Phil., 28 D.), " shall
we say that all things, and what we call the whole (the universe), are under
the guidance of unreason and uncertainty and chance ; or shall we say with
our fathers that, on the contrary, all is ordered and governed by mind {nous)
and marvellous wisdom ? "
Unhesitatingly, both Plato and his hearers recognise the reign of mind.
*' Mind is our King," he says; " mind is king of heaven and earth" (28 C).
And in order that there may be no doubt as to ivliat mind Plato means — that
all may know, that he has not in view the impersonal shadowy abstraction of
Anaxagoras — he identifies this kingly mind with a personal being — he does
not hesitate to use that name with which his hearers are most familiar in
connection with the Supreme God, and he says : —
" In Zeus there is the royal soul and the royal mind, for in him is the
POWER OF THE CAUSE " ^ {Phil., 30 D.).
Mark the grandeur of the expression : " The power of the cause." There
be causes many and laws many, but in God is the power of them all — the
creating, originating, energising power. " Mind," he declares again, " is, as
was said of old, the father of the cause. . . . Mind rules over all."
(5) Space. — In this new discussion Timaeus next introduces a third factor
into the work of creation, which he calls " space " and describes as the " nurse
and receptacle " of all created things. Here, again, we are disquieted by the
statement that "space" is " eternal," but as we read on we perceive that the
word is used in a sense entirely different from that in which it is applied to
God. Plato's three clauses are : —
(i) True being, that which has life in itself, the eternal, apprehended only
by thought and reason.
(2) Space, the nurse of created things, necessarily "eternal" as compared
to them, but in itself hardly real, and apprehended only by a sort of " spurious
reason, as it were in a dream."
(3) Generation, or things created, apprehended only by the senses.
Just as Plato previously introduced the created gods to avoid a violent
transition and form an intermediate intelligence between the Divine mind and
the mind of man, so here he would seem to bring in space as an intermediate
resting-place between God and things created. Space is " eternal " in the
same sense that sun and moon are " gods," i.e. relatively, not absolutely.
Plato and his Predecessors. — it will have been seen how completely
Plato in the Timxus rises above all the narrow one-sided views of his prede-
cessors. He borrows from them, it is true, but what he borrows he uses only
as stepping-stones to higher truth. His elements are taken from Empedocles ;
his description of them reminds us of the atoms of Leucippus and Democritus ;
his theory of generation and of the universal creature nourishing itself by its
own decay is only another form of the Heracleitean doctrine of life passing
into death, death into life again ; his theories of the importance and influence
of numbers belong to the Pythagoreans ; his idea of the creative mind was
anticipated by Anaxagoras. Nevertheless, the fact remains th^t until all these
^ To douleuon. '^ Tes aitias dunamis.
GOD IN RELATION TO THE INVISIBLE WORLD 561
isolated views were combined by Plato, they existed as mere fragments of
thought — most of them hurtful and destructive by reason of their one-
sidedness, whilst even the 7ious of Anaxagoras was not, as we have seen, so
consistently developed as to be helpful. In Plato's hands all become fruitful.
Under the rule of mind, the mind of a personal God, each theory — elements,
atoms, numbers, generation, and decay — takes its own place, that in which it
can thrive and contribute to the whole its quota, whatever element of truth it
bears within it. Elements and atoms cannot be dispensed with — they become
the material on which mind works ; the alternation of decay and generation is
an absolute fact — it shows itself as the way in which mind works out its plans
in the visible world ; number becomes proportion, rhythm that on which the
world-order depends, the means by which mind disciplines its mortal children.
Over against the whole visible world of sense thus harmoniously organised is
set the abiding invisible world of ideas, of which the material world is but a
transient copy ; whilst the gulf between the world of reality and its shadow,
the world of sense, is bridged over by the fact that both have one and the
same Ruler — not the shadowy mind of Anaxagoras, but the royal mind, the
life-giver, the mind that has, to use Plato's unsurpassable expression, the
power of the cause, who is Himself the energising source of all other causes,
physical and spiritual. The construction of this noble edifice, a true temple
of God, is Plato's great contribution to philosophy.
III._GOD IN RELATION TO THE INVISIBLE WORLD
If any one fact has been prominently brought before us in the foregoing
passages, it is this — the earnestness of Plato's belief in the existence of God
and of an unseen world, of which the visible world is but a copy and a shadow.
So intense is this belief to him that he cannot conceive of any thinking man
holding any other. Even to those who have not hitherto reflected seriously
on the question, age, and the experience of life, he maintains, will bring con-
viction. In the Laws (x. 887 0. et seq.), where he gathers up the record of his
own life, he says emphatically, that he has never yet known a man who con-
tinued in unbelief till old age. And, like all who are really in earnest, Plato
felt intensely, even passionately, on the matter. How, he asks, can we help
being angry with people who do not believe ? And yet, he adds (being such
an one as Plato the aged), anger is not the remedy — they must be reasoned
with gently (Latos, x. 890 D.). We must labour to persuade men^ — we
who have heard the war-cry, must come to the rescue of the greatest of all
laws.
The war-cry, indeed, Plato had heard, and in the Sophist he throws himself
into the thick of the fight. The contest that is going on between the Materia-
lists — the people who (as he says in another place, Thecet., 155 E.) " believe that
nothing exists except what they can seize in their hands " — and the Idealists —
those who believe in the reality of unseen things — he compares to the old
mythological battle between the giants, the sons of earth, and the Olympian
gods, the sons of Heaven. " On the one side," says Socrates-Plato (Soph., 246),
" the materialists drag down everything from heaven and the unseen to earth,
and literally grasp in their hands rocks and oaks. They lay hold on these and
the like, and maintain stoutly that only the things which can be touched and
^ It is fair to add that if persuasion fails, punishment is to be resorted to. This, however,
was not the opinion of Plato in his prime. He would have scouted the notion of belief enforced
by the civil power.
2 N
562 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
handled exist. They define body and being to be the same, and if any one says
that something is (exists) without a body, they treat him with scorn, and will
hear of nothing but body.'"
"These are terrible fellows," says Thesetetes, *' T myself have met them
often."
" That is the reason," Socrates rejoins, " why their opponents defend them-
selves cautiously from above, out of the unseen world, and contend with might
and main that true being consists of certain intelligent and incorporeal ideas.
The bodies of the materialists, and what they put forward as truth, the idealists
break to pieces with their arguments, and call these bodies not true existence,
but — what they are in reality — generation and motion," things that are being
swept away by the river of Heracleitus, vanishing and perishing. " Between
the two camps," adds Socrates, ''an endless battle is always going on," and will
go on to the end of time.
With the idealists of his own day, however, Plato cannot be in entire accord.
Most certainly he sympathises with them in their war with materialism, but he
would not be true to his own conception of truth if he did not point out where
they also are in error. ^
His argument against the one-sided views for which both parties are fight-
ing is, as Steinhardt justly remarks, one of the finest to be found in Plato, and
one that is helpful to ourselves. Here we can but briefly sketch the outline.
He reminds the materialists that man, the " mortal animal," possesses a
soul, and that in the soul there either are or are not such ideas as justice and
wisdom. If justice and wisdom can be either absent or present, then un-
doubtedly they exist.2 The materialist talks about justice and wisdom much
as does the idealist, but he forgets that when he does so, he unconsciously
thereby concedes the actual existence of an invisible world which lies beyond
the corporeal world — for who ever saio justice and wisdom? who ever "squeezed"
them in their hands ? Even if the materialist follow up his theory so far as to
assert that the soul itself is corporeal, and proceed to explain its conceptions
as mere corporeal states and conditions — he must, nevertheless, recognise that
it possesses one very distinctive quality, that of power. " I maintain," he
says, " that anything which possesses the power either to work upon others
— or to suffer even in the smallest degree from the most trifling cause, and but
for a moment, has real existence, for I hold that the definition of Being is no-
thing else than this, viz. power." The materialist thus has this nut to crack,
and it is a hard one : how can matter, dead cold matter, suffer ? How can
it work ? how can it energise, either in nature or in man ?
Turning then to the imperfect idealists of his own day — those who held
True Being (God) existed in perfect isolation as a pure, emotionless, im-
movable, unchangeable something — those whose conception of Spirit was,
therefore, of a something nearly as dead and cold as matter itself — Plato
shows that whatever possesses mind must possess life and soul, and life and
soul must possess motion. How, without these attributes, could mind exist ?
" By Heaven ! " he exclaims, with all the passion of truth, " shall we let our-
selves be so easily persuaded that Perfect Being is destitute of movement, and
life, and soul, and mind ? that it neither really lives nor thinks ? — that it is
a something, venerable and holy indeed, but without mind, immovable and
motionless ? "
^ The " friends of ideas," referred to in the Sophist, are supposed to be the Megarian School
of Philosophers (Zeller, Socrates and the Socratic Schools, English translation by Keichel, p. 219,
Note 3); but the main argument tells equally against the older idealism of Parmenides and
the Eleatics.
2 What Plato means by this curious mode of expression, we shall see immediately.
GOD IN RELATION TO THE INVISIBLE WORLD 563
Nay, for the definition of Being is power ! And power shows itself in
life and motion.
By his conception, then, of power {dunamis) as the essential characteristic
of spirit, Plato cuts away the ground from beneath abstract idealism on the
one hand and materialism on the other, while he recognises a germ of truth
latent in both. The secondary causes, the " bones and sinews " of the Phaedo,
undoubtedly exist — the materialist is right in maintaining that natural forces
are ever acting upon matter and transforming it into shapes new and varied —
but the POWER of the cause, the quickening, energising might, belongs to Spirit
only — it is the express prerogative of mind in contradistinction to matter.
In the conception of the idealist also there is a grand and eternal truth —
this, namely, that True Being, God, although possessed of life, movement,
power, highest reason, creating, energising, all-effecting — is nevertheless,
in all His ceaseless energy, absolutely the same, at rest in the unchangeable-
ness of His own nature.
Plato, says Steinhardt (Introd. to the Sophist, vol. iii. p. 454), saw extremes
in both sides — both argued from abstractions, and without right notions of
what True Being is. " He shows in materialism itself the germ already latent
of a higher and more spiritual view of the world, and then proved to the
abstract idealists that their own principles compel them to recognise a per-
petual action and reaction of the ideal world and the world of sense, one upon
the other (the ideal is not an abstraction up in the clouds untouched by the
world of sense). This development is the work of genius, a masterpiece of
dialectic, and still instructive for us at the present day."
God and the Ideas. — Nothing can better show the intense hold which
the unseen world has upon Plato than the fact that he conceived the world of
sense — this present world in and about us, which to many (if not most) of us,
is the "real" world — as a mere copy of the true unseen realities. In the
Timseus, as we have seen, the excellence of the visible world and the character
of the Maker are made to depend upon its having been fashioned after the
eternal pattern (p. 548). Again, in the passage from the Sophist just quoted,
where Plato affirms justice and wisdom to have a real existence, the reason is,
that justice and wisdom in the human soul are only communications or emana-
tions (so to speak) from certain great ideas — justice in itself, wisdom in itself
— which have a real, true, independent existence in the eternal world. Every-
thing on earth, visible or invisible, material or spiritual, has its anti-type in
heaven — everything which in the language of daily life we call " real," is only
the copy of a truly real Divine idea.i
This is Plato's great doctrine of the Ideas, that which has gained for him
par excellence the name of The Idealist. We need not, however, be surprised
to learn that, like his physical theories, this doctrine is closely connected with
the work of a predecessor. In the Greek intellectual progress, there is no
hiatus — development does not proceed by leaps and bounds, but quietly, gently,
1 So far does Piatt) carr}' his theory that (like his master, Socrates) he does not hesitate
to borrow his examples from the most homely things. The carpenter, for instance, makes a
bed, but the ideal bed, or pattern, is in heaven, and the Maker of it is God, the great Artist
{Re'p. X. 597 B.).
And again in the Cratylus (389 A.) he asks : "To what does the carpenter look in making
a weaver's shuttle ? Does he not look to some sort of natural or ideal shuttle ? And suppose
the shuttle to be broken, will he make another looking to the broken one, or will he look to the
form which he had in his mind when he made the other?"
"To the latter, I should imagine," replies Cratylus.
" And," says Socrates, " might not that be called the true or ideal shuttle ? "
"I should say ' Yes ' to that," is the response.
564 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
link succeeding link — first the blade, then the bud, then the flower, all in the
most natural sequence.
It is perfectly easy to see that Plato's doctrine of ideas is the legitimate
and logical outcome of Socrates' great endeavour after universal conceptions.
We remember how Socrates is always going about putting questions, " puzzling
himself and others," striving to get to the very root of the matter — and how
he is, apparently, perpetually baffled — the answer cannot be found. Can we
imagine a Plato following Socrates for years, listening to this constant ques-
tioning, and making no effort to solve the riddle and supply the answer ? —
Impossible ! Doubtless each question was discussed and re-discussed again
and again in private. Undoubtedly the reason that Plato's development of
the theory is put into Socrates' mouth, is simply his own deep sense of the
debt which he owed to the stimulus of his master.
Let us look at some of Socrates' questions, and see how the ideas grew out
of them. In the earlier dialogues we have : " What is temperance ? " " What
is courage?" and so on proposed, but no answer which Socrates can accept as
final brought forward. Then, a little later, in the dialogues in which the real
Socrates is fast becoming Socrates-Plato, " the double star which we cannot
separate " — light begins to break through.
(i) We have the great question in the Meno : "What is virtue?" and
Meno's fragmentary answer : " There is a virtue peculiar to the man, another
to the woman, a third to the ruler, a fourth to the slave — in fact a " whole
swarm " of virtues, as Socrates puts it. This is not what he wants : " Give up
making many things out of one, as they say of those who break a thing," he
says, " and hand me over virtue whole and sound'' (Meno, 77 A.). Health is the
same in man and woman — what is that which we call "Virtue," and is the
same in all relations of life ? The something of which Socrates is in search must
be One and the Same always and in all relations.
(2) Then, again, in the Hippias Major, in the question, " What is Beauty ? "
different beautiful things are mentioned (289). There is the beauty of a vase,
of a lyre, of a horse, of a maiden. Each is beautiful, yet that which constitutes
" beauty " in each differs from the beauty of the others — moreover, its beauty
is relative only. Heracleitus has said that the most beautiful ape compared
to a man is ugly. So, the beauty of a vase compared to that of a maiden
is nothing, and what is the beauty of a maiden compared to that of a god?
Hippias and Socrates cannot determine what beauty is. The something wanted
must be absolutely, not relatively, beautiful ; it must be perfect — Beauty-in-itself !
(3) Then in the Euthyphro, the question, " What is piety ? " is discussed.
Socrates points out again that the nature of piety in each case must be always
one thing. Piety in every action must be always the same. " Tell me," he
says, " what it is that makes piety pious " (5 D. seq.). The something wanted
must be able to communicate itself.
It is noteworthy that in the last instance, " Tell me tvhat ^it is " — Plato uses
the very word that he afterwards develops into the answer — the words are
literally " Tell me the Idea," the form or " species " of that, which makes
piety pious.
These three examples (whether given in the right order of time or not) will
suffice to show how Plato felt his way to the ideas. The something that Socrates
is in search of in each case must be
(i) A whole — one and the same, unchanging ;
(2) Absolute, not relative — perfect in itself, the standard ;
(3) Able to communicate its own quality to others.
GOD IN RELATION TO THE INVISIBLE WORLD 565
In other words, that which Socrates is in search of is, in each case, the un-
changing essence of the thing.
All this is implied in the simple definition of the idea given in the Republic
(vi. 507 B.) :—
(i) We say, observes Socrates, that there are " many " beautiful things, and
" many " good things ; and so, to other things which we define (such as virtuous,
just, pious things), we apply the term many.
{2) But then, again, we say that there is a beauty in itself d^-ndi a good in
itself, and this we say of all other things which we formerly reckoned as " many "
— for they may be classed under One Idea ; which we call the true being or
essence {pusia) of each (the thing -in-itself).
(3) And the many, as we say, are seen, not known ; the ideas are known,
not seen.
And being known — that is, apprehended by mind, not by the senses — they
are eternal (see ante, p. 548).
A beautiful passage in the Cratylus shows us Plato setting the eternal
crown on the ideas. Previously in the dialogue he has been alluding to the
perpetual flux of Heracleitus — the river of time that is continually flowing
on and bearing all earthly things away in its course — and he says (439 C.) :
" There is a matter about which I often dream— whether we may say that
there is an absolute beauty and an absolute good, and any other absolute in
existence — or not ? "
" It seems to me that there is," Cratylus rejoins.
" Then," says Plato, " let us search into that beauty itself — not inquiring
as to whether a face be fair or anything of that sort, or whether all these things
seem to be in a state of flux. Don't waste time on these. But — shall we
not maintain that beauty itself, the true beauty, always is that which it is,
i.e. is eternal and unchanging. ^ This alone is worth inquiring into."
What, then, are those mysterious ideas, each an essence, " intangible,
colourless, incorporeal " — absolutely perfect in itself ?
As set forth in the Phsedo (78 and 100 0.) : (a) They are self-existent and
unchanging.
(h) They are a kind of stepping-stone on which the soul mounts to the very
highest knowledge of all.
(c) They are that without which their human namesakes are worthless..
Anything beautiful is only beautiful in so far as it partakes of the absolute'
beauty. The absolute beauty is the cause of all other beauty.
{d) As set forth in the Phd&drus (247 E.), they form the heavenly banquet,
on which the gods and pure souls are nourished — absolute righteousness, wisdom,
and knowledge.
(e) As set forth in the Sophist (246, et seq.), they are spiritual forces,
endowed with life and the sign of life — power.
In a word, righteousness absolute, justice absolute, truth, knowledge,
beauty-in-itself — each and all are, simply, the Thoughts of God.
Herein lies the supreme importance of the doctrine of ideas. If all things,
as Heracleitus maintains, are perpetually flowing on, and nothing remains
steadfast, there could be no knowledge and no one to know. But, if know-
ledge, and beauty, and justice have an objective independent existence, then
we may be of good cheer ! The ideas represent the unchanging eternal forces
over which the river of time has no power ; they lie beyond it, and on them,
therefore, the true progress of humanity depends.
The ideas, then, are the thoughts of God, but they are not God Himself.
1 "I Am that I Am."
566 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
God, as Plato would say, is higher still. He is that round which all the ideas
centre, that from which they emanate as light from the sun — the Idea of
the Good.
God = the idea of the good. — In many ways Plato associated the idea of the
good with the supreme mind of the universe and with all that is supremely
excellent in human thought. The world is in its present position, and remains
there, like Socrates in the prison, because it was placed there by the good (p.
559). The universe has been called into existence by the Creator, because He
is good (p. 548). And as stated above, the good is no one single quality, but
the union of all perfection. Plato puts this in a singularly Greek way when he
says in the Philehus (65) that, when we are pursuing the good, if we cannot
take it with one idea, we may with three — beauty, symmetry, truth.'^ In a pre-
vious part of the same dialogue he has defined the good as that which is
" perfect and self-sufficing," and as corresponding, therefore, only " to the true
mind, which is also the Divine " {Phil., 20 D., 22 0.).
Finally, we may take as the sum and substance of all Plato's thoughts and
meditations on the good that most beautiful illustration of it which he gives in
the Republic (vi. 504 B. seq.). After a long discussion about justice and tem-
perance and all the other virtues required in the guardian or ruler of his ideal
state, he suddenly strikes a higher note, and tells his hearers with very great
earnestness that there is a something beyond all these noble qualities, a some-
thing higher still, a knowledge the greatest and most necessary to then^ of all
— to be attained, moreover, only by the most strenuous effort.
"What!" says Adeimantus (one of the personae in the dialogue) in
amazement : " Is there anything greater than justice and the other virtues
that we have been talking about ? "
" There is," Socrates rejoins, " a greater. Through it, justice and the
other virtues become useful and profitable ; without it, no other knowledge or
possession can benefit us in the least. This greatest of all, this highest of
all — concerning which we ourselves know so little — is the idea of the good.
Do you suppose," he says, " that the possession of all other things, without the
good, can be a gain ? or that all other knowledge is of any avail without the
knowledge of beauty and goodness ?
" Small as is our knowledge of the good, it is the one thing worth seeking
after — the one thing that irradiates all else. What it is in itself, Socrates
cannot tell (506 E.), but he will try to express his notions concerning it by
means of an illustration borrowed from that which is likest to it in the world
of sense — the child of the good, the sun.
" The sun it is which makes all visible things to be visible — without him they
would be in darkness. The power of sight may be in the eye, and the owner
desirous to use it; colours also may be there, but unless a third nature,
specially adapted to the purpose, come to the rescue, sight will see nothing,
and colours will be invisible. This third nature is light, the noble bond of
union between the eye of the beholder and the things beheld.
" And the giver of the light and of the power of sight — he from whom it
flows as a sort of effluence from his own fulness — is the child of the good,
whom the Good begat in His own likeness to be in the visible world in
relation to the sight and the things of sight what He Himself is in the world
of thought, in relation to mind and the things of mind. . . . That which gives
truth to what is known and power to the knower is the idea of the good, the
author of knowledge and of truth ; and beautiful as are these two, knowledge
1 Symmetry to a Greek is measure, proportion, order — hence it becomes an essential attri-
bute of that which brings order out of chaos, the creative mind.
PLATO'S IDEA OF MAN— HIS PSYCHOLOGY 567
and truth, if we think of the good as more beautiful still, we shall think
rightly. And," adds Socrates, " just as in our illustration we said that light
and sight were truly said to be like the sun, and yet not the sun, so now we
say truly that knowledge and truth are like the good, and yet not the good—
the nature of the good has a place of higher honour still.
" For just as the sun not only gives visibility to the things that are seen,
but brings them into existence, gives them growth and nourishment — so in
like manner, we say that not only is knowledge given to the things that are
known by the good, but their being and essence, although the Good Himself
is not essence, but far transcends essence in dignity and power" (509 B.).
This, the very sun and centre of the world of mind, the idea of the good,
is seen last by those even who earnestly pursue it, and only with toil and
trouble ; but when seen, we must conclude that it is the universal cause of all
that is right and beautiful, bringing forth light and the lord of light to rule
the visible world, but itself ruling in the world of thought, and being therein
the source of truth and reason. " And to this," Plato concludes, " even to the
idea of the good, must he look who would act with true understanding either
in private or in public" (517 B.).
Who can read these words without thinking of that Sun of Righteousness of
which they are an unconscious prophecy ; of Him who said : " 1 am the Light
of the World. He that believeth in Me shall not walk in darkness, but shall
have the light of life " ?
PLATO'S IDEA OF MAN— HIS PSYCHOLOGY
In order to enter with any degree of fulness into Plato's thoughts, it is
necessary to know something of his psychology — his conceptions of the nature
of man as well as of God, and we cannot in brief space gain a clearer view of
these conceptions than by turning once more to the TimaRUS, and taking up
the thread of the narrative where we left off.
The Creation of Man. — The reader will recollect the concluding in-
structions of the Creator to the gods whom He has created and now entrusts
with the task of fashioning the four great races. The Creator wills that
mortal races should inhabit the earth, but were He to create these, they would
not be mortal. His life-giving hand can only form that which is (relatively)
eternal. Therefore the forming of the mortal part of man must be delegated
to the inferior powers, but God Himself will form the eternal and immortal
part. " That part of them which is fittingly called ' immortal ' — the Divine —
the part which shall be a leader and guide to such of them as are willing
always to follow justice and the gods — the seed and beginning . of this, I
myself will give you ; but the rest, do ye. Around the immortal weave
mortality ; form and fashion living creatures, provide food for them ; let them
increase, and receive them again in death."
Thus He spake, and again poured the remains of the elements into the
cup in which He had previously mingled the world-soul, and mixed them
somewhat in the same manner — no longer, however, pure as before, but
diluted to the second and third degree. And when He had framed the whole.
He divided the souls in numbers equal to the stars, assigning a soul to each
star, and having placed them in a chariot. He showed them the nature of the
universe, and declared to them the unalterable laws decreed for them {Tim.,
41 E. et seq.).
568 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
The Ten Laws : ^ (i) "That the first birth of all should be one and the
same, in order that no one might suffer at His hands.
(2) " That from their distribution among the measures of time (the stars),
to which they were severally adapted, there must proceed the most God-
fearing of living creatures.
(3) " That as human nature is twofold, the superior race should be the one
hereafter to be called man.
(4) " And because souls must of necessity be planted in bodies, and objects
are always approaching and receding from these bodies, it was necessary first
that there should be inborn in all one and the same perception of external
force.
(5) " And it was necessary, secondly, that they should have love, which
is a mixture of pleasure and pain, and also fear and anger, and the feelings
which are akin or opposed to these.
(6) " Those who should get the better of these (the feelings implanted in
them of necessity) should live righteously, and those who were mastered by
them, unrighteously.
(7) " He who has lived well during his appointed time shall return to the
habitation of his companion-star, and lead a blessed and kindred life.
(8) " But he who has failed shall pass in his second birth into the nature
of a woman.
(9) " And if he does not cease from evil in this second probation, he shall
pass perpetually into the likeness of some brute, of nature corresponding to
his own evil disposition.
(10) "And the troubles resulting from these transformations shall not
end, until, obeying that part within him which is always the same (the Divine
and Immortal part), and having subdued by the help of reason that part of
him which was added afterwards— the tumultuous, turbulent, unreasoning
part, composed of fire and water and air and earth (the mortal part) — he shall
regain the form of the first and best state.
" And when He had established all these laws for His creatures — that He
might be guiltless of future evil in any one of them — He sowed some in the
earth, and some in the moon, and some in the other measures of time (the
stars), and, the sowing ended, He left it to the younger gods both to mould
the mortal bodies, and to supply all that was still lacking to the human soul,
and when they had fashioned this and all pertaining to it to rule over them,
and, as far as they were able, to pilot the mortal creature in the fairest and
best way, that He Himself might not become a cause of evil to Himself.
" And when the Creator had so ordered all things, He left the carrying
out of His injunctions to His children, and He Himself remained in His own
place."
Harsh and even repulsive in some respects as these "laws" appear to us,
they are of exceeding interest as exponents of Plato's ideas, and therefore we
must, as before, gather up the leading thoughts. They afford a clue to much.
Chief Points. — (i) The Attitude of the Creator to His Creatures. — Note
that —
(a) He gives the laws in order that He Himself may " he guiltless of future
evil in any one of them."
{h) The first birth of all is to be one and the same — i.e. all are to have an
equal chance at starting — " in order that none may suffer at His hands."
^ Lest any should suppose that we have here an echo of the Ten Commandments given
to the Hebrews, it is necessary to state that the Laws are nowhere called the Ten Laws or
enumerated separately. We have placed them as above for the sake of clearness.
PLATO'S IDEA OF MAN— HIS PSYCHOLOGY 569
(c) He Himself fashions the immortal part.
{d) And this for the express purpose of being a guide to the mortal
creature.
(e) The life on earth He intends as a probation.
if) The destiny of the mortal creature who is willing to be guided by his
immortal part, is nothing less than that he in the end shall become Divine.
This is implied in the phrase that his immortal part shall return to the star
in which it was sown, " and lead a blessed and kindred life," for the stars, as
we remember, are Divine in Plato's eyes.i
The foregoing considerations are sufficient to show that Plato is very
far indeed from implying that the supreme God paid no heed to His mortal
children, and took no interest in them. On the contrary, before retiring to
His own place. He hedges them round about, as it were, with every care and
precaution. Short of creating them entirely Himself — which, according to
Plato, He cannot do if they are to be mortal — God has done His utmost for
mortals — He has given them a Divine element to guide them, and He destines
every one of them for a blessed and Divine immortality. God works here as
everywhere in Plato as the Good.
2. The Dual Nature of Man. — Note, secondly, the twofold nature of
man : —
(a) First, he is provided with an immortal part, the God-given reason ;
(6) But, secondly, being mortal, he must of necessity have a body, and
that body of necessity is exposed to contact with external forces and to attacks
from without— objects are always approaching or receding from it. From this
follows of necessity two requirements : —
(a) Man must be able to recognise these external forces — he must of
necessity have perception and the aid of the senses ;
(/5) And in order that he may be either attracted to these external objects
or quick to avoid and reject them, he must — also of necessity — have implanted
within him the emotions — love to draw him to external objects, fear to make
him avoid them, anger to repulse them energetically, together with "all the
feelings which are akin or opposed to these."
Man's dual nature is, therefore, equally with that of the universe, produced
by reason and necessity — God and natural law.
3. Man's Probation — in ivhat it consists. — It is evident, of course,
that from his twofold nature arise the conditions of his probation. Man's
trial is, that by the help of his true self, by obeying the God-given reason, he
shall overcome the part that was added afterwards — the tumultuous unreason-
ing part composed of earth and the other elements, that part which, as we
shall presently see, includes the emotions and desires. Herein consists the
great agon^ the life-and-death struggle of every human being, even in the
contest between the immortal and the mortal parts of his nature.
4. The Length of the Probation. — Note also that man's time of trial
is not, in Plato's eyes, the little span of threescore years and ten which we
call " life." It is many such spans, many lives, a tremendous cycle of time
(in the Pheedrus said to be three thousand years in some cases, ten thousand
years in others) during which the soul passes successively into and "wears
out" many mortal bodies. All this is connected with the doctrine of
^ The idea of divinity is also, perhaps, implied in the allegorical expression, " He placed
the souls as in a chariot "—an allusion to the Divine beings of the ancient mythology, Apollo,
Selene, Eos, who appear in chariots. With these Divine beings the soul that conquers shall
be on an equality. We have already explained the reason why Plato clung to mythical forms
— they were readily understood by his hearers.
570 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
metempsychosis or transmigration of souls, which will engage our attention
later on.
5. Plato's Conception of Women. — Note, again, the attitude of the phil-
osopher towards women. " Human nature," he says, " is twofold, and the
superior is that which is to be called man." All men are to have an equal
chance at starting, but women do not share that chance. They appear only in
the third remove from the Divine. If a man has failed in his first life —
literally, if he has been " tripped up " in wrestling with his lower nature — he
passes in his second earthly life into the nature of a woman. Mark the
expression, " the nature of a woman," a nature different, that is, from the
nature of man. If he fails in his second probation, he passes into the likeness
of some brute. Shade of Andromache, of Arete, of Antigone, of Telesilla,
of Sappho! what think ye of this? Was ever description penned more
insulting to woman than this of our "divine philosopher"? — "Woman
occupies the station intermediate between man and the brute." Were the
sentiment not borne out by passages in the RepuMic and the Latvs, we might
hesitate to ascribe it to Plato. Let it remain, a standing witness to the
insight of philosophy. We commend it to all who in our own day would ignore
the true champion and advocate of woman : " Ye that desire to be under philo-
sophy, do ye not hear philosophy ? " Hear it, mark it, "Woman is intermediate
between man and the brute," and stand fast in the liberty wherewith Christ
hath made you free.
As to the rest, women may console themselves that Plato's insight is not
infallible. He has unconsciously done the sex a great honour, for he places
them on the same level as the poets. Homer, ^schylus, Sophocles, Pindar
— all that noble band who worked equally with our philosopher himself in
the elevation of mankind — are equally with women. Divine only in the
third degree ! We smile, and pass on to a subject in which Plato is more
himself.
6. The object of Man's Creation. — "That from their distribution among
the measures of time" (the stars) to which they were severally adapted,
" there might proceed the most God-fearing of living creatures." The associa-
tion of a God-fearing nature with a companion star, strikes us at first as
peculiar, not to say superstitious. It is, however, simply the Pythagorean-
Platonic way of expressing man's participation in the great world-harmony.
As the heavenly bodies praise God by their beauty and the order and regularity
of their courses, so man, in his little way, is adapted to the same end — he
is to be the most God-fearing of living creatures. Man, to Plato, is always
the mikro-kosmos, the little world that is intended to reproduce in himself
the harmony of the makro-kosmos, the great world-order.
To resume now the thread of the narrative.
Creation of the Mortal part of Man (Tim., 42 E. e^ seq.).— But when His
children understood their Father's command, they obeyed it ; and, receiving
the undying principle of the dying creature, they united to it — in imitation of
their own Creator — small portions of fire and water and air and earth, which
they borrowed from the universe, to be repaid again. Taking these, they
welded them together — not with the indissoluble bands by which they were
themselves held — but with numerous pegs invisible by reason of their small-
ness, and formed out of all a body subject to influx and efflux {i.e. to change),
and bound the courses of the immortal soul in this body.
The encasing" of the Immortal Principle within the Head (mn.,
44 D. et seq.). — Now when the gods made the mortal nature of man, they
enclosed his immortal part — in imitation of the great sphere of the universe —
PLATO'S IDEA OF MAN— HIS PSYCHOLOGY 571
within a spherical case— "that which we now call the head; and to this
the gods linked the whole body, and gave it to minister to the head," and
attached to it four members— the hands as useful servants to lay hold of
things, the limbs as means of locomotion, to " bear on high the dwelling-place
of the most divine and most sacred part within us."
Formation of the Mortal Soul {Tim., 69 0. et ^e^.).— Thus the offspring
of the Creator, when they had received from Him the immortal principle of the
soul, fashioned around it the body, and gave the whole body to be a vehicle for
the soul. And they constructed within it another soul of a different nature — the
mortal, which is subject to terrible and unavoidable affections : first pleasure,
greatest bait of evil ; then pain, shirker of the good ; and rashness and fear,
foolish counsellors ; and anger, hard to pacify and misleading hope. These,
after they had mingled them with unreasoning perception (that of the senses)
and all-venturing love, they added— compelled by necessity — to the mortal
part of man.
And fearing thereby to pollute the Divine more than was absolutely
necessary, they assigned to the mortal soul another habitation in a different
part of the body, placing the neck between them as an isthmus and boundary-
line, to separate the head from the breast, that they might be kept apart.
And in the breast, and what we call the breastplate or thorax, they bound the
mortal soul ; and since this by nature consists of a superior and an inferior
part, they further separated the hollow of the thorax into two divisions, as
in a house the women's apartments are separate from the men's, and placed
the diaphragm as a partition- wall between them.
The Superior Part of the Mortal Soul (Tzm., 70). -^ That part of the
soul which partakes of manliness and courage and loves strife, they lodged
nearer to the head, between the diaphragm and the neck, that, being subject
to reason, it might jointly with her forcibly restrain the desires, whensoever
they were not willing of their own accord to obey reason and the command
issued from the citadel (the Acropolis — head).
The Inferior Part {Tim., 70 D.).— But that part of the soul which desires
meat and drink and whatsoever is required by the nature of the body, they
placed below the diaphragm, and devised that there should be throughout the
whole of this region a sort of manger for the food of the body. And here they
bound the desires, like a wild animal which is chained up with man, and must
of necessity be nourished, if the race of mortals is to exist. In order, then,
that this lower creature might be always feeding at the manger, and lodged as
far as possible from the councillor, making as little disturbance and noise as
possible — that the best part of the soul (the Divine part dwelling in the head) —
might thus be able to deliberate in peace for the good of the whole, they
assigned him this place.
Chief Points. — (i) The relation between soul and body.— The body is given
absolutely and unreservedly to be the servant and vehicle of the soul. This
requires no comment. Here, as in the case of the universe, the soul is prior
to the body, therefore older and more excellent than the body, and designed
to be its ruler and mistress.
(2) The tripartite nature of the soul. — The soul consists of three distinct
parts : —
{a) The Immortal and Divine part, lodged within the head ;
{b) The superior part of the mortal soul, the spirited part — manliness,
courage, and the nobler passions — kept separate from the immortal part by
the isthmus or boundary-line of the neck, and lodged within the body above
the diaphragm ;
572 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
(c) The inferior part of the mortal soul, the desires and appetites, lodged
also in the body, but beneath the superior part.
(3) Function of the reason. — This, as very beautifully set forth by Plato
later in the Timseus (90 et seq.), is nothing less than that of being a Divine
guardian to raise us to our true home and kindred in heaven : " Concerning
the noblest part of the soul," he says, " we must consider this, that God gave
to be a guardian-genius to each one of us that which, as we say, has its abode
at the summit of the body — to raise us, like a plant not of earthly but of
heavenly growth, from earth to our kindred which is in heaven. And this we
say most truly, for the Divinity suspended our head and root from that place
whence it first took birth, and thus set the whole body upright " (i.e. gave it
a heavenward direction) — the end and aim which, as we recollect, Plato dis-
covered also in the very name anthropos = man.
The function, moreover, of the reason dwelling at the summit of the body
is analogous to that of the ruler dwelling in the acropolis of the city, or to
that of the counsellors in Plato's ideal state. It is hers to deliberate for the
well-being of the whole, to counsel, to command.
(4) Function of the spirited j^art. — The manly, courageous part of the soul,
that which is lodged nearest to the acropolis, has a role corresponding to that
of the auxiliaries in the ideal state, the military class, whose business it is to
defend the whole and carry out the commands of the counsellors. Courage
and a noble indignation are given to man to be the ally of his reason.
(5) Function of the desires and appetitive part. — These also are necessary,
for without them neither the individual mortal life nor the continuance of the
mortal race could be maintained. But, necessary as they are, they must be
kept chained up — the desires are " as a wild animal, bound up of necessity
with man " ; and they must be kept quiet, must not be allowed to make dis-
turbance or clamoui', or how shall the best part of the soul be able to deliberate
in peace for the good of the whole ?
(6) The residt of the contest between the mortal and the immortal parts of
man. — Note that the result of this perpetual wrestling is gradual, not sudden.
The man, by slow and imperceptible degrees, becomes dominated either by his
mortal or his immortal part, according as he occupies himself with the things
of time or of eternity. " In the man," says Plato {Tim., 90), *' who has
busied himself with cravings and ambitions, and striven eagerly to gratify
these, all the opinions which arise must of necessity be mortal {i.e. concerned
with things transient and temporary) ; and inasmuch as he has allowed his
mortal part thus to grow and increase, he will become wholly and entirely
mortal in so far as this is possible for man. But, on the other hand, he who
has striven earnestly in the love of knowledge and the things of truth, and has
trained himself ^ to consider these as the immortal and Divine parts of his
nature, if he have laid hold on truth must of necessity — in so far as human
nature is capable of sharing in immortality — be wholly immortal, and inasmuch
as he is ever serving the divine power, and entertaining in fairest order the
guardian genius dwelling within him, he must be pre-eminently happy."
Having now some understanding of Plato's conception of the constitution
of man, as composed of body and threefold soul, we may turn to another
presentation of the same idea conveyed in an earlier and very beautiful
myth, that of the Sotd and her Wings, or the Charioteer and his Steeds, in
the Phcedrus (246 et seq.). And here we ought to make the same apology as
^ Oegymnasmeno, exercised himself. The metaphor is taken from the gymnastic exercises
of the wrestlers and other athletes, and implies that this perception of the divine can only be
attained by effort after a struggle with the lower nature.
THE SOUL AND HER WINGS 573
Timieus for having inadvertently spoken first of that which is last, since the
myth in the Phcedrus deals with the soul before her earthly birth, when she is
yet free and in that heavenly place whence, as Timeeus tells us, she sprang,
even with her kindred, the gods.
THE SOUL AND HER WINGS
The Soul as a Composite Force.— To speak truly of the soul, Plato
says, would require a long and more than mortal discourse, and therefore we
must be content to describe her by a comparison, or simile. " Let us, then,
liken the soul to a composite force— a pair of winged steeds and a charioteer.
Now,' he bids us note, " the steeds and the charioteers of the gods are both
good in themselves and proceed from the good, but those of others (of mortals)
are mixed. And mark first," he says, " that the human charioteer drives a
pair of steeds ; and next, that one of his steeds is noble and good and of noble
descent, while the other is the very opposite and of ignoble descent. The
guiding of the steeds is, therefore, with us mortals of necessity difficult and
troublesome."
Under the image of the composite force we have, of course, the soul in its
threefold nature — the charioteer, reason; the noble steed, the spirited part,
courage and manliness, the ally of reason; the ignoble steed, the turbulent
part, the desires and appetites which render the guiding of the whole so
difiicult.
The mortal living creature is a soul which has lost its wings. Plato then
goes on to explain what he means by the terms " living creature " and " moital
or immortal."
The soul, as a whole, he says, cares for all that is without soul (all inanimate
things) and traverses the whole heaven in diverse forms. When the soul is
perfect and furnished with wings, she soars on high and orders the whole
world ; but a soul that has lost her wings is borne along until she lays hold of
something solid, wherein she takes up her abode, and receives an earthly body.
The body, indeed, appears to move of itself, but this is through the power of
the (indwelling) soul, and the whole — soul and body thus united — is called a
"living creature," and " mortal."
The ''immortal," Plato says, "we call thus not from any one definite
reason ; but — although we have neither seen nor sufficiently known the nature
of God — we can imagine an undying, living being possessed of a body as well
as a soul ; united together for all time."
By the immortals who possess "body," we may (following Timaeus) under-
stand those afterwards referred to under the popular names of Zeus, Apollo,
Hestia, &c., i.e. the created gods, as distinct from God Himself, true being,
who cannot possibly be conceived of materially as united to " body." Plato
himself hastens to say — " Let this — the notion of body — be as it pleases God,
and so let it be spoken of."
How the Soul loses her Wing's. — Now, he says, let us try to understand
the reason why the soul loses her wings. It is as follows : The wing has by
nature the power to bear upwards that which tends to sink downwards, and to
soar to the heights where dwell the gods ; and it, most of all that relates to the
body, is partaker of the divine. Now the divine is beauty, and wisdom, and
goodness, and the like, and by these especially the wing of the soul is nourished
and grows; but by what is hateful, and evil, and opposed to the good, it
dwindles and falls away.
574 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
How the Soul is nourished when with her kindred, the Gods. —
Now, Zeus is the mighty leader in heaven, and he, holding the reins of his
winged chariot, first issues forth, ordering and caring for all ; and the host of
gods and demigods (daimons), marshalled in eleven bands, follows him. Hestia
alone remains in the house of the gods, but of the others, those who are
reckoned in the number of the ruling twelve, are the leaders, each in his
appointed order. Blessed are the sights which they see in the inner heaven,
and many are the ways on which the happy gods go to and fro, each doing his
own work ; and ever he who will and can may follow them ; for jealousy hath
no place in the heavenly choir.
The Heavenly Feast and the Way thereto. — But when they go to the
banquet and the feast, they travel up the steep towards the highest arch of
heaven. The chariots of the gods, in equal poise and obedient to the rein, do
this easily, but the others with difficulty. For the steed of evil presses heavily,
inclining the balance and weighing the charioteer down to the earth, if the
steed has not been properly trained ; hence labour and the uttermost conflict
are set before the soul. But those that are called " immortals," when they
have reached the summit, go forth and make a halt upon the ridge of heaven,
and so the revolution of the spheres carries them round with it, and they be-
hold the things that lie beyond. But of the heaven above the heaven, no poet
on earth has sung, or ever will sing, worthily. Nevertheless, it is on this wise
— for we must be bold to say what is true — above all, when what is said con-
cerns the truth. For this is the realm of true being, with which knowledge
is concerned — the colourless, formless, intangible essence, to be seen only by
mind, the pilot of the soul.
Following the Timoeus, we may assume this to be the abode of the Supreme
God, or, as we should say, His immediate Presence. When He had finished
His creative work, Plato tells us that, " He remained in His own place," the
realm of true being, where are the true existences, wisdom, truth, beauty,
knowledge, the Divine thoughts or attributes, those things " which eye hath not
seen nor ear heard," for they are apprehended by mind alone.
"Seeing then." he continues, " that the thoughts of God, and of every soul
capable of receiving the food proper to it, is nourished by mind and pure know-
ledge ^ — the soul from time to time perceives true being and rejoices, and behold-
ing the truth, is nourished and made glad, until the revolution of the world brings
it round to the same place again. In the revolution the soul beholds righteous-
ness in itself, she beholds wisdom and knowledge — not that which is attached
to generation or relation, that which we call ' being,' but knowledge absolute
in existence absolute. And after the soul has beheld the other true existences,
and feasted upon them in like manner, she sinks again into the inner heaven
and returns home ; and then the charioteer, putting up his steeds at the crib^
gives them ambrosia to eat and nectar to drink. Such is the life of the gods."
The Strugrg^le of the Mortal Souls. — " But as to the other souls, that
which follows God best and is likest to Him, raises the head of the charioteer
into the outer realm, and is borne round in the revolution, although troubled
by the horses, and with difficulty beholding true being ; whilst another soul
now rises, now sinks — sees some things, indeed, but, by reason of the violence
of the steeds — fails to see the rest. Other souls follow ; all, indeed, strive to
reach the summit, but, not being strong enough, they remain below and are
carried round in the revolution, trampling and falling upon one another, each
endeavouring to be first, and there is uproar and perspiration, and the ex-
1 As Aristotle says, God, because He can contemplate nothing higher, contemplates
Himself.
THE SOUL AND HER WINGS 575
tremity of conflict, and here many are lamed through the fault of the charioteer,
and many a wing is broken ; but all, after much fruitless toil, go away with-
out having attained to the vision of true being, and feed themselves upon
opinion."
Mere '^ opinion," to Plato, is always opposed to truth and knowledge. It
is that which repeats what it hears, without trying to penetrate into the cause.
Hence, in the Mem, it is "not bound by the tie of the cause," and easily
escapes. Here, a man feeds himself with opinion, because he has not had
courage or resolution enough to reach the heavenly realities.
Why Souls Desire so Earnestly to Reach the Plain of Truth.—
But the reason of this great eagerness to behold the plain of truth is, that
in the meadows there, is found pasturage suited to the highest part of the
soul — the natural power of the wing, by which the soul soars, is nourished
thereby. And there is a law of Adrasteia, that the soul which, in following
God, has attained to see something of the truth, is unharmed until the next
revolution, and if it is continually able to accomplish this, it remains always
unhurt (innocent). But when a soul is unable to follow, and has not seen the
truth, and by some mishap sinks beneath the load of forgetfulness and evil,
and having sunk, loses her wing and falls upon the earth — then the law is that
in the first birth she shall not pass into the nature of any animal, but into
that of man.
This law of, Adrasteia (another name for Nemesis) is, like the ten laws
of the Timceus, a necessary condition of man's nature. Only the soul that has
caught a glimpse of true being, of the true life of God, that is, can become a
man — i.e. assume the human form divine, that heavenward-directed form at
whose summit she dwells, with her gaze turned towards the place whence she
sprang. A soul that fails to obtain even this momentary glimpse is not fit to
pass into the form of man, and, it may be inferred, sinks at once into the body
of some animal.
The earthly destiny corresponds with the degree of truth beheld. Now
the soul that has seen most of truth shall be born as a lover of wisdom
(pMlosophos), or of beauty (philokalos), or as one beloved by the Muses, and
himself inspired by love ; the soul that has seen truth in the second degree,
as a law-abiding, or warlike and truly royal king ; the soul of third rank shall
be a statesman, or economist, or man of affairs ; of the fourth, a lover of
gymnastic toil, or a physician of the body ; for a soul of the fifth class is
destined the life of a seer, or one initiated into the mysteries ; for one of the
sixth, that of a poet, or a follower of one of the other imitative arts ; the soul
of the seventh class shall be an artisan, or a husbandman ; of the eighth, a
sophist, or flatterer of the people ; of the ninth, a tyrant.
Note the gradation here ; curious as it is, there is in it at least one far-
reaching thought. In the first rank are grouped together three classes of
lovers — lovers of wisdom, of beauty, and those who, themselves the objects
of a divine love, love in turn, and seek to raise their beloved to their own
sphere. For this is Plato's idea of love, a conception different in toto from
the degrading thing that passed among his countrymen under the same name.
With him love is the action and reaction of soul upon soul, an inspiration
which elevates a man in the highest part of his nature, enables him to regain
his wings, and to soar above the things of earth. As we shall see, it is the
class of lovers only whose wings grow so that they can soar before the earthly
probation is ended. Have we not here a beautiful anticipation of a great
truth ?
As to the rest, note the position of the seer and of the poet — they come fifth
576 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
and sixth respectively. Note, finally, the position of woman — here, as in the
Timoius, in the first birth — nowhere.
The Probation— The Growing- of the Wings.— in all these conditions,
he who has lived righteously becomes partaker of a better lot ; but he who has
lived unrighteously, of a worse. To the place whence she set out no soul may
return under ten thousand years, for she does not grow her wings in less time
— except in the case of the philosopher who has sought wisdom guilelessly, or of
the lover who is not without philosophy — these, in the third recurring period
of a thousand years, if they have chosen the same life three times in succes-
sion, receive thereby their wings, and depart at the end of the three thousand
years.
The Judgment on the Souls. — But the other souls, when they have
completed their first life, receive judgment ; and, when judgment is given,
some go to suffer punishment in the houses of correction beneath the earth,
while others are raised by the award to some place in heaven, where they live
in a manner worthy of the life which they led here when in the form of men.
At the end of the first thousand years, both good and bad return to draw lots
and choose their second life, and every soul takes the life that pleases her. A
human soul may pass to the life of a brute, and from a brute that which
was once man may return again into man. But a soul that has never seen
truth cannot pass into that form — i.e. the human form divine. For a man
must have intelligence, and be able to proceed by reasoning from the many
things perceived by sense to one conclusion — the absolute truth, or universal
conception.
No brute of any species whatsoever can do this. Man alone has power
to pierce the things perceived by sense, and grasp with his God-given reason
the invisible realities, the ideas, the true essence of things — absolute justice,
absolute righteousness, truth-in-itself , beauty-in-itself — all that centres in God,
the idea of the good. This is the prerogative of man, quA man. But in Plato's
view what makes man man is, that the soul shall behold these things before
the earthly birth. What we call " power to know truth," Plato calls the
" remembrance of things already known." All this is summed up in his great
doctrine of recollection.
Knowledge and Aspiration after God are Recollection.— "This
is the recollection of those things which our soul once saw, when she walked
with God, and, despising what we now call 'existence,' lifted up her head
towards the true existence (even God). Wherefore the mind of the
philosopher alone is winged, and justly so, for according to his ability he
is ever clinging in recollection to those things in which God abides, and
by which He is what He is — Divine. And the man who makes a right
use of such memories is ever being initiated into perfect mysteries, and
he alone becomes truly perfect. And because he stands apart from human
interests and is absorbed in the Divine, the many rebuke him as one beside
himself, but this the many do not see — that he is enthousiazori — that God is
within him.
" For, as has been said, every soul of man has, by its nature, seen true being,
otherwise it could not have passed into the form of man. But to recollect the
things of the other world is not easy for all souls — neither for those who
beheld them for a brief space only, nor for those who, after falling to earth,
have been unfortunate, and through some evil influence have turned to
unrighteousness and forgotten the holy things which once they saw."
Human Goodness only an image of the Divine.— Few indeed are
left to whom the memory of these things is adequately present ; and they,
PLATO'S CONCEPTION OF SIN 577
when they see here an image of the other world, are amazed and enwrapt ;
but they do not know what this rapture means, because they do not sufficiently
perceive. Now in the earthly images (Jwmoidmata) of righteousness and
temperance and whatever else is precious to souls, there is no light, but as
through a glass darkly 1 and with difficulty, a few following these images
(eikonas), behold the realities of which they are the copies. Clear-shining was
the beauty which once they saw when they followed with the happy choir — we
(philosophers) in the company of Zeus, others attending on some other of the
gods — and gazed upon the beatific vision, and were made perfect in that
mystery which it is meet and right to call most blessed, and which we
celebrated in our state of innocence — before we had experience of the evils
that awaited us in time to come — and being initiated, we were admitted to
behold apparitions perfect and simple and calm and happy, shining in pure
radiance — ourselves pure and not yet entombed in that which now we bear
about with us and call the body, and within which, as an oyster in his shell,
we are imprisoned.
There is little need of further comment on this deep and most pregnant
"myth." It will well repay any trouble which we may bestow upon the effort
to fathom its meaning for ourselves. There are more things in it than Plato
dreamt of — the great truth that love alone, Divine and human, enables the
soul to regain its wings ; the doctrine that the power to grasp the eternal
verities is that which makes man man and distinguishes him from the brutes ;
the plain of truth, in "which alone the wing of the soul is nourished ; the
heavenly banquet wherein it feeds on righteousness ; the beatific vision of
God Himself ; the calm, sweet, blissful surroundings of the soul in its state of
innocence, when feeding upon God ; the fall — the stress and storm and agony
of the sinking soul — all these are simply anticipations of truths to be revealed
— a stretching forth of the soul in which Plato truly touches God.
lY.— PLATO'S CONCEPTION OF SIN— REBELLION— THE EFFECTS
OF UNRIGHTEOUSNESS— THE REMEDIES FOR SIN
From what we already know of Plato it is clear that he was keenly alive
to the existence of evil in the world. Next to his meditations on God, re-
flections on the nature and cause of evil and the remedy for it must have
occupied his thoughts. That evil, moral and physical, can be traced back to
God, is a supposition which, as we know, he rejects as an utter impossibility —
God is good and the Author of good only. He has done all that can be done
for mortals, and He destines them for a glorious end.
Whence comes the evil that is in the world ? From an evil spirit thwart-
ing the good. Plato once hints at the possibility of this, but the idea is so
remote from his general conception that we need do no more than allude to it
here. In Plato's view throughout the works that have come down to us, evil
proceeds either from ignorance, or from the resistance offered by that un-
reasoning part which is united to man of necessity, if he is to be mortal, and
in the overcoming of which lies man's probation. To these two must be added
a third factor, lack of education — the want of that knowledge and learning
which shall remove ignorance, and show a man how to curb and restrain his
mortal part. Plato, therefore, like his master, regards wrong-doing as in-
voluntary, and he gives three reasons for his opinion.
(i) With Socrates he holds that no man would willingly choose for himself
1 Lit. as through dim and uncertain instruments (organa).
2 O
578 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
the worst, and therefore sin must be the result of ignorance : " They knoio not
ivhat they do."
(2) But then, secondly, in the Timceus where he is, as it were, engrossed
and carried away by his physical theories, he attributes it to physical causes,
physical defects — evil done to the soul through bodily pains, or humours which
become compressed within or wander over the body, and affect the soul ;
(3) Want of Education. " It must be acknowledged," he says, " that the
disease of the soul is folly {anoia, want of understanding ; Tim., 86 B. and 87 B.),
but there are two kinds of folly, madness and ignorance. . . . No one is bad
voluntarily, but becomes so through some evil disposition of the body and bad
education " — literally an " undiscipli7ied nature " or upbringing, for which, as
Plato says, " we must often blame the planters rather than the plants, the-
educators rather than the educated."
That there is a vast amount of truth in all three " causes," no one can
deny — the intimate action and reaction of body and soul are becoming more
and more recognised, the more science penetrates into the secrets of nature —
the harmfulness of ignorance and advantages of education are becoming with
us topics almost as absorbing as they were to Plato. Nevertheless, granting all
this, who does not feel that not one of the three reasons adduced goes to the
root of the matter ? Men sin in fulness of light, with abundant knowledge of
what they are doing ; defects and evil humours of the body do not necessarily
affect the soul ; the most carefully educated will often go astray, whilst those
who have had as we say no proper start in life, will yet arrive manfully at the
goal. These are truisms with which Plato must have been perfectly familiar.
His three ''causes" belong to the environment of the soul, and retard its
development, but they are not the root of the evil. For this, Plato knew as
well as we do that the soul itself, the nature of the man, must be searched,
and therefore he nowhere excuses wrong-doing on the ground that it was
caused by ignorance, or physical defect, or bad education.
Sin is a Rebellion— a Revolt— Civil War. — Plato strikes a truer note
in that deep saying of his (Laws, i., 626 E.), " Every man is at war with him-
self," and must necessarily be so if he is to remain man at all. Rightly to
understand this, we must remind ourselves of that threefold division of the
soul which we met with in the Timceus — the allegorical representation where-
in the reason directs, like the ruler on the Acropolis ; the spirited part, like
the military ally of the ruler, carries out her behests ; and the desires, like
the subjects at the foot of the rock, pursue in quietness and obedience the
work that is necessary to the maintenance of the mortal life. Where the
threefold division is faithfully adhered to, each part doing its own proper
work, there is justice, peace, and harmony ; but where the inferior part rises
up in discontent and insubordination, and attempts to seize the reins of
government, there is anarchy and misery — civil war, in fact, in the little
state of man. Inasmuch, however, as some attempt at rebellion is continually
proceeding on the part of the desires, do they not form the largest portion of
us. Reason and will have always to be on guard against them. Hence the
deep truth of Plato's saying : ^^ Every man is at war with himself.''^
Plato's demonstration that the Threefold Division really ex-
ists. — The account of the three parts of the soul given partly allegorically
in the Timceus (and also again in the Phoedrus under the figure of the
charioteer and the noble and ignoble steeds), Plato works out in the Republic
in language more " philosophical," but not more vivid. He demonstrates
their existence as follows {Rep., 439 et seq.) : —
" The soul of a thirsty man," he says, " in so far as he is thirsty, desires
PLATO'S CONCEPTION OF SIN 579
nothing except drink — this he yearns for, and strives to obtain. But if some-
thing draws the soul when thirsting away from drinking, that something in
it will be different from the thirsty principle that leads him, like a beast, to
drink. And yet this happens constantly. Many men are thirsty and often-
times, and yet they will not drink. What may we say of them in such a
case ? May we not say that in the soul there is a somethinn^ that bids, and a
something that forbids them to drink, and that the something that forbids is
different from and stronger than the something that bids ? And this some-
thing that forbids, does it not proceed from the reason — and that other some-
thing that draws and attracts, from the passions and disease ? "
" That is clear," says Glaucon.
" Not without reason, then, may we assume that these principles are two,
and that they differ one from the other. That with which a man reasons, we
may call the rational part of the soul ; and that with which he desires and
hungers and thirsts and feels the flutterings of other passions, we may term the
irrational or appetitive part ; the friend of certain gratifications and pleasures.
" These two principles, then, we must determine to exist in the soul, and
to them we must add a third — the passionate or spirited element, which is
independent, and not akin to desire, as we are apt to think (iii. 440). Do we
not often observe that, when the desires have overpowered the reason in a
man, he reproaches himself and is indignant at that which has forced him on,
and, as though choosing between rival factions, the spirited element in him
becomes the ally of the reason ? But, that the spirited part of a man should
make common cause with the desires, when reason has proved that she ought
not to be opposed — this, I believe, you have never observed either in yourself
or in any one else."
" No indeed," he replied.
(Here of course Plato is speaking of a good will, for that a perverted will
does make common cause with the desires who can doubt ?)
"And again, when a man thinks that he has done wrong, the more noble he
is, the less will he be able to be indignant if he has to suffer hunger and cold
or anything else of the same kind (as a punishment) from one who, he believes,
brings these sufferings on him with justice, and, I maintain, his anger will
not wish to rise up against such an one. But, when a man thinks that he is
treated unjustly, then his spirit boils and chafes, and is on the side of what he
believes to be just ; and, by reason of the hunger and the cold, and all the other
sufferings, he stands firm the more, and conquers, and does not cease from
his noble beginning until he has either carried it through, or met his death ;
or, like a dog by the shepherd's voice, has been called back, and softened by
the reason that dwells within him."
Who does not feel that the foregoing very beautiful description of the
spirited element is psychologically true? A noble man does not resent
punishment justly merited, but he does resent injustice, and will withstand
it to the death, unless the voice of the Shepherd soften his resentment.
The Harmony of the Soul. — Having thus demonstrated the existence
of three separate principles in the soul, Plato goes on to show {Rep., 441 D.,
et seq.) that as justice in the state will consist in each of the three classes of
which it is composed (traders, auxiliaries, and counsellors) doing its own proper
work, and not meddling with that of any other class ; so with the individual —
" it is only when each of the three parts of the soul (reason, spirit, and desire)
does its proper work, that a man will be just or righteous and do his own work."
And what, we ask in turn, is the work of the soul? That Plato has already
explained in an earlier part of the dialogue (353 D. et seq.). Just as the special
58o PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
work of the eyes, he says, is seeing, and the special work of the ears, hearing,
and just as each of these has its own special property or virtue, which fits it to
perform its functions aright — so, in like manner, the soul has its own special
work which can be delegated to no other — the direction and superintending of
the life — and its own special property or virtue fitting it for its work, and
this is nothing \ms than righteousness. But the soul, as we have seen, is a
" composite force," and the harmony of the three parts is necessary to carry
out its work.
" And is it not the proper work of the rational part," he asks, " to govern
— inasmuch as she is wise and has the care of the whole soul — and of the
spirited part to be her subject and ally ? "
There is not a doubt of this.
" And when these two, reason and spirit, have been truly instructed and
disciplined in their own functions, they will rule over the desires — the third
and concupiscent part, that which is lai-gest in the soul of each of us, and by
nature most greedy of gain. Over this the two will keep guard, lest, through
fulness of what are called bodily pleasures, it should wax mighty and strong,
and refuse to do its own work, and try to enslave and get the rule over those
whom it is not seemly that it should rule — and thus overturn the career of
the whole man. Therefore these two, reason and spirit, will best keep watch
together, over the whole soul and the body as well, against the foes that are
without — the one counselling, the other defending, following the leader, and
carrying out the decisions that issue from the Acropolis, with courage.
Sin is a Rebellion of one Part against the Whole.— Now we know
what Plato means when he says that evil is nothing else than sedition, the
uprising of a faction in the state of man, the revolt of the lower elements
against their lawful ruler. What is evil, he asks, but "a meddlesomeness, and
interference and rising up of one part of the soul (the appetitive part) against
the whole, that it may rule where it has no right to rule, being what it is by
nature — fitted only to be the servant of the ruling power? What are the
confusion and error (proceeding from this rebellion of the appetitive part) but
injustice, and unbridled desire, and cowardice, and ignorance, and, in a word,
every form of evil?" (Rep., iv., 444 B.).
What shall it profit a man?— The Effects of Unrig-hteousness.—
We shall greatly mistake Plato's meaning if we imagine that by the revolt of
the lower nature and the destruction of soul-harmony, he is contemplating
merely the lack of that grace and refinement which we associate with Greek
notions of harmony and symmetry. " Due proportion has gone out of the life,"
some may say, "but what of that? — the man is a man for all that." Is he?
Plato seems to think otherwise. The man in his view is restricted in the
mortal animal to that very small part, that one divine part which is lodged in
the Acropolis, and whose business it is to draw the whole up to its home and
kindred in heaven. The one, however, may only too easily be overpowered by
the many, and hidden out of sight — then what becomes of your man, with his
god-like reason, his power of looking before and after ? He may be starved to
death.
The condition of things brought about by the domination of the lower
nature has never been more forcibly described than by Plato himself in
another of his wonderful allegories, that of The Many-headed Monster {Rep.,
588 B. et seq.). In this also as in that of the charioteer and his steeds, we
have again the threefold image of the soul. The allegory itself follows
naturally upon what has gone before. In the course of the inquiry into the
nature of justice which forms the basis of the republic, it had been brought
PLATO'S CONCEPTION OF SIN 581
forward by Adeimantus as one of the most widely-spread beliefs of the day,
that to be perfectly wicked and unjust was profitable to the unjust man so long
as he was not found out, but was considered by others to be a just and good
man. " Let us see," says Plato, " whether this is so, or not. Let us look at
the effect which right-doing and wrong-doing have respectively, on the man
himself. To that end, he says, let us fashion, in words, an image of the soul
that he who makes such an assertion may see before his eyes what he is
upholding."
" What sort of image ? " asks Glaucon.
" A composite image," said Socrates, ** such as the myths of old describe,
the Chimsera, or Scylla, or Cerberus — and other creatures of the kind, in
which, it is said, many forms had grown together into one."
" There are said to have been such creatures, certainly," he assented.
" Do you now, then," Socrates rejoined, " model the form of a manifold
and many-headed monster, encircled by a ring of heads of all manner of
animals, both wild and tame, and able to produce all these out of itself, and to
transform them at pleasure."
" To make such an image," said Glaucon, '' would be the task of a skilful
artist. Nevertheless, since words are more plastic than wax, or any such
material, let us consider it as modelled."
" Make now another form, distinct from this, that of a lion, and yet an-
other, that of a man ; but let the first (the monster) be by far the largest, and
the second (the lion) larger than the third (the man)."
"That," said he, " is easier; it is done."
" Now join these three into one, as though in some way they had grown
together."
" They are joined," said he.
" Now fashion about them an outer shape or form, as of a man, so that to
any one who' is not able to look within, but sees the outer covering only, the
whole may appear as a single creature — a human heing^
" It is done," said he.
" Let us now say to him who maintained that it is profitable for the human
being to be unjust, that he is maintaining nothing else than this, viz. that it
is profitable for him, by feasting them sumptuously, to strengthen the many-
shaped monster and the lion and all that appertains to the lion, and to starve
the man and weaken him, so that he may be dragged whithersoever it pleases
either of the other two — and may neither accustom the one to the other, nor
make them friendly, but must suffer them to fight, and bite, and devour one
another."
"Undoubtedly," says Glaucon, "that is what the eulogiser of injustice
says."
" And, on the other hand, will not he who maintains that justice is profit-
able, declare that we must do and say that by which the man that is within
may obtain complete mastery over the entire human being, that he may take
the management of the many-headed creature as does the husbandman — culti-
vating and ennobling the gentler qualities, and not allowing the wild ones to
gi-ow — and making the lion-nature his ally ; and so, caring for all in common,
and making them friendly to one another and to himself, is it not thus in
harmony — that he will rear them ? "
" Yes," he said, " that is exactly what the upholder of righteousness main-
tains."
" In every way, then, the eulogiser of righteousness speaks truly, of un-
righteousness falsely ; for in regard to pleasure and honour and advantage,
582 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
he who praises righteousness is right, whilst he who censures is neither healthy
in his censure, nor does he know what he blames."
*' He does not indeed," said he.
" Let us then," continued Socrates, "try to persuade the unjust gently of
the better way, for he does not err wilfully. Let us say to him : " Sweet sir,
do not both the noble and the base develop somewhat in this way — the noble,
by subjecting the animal part of the nature to the man, or, better, to the
Divine in man — the base, by enslaving the gentler part to the rude and wild ?
Will he assent, or not ? "
" He will," said Glaucon, " if he is persuaded by me."
" Can it then," pursued Socrates, " on this reasoning, profit anyone to gain
money unjustly, when the result is that the noblest part of him is enslaved
to the worst ? If a man were to sell son or daughter for gold into slavery, and
that amongst savage and wicked man, would it profit him ? No, not if he
received a very large sum therefor. So, in like manner, if a man sell with-
out compunction the most divine part of himself into slavery to the most god-
less and detestable— is he not a miserable wretch ? Eriphyle took the necklace
as the price of her husband's life, but is he not taking a bribe of gold to effect
a more fearful ruin ? "
" Far more fearful," said Glaucon. " I will answer for him."
Then Plato goes on in forcible language to show how the sins and follies of
men proceed from the waxing strong and lusty of the appetites within him. The
intemperate, he says, is censured, because in him the teiTible many-shaped -
monster has been allowed too much freedom. And when men are blamed for
self-will and ill-temper, it is because the lion and serpent-nature in them has
grown out of proportion. And luxury and softness are accused when by re-
laxing and weakening the lion-nature they have produced cowardice in it.
And a man is censured for flattery and meanness when he puts this same lion-
nature, his own high spirit, into subjection to the turbulent monster, and for the
sake of the wherewithal to gratify its insatiate cravings, accustoms it from
youth up to be dragged through the mire, and/ro??z a lion to become a monkey.
The man, therefore, who yields to the many-headed appetite within is a
slave, dragged hither and thither at their caprice, for the noble and good will
which ought to have been his ally and defender is no longer a lion but — a
monkey. The force of righteous scorn can no further go.
[The whole argument supplies a most striking commentary on the great
question of the Master : —
" What shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own
soul .? "
and a comment much needed by ourselves, for is it not the case that we are
too apt to associate the " loss" of the soul only with its penalty in the next
world ? Plato does not overlook this aspect of it, but his argument here is
this : What will it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world — at the expense
of the Divine part within him being merged in the animal within him ? — Even
in this life the process is necessarily beginning.]
Turning, then, to the other side of the allegory, he says : " Courageous we
shall call the man who holds fast, through pain and pleasure, the command of
reason about what is, and what is not to be feared."
And wise we shall call him who has in him that little part which rules and
issues the command — that part which has in itself the knowledge of what is
best for each of the three parts and for the whole man. And we shall call him
sound-minded in whom these three principles exist in friendship and harmony
PLATO'S CONCEPTION OF SIN 583
— both ruler and ruled agreeing that reason must govern — and do not rise in
rebellion against her.
Other sound-mindedness or safety,^ than this, he concludes, there is none
— either for the state or the individual.
The severity of the contest. — Before this state of harmony is reached, how-
ever, sore and terrible is the contest. The uprisings of the lower nature and
the victory of reason and will Plato has depicted in the allegory of the
charioteer. His description of reason victorious may well be given as a
pendant to the foregoing triumph of the many-headed monster. Our readers
will recollect that the charioteer has two steeds to manage, one noble, the
other the reverse : —
"The more noble of the two steeds," says Plato (Phcedrus, 253 D.), "is
upright and well-built, with lofty neck and aquiline nose, white in colour and
dark-eyed — a lover of honour with temperance and modesty, and a comrade of
true glory — needing no spur, guided only by word or exhortation. The other
is a crooked, heavy animal, put together anyhow, with short, thick neck and
snub nose, black skin, and grey bloodshot eyes ; he is the comrade of insolence,
and a braggart, shag-eared and deaf, hardly yielding to whip and spur.
" When the other two — the charioteer (reason), and the noble horse (spirit)
— will not do what this villain (the appetitive part) demands, he abuses them,
and, waxing ferocious, gets the bit between his teeth and pulls shamelessly.
The charioteer is in a desperate plight, until, summoning all his determination,
he drags the bit with a wrench from between the teeth of the animal, and
covers his abusive tongue and jaws with blood, and forcing his legs and
haunches down to the ground, punishes him severely. When this has hap-
pened several times, the animal leaves off its insolence, it is tamed and humbled,
and follows the (forethought) will of the charioteer."
The remedies against evil. — Here again Plato rises far above the sophis-
tical teachers of his day, in that he does not content himself with pointing out
defects and weaknesses, but immediately proceeds to show how they may be
removed or remedied. Now it is needless to say that Plato's conception of
sin must of necessity differ vitally from that of the Hebrews, or from the
Christian standpoint. Of the enormity of sin as committed against a Father
who has loaded us with benefits and loving-kindnesses — of sin in its worst
aspect of ingratitude, he could know little, and consequently of that feeling
which enters so largely into our sense of sin — the longing to make reparation
by contrition and repentance — we find little or nothing in Plato's system.
In this respect Plato undoubtedly failed to do justice not only to the
popular religion, but to one of the most sacred feelings of the human heart.
Most assuredly the whole ancient world knew something of the love of God.
" God left not Himself without witness," says the Apostle, " in that He gave
us fruitful seasons, filling our hearts with food and gladness."
There is ample evidence that the tie of dependence which binds man to the
Unseen was keenly and vividly felt in earlier and better days.^ A natural and
honourable instinct prompts (as Homer knew) to " prayer and offerings and
humble vows whensoever a man hath failed or trespassed." But Homer's age
was not Plato's, and this natural instinct had been so abused by those who
traded on it, that our philosopher can see nothing in it but an attempt to
bribe the higher powers who avenge injustice, and so escape punishment.
Plato's abhorrence of evil, then, is not, so to speak, Godward, but man-
^ Probably a play on the word sophron, from sos, phren, sos, means "safe" as well as
" sound."
2 We have traced it so late as Pindar— see ante, his love for Apollo.
584 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
ward. He hates it for what it works in the man himself — deterioration and
ruin, and perhaps his testimony is all the more valuable to us from its concen-
tration on this one point.
As to his remedies — with the single exception of the leaving out of the
deepest of all motive-powers, repentance wrought by the love of God — they are
psychologically true and contain deep forecasts of Christianity and of modern
views. They are —
(i) Education. — To enter fully into Plato's views on this great subject — one
which we may fairly call the all-engrossing subject of his later years — would
require a volume. Suffice it to say here that, with him, education should begin
as soon as the child is born,i and be continued steadily without intermission :
" It seems probable," he says in the Republic (iv. 425 B.), "that the educa-
tion with which a man starts will give the whole bent to his life — Does not
like always call to like ? "
Education, again, is " taking the dye of the laws" — imbue a man with the
spirit of good laws in his childhood, their colour will tinge his own life. Hence,
although in the Republic (iv. 429 D. et seq.), compulsion is not to be used,^ yet
in the Laws (vii. 804 D.), education is to be enforced, inasmuch as the child
belongs to the state rather than to its parents. Finally, in the same work, he
says emphatically (Laics, i. 644), that true education is the best thing the best
men can have, adding that if a man should swerve from it in any way, it is pos-
sible to rectify it (set it upright again), and this he must do according to the
best of his ability all the days of his life.
" Education," then, with Plato is a lifelong process, no less necessary for
the man than for the child. It is by education in its two branches, music and
gymnastic, the one training the soul, the other the body, that the lower nature
is to be kept in subjection. By " music " we must here understand with/Plato all
that helps to develop the reasoning power, the man within the man, no less than
that one branch of it to which we now limit the name. Bearing this in mind,
we can follow our philosopher when he urges that the only way of maintaining
true harmony in the soul is by the training of the reason and the spirited part
— the man and the lion-nature — by music and gymnastic : " Will not the
united influence of music and gymnastic (sound training of mind and body)
bring these two into accord," he asks, " urging on and nourishing the reason
by noble words and lessons, and soothing and civilising and moderating the
fierceness of passion by harmony and rhythm ? "
(b) Punishment. — But of what avail are harmony and rhythm against those
terrible uprisings of the lower nature which threaten in their vehemence
to " overturn the whole career of the man " ? Some sterner measures are
necessary here, and it need not surprise us to find Plato a strong believer in
the efficacy of self -discipline carried to the length of self-inflicted punishment.
The charioteer, as we remember, chastises his unruly steed severely and
repeatedly until the animal is tamed. Reason, in the wise man of the other
allegory, takes somewhat the same course. By a change of metaphor Plato
says that the example of the husbandman is to be followed ; some of the
heads encircling the monster are to be cut off at once like noxious weeds
— " Mortify, therefore, your members which are upon the earth " — the others
are to be cultivated with care. We can only briefly point out the wisdom
^ Nay, before. Plato recognises (though very imperfectly) what we are only beginning to
appreciate as it deserves — the influence of the mother on the unborn babe {Cf. Laivs, vii. 789),
2 Knowledge acquired under compulsion, says Plato {Hep., vii. 536 E.), obtains no hold on
the mind. Education should be a sort of amusement, and you will then discover the bent of
the child — another forecast of modern views.
PLATO'S CONCEPTION OF SIN 585
shown in this discrimination. Not all impulses are bad and hurtful. The
reverse is the case. Plato has no such aim as that of the later Stoics, no
wish to reduce man to a state of apathy by deadening within him every
natural sympathy or feeling. He recognises that many desires and emotions
of the soul are not only innocent but healthful — the love of pleasure in
moderation, for instance. All that he contends for is, that the noxious desires
shall be cut down, and the helpful ones cultivated so that they shall not
be allowed to run to seed or grow out of proportion. This process can only
be carried out by self-discipline. This, then, is the first view of punishment —
a self-inflicted penance, ordered by reason the charioteer and the husbandman
and carried out by her ally spirit or will.
Plato, however, carries his view still further, and contends that punishment
inflicted by an external authority is the great remedy for evil. His argument
here is that every one ought to be under rule : " Shall we not say," he argues
in the Republic, " that a man ought to be the servant of the best, of him
who has the Divine as ruler within him — not with the notion that this sub-
jection will be to his hurt — but because it is better for every one to be
ruled by the Divine and wise — best of all, if the ruler be akin to the man
and within him — but if not, appointed from without, in order that all, being
under the same rule (that of the Divine and wise) may, as far as possible,
be equals and friends ? On what grounds can we say that it profits a man
to be unjust or intemperate, or to do any base act if he becomes worse
thereby, even although he may acquire greater wealth or any other power?"
" On no grounds whatever," Glaucon rejoined.
" How then can it profit an unjust man to escape unseen and unpunished ?
Does not he who remains undetected and unpunished become still worse,
whilst in him who is detected and punished the animal element is subdued
and tamed, and the gentle element set free, and the whole soul — thus acquiring
sound-mindedness, and justice, and wisdom — is ennobled and brought into a
condition which exceeds in honour that of the body which acquires strength
and beauty and health, in the same proportion as the soul itself exceeds in
honour the body ? "
" Undoubtedly," said he.
The grand passage, however, in the Gorgias (477 B. et seq.), where
Socrates declares sin to be the greatest evil in the world, combines both views
of punishment — the voluntary submission and the judge exterior to the man —
and hence approaches very nearly to the Christian standpoint.
" Just as certain evils afflict the body," the argument begins, " so do
we assume that there is a certain evil which afflicts the soul, and which
we call injustice, or ignorance, or cowardice, as the case may be. There are,
therefore, three evils, corresponding to the conditions of body and soul, these
three are poverty, disease, and unrighteousness. By far the most ignoble and
disgraceful of these is unrighteousness, and not only the most ignoble but the
worst, because it brings with it both suffering and damage. It is really more
painful to be unjust, and undisciplined, and cowardly, and ignorant than to be
poor and sick. A sinful condition of the soul outweighs all other miseries
from the exceeding great damage and astounding misery which accompany
it. Hence evils of the soul, such as injustice and intemperance of any kind,
are really the greatest evils in existence by reason of the damage which they
inflict.
" But, just as there is a way of escaping from poverty — the art of making
money — and a way of becoming free from disease — the healing art — so is
there a way of freeing the soul from the greatest of evils — the enduring
586 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
of a penalty, inflicted by a just judge. The remedy is not a pleasant one,
but useful ; and just as a patient who is being treated by a physician will
bear patiently any pain in order that he may be freed from a bodily evil, so it
is with the health of the soul.
" Certainly, he who does not require a physician is happier than he who
does ; but supposing a man to be afflicted with any evil either of body or of soul,
in which case would he be the more wretched — when he is treated by the
physician and freed from his evil, or when he has no treatment and keeps his
evil ? Certainly, in the latter case, he will be in a worse plight, and so the
treatment of the soul by the suffering of a just penalty — brings men to sober-
ness of thought,! makes them more righteous, and becomes the healing of the
sin- sick soul. . . .
" Hence, if any one has committed an act of injustice, he will himself, of his
own free will, hasten to him to whom he must pay the penalty to the judge, as
to the physician, giving all diligence, lest the disease of unrighteousness should
linger festering in his soul, and become incurable. ... A wrong act, whether
our own or that of our friends, must not be hidden, but brought into the
light, that the penalty may be paid, and health of soul regained ; and we must
constrain ourselves and others not to be cowardly ; but — as those who are
pursuing the noble and the good — we must present ourselves bravely, shutting
our eyes like those who are under the knife or the cautery of the physician,
and not heeding the pain. If one have committed a fault worthy of stripes,
he must inflict the stripes ; or of chains, he must let himself be chained ; or of
a fine, he must pay it ; or of banishment, he must go into exile ; or of death,
he must endure it — appearing as the first accuser against himself and those
belonging to him, and using his eloquence for this very purpose, that when
their misdeeds are brought to light, they may be freed from the greatest evil
— unrighteousness. "
Socrates' little audience are represented as being so amazed at this
enunciation of his views that one of them says in a sort of aside to Chserophon,
a disciple of Socrates : —
" Tell me, Chserophon, does Socrates mean this in earnest or in jest ? "
"To me he seems to be exceedingly in earnest," rejoins Chserophon, and
the conclusion arrived at is, that if Socrates really is in earnest and if what he
says is true, then men in general are doing the very reverse of what they
ought to do.
We need hardly point out here how closely in the foregoing Plato antici-
pates the Christian view — the hatred against sin as the greatest of evils, the
hastening to the Judge — " Correct me, O God, but not in Thine anger " — the
self -accusation — the enduring of the discipline necessary for purification — all
are included in Plato's deeply thought out argument. He seems to say with
St. Paul, " wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me from this body of
death ? " And if he cannot add St. Paul's thanksgiving, he is nevertheless
manful enough also to say with him : " I keep under my body {lit. I bruise my
body) lest that by any means after I have preached to others I myself should
prove a cast-away."
THE SOUL'S PROGRESS
Conversion — The Turning to the Light
When we pass in review Plato's remedies for the ills of the soul — his faith
in the education of mind and body, of the ennobling effects of the study of the
^ Cf. ^schylus, ante, p. 365.
THE SOUL'S PROGRESS 587
world-order, of the victories to be achieved by self-discipline and mortification
of the baser self — we can but say: Verily, if there had been a philosophy
given whereby men could be saved, salvation would have come by the
philosophy of Plato.
Did Plato's philosophy regenerate the world? Let the history of the
world testify. Few indeed were the souls that listened to his words. For
the mass of men they had no meaning. What the Divine law could not do,
Plato's philosophy was powerless to effect. The reason, of course, is patent to
us — both law and philosophy imply the existence in man of a power which
ought to follow their behests, but has become unfitted or too feeble for the
task. We have Plato's own testimony to this universal truth. Not the poor
mortal part only with its cravings is to blame— it is not the fault of the ignoble
steed alone that the wings of the soul are lost. " Many a wing is broken in
the conflict," says Plato in the Phcedrus, " by the fault of the charioteer."
Reason itself is at fault — it has become darkened and obscured ; it is not fit to
take the lead to direct either its own steeds or those of others.
" If the light that is in a man he darkness, how great is that darkness!''' {Rep.,
vii. 514 62^ seq.).
That Plato recognised the great fact that the light of nature is not enough,
that not only light, but the power to turn to the light, must come to a man
from without, from above, there is not the shadow of a doubt. Reason must
be illuminated by a power outside itself. This great doctrine is not the least
part of Plato's testimony to truth, and he has embodied it in the grand parable
of the cave and its shadows.
The Cave and its Shadows
" Compare," says Socrates (in whose mouth, as usual, the allegory is put),
*' our nature as regards enlightenment and non-enlightenment with the
following state of things : —
"The Cave of the World and its Prisoners. — Imagine human beings
living in an underground cave-like dwelling, the entrance to which is open to
the light, and extends along the whole length of the cave. Here they have
been since their childhood, with both limbs and neck confined by chains, so
that they remain on the same spot, and can only look before them, being
prevented by the chains from turning their heads. The light of a fire above
and at a distance blazes behind them ; and between the fire and the prisoners
is a raised way, along which runs a low wall like the screens which marionette
players have in front of them, and over which they exhibit their puppets.^
"The Shadows cast by the Realities Behind.— Imagine, now, men
passing along this wall and carrying implements of all sorts, and statues and
figures of animals in stone and wood and divers materials, which appear on
the wall ; and imagine that, as in reality, some of the men are talking, whilst
others are silent.
" You speak of a strange picture and strange prisoners," said Glaucon, one
of the personse in the Dialogue.
" Like ourselves," Socrates replies, " for do you suppose that men thus
1 " The juggler or conjurer requires a table or screen in order to hide from the eye of the
spectator much that, if seen, would rob his performance of the charm of wonder. And, just as
the wall conceals much that would thus explain to the spectator what now appears to him
inexplicable and marvellous, so do our prisoners in like manner now behold only part of what
is going on behind them. They have not even the perfect outline of the men who are passing
along the wall, or of the objects which they carry " (H. Miiller, in loc. cit, v. p. 732).
588 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
chained can see more of themselves or of one another than the shadows which
are thrown by the fire on the side of the cave opposite to them ? "
" How can they see anything else," said he, "if all their days they are
not allowed to move their heads ? "
" But what of the things that are carried along ? — will it not be the same
with them — their shadows only will be seen ? "
" How can it be otherwise ? "
" And if they are able to converse with one another, would they not
suppose that they were naming things which were actually before them? " ^
" Necessarily."
" And again, if the prison had an echo rebounding from the opposite side,
when one of the passers-by spoke, don't you think they would imagine the
shadow to be the speaker ? "
" Most certainly they would."
" To men in such a situation, then," said Socrates, " truth would be in
every way nothing but the shadows of the images."
" That would be so of necessity," said he.
Hoio does a man feel at first tohen released from darkness and chains .? —
"Observe," said Socrates, " what would follow if the prisoners were released
and disabused of the illusion — if such a thing could happen to them in a
natural way. When any of them had been set free and forced suddenly to
stand up and turn his neck round, and walk, and look up at the light — all this
would cause him pain, and by reason of the glare of light he would be unable
to perceive those real things of which he had formerly seen the shadows.
And if some one were then to say to him that formerly indeed he had seen
an illusion, but now — having come somewhat nearer to reality, and looking
more towards true being — he saw more clearly ; what do you suppose he would
reply ? Or again, if he were shown things passing by, and required to decide
what each was, do you not think that he would be at a loss, and would consider
the shadows which he had formerly seen as more true than the real objects
which are now shown him ? "
" Most certainly he would," he said.
" And then, if he were compelled to look at the light itself, would not he
have pain in his eyes, and turn away from it, and take refuge in such objects
of vision as he could see, and believe these to be in reality clearer than the
objects shown him ? "
" That would be so," said he.
The Process of Enlig-htenment a Gradual One.—" And then," con-
tinued Socrates, " if some one forced him thence up a rough and steep ascent,
nor desisted until he had brought him into the light of the sun, would not our
friend feel pain and irritation at this proceeding? and afterwards, when he
approached the sun, would not his eyes be so dazzled by the light, that he
could not see one of those things that are now called ' realities ' ? "
" Not all at once," he said.
" He would require, I think, to get accustomed to the sight of the upper
world, and first it would be easiest for him to perceive shadows, and then
reflections of men and other objects in the water, and later the objects them-
selves. And afterwards he would gaze on things in heaven, and the heaven
itself by night, the light of the stars and of the moon — and this would be
easier for him than to gaze on the sun and the sunlight by day. Then at last,
I imagine, he would be able to look at the sun itself — not the mere semblance
of it in the water or any other place — but the sun in itself, and in its own
^ Reading, with Professor Jowett, paronta.
THE SOUL'S PROGRESS 589
proper place ; and he would contemplate it as it is. And then he would go on
to conclude that the sun is the giver of the seasons and the years, and the
guardian of all things in the visible world, and in some way the cause of all
that they beheld ? "
" Clearly," he replied, '' he would come to this conclusion at last."
Hoio the 7nan who has seen the true Light regards the things of earth. — " What
then?" says Socrates. " When he remembered his former dwelling, and the
wisdom of the cave, and his fellow-prisoners, don't you think that he would
congratulate himself upon the change, and pity them ? And if honours were
conferred among them, and rewards bestowed on those who should observe
the passing shadows most quickly, and should remember best which were wont
to come first, which followed, and which came together— and should thus be
best able to predict the future — do you think he would be very eager to have
these rewards, or would envy those who were honoured or in power among
them? Would he not say with Homer {Od., xi., 490),
" ' Better to be the hired labourer of a needy man and to suffer anything,
rather than think as they do, and live their life.' "
" I, too, think," said Glaucon, " that he would rather suffer anything than
entertain such notions and live in such a way."
How the man who has seen the light is treated by the world. — " And again,
think of this also," said Socrates. " If such an one were to descend again and
seat himself in the old place, would not his eyes, on suddenly coming out of
the sun, be full of darkness ? "
" Naturally," said he.
" And if he were obliged to measure those shadows again, and so compete
with his fellow-prisoners who had always remained in the cave, whilst his
sight was dim and before his eyes were steady — and no little time might be
required before they became accustomed to the darkness — would he not excite
ridicule, and would not they say that he had gone up to the world above and
come down again without his eyes, and that even to try to make the ascent
was not worth the trouble ? And if any one took in hand to set them free
and lead them up to the light — if they could in any way lay hold on him,
would they not put him to death ? "
'' Not a doubt of it," said he.
" Now, dear Glaucon," said Socrates, " this whole allegory may be trans-
ferred to what has been said before : this visible world is the prison-house,
and the light of the fire in it is the might of the sun. And if you take the
journey upwards and the sight of things above to denote the ascent of the soul
to the realm of thought (where God shines) you will not miss my meaning —
since you are anxious to learn it — but God alone knows whether or no I have
chanced upon the truth. What at least appears truth to me is this," Socrates
concludes in words with which we are already familiar (517 B.), "that, in the
domain of knowledge, the idea of the. good is seen last, and only with toil and
trouble ; but, when seen, we must conclude that it is the universal cause of all
that is right and beautiful — bringing forth light and the lord of light to rule
the visible world, but itself ruling in the world of thought, and being therein
the source of truth and reason. And to this— even the Idea of the Good —
must he look who would act with true understanding either in private or in
public."
The allegory needs little comment : the darkness in the cave is, of course,
the darkness of the natural reason, of spiritual ignorance ; the chain wherewith
the prisoners are bound are the chains of habit, prejudice, and self-deception,
which prevent their turning so as to know one another, much less perceive the
590 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
realities behind. These are, as we know, the ideas, the eternal verities, of
which earthly things are only copies, more or less distorted, like the shadows
on the wall. The fire that casts the light is the visible sun, the light of sense
or human perception, or natural reason, which the prisoners take to be the
true light, the Divine light of the mind. The voice that comes from heaven,
inasmuch as it rebounds from the opposite wall whereon are the shadows — i.e.
comes through a human mouthpiece (a prophetes = onQ who speaks /bz* God) —
they suppose to proceed from one of themselves and pay no heed to it. In
this way, the prisoners in their delusion imagine truth to be, as Plato puts
it, nothing hut the shadows of the images. Then follows the sudden conversion
of one of the number ; the man is turned towards the light, and then thinks
in his bewilderment that the things which he beheld with the eyes of sense in
the world-cave were really truer than the heavenly realities which he now be-
holds but dimly with the eye of the soul. His enlightenment is gradual, but
sure. He is not left to himself, but forced, as it were, by some good spirit, up
the steep hill of doubt and conflict, until at length he gains the summit ; dark-
ness and doubt are gone, and he stands like the winged soul in the Phcadrus
on the outermost ridge, in the very presence of the true light, the good, the
Sun of Righteousness Himself. Then, and not till then ("the good is seen at
last, and only after toil and trouble "), does the whole truth flash upon him,
the vivid reality of the eternal world, the empty nothingness of the shadows in
the darkness. Then he appraises the things of earth at their true value, and
wonders with himself how he could ever have joined so eagerly in the pitiful
contests in the cave — the counting of the shadows, the calculating of petty
chances — for the sake of the yet more pitiful honour of being applauded by the
poor, blind multitude in their delusion. Touched by a tender pity for them,
he descends once more into the cave to lead them up into the blessed region of
light, but, confused by the darkness, he at first stumbles — he has his treasure
in an earthen vessel — and the multitude are not slow to jeer at him and mock.
They bid him go find his eyes — they are the ones who see. He recovers his
footing and his calmness, depicts the true light as he has seen it, and urges
them to make trial of the ascent — until at length, to stop his importunity, they
do what the world has ever done to the wisest of her sons, lay hold on him and
— kill him.
Such in brief is the progress of the pilgrim from this world to a better, as
related by Plato. Has he overdrawn the picture ? We trow not.
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY
The immortality of the soul is a truth so absolutely certain to Plato that it
forms, as it were, part of himself — his whole philosophical system turns upon
it. The grand doctrines upon which his ethical teaching is based, all centre in
the one idea that man is made — not for time, but for eternity. " Great," he
says in the Republic (x. 608 B.), " is the issue at stake — in the agon, the struggle
between good and evil — greater than appears ; nothing less than this, whether
a man is to be good or bad. Neither by honour, nor riches, nor power, nor the
influence of poetry, must we be led to become indifferent to justice and virtue."
Why ? Because justice and virtue are the eternal realities — all else belongs to
the things that perish. " What," he asks, " can become great in a short time ?
And must not our whole life from childhood to old age be reckoned ' short ' in
comparison with all time ? Ought then any immortal being to be eager about
this short space of time, which is a mere nothing ? Should he not rather con-
sider the whole — eternity ? "
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 591
Nowhere is Plato's earnestness on this vital question — the future life of the
soul— set forth so vividly as in the Phcedo, that most beautiful and touching of
all his works. The picture of the aged Socrates, just about to drink the hemlock,
reassuring and comforting his disciples by his own strong hope of immortality
— doing his utmost to provide for them those " rafts " of deep reasoning which
shall bear them up in the absence of any surer vessel, any Divine word con-
cerning the future life — is unspeakably pathetic. It can only be compared in
its impressiveness to that yet grander parting scene wherein He, of whom
Socrates is a true type and forerunner, gives to His disciples, the true Divine
Word, the Ark of the Covenant, even Himself .^
These " rafts," these arguments, in the Phcedo, then, well deserve our most
thoughtful consideration. Let us go back for a few moments to the last hours
of Socrates, and see him in his cell surrounded by his little band of sorrowing
followers.
How the g-OOd Man reg'ards Death. — During his confinement in
prison, while awaiting the return of the sacred ship from Delos, Socrates, as
we remember, occupied himself in composing verses, making "music" in the
popular sense of the term. On the day of his death, one of those present tells
him (Phcedo, 60 C. et seq.) that Evenus, the poet, was very anxious to know
why he who had never made verses before did so now. Socrates, in reply,
relates that often, at different times, a vision had appeared to him in a dream,
and always given him the same command — to " make and practise music/' and
that hitherto he had interpreted the words as an exhortation to continue — as
those who are already running a race are urged on by the spectators — in the
'' music " which he was already making and practising, the music of philo-
sophy, which had always seemed to him "the noblest music." Now, however,
he had a scruple about it, and thought it better to obey the injunction literally,
and compose a few verses before he departed. " Tell Evenus this," he added,
" and bid him farewell, and say that if he is a wise man, I would have him
follow me without delay. To-day, as it seems, I go hence, for so have the
Athenians ordained."
All that Socrates has bidden them tell Evenus shall be told, Simmias
replies, but from what he knows of the man, Evenus will not be in the least
likely to wish to follow Socrates.
" What ! " says Socrates, " is not Evenus a lover of wisdom ? "
" I think he is," says Simmias.
" Then," says Socrates, " Evenus wiU wish to follow me, as will all who are
worthy to share in this matter; but," he adds, " he will not lay hands upon him-
self, for this is held to be against the Divine laiw(ou themiton)." Cebes immediately
asks why this is held to be unlawful, and so, most naturally ,2 the conversation
turns upon that which fills the thoughts of all present — death, the different
ways in which it is regarded, and the one way in which alone the wise man can
regard it. Socrates is going on a journey, and he cannot spend the time which
remains between now and the setting of the sun better than by searching into
and talking of the nature of the journey. In regard, then, to the argument :
Why, if the philosopher wishes to die, it is against Divine law that he should
lay hands on himself, Socrates' answer is most characteristic — Man must not
in this respect be his own benefactor, he says; he must wait for another.
This seems strange, but it must have some reason. The mystical doctrine,
indeed, which is taught to the initiated — that men are in a kind of prison, the
door of which they may not themselves open in order to escape — seems to him
1 With desire.
- As some will have it, most artistically — the one does not shut out the other.
592 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
high and not easy to penetrate. But this at least has been well said, that there
are gods who care for no men, and lohose possession loe are. What would we say
if something belonging to ourselves (say, one of our slaves) were to take his own
life without waiting till we had given an indication of our will in the matter?
Would we not be indignant and punish him if punishment were in our power ?
In like manner, it is not unreasonable to hold that men must not take their
own lives, but wait till God sends necessity upon them — till death comes to
them, as it has now come to Socrates. But then the objection is raised : Why
should a wise man seek to escape by death from the service of so good a
Master as the God who cares for him, and whose possession he is? A fool
might rejoice, indeed, but not a wise man.
Against this objection, Socrates says, he can see that he is expected to
defend himself as though he were in court. Well, he will try to make a more
successful defence before them now than he made formerly before his judges.
" If I did not think," he continues, " that I am going first to other gods
wise and good, and then to men who have departed and are better men than
those now on earth, it would be wrong in me not to feel grief at the approach
of death. Understand this, however, clearly," he adds, " that I hope, indeed,
to go to good men, although I cannot be quite sure on that point ; but if I can
he confident of any such matters, I am of this, that I am going to gods and
masters who are altogether good. For this reason, I am not grieved like
others, but have a joyful hope that something awaits the dead, and as they
said of old, some far better thing for the good than for the bad."
Simmias begs him not to keep his thought, this joyful hope, to himself, but
to share it with his friends before he departs ; and Socrates says he will try to
show why a man who has been pursuing wisdom all his life should " quite
naturally " be of good cheer on the approach of death, and have a joyful hope
that there, after he departs, in that unknown land, the greatest blessings will
be his.
Why, then, should it be ^' quite natural " that a lover of wisdom should long
for death ? Because, Socrates answers, in so far as he is a lover of wisdom, he
has been doing nothing else than this all his life long — ^practising dying, and
pursuing death. How foolish would it be, then, when death comes, to grieve
over what he has so earnestly striven for ? We who know from Plato's later
works his vivid conception of the terrible conflict between the higher and
lower natures in man, know also what Socrates' hearers did not at once
perceive, that the "dying" and the "death" so longed for mean the dying
unto evil, and the complete victory over it. We have here a grand anticipa-
tion of St. Paul's " / die daily.'" Nevertheless, St. Paul's view of death was
not Plato's. The Apostle says in another place, " Not for that I would he
unclothed, hut clotJied upon " / whereas what Plato most looks forward to is the
being unclothed, the being released from the prison of the body, and this is
what death effects. " What is death but the separation of soul and body ? " he
asks, and how does the true lover of wisdom regard the body ? Is he eagerly
concerned about its so-called pleasures ? about eating and drinking, about dress
and adornment, or any pleasure of sense whatsoever ? Will he care for any-
thing more than nature requires ? Nay, in all these things the lover of wisdom
strives to keep his soul free from communion with the body — would fain be rid
of the body.^ And yet the many consider that a man for whom these bodily
pleasures have no attraction is almost as good as dead.
Then, again, he asks. Does the body help the soul, when the latter takes it
into partnership in any inquiry ? Is not the body rather an obstruction to
^ To want nothinof is divine : to want little, next to the divine.
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 593
the thinking power ? For both by sight and hearing, and the other senses, men
are apt to be deceived. Is not truth made clear by thought alone ? And is
not thought best when the mind is undisturbed, free from the influences of
sight, and hearing, and pleasure, and pain, and so far as possible gathered up
into herself and independent of the body.
Then, thirdly, as regards the world of ideas, the realm of pure spirit — we
admit that an absolute justice and an absolute beauty and goodness exist —
but were these ever seen with the eyes of the body? The very notion is
ridiculous.
In every way then the body is a hindrance to the philosopher, and not
a help. He is distracted from higher pursuits in a thousand ways by the
necessity of supplying its wants ; he is hindered still further by its liability to
disease. The body fills us with all sorts of cravings and yearnings and desires
and cares. Whence come wars and factions and fightings amongst us, but
from the body and its lusts? Do not wars arise about the possession of
money, and is not money demanded by the body to which we are enslaved ?
" If, then," so this part of the argument concludes, " it is not possible to know
anything in its purity {katharos) while we are joined to the body ; there are
but two alternatives — either we can attain to the possession of knowledge not
at all, or only after death. While we are still living," Socrates adds, *' it
seems to me that we shall in this way come nearest to knowledge, if we have
as little as possible to do with the body, and hold no communion with it except
of necessity, and are not defiled by contact with its nature, but cleanse our-
selves from it until God Himself shall release us. And then, being thus puri-
fied, we shall be freed from the foolishness of the body, and in all probability
shall be with others like-minded, and shall of ourselves know all in purity.^
This is perhaps the truth, for," he argues, " it can never be in accordance with
Divine law [me ou themiton), that the impure should reach or touch the pure."
This, then, is the hope in which Socrates departs — the negative side of it —
that his soul will be set free from its unreasoning carnal companion — the body.
But the converse of this, the positive aspect of the good hope, is, as we have
seen, not wanting, and very beautiful is the conception of it which Socrates
now puts forth : he is going by death to lose his hindrance, the body, but by
death also, he loill be united to Ms love — that for which he has been longing and
striving, yea, and praying all his life long — ivisdom. There have been many,
he says, who when robbed by death of an earthly love, of wife or child, have
been willing to go down to Hades, led by the hope of seeing them, and being
there together with the beloved whom they yearned for. And should any one
who really loves wisdom, and has this same strong belief that he will never
attain to her in any worthy manner except in the other world — should such an
one be grieved when he comes to die, and not rather joyfully depart hither ?
And the way and means of attaining to this " good hope " Socrates has
already pointed out — the soul is unchained from the desires of the body, and
made fit to meet her love by purification. It is not according to Divine law
that the impure should touch or embrace the pure — purification is a lifelong
process ; it is the dying unto evil and the seeking after wisdom. There is one
TRUE COIN for which the wise man will willingly exchange all that he hath, and
that is, wisdom. 2 The many go on exchanging pleasure for pleasure, pain for
pain, fear for fear, much for little — this is not the true exchange. The true
^ Cf. "Now I know in part . . . but then I shall know even as also I am known."
^ Cf. "The kingdom of heaven is like unto a merchantman seeking goodly pearls, who
when he hath found one pearl of great price goeth and selleth all that he hath and buyeth that
pearl."
2 P
594 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
exchange consists in a cleansing of all these things, and temperance and
righteousness and manliness {andreia) — yea, and wisdom herself — -are means of
purification. And those, he adds, who founded the mysteries seem to have
had a real meaning when they said of old in a figure that he who arrives in
the world below uninitiated and unsanctified shall lie in the mire ; but that he
who has been purified and sanctified by initiation shall dwell with the gods.
For " many," as they say in the mysteries, " are the Thyrsus-bearers, but few
are the mystics," ^ meaning thereby, as I suppose, none other than those who
have followed wisdom rightly. And so that I may be reckoned of their
number, I, according to my ability, have left nothing undone during my life,
but in every way have striven earnestly, whether I have striven aright and
accomplished anything, I shall know clearly, if it please God, when I arrive
there in a little while now. This is my defence, dear Simmias and Cebes,
the reason why I do not grieve nor repine at leaving you and my masters
in this world, for I believe that there I shall find masters no less good and
friends also. But the many do not believe this, and if I have spoken more
convincingly to you than to my Athenian judges I shall have succeeded
well.
The Hope of Immortality. — After Socrates has thus spoken Cebes
replies {PhsRcio, 69 Q.et seq.) : " I agree in almost everything that you have said,
Socrates, but as to what concerns the soul, great doubts exist among men.
They fear lest, when the soul is released from the body, she should cease to
be, and, in the day wherein the man dies, should be destroyed and perish.
What if immediately on being set free and issuing forth from the body, she
should be dispersed like air or smoke and vanish into nothingness ? If the
soul could only be gathered together into herself after she is released from all
those evils which you have enumerated, there would indeed be good reason to
hope that what you have been saying is true. But there seems to be still
wanting not a few proofs and grounds of encouragement for the belief that
after a man is dead, his soul continues to live and possesses strength and
wisdom."
Here Cebes is simply expressing the thoughts of most of the cultivated
men of his day. The masses of the people if they reflected at all on the
subject, clung tenaciously to the teaching of the mysteries ; but a one-sided
philosophy had inflicted this injury amongst others, that it had unsettled a
simple and reasonable belief without offering anything whatsoever in its place.
The Platonic Socrates, therefore, acknowledges at once that Cebes is right, so
far — the doctrine of the immortality of the soul, he implies, is of paramount
importance, it must of necessity be re-examined in a clearer light and re-stated,
if thinking men are to accept it as a foundation of morality and practice and
a ground of hope in death ; and accordingly, to this investigation he at once
addresses himself, endeavouring by every means in his power to place the
great question on a sound philosophical basis.
The arguments he brings forward are four in number. To reproduce them
in detail would require much more space than we have at our disposal. All
we can attempt here, therefore, is a very brief analysis, interspersed with such
references to other dialogues as shall suffice to make Plato's conceptions of this
great subject clear as a whole. To the four arguments of the Phsedo then it
will be necessary to add a fifth from later works. Plato's ideas concerning the
soul and immortality, like his conceptions of God, did not stand still, and the
fact that his arguments mainly sufiiced to support the faith and hope of
1 Cf. the words of the Master : " Many are called, but few chosen."
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 595
thoughtful men until the appearance of Him who brought the true immortality
to light, invests them with exceeding interest.^
I. The Physical Proof, or Argument from Nature. — Plato's first argu-
ment is founded essentially on the Heracleitean doctrine of generation
from opposites (p. 560). There is a continual alternation of increase and
decrease, of waxing and waning, he says, going on in and around us— the
greater is produced from the less, and in its turn becomes less ; waking glides
imperceptibly into sleeping, sleeping into waking ; winter into spring, spring
into winter ; life passes into death, death into life again. If this continual
" repayment " did not take place, we should have to acknowledge that nature
is cause. But nature is not cause. She moves steadily in a circle of perpetual
compensation, of perpetual giving and receiving back again. If this were not
so — if she moved in a straight line, and did not bend round to her opposite —
all at length would take the same form and share the same fate. Nature must
inevitably cease to bring forth. "If everything died that partakes of life,
and being dead remained in that condition and never came to life again, would
not the result of necessity in the end be this — that everything would be
swallowed up of death ? "
Thus (reasoning from analogy) we maintain that as life passes into death
and death into life again, so it must be with souls. As the old saga declares —
they go down to the realm of the dead from this world and return hither into
life again.
The argument from the analogy of nature as re-stated by Socrates is
accepted by his hearers without difficulty. It was in fact in its main features
no new doctrine to any Greek. Centuries before Plato it had been set forth in
the mysteries — first in the Eleusinian, later in those which shielded themselves
under the venerable name of the mythical Orpheus. The beautiful mythos
which formed the basis of the mysteries of Eleusis, one of the most touching
and significant of the myths of Hellas, ^ is simply a nature parable, from which
the grand truth of a life beyond the grave had gradually been evolved. No
religious observances had such a hold upon the Greeks as those of Eleusis.
The more other elements of the popular religion were abandoned, the more
persistently did the faith of the people cling to this, the one hope left to them.
The interpreters of the Eleusinian mythos seem, so far as their teaching is
known, to have confined themselves to the legitimate use of parable and
analogy — they did not press it too far. The yearly return of Cora the
daughter to her sorrowing mother, Demeter (Ge-meter = Mother-earth), a
personification of the joyous awakening of the life of vegetation in the spring
time, appears to have been regarded simply as symbolising the new life that
awaits the soul after the winter of death. So far all is legitimate and
intelligible. Other teachers of the people, however, were not content with
this. In the Orphic mysteries the analogy from nature was pressed further,
and the life of the soul after death was depicted in the similitude of that
" circle " in which nature works, life passing into death, death sending forth
life again in ever new and varied forms. In like manner, the soul also had its
1 For much that follows we are indebted to Steinhart's able Introduction to Miiller's
Translation of the Phcedo. If we cannot altogether agree with Steinhart that the proofs stand
logically " on one another's shoulders," yet undoubtedly he has done much to bring out clearly
the connecting links between them.
2 The story of Cora-Persephone, the maiden "like to a rosebud," snatched away whilst
plucking a narcissus (the flower of death) by Hades, the King of Terrors, and forced to dwell
with him against her will as his bride in the realms of death during the wintry months, return-
ing to light and joy again in the life of every spring time — forms the subject of the so-called
Homeric Hymn to Demeter ascribed to Eumolpus, the mythical founder of the mysteries.
596 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
cycle, wherein it passed through death into a new body and from one body to
another.
There is no absolute necessity for supposing that this doctrine of metem-
psychosis or the transmigration of souls was borrowed by the Greeks from the
East. Undoubtedly it may have been so borrowed, as we have seen from
early times Greece was in very close touch with the East. Nevertheless, the
fact remains that the Greeks were observers quite keen enough to elaborate
the doctrine for themselves, and in the observation of nature the religious
preceded the philosophical application of facts. The Eleusinian mysteries
existed centuries before the date assigned to Pythagoras, who is generally
supposed to have introduced the doctrine of transmigration into Greece. When,
precisely, the Orphic mysteries arose is not known, but they also preceded
Pythagoras. Still, in whatever way it was developed, or by whomsoever it
may have been introduced — the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, which
strikes us as so extraordinary, would seem to be only the necessary result of the
analogy from nature pushed beyond legitimate limits — natural life moves in
a circle — ergo, so does soul-life. At the period when the doctrine was evolved
the Greeks had not as yet worked their way to the conception of spirit as
distinct from matter, consequently they could not yet see that as spirit stands
above matter, the supernatural or spiritual life cannot be reckoned with
entirely on the analogy of the natural life. The grand idea of the absolute
distinctness and independence of spirit, due, in its first inception, to Anaxa-
goras, in its development to Plato, was wanting to the first inquirers. Their
notion of the soul was purely materialistic. In that first period of undeveloped
philosophy, says Steinhart, the power of the spirit over nature was not as yet
recognised, the ?7r-elements alone were considered imperishable ; out of them
proceeded, to them returned, life in all its manifestations. It is plain, there-
fore, that the immortality of the spirit and the conscious continuance of the
individual, as a spirit endowed with reason, were not compatible with this view.
All that could be claimed from the analogy of nature was that in the soul-
cycle nothing would he lost, any more than in the circle of nature. Even to
have made this clear, however, was a gain to the hearers of Socrates, inasmuch
as it refuted at once the popular objection brought forward by Cebes, that the
soul could vanish like air or smoke into nothingness. The early Greeks saw,
and Heracleitus formulated the doctrine, that nothing in nature is ever really
lost — they knew that what is called "death" is simply matter decomposing
itself out of one shape in order to recompose itself into another. We know
that a constant process of analysis and synthesis is going on, in which death
ministers to life. Death takes place, matter decays, the elements are set free,
oxygen to become the life of animals, carbonic acid the life of plants, which in
their turn supply the wants of animals. If the Greeks could not explain the
why or the wherefore, they knew at least that the process did take place, and
the first argument of Socrates simply amounts to this, that even from the
materialistic standpoint, the soul cannot be lost. If the argument appealed to
Greeks from their scientific point of view, how should it affect us from our
present standpoint — the standpoint which recognises as facts the conserva-
tion of energy and the correlation of forces? If the humble elements of
matter, the slave of mind, can never be lost, can it be admitted that mind,
the grandest of all the forces, that which controls the rest, can be lost or cease
to exist ? Impossible !
But going back once more to the earliest use of the argument from nature
— the view which was content to take nature in all her beauty simply as a
type and symbol, we need not be surprised to find this very same view
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 597
treasured up in that storehouse of things new and old of all that is true and
tender and touching— our own Scriptures, and stamped with the seal of the
Master, He who said, " Gather up the fragments that nothimi he lost," was
pleased to take thafrdeep and true parable of Eleusis and apply it to Himself.
It was on the one occasion when He is recorded to have met Greeks — Greeks
who, as Welcker points out, must have been familiar with the teaching of
Eleusis — that our Lord put forth His parable of the seed-corn as a type of
Himself : " Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth
alone ; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." 1 It is to Greeks also—
and neither to Romans nor to Hebrews — that St. Paul addresses his grand
argument for the Resurrection.-
These thoughts link us on in sympathy to the little band of eager listeners
gathered round the dying Socrates, as they knit us in faith to the dying
Christ.
2. 2'he Psychological Proof or Argument from a certain cajmciti/ of the
Soul. — The second argument {Phasdo, 72 E. et seq.) is founded on the
Platonic doctrine of recollection, and is brought forward by none other than
Cebes himself — the hardest of all men to convince — the mover (as we remember)
of the first objection against the immortality of the soul. The earnestness of
Socrates, however, has as usual struck fire, and Cebes now in his turn bethinks
him that if the doctrine of " Recollection" is true, if knowledge is nothing else
than reminiscence, then on that supposition we must have learnt what we now
recollect at some former time, and that would be impossible unless our soul
existed somewhere before she came into this human form. So that from this
reasoning also, he concludes, "the soul would seem to be something immortal."
Simmias asks for proofs. What reason is there for supposing that know-
ledge is nothing but the recollection of something which we have seen in a
former state of existence ? Cebes reminds him of the proof advanced in the
Meno, viz. that if questions be put in the right way to a person ignorant of a
science — geometry is the example given — the correctness of his answers will
often be such as to surprise the questioner.
In the Meno, Socrates is represented as demonstrating this practically on a
slave-boy from whom he elicits by questioning some elementary geometrical
truths. How had the boy acquired this information ? Had any one taught
him geometry ? Certainly not. Meno, his master, can vouch for that,
inasmuch as the boy was born and brought up in his house. Then the con-
clusion is that he must have learned it in a former life before he was born into
this world, and the skilful questioning of Socrates has awakened the slumbering
remembrance of it in his mind. Thus not only what we call Divine truth, but
every kind of knowledge, was included in the scope of the doctrine of recollec-
tion, and Plato's enthusiasm for it in his earlier days was unbounded.^
One passage in the Meno is so important for our purpose, not only as giving
the first account of "recollection," but as Plato's first clear utterance on the
subject of immortality, that we must transcribe it here in full. Plato takes
his start from the doctrine of the transmigration of souls as already known
and taught by the poets and in the orphic mysteries : —
" I have heard," he says {Meno, 81), "from certain wise men and women
Divine things — things true, so it seems to me, and glorious. Some of them
were priests and priestesses, who had studied to be able to give a reason for
the things which they practised, and Pindar also has the same saying, and
^ St. John xii. 24. ^ I Corinthians xv.
^ The doctrine of recollection, although attributed here to Socrates, is nowhere mentioned
in the earliest of Socrates' Dialogues, and it becomes less prominent in Plato's later works.
598 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
many other Divine poets. And what they tell us is this, that the soul of man
is immortal, and at one time has an end which they call dying, and at another
is born again, but never perishes. And the lesson of this is that men ought
always to be leading lives of perfect holiness.
'* Souls from whom Persephone has accepted the penalty of old crime she
giveth back to the upper world and the sunlight in the ninth year, and from
them go forth noble kings and men great in might and wisdom, and these are
hailed by after ages as sacred heroes.
" Seeing, then, that the soul is immortal, and born many times, and has
beheld all things both here and in the world below, there is nothing that she
has not learned, so that it is not to be wondered at, if she is able to recollect
things which she knew before concerning virtue and other matters. For as
all nature is allied and the soul has learned all things, there is nothing to
prevent her, when one thing alone has been remembered — that which men
call "learning" — from finding out everything else for herself, if she seeks
courageously and without weariness. For ail seeking and learning is but
recollection. We must not, therefore, yield to the sophistical argument (that
it is impossible to find out the truth), for it will make us indolent and is
pleasant to the ears of the sluggard, whereas this saying will make us workers
and seekers after truth."
The doctrine of recollection in its connection with immortality therefore
seemed to Plato a key that would ultimately unlock all truth (Meno, 85) : "If
the truth of all things is always in the soul," he says, " the soul must be
immortal. Wherefore be of good cheer, and try to find out what you do not
know, that is, what you do not remember — it will come back to you."
In the Phsedo, however, Plato goes a step further and spiritualises the
teaching of the Meno, for he bases the argument not on the remembrance of
anything and everything which the soul may have seen in a previous state of
existence, but on the remembrance of the ideas, those eternal urhilder, the
original types of earthly things. The reasoning is {Pligedo, 76 D.) that if the
absolute beauty and goodness existed before we were born, so also did our
souls, for they then beheld that which is remembered here when the sight of
the earthly copy awakens within us a recollection of the heavenly reality.
The reader will recollect in his turn that we have already met with this
doctrine of recollection in its most beautiful and pregnant form in the mythos
of The Soul and its Wings (p. 573). There "recollection" appears as the
faculty of thought, as that which distinguishes man from the beasts. We call
to mind the picture of the life of the soul before birth, when it lived with the
gods and was allowed to follow in their train and accompany them to the
heavenly feast — to drive its chariot with the ill-matched steeds up the steep
ascent of heaven, there to take its stand upon the outermost ridge and behold
in the realm of true being (the presence of God) the Divine verities — the
absolute justice, truth, beauty, knowledge — those realities of which earthly
things are but a shadowy copy and image. We recollect also that any soul,
even although it should afterwards fail, and, through the fault of the charioteer,
reason, or of its troublesome mortal steed, break its wing ; yet, if it had suc-
ceeded in getting but a glimpse of the Divine realities, that soul, when it fell
to earth, coidd pass into no other form save that of man, the upward-looker.
Why? Because it had looked upon God, true being — it had fed in the
plain of truth upon His Divine attributes, the ideas, justice, beauty,
righteousness, knowledge, and had thus become capable of "recollecting"
them, and of recognising them in the feeble earthly images wherein it might
afterwards see them reflected as in a glass darkly upon earth.
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 599
This is Plato's doctrine of "recollection" in its highest, grandest form.
Man is man and not mere animal, because he can grasp in thought and aspira-
tion the great realities which are apprehended by mind alone, not by the
animal senses ; and every such thought and aspiration is a " reminiscence " of
the things that he saw and knew when he himself lived with the blessed before
his soul was shut up in the tomb of the body " like an oyster in its shell."
Has, then, Plato's doctrine of recollection any real value as a proof of the
immortal nature of the soul ? Most certainly, if for the word recollection we
substitute such terms as " elements of judgment laid up within us," " latent
capacities," " slumbering faculties," <' divine intuitions," " power to apprehend
the Divine." We still maintain with Plato that the power to ap-prehend, if
not to com-prehend, God is that which distinguishes man qud man, and marks
him off from the brute. A soul that can rise to the " recollection " or appre-
hension of the absolute — the perfect righteousness, wisdom, beauty — is
separated from the brutes by a gulf that can never be bridged over.
3. The Ontological Proof or Argument from the Nature of the Soul. — The
argument from " recollection," however, as Socrates' hearers speedily point
out, has only proved the half of what was to be proved — it shows, if accepted,
that the soul existed before birth, but we still want proof that the soul will go
on existing after death " (Phaedo, yj 'B. et seq.).
Socrates thinks that this has been demonstrated by the first proof of the
circle of life, taken in conjunction with the second proof of the capacity of the
soul. Cebes and Simmias seem to him (he adds, with a touch of the old
humour) like children who imagine that, if they happen to die in weather
which is not perfectly calm, their soul may be dispersed and blown away by
the gale.
Cebes laughs : " Then try to persuade us aright, dear Socrates," he says,
" or, rather, speak to us as though there were among us a child whom we would
fain persuade not to fear death like a hob-goblin."
Thus urged, Socrates applies himself once more to the argument, and this
time the proof he advances is drawn from the nature of the soul. We must
inquire, he says, as to whether it belongs to the things that are likely to be
dispersed or not — and hope or fear accordingly. Well, then, let us ask : —
(a) Which things are most likely to be broken up and "dispersed " — things
which are " composite " in their nature, made up of diverse elements, or things
which are not composite, but simple and homogeneous in their natures?
Naturally, it is the " composite " things which can readily be separated again
into the parts from which they were compounded at the first.
(b) Then, again, does it not seem most natural that those things which are
always the same and unchanging are the things which are not composite ;
whilst, on the other hand, those things which are constantly changing (growing
old and passing away), and are now in this condition, now in that, belong to the
composite (and " dispersable ") class? — " It seems so to me, at least," says Cebes.
Then to go back upon those great subjects which we have just been dis-
cussing — true existence, absolute beauty (justice-in-itself, truth-in-itself) — can
we suppose that these things ever change, even in the very slightest degree —
impossible ! Naturally, then, such things must be " simple " and abiding in
their nature.
But, on the other hand, think of the many beautiful things — the relatively
beautiful, as opposed to the absolute — such as men, or horses, or garments, or
anything of the sort — are they always the same ? Clearly not ; they are con-
stantly changing, and so belong to the class of varying and composite and
" dispersable " things.
6oo PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
And then again, these things which are always changing, do we not dis-
cern them by the help of the senses ? Can we not see them and touch them ?
But the things which are always the same and unchanging, can they be dis-
cerned in any other way than by the power of thought ? Are not such things
invisible and not seen ?
" What you say is perfectly true," assents Cebes.
(c) Well, then — we must assume two classes of existences — the visible and
the invisible. Things invisible, like the absolute beauty, are unchanging and
apprehended only by the power of thought ; things visible, like the many beauti-
ful things, are always changing and are apprehended by the senses — they may
be seen, touched, felt.
{d) Now, let us apply the foregoing to body and soul. Which class does
the body resemble, and to which is it most akin ? Does not the body belong to
the visible class (of composite, changing objects, which may be seen, touched,
handled) — most certainly. And how about the soul ? Herself invisible, with
which class has she most affinity — the visible and changing, or the invisible
and unchanging ? Think of the soul as we thought of her a little while ago,
gathered up into herself — not accepting the help of the bodily senses, for these
only mislead and deceive her — but inquiring by and for herself — and holding
communion with the pure, and the eternal, and the unchanging, and the undy-
ing, as though she were akin to these, and had found rest with them from her
wanderings — think of the soul in this her faculty of thought, and then say
which class she resembles, and to which she is most akin.
'* Every one must admit," says Cebes heartily, " even the dullest who has
followed this mode of reasoning, that the soul resembles entirely and in
every way that ivhich changes not, that ivhich is always the same " — the eternal.
(e) Then, again, continues Socrates, consider this — soul and body are
indeed joined together, yet has not nature appointed the latter to serve and
obey, the former to command and rule ? Now in this relation also which
appears to you most to resemble the Divine, which the mortal ? Is it not the
function of the Divine by nature to rule and lead, of the mortal to serve and
obey ? Certainly. Now which of these twain does the soul resemble ?
" Clearly, oh Socrates," Cebes rejoins, " the soul is like to the Divine, the
body to the mortal."
Summary. — What must follow, then, from all that has been said is, that the
soul most resembles the Divine, and undying, and intelligent, and simple,
and indissoluble, and eternally unchangeable in itself — the body, on the con-
trary, most resembles the human, and mortal, and unintelligent, and composite,
and dissoluble, and that which is constantly changing and never the same in
itself. Is there any objection to be brought against this ? There is none.
Then the conclusion is : If it is fitting that the body should be speedily
dissolved, it is equally fitting that the soul should be entirely indissoluble,
or something approaching to that. The body, the visible part, may be pre-
served for an indefinitely long period in the visible world by the process of
embalming as in Egypt — the soul, the invisible part, goes to a noble and pure
abode, invisible like herself, even to Hades the true realm of the unseen,^ and
to the good and wise God — can we believe then that the soul, such being her
nature, can on her separation from the body be blown away and perish, as the
many say ? Impossible !
In the Republic — in the allegory of Glaucus, the old sea-god — Plato gives
a very beautiful commentary on the proof of immortality as deduced from the
1 " Hades " means the not-seen, the invisible. The name was applied by the Greeks both
to the ruler of the dead and to his kingdom.
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 60 1
nature of the soul. Glaucus, so the story ran, was a fisherman of Anthedon,
who had attained unconsciously to an unwelcome and unwished-f or bodily
immortality. By eating of a certain herb which proved to be the herb Live-
for-ever, he found himself impelled to jump into the sea, and encased within a
never-dying body, which in course of time became so encrusted and changed
that his original form was scarce discernible. Plato compares the soul,
imprisoned in the body, to the real human Glaucus in his pitiable metamor-
phosis : " Just as those who gaze upon the sea-god Glaucus can hardly recog-
nise his original condition (he says, Hep., x. 60) because the natural members
of his body are all disfigured by the waves — some broken off and some
shattered, whilst other things have grown over them, shells and seaweed and
stones, so that he is more like some monster than himself as he was by nature
—so now we see the soul marred by ten thousand ills. But there," adds
Socrates suddenly as by a Divine intuition, " there must we look if we would
see her real nature."
"Where?" asked the startled listener.
*'At her love of Wisdom. — Consider whom she clings to and with
whom she longs to hold converse, as being akin to the Divine and immortal
and eternal — and what she might become if she followed this Divine longing
wholly, and were carried by her eagerness out of the sea in which she now is,
and had stripped oft' the stones and shells — the earthly stony things — which in
wild abundance have now overgrown her, because she nourishes herself upon
earth, feasting on the so-called ' good things' of earth."
" If we would understand the real nature of the soul, then, we must examine
her with the eye of reason, and see her — not only in her original purity — but
in the efforts which she makes to regain that purity, to shake off the earthly
encumbrances which weigh her down, that she may rise out of the sea
of mortal ill and attain to the haven where she fain would be, even with
wisdom, her beloved."
Two objections are broug-ht forward.— To return to the Phxdo
(84 C. et seq.). After Socrates has ended his third proof, a long silence falls
upon the little company. Most of them, including Socrates himself, are
occupied in pondering what has been said. Simmias and Cebes, however,
seem to be discussing something softly between themselves, and when Socrates
perceives this, he asks them if they are not quite satisfied, if they see any-
thing wanting in the argument ? and he urges them to speak out, and let
him know their whole mind that he may help them, if they will take him into
counsel. Thus encouraged, Simmias owns that he and Cebes still have doubts
on which they would learn his opinion, but they fear that it might not
be agreeable to him to listen to them on account of the present calamity.
Simmias and Cebes evidently feel these doubts to be of a nature so terrible,
that they would fain leave their old friend in possession of his "good hope"
and not endanger his peace of mind in view of the approaching " calamity."
Socrates' reply is very characteristic and very beautiful. He smiles
gently as he remarks that it would be hard indeed for him to convince other
men that he does not regard his present circumstances as a " calamity," if
he has not succeeded in convincing them. They evidently think him a worse
prophet than the swans, who sing most and best when they feel they a.re
about to die, for joy that they are going to the god whose servants they
are. Men slander the swans, and say that they sing a lament for grief
that they must die ; but men forget that no bird, not even the nightingale,
sings when it is in pain or distress. Socrates thinks rather that being
dedicated to Apollo, the god of prophecy, the swans possess the seer's gift, and
6o2 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
beholding beforehand the good things in Hades, they sing and rejoice on the
day of death more than in all their life before.
Now Socrates himself is their fellow- servant and consecrated to the same
god ; the gift of prophecy has been given no less to him by his master, and
he departs this life no whit less joyously than the swans. Wherefore let
not Cebes and Simmias hesitate to speak and ask him any question they
wish — so long as the Eleven allow him to listen.
Both feel that the time is short — if Socrates can solve their doubts, it
must be now or never. Accordingly Simmias proceeds to state his difficulty
with the touching apology which we have already noticed, that where a stead-
fast Word of God is wanting, a man must save himself from the waves of
doubt by the help of the strongest and most irrefutable human word he can
find, and sail on that as on a raft through life. To shirk a difficulty were an
unmanly thing ; therefore he will not be ashamed to state his.
{a) The Lyre and its Harmony. — Simmias' perplexity springs from the
doctrine of the Pythagoreans, that the soul is a "harmony" (Phmdo, 85 B. etseq.).
He thinks that Socrates' argument regarding body and soul applies with equal
force to the relation between a lyre and the harmony which it produces. For
the harmony of a well-tuned lyre is, like the soul, something invisible and
incorporeal and wondrously beautiful, yea Divine — whilst the lyre itself and
its strings are bodies, corporeal and composite and earthly and akin to the
mortal. But if the lyre were to be broken or its strings cut asunder, it might
be maintained that the harmony, being akin to the immortal, must of necessity
still exist somewhere and that it is impossible for it, being so Divine a thing,
to perish before the mortal, the wood and strings of the lyre.
That this objection of Simmias is based on a materialistic conception of
the soul, he proceeds himself to demonstrate, for he adds, " You know that we
hold the soul to be something of the kind. The body may be likened to a
stringed instrument, kept together by heat and cold, dryness and moisture,
and so forth — whilst the soul is the ' harmony ' or mingling together of these
elements in due and beautiful proportion. Therefore, if the soul is this kind
of harmony, it is clear that — when the body is unstrung or overstrained by
disease or any other evil — the soul must necessarily perish, most divine though
she be, like the tones of the lyre or any other harmony — whilst the remains
of any body may last for a long time, until they are either burned or decay."
Such is Simmias' objection — " Consider now," he says, " what we shall
say in reply to any one who maintains that the soul, being a mixture of the
bodily elements, must be the first to perish in that which we call ' death.' "
Socrates looked round upon them all, the little eager expectant band, as
was his wont, and smiled. Simmias has not grasped the argument badly, he
says, but before answering him he would like to hear what Cebes has to say.
This will give him time to take counsel with himself as to how he shall best
answer both.
(&) The Old Weaver and Ids Cloak. — Cebes' objection is stronger than that
of his friend. He will not allow with Simmias that the soul is weaker or less
durable than the body. On the contrary, the soul seems to him in all these
things to have the advantage. Then (the argument might say) why do you
not believe when you see that after death the weaker still continues to exist
(as in the case of the embalmed body)? Does it not seem to you that the
more permanent must of necessity still be safe and sound somewhere during
that time? To answer the argument, Cebes feels that he, like Simmias, must
borrow an illustration in order to explain his meaning (Phsedo, 87 B. et seq.).
This sort of reasoning, then, appears to Cebes much like that of one who
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 603
should point to an old weaver that had died, and argue that because the cloak
which the man had woven for himself was still safe and sound, therefore the
weaver — being of the genus Hoino and stronger than the cloak — must also
probably still be in existence somewhere, safe and sound, since what was weaker
than himself had not perished. But just consider this, continues Cebes ; the
weaver, it is true, is not weaker than his cloak, for during his lifetime he has
woven for himself many such cloaks and worn them out, every one — except the
last. Now, he adds, the same figure may, I think, be transferred to the
relation of soul and body. For in like manner it may be said that every soul
wears out many bodies, especially if she lives many years. For if we admit
that the body is in perpetual flux, continually decaying even during the life
of the man, and as continually being rewoven and renewed by the indwelling
soul — yet at last this must necessarily follow, that when the soul herself
decays, she has 'tcoven her last garment, and must perish before that, for it is
not till the soul has perished that the body shows the nature of its weakness
and falls into decay. So, on this reasoning, we cannot yet be confident or
believe that our soul after death still exists somewhere. For even if we
admit that the soul not only exists before birth (as Socrates declares), but
that after death it will continue to exist and be born again and die many times
— for such is its strength by nature that it may outlast many births — yet we
must also admit this, that the soul may suffer in its many births, and at last,
in one of its deaths may perish utterly.
In this sense also it may weave its last garment. But ichen that death
and that dissolution of the body which will bring destruction to the soul
shall be, no man may say, for such knowledge is not possible to any one of us.
Wherefore, Cebes concludes, if these things are so, it beseems no man to be
over-confident in death, or to cherish a foolish hope, for he is not able to prove
that his soul is wholly immortal or indestructible. And if he cannot do that,
then the man who is about to die must always be in fear concerning his soul,
lest in the separation from the body it be utterly destroyed.
There is nothing more pathetic in the whole range of literature than the
consternation which falls upon the little group when Sinimias and Cebes have
ended their demonstrations {Phxdo, SS B. et seq.). It affects ourselves to this
day in the simple narrative of Phsedo ; the hope which the strong confident
reasoning of Socrates had raised to a certainty is dashed to the ground, and
the intensity of the despair is heightened by the circumstances — for every
moment is bringing their beloved teacher and friend nearer, not to the
glorious immortality which he fondly foresees, but to — annihilation. No
sooner has the sun gone down than all that is left of Socrates will be the
broken instrument that once discoursed music so sweet, dumb and mute, with
its cords snapt in twain. They will be able, indeed, for a little while to gaze
upon the garment that had veiled the beautiful soul, but the soul itself, the
old weaver, where will it be? Will that most Divine thing, strong in its
confidence of life and the living God, indeed be blown away and dispersed
like an empty nothing ?
Some such thoughts as these seem to have fallen with crushing weight on
Socrates' disciples. If his reasoning could be thus refuted, what argument
could henceforth be worthy of credence ? And they themselves who had put
faith in this reasoning, how foolish they felt ! Could they henceforth trust
themselves as fit judges in any argument whatsoever ?
But Socrates— what of him? Does he appear weighed down or discon-
certed by this change in the situation, or does he calmly come to the rescue of
his argument when he hears the battle-cry ?
6o4 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
Phsedo shall tell us. He had often admired Socrates before, he says, but
never more than now. The old philosopher had listened pleasantly and kindly
and even admiringly to the reasoning of the young men, but now — perceiving
in a moment the impression made by it upon the others, the wave of despondency
which is sweeping over the circle — like a brave general, he immediately calls
back his defeated and retreating troops, forces them to turn, to follow him, to
face the argument, and — to conquer. In a word, to use another of Phsedo's
similes — he healed them.
But how ? There is no haste, no vehemence. He that believeth shall not
make haste, and Socrates quietly allows the first excitement to subside before
he enters upon any refutation of the objections. Phsedo, the beloved disciple,
happens to be sitting on a low stool at the right hand of the master to whom,
so the story runs, he owes his freedom. Socrates gently strokes the head of
the youth, as though by the action he would soothe and infuse into him his
own calmness — and says as he gathers back the clustering locks, playing with
them as was his wont : " To-morrow, Phsedo, you will probably cut off this
beautiful hair."
" Of course I shall, dear Socrates."
" Not if you listen to me," rejoins Socrates.
''Why not?"
"We will do it to-day," says Socrates. "Both you and I will shear our
locks for very grief if the argument dies and we cannot call it back to life
again. And if I were in your place, and the argument escaped me, I would
vow like the Argives not to let my hair grow again until I had renewed the
fight with Simmias and Cebes, and my argument had won the day."
" Two against one," rejoins Phsedo ; " they say that Heracles himself was
not equal to that encounter ! "
" Then so long as the daylight lasts, call me like lolaus to your help."
" That I will," says Phsedo ; " I certainly will call you to my help, but let
us reverse the story. I, lolaus, call you Heracles / '^
And so in the most natural and beautiful way, serenity is recovered.
Surely, Socrates could never jest or speak in this light and playful manner
unless, indeed, he were a very Heracles, and had in reserve an invincible
weapon, wherewith to demolish utterly this many-headed Hydra that assailed
the argument.
A few preliminary words are next spoken [Phgedo, 89 C. e/ seq.) — ostensibly
to the youthful Phsedo, bat meant for the others — warning him against a
certain great danger which Socrates sees ahead, the danger of becoming a
hater of inquiry (miso-logos = a, hater of reason). There can, perhaps, no
greater evil befall a man, says Socrates, than this hatred of inquiry. But
misologia, the hatred of inquiry, springs up in the same way as does mis-
anthropia, the hatred of mankind. For misanthropy insinuates itself into a
man who has trusted some one too much without possessing suflicient knowledge ;
he has believed him to be true and sound and faithful, and then a little later
has discovered him to be the very reverse. When a man has experienced
this several times, and especially among those whom he deemed his nearest
and dearest friends, he ends by hating all men and believing that there is
nothing sound in any one. And is not that a hateful mistake, and is it not
clear that the hater of his fellow-men is one who has undertaken to deal with
men without the necessary knowledge of human nature ? . . . And so it is with
the hater of inquiry. Because an argument in which a man had put faith
after a while seems to him (rightly or wrongly) to be false, and then another,
and another — he loses faith in all. And you know, continues Socrates, that it
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 605
is just those that make a business of finding proofs of contradictory arguments ^
who suppose that they have attained to highest wisdom, and that they alone
have the penetration to see that there is nothing sound or stable in anything
or any reasoning, but that all things that exist are just like the ebb and flow
of the Euripus, tossing up and down, and never abiding any time in the same
place.^
" And would it not be justifiable, Phsedo," continues Socrates earnestly, " if,
when a true and trustworthy proof exists and is within reach, a man should
nevertheless miss it, because he has chanced to light upon certain of these
arguments which appear now true, now false, and should not see that he him-
self and his own want of discernment are at fault, but at length from sheer
vexation should gladly throw the blame from himself upon the reasoning, and
thenceforth go through life hating and reviling inquiry, and deprived of real
truth and knowledge ? "
" By heaven ! " rejoins Phaedo, " that were indeed a pitiable case — a case,
let us note, which is by no means rare at the present day. How many of our-
selves, because one link in a chain of reasoning is suspected, instead of blaming
our own lack of penetration, hastily throw up the inquiry and persuade our-
selves that truth exists nowhere — truth all the while standing patiently at our
side, ready to reveal herself if we will but be manly enough to continue the
search ! "
" Therefore, and first of all," says the manliest of thinkers, " we will be on
our guard against the supposition that there is no sound reasoning, and not
allow such a thought to enter our mind. We will believe rather that it is we
ourselves who have not yet attained to soundness. We must be courageous
and zealous — you and the others for the sake of your whole remaining life, I
by reason of my approaching death."
This is the attitude of the true seeker after truth.
By these considerations the listeners are brought to feel with Socrates him-
self that he that believeth — in the existence of an absolute truth and of its being
within our reach — will not make haste, and are disposed to continue the inquiry
patiently and calmly.
Socrates now takes up the thread of the discussion, prefacing it with one of
the true " Socratic" touches with which the dialogue — Platonic though it be —
abounds. " If you will take my advice, dear Simmias and Oebes," he says,
'' you will concern yourself little about Socrates, but all the more about the
truth. If I seem to you to say anything true, agree with me ; but if not,
oppose me with every argument in your power, lest in my zeal I should deceive
myself and you, and, like the bee, leave my sting in you — when I depart."
Socrates refutes the Objections.— Now, he says (91 C. et seq.), let us
get to work. Simmias does not believe, because he fears that the soul, although
more Divine and more beautiful than the body, must — inasmuch as it is of the
nature of a harmony — perish before the latter. Here all depends upon the
truthfulness of the analogy — but — can the soul indeed be compared to a har-
mony ? Socrates disproves this in three ways : —
(a) Firstly, by the Doctrine of Recollection. — This Simmias and Cebes have
both accepted. They believe that the soul which comes into the world with
" recollections" (what we now term "intuitions") so Divine, must needs have
learned them in some previous state — consequently, that she existed before she
came into the form and body of a man. How, then, can she be compared to a
1 The Sophists and Eristics.
2 The tides of the Euripus, the strait between Boeotia and the island of Euboea, were
supposed to change seven times in the twenty-four hours.
6o6 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
harmony ? Must not the body of the harmony, the lyre and its strings, neces-
sarily be in existence before the " soul," the harmony itself, can be produced ?
The analogy therefore fails on the first count, for the soul-" harmony " exists
before its body.
(b) Secondly, from a consideration of the essential nature of a harmony. — A
harmony can never be inharmonious, in so far as it is a harmony — ein-klang is
not 7niss-klang — unison is not dissonance. But in the soul there is a dissonance,
viz. vice. Therefore, here again the analogy fails.
(c) Thirdly, and chiefly — look at the relation of soul and body. — Is there
anything appertaining to man that rules in him except the soul ? Nothing.
But how does the soul rule in him ? By yielding to the impulses of the body,
or by resisting them ? Just think. When a man is hot and thirsty, does not
the soul draw him to the opposite of what he longs for, and forbid him to drink,
and when he is hungry, does she not forbid him to eat ; and so on, in a
thousand other ways do we not see the soul opposing the body ? ^ But if the
soul were a harmony, the very reverse would be the case ; she would never
raise her voice in opposition to the elements of which she is composed — the
tightening, and relaxing, and quivering of the strings — she would follow these,
not lead them. But the soul does the opposite, for she leads the elements out
of which (so some say) she is composed, and well-nigh all through life she sets
herself in opposition to them and rules every mood — sometimes chastening by
stricter discipline and by pain (as in gymnastic and medicine) — sometimes re-
straining by gentler measures, admonishing and threatening the desires and
impulses and fears, as though she herself were another person addressing some-
body else. Thus Homer in the Odyssey (xx. 17, 18) says of Odysseus : —
" But he smote his breast and rebuked his heart with the words :
Endure ray heart 1 far worse hast thou endured before ! "
Do you think Homer would have written that if he had regarded the soul
as a " harmony " made to be led by the impulses of the body, and not rather as
made to lead these and govern them, and comparable to something far more
Divine than any harmony ?
" By Heaven ! " says Simmias, " I do not think he would."
" Then, my friend," pursues Socrates, " in noway whatsoever can we declare
the soul to be a ' harmony,' for by so doing we should neither be in accordance
with the Divine poet. Homer, nor yet with our own selves — for the simple
reason that each of us knows the soul to be the leading and determining power
within us."
Both Simmias and Cebes acknowledge themselves perfectly satisfied, and
Socrates then addresses himself to the more weighty objection of Cebes, viz. :
that the soul — although in existence before the body, and superior to it in
every way — may yet, after having worn out many bodies, herself succumb and
perish. This possibility of the soul's being after all destructible, Socrates
answers in a magnificent argument.
4. The Dialectical Proof— The Soul as the Life-Bearer.— Plato's con-
cluding argument is based on the great doctrine of ideas. With this we are
already tolerably familiar (see ante, p. 563). We know Plato's belief that all
earthly things have a heavenly prototype — that there exists a something which
is the spiritual essence of each — the absolute thing-in-itself. In the Phxdo
(too B. et seq.) Plato lays down what we may call two great '' laws " concerning
these essences or ideas.
^ See the passage from the Republic, p. 579.
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 607
(a) The first is that the earthly thing is what its name implies — beautiful,
good, just — only by participation in its own essence or idea. Take beauty as
an example : " It is evident to me," says Socrates, " that if there is anything
beautiful besides beauty — in itself — that thing is beautiful from no other
cause than because it shares in the absolute beauty . . . nothing else makes it
beautiful except the presence of the absolute beauty or communion with the
latter."
(h) Plato's second " law " is that the absolute can never receive its opposite. —
Otherwise it would cease to be the absolute, the essence. The concrete
earthly things run into and are generated from their opposites, as we saw in
the first proof of the circle of life. But the essence or principles of these
things will never receive their opposites, and this is a distinction which it is
necessary to hold fast. Let us make it clear by an illustration : There is one
thing which we term heat and another which we term cold, and there are
things which we call fire and snow. But are heat and cold the same as fire
and snow ? Certainly not. Heat and cold, then, are essences and opposites,
and being such they will never receive or admit one another. To pursue our
illustration, snow may be melted, but is the principle of cold thereby destroyed?
No ; it has simply retired at the advance of its opposite, heat, and is still in
existence somewhere. In like manner, fire may be put out, but heat is not
destroyed — it has simply retreated, because it could not admit its opposite, cold.
These two " laws " once mastered, we have no difficulty in following
Socrates in the application of the reasoning : —
(a) The ideas are essences which communicate the property that is
peculiarly their own to earthly things.
(b) The ideas will never receive their opposites.
The soul itself is now shown to be an essence, an essential principle, for (a)
she too has something to communicate peculiarly her own ; [b) she, too, will
not receive the opposite of her own essential nature.
Question. Tell me, says Socrates (Phsedo, 105 C. et seq.), what is that the
in-coming of which will render a body alive ?
Answer. The soul.
Question. And is this always the case ?
Answer. Certainly.
Question. Then whatever the sovil takes possession of, to that she comes
bringing life ?
Answer. Assuredly she does.
Question. And is there any opposite to life ?
Answer. There is, said Cebes.
Question. What?
Ans'wer. Death.
Question. And the soul will never, as has been acknowledged, receive the
opposite of that which she brings ?
Answer. Most certainly not, said Cebes. . . .
Question. And what do we call that which does not receive or admit of
death ?
Ansiver. The immortal.
Question. And the soul, the LiFE-bringer, will not admit of death ?
Answer. No.
Question. Then the soul is iminortal. Shall we take this as proven ?
Answer. Yea, O Socrates, says Cebes, as abundantly proven.
And if the soul is immortal, then she is also imperishable. Just as the
essential principle, heat, retires at the approach of its opposite, cold, so does
6o8 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
the essential principle, life, of which the soul is the bearer, withdraw af^B?
approach of death. " When death comes upon a man, the mortal part of him,
as is natural, dies ; but the immortal hastens away, retiring before death, and
is preserved safe and sound. Therefore unquestionably, O Cebes, the soul is
immortal and indestructible, and our souls will truly exist in another world —
even in Hades, the unseen.
To sum up. — In the first proof, Plato reasons from the circle of life. In
the second, from the Divine intuitions of the soul, its power to "recollect," i.e.
perceive, the Divine. In the third he infers from the nature of the soul, that
it is a simple non-composite, invisible essence, able to hold communion with
the immortal, to rule the mortal and hence akin to the Divine. In the fourth
he proves that to whatever it comes it is the bearer of life, and hence that it
cannot admit or receive its opposite death.
To this grand chain must now be added the argument from the Pha^drus
(245 0. et seq.) of the soul as the self -moving — an argument re-stated again in
the Laus (x. 894 0. et seq.).
The Soul Immortal because Self-moving".— The whole soul, says
Plato, is immortal, for that which is ever in motion is immortal, but that
which moves another, and is moved by another, in ceasing to move, ceases to
live. Only that which is self-moving — in that it does not forsake itself —
never ceases to move, and is also the fountain and beginning of motion to all
other things that move.
Now the beginning is unbegotten, for all that is must of necessity be
begotten from a beginning ; but the beginning itself is begotten of nothing,
for if it were begotten of anything, it would not be a beginning.
And since it is unbegotten, it is of necessity imperishable. For if the
beginning were destroyed, it could neither itself ever be begotten of anything,
nor anything else of it, for all things must come from the beginning.
Therefore, the beginning of motion is the self -moving, and this can neither
be destroyed nor begotten, otherwise all heaven and the whole creation must
collapse and stand still, and never again have motion or birth.
And if the immortality of the self -moving is proved, no one who maintains
that self-motion is the very essence of the soul need be ashamed. For every
body moved from without is soul-less (a-psychon), but that which is moved
from within, of itself, is in-dwelt of sou] {em-psychon) — and such is the nature
of the soul. And if this be true — that nothing is self-moving except the soul —
then, of necessity, must not the soul be unbegotten and undying ? Touching
immortality itself, he concludes, this suffices.
May we not look upon the whole argument of the Hellene as a most noble
commentary on the declaration of the Hebrew, that the Lord God breathed
into man the breath of life, and man became a living soul — immortal, im-
perishable, self-moving, self-determining, able to hold communion with the
Divine, because itself an emanation from the Divine source of life — of
movement, mind, power?
Practical Conclusions. — His philosophical reasoning Plato follows up
with the intensely practical conclusion : If these things are so, what manner of
men ought we to be? {PJisedo, 107 B., 0.). If the soul is indeed immortal, it
is not for the present time which we call ''life" alone that care should be
taken, but for the whole, ^ and the danger which a man runs by neglecting this
appears to be awful. For if death were a release from everything, then the
wicked would be gainers by it, for when they die they would be freed not only
^ Cf. the passage from the Republic, p. 580,
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 609
from the body, but, with the soul, from their own wickedness. But now, since
it is clear that the soul is immortal, since it is clear (as he says in the Republic,
610 E.) that the soul cannot be destroyed either by evil in itself or evil coming
upon it from without — then it is equally clear that there can be no other way
of escape or salvation from evil except by becoming as good and wise as pos-
sible. For the soul arrives in the other world possessed of nothing but her
education and nurture, and these, he says, may bring to the departed at the
beginning of its new career the greatest benefit or the reverse.
The World- Order. — It is the thought that the man takes his character
with him — that as he is, — that as he has made himself so he will arrive in the
other world— which gives such grandeur to the philosophy of Plato. He is
pleading earnestly for certain convictions and a certain course of conduct, be-
cause they have reference not to this little span of life, but to the great whole
which we call eternity. And thinking of this life in its relation to eternity,
he looks on and contemplates that magnificent world-order of which every soul,
however insignificant, necessarily forms part, since it is immortal. It cannot
be stamped out of existence, but must have its connection with the world-
order, so that on its conformity or nonconformity to that will depend the
great liereafter.
" This is the aim for which we should live," he says in the Gorgias (507 D.
et seq.). " To this we should direct all our striving, both our own and that of
the state — so to act that righteousness and wisdom may be with us, and bring us
to happiness — not leading the lives of pirates, giving the rein to passion, and
endeavouring to serve it — an endless, aimless misery. For one who lives thus is
loved neither by God nor man — with such an one it is impossible to have inter-
course or friendship. For wise men say that heaven and earth and gods and
men are bound together by mutual intercourse (/i'oz?20wm = fellowship, com-
munion) and by friendship, and good order and wisdom, and justice ; and the
great whole, by reason of this, they call the Kosmos, the World-Order — not
disorder or licence. Hence he whose soul is undisciplined is shut out, by this
very fact, from communion with God.
The Judgement. — Inseparably connected with the world-order is the idea
of a future judgment, or sifting, when the good will be openly recognised and
take their place as a natural and necessary part of the world-harmony — when
also the evil will be unveiled, and either submitted to the purification which
will rid them of all that is alien to that harmony, or if they be past remedy —
rejected altogether.
This judgment, this sifting is simply the working out of that great natural
law set forth by Plato as we have seen at the beginning of his argument in the
Phaedo : —
" It can never be in accordance with Divine law," he says, " that the im-
pure should reach or touch the pure."
The pure cannot receive its opposite.
The sifting, purifying process is therefore necessary. The judgment is a
great natural law. With its awfulness Plato is profoundly impressed. In the
Laws (959), he deprecates any immoderate or ostentatious display at the burial
of the dead, and the reason which he gives is one that we ourselves may well
ponder. The soul of the deceased, he says, has gone to i-eceive judgment ; it has
gone to fulfil its destiny. Of what avail, he seems to imply, are all our earthly
honours, when we know not whether the soul, stripped of its earthly trappings,
is honourable or dishonourable in the sight of the Judge ? This thought he
works out in that one of his " myths " of the future life, which speaks most
directly to us — the picture of the judgment in the Gorgias.
2 Q
6io PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
Plato gives throughout his works several striking pictures of the other
world — in the Meno, the Phmdo, the Republic, we have brilliant and glowing
attempts to describe that which eye hath not seen nor ear heard, but like all
such attempts they fail, and for obvious reasons. Neither the poetry nor the
ingenious reasoning which pervade them can save these descriptions from fall-
ing into the category of the mythical. It is otherwise with the most " true
myth " of the Gorgias. Based on one of the deepest truths of human nature,
the conception is so profoundly significant that the word "mythos" seems
utterly out of place in regard to it, and this Plato himself appears to have felt,
for he prefaces it by saying that he is going to relate what his listeners would
probably call a " myth," but what he himself would call true, " for," he says,
" what I am about to tell you, I mean as true " {Gorgias, 523). This " true "
myth, then, relates to the judgment passed upon the soul after death.
" No one," says Plato {Gorgias, 522 E.), " who is not unreasonable and un-
manly fears death itself. He fears unrighteousness ; since of all evils the worst
is for the soul to arrive in Hades laden with iniquity." Why ? The " myth "
shall show.
Both in the time of Kronus (the Golden Age) and now, he continues, if a
man has lived justly and piously he passes at once to the isles of the blessed,
where he lives in happiness and free from evils ; but if he has lived unjustly
and without God, he goes to the prison house of punishment — Tartarus. For-
merly this judgment was held by the living on the living — that is, each man
was judged while yet in the body, on the day appointed for him to die. And
so it fell out that the sentences passed were not always just. Plutus, the ruler
of Tartarus, and those who had the oversight of the isles of the blest, both
complained to Zeus that the wrong souls were sent to them. Zeus declared
the cause of this to be, that the souls were judged while yet clad upon by the
flesh. " Those," said he, "who had evil souls were clothed in beautiful bodies,
of good birth, and wealthy, and when sentence was given many witnesses came
forward to testify that they had lived good lives. The judges, therefore, were
confused — and the more so, inasmuch as they themselves were also covered, for
before their own soul hung, like a curtain, eyes, ears, and body."
So Zeus resolved that all this must be altered — the souls of men should
henceforth be judged after death, and the judges themselves should be of those
who had also passed out of the body — his own sons, ^acus, Rhadamanthys,
and Minos. Judges and judged must alike be unclothed ; soul must behold
soul, bereft of its kinsfolk, and leaving behind it all its earthly embellish-
ments, in order that the judgment might be just.
"This is what I have heard and believe to be true," says Plato, " and from
it I deduce the following : Death — so it seems to me — is nothing but the
separation of two things, the body and the soul, from one another. When
they are sundered, each of them will show itself pretty well as it was while the
man lived, the body its nature, and the visible marks both of the care bestowed
and the impressions made upon it. Thus, for instance, if a man while alive had
a large body — either by nature, or by abundance of food, or both — his corpse
is large after death, and stout, if he were stout during life, and so on. And if
he had cultivated long hair, the corpse also has long hair. And again, if he
had been a rogue, and bore traces of ugly blows on his body from the scourge,
or other wounds, these after death are still to be seen. And if during life his
limbs had been broken or distorted, this also would be manifest after death.
In a word, in whatever condition the body was while alive, so will it be, either
wholly or for the most part, for some time after death."
The Unveiling" of the Soul. — And certainly the same seems to me to be
DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 6ii
the case with the soul. Everything is visible on the soul when she is stripped
bare of the body — both her natural quality and the impressions made on her
by the pursuits of the man during his life. When the souls arrive before the
judge ... he causes them to pass before him and beholds each one, without
knowing whose it is. Sometimes he chances upon that of the great king or of
some other king or ruler and perceives that there is nothing sound in it, but
that the soul is severely scourged and covered with wounds caused by the false
oaths and injustice which during life the man had stamped upon it — and all
crooked, through lies and false pretensions, and in no way straight, because it
had grown up without truth — and all misshapen and deformed, by reason of
unbridled luxury and insolence and want of self-control in its doings. Seeing
all this, he sends it in shame and disgrace straightway to the prison, where it
is to undergo the punishment meet for it.
The Efficacy of Punishment. — There comes to every one, however, who
suffers a punishment justly laid upon him by another, one of two things —
either he becomes better and profits by it, or he serves as an example to others,
that they, seeing what he suffers, may fear and become better. There are
some who derive benefit from the enduring of a penalty laid on them by gods
and men — those who have committed faults which are curable ; nevertheless,
this benefit accrues to them through pains and suffering, here as well as in
Hades, for in no other way can they be freed from their unrighteousness.
But again, there are those who are unjust in the last degree, and through
these unjust acts have become incurable — these become the warning examples.
They themselves can never be benefited, seeing that they are incurable ; but
they are of use to others who see them enduring for all time, on account of
their sins, the greatest and most grievous and fearful suffering, simply placed
as examples in the prison house of Hades, to be a spectacle and a warning to
the unrighteous who shall henceforth arrive there. . . .
Thus the judge, knowing nothing about the particular soul under inspec-
tion, neither whose it is nor of what descent, seeing only that it is bad, sends
it to Tartarus, first having made a mark upon it as to whether it is curable or
incurable.
The Beautiful Soul. — But sometimes he sees a soul that had lived piously
and had followed after truth — that of a mere private citizen or some other, but
specially, I maintain, of a philosopher, a lover of wisdom, who had looked to
himself and not meddled with the affairs and intrigues of men — this soul he
admires and sends it to the isles of the blessed.
Conclusion. — " So I," concludes the Platonic Socrates, in whose mouth,
most fittingly, the myth is placed, " being convinced of these things, look to
this — how I may show the judge my soul in the soundest possible condition.
Therefore, renouncing the honours which most men seek after, and directing
my eyes towards the truth, I will endeavour to live, in reality, as nobly as I
can, and when death comes, so to die. And I exhort all other men, so far as
I can, to enter upon this life and this contest, ^ which I hold to be far before
any other contest upon earth."
How I may show the judge my soul in the soundest possible condition. — Have
we not here again an anticipation of St. Paul (2 Cor. v. 9-10): "Wherefore
we labour " ( philotimoumetha = strive eagerly), says the apostle, " that, whether
in the body or out of the body, we may be well-pleasing to Him. For we must
all appear before the Judgment seat of Christ, that every one may receive
the things done in his body, according to that he hath done {epraxen =
practised), whether it be good or bad."
1 Ago7va — 2in allusion to the games.
6i2 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
Plato, too, like St. Paul {ibid. v. ii), knowing this "terror" of the Lord,
sought to persuade men. " I exhort all men to enter upon this contest," he
says, " so to live, that when their souls shall be unclothed and appear in all
their nakedness, there may be seen in them no crookedness or distortion, no
blemish or scar, no ' spot or wrinkle or any such thing,' but that each soul may
be presented to the judge shining gloriously in its own proper jewels — those
jewels which he enumerates in the Phsedo (1J4 E.)— the jewels of wisdom and
righteousness, of manliness, of freedom, and of truth."
Jesus Christ alone has demonstrated the truth of that concerning which
Plato was most fully persuaded. To Him alone the bourne whence no other
traveller has ever returned set no bounds. He has the keys of Death and
Hades. He alone has brought life and immortality to light. Yet it is not too
much to say — for the passages quoted have proved it — that Plato, with no
actual proof before him, believed in the certainty of a future life with the
most absolute and intense conviction, with an enthusiasm which puts to the
blush the apathy of professing Christians ! He will not even allow mourning
for the dead. Death is not a thing to be mourned over or feared ; it is the
very consummation of all that a true lover of wisdom desires — the moment for
which he longs, when he shall have thrown off this mortal body and escaped
like a prisoner from the prison-house to be — with God. This is Plato's view
of death.
THE IDEAL RULER
It is, however, when we turn to Plato that we find the fullest repre-
sentation of the ideal ruler — the ruler as he ought to be — in the ideal state.
And in the first place let us note, that although Plato's ideal is a republic, in
which all are brethren, yet that there are to be rulers in the strict sense of the
word, rulers armed with authority. Yet these I'ulers are not to be kings —
they are to have the milder title of guardiaris (phy lakes). And although Christ
never repudiated the title of king — King of kings, and Lord of lords. He is
expressly said to be — yet His relation to His subjects is something very
different. "I have called you friends," He says, and as above, "I am the
Good Shepherd," " I lay down my life for the sheep," so that Plato's chosen
title of guardian applies just as well to Christ as does Homer's favourite de-
scription — shepherd. He not only leads but guards — i.e. defends the sheep.
What, then, in Plato's estimation, are the qualities of the guardian — the
ruler of the people kalokagathos, truly noble and good ? If we turn to the
Second Book of the Republic, we shall find there a description of the quali-
ties essential in those who are to be selected for the office. They are as
follows : —
The ideal guardian of the state must possess two opposite sets of qualities
— two temperaments by nature opposed — those of the defender and the legis-
lator, counsellor, or ruler proper.^ The last named he sums up in the philo-
sopher, or lover of wisdom — no peace can there be for the world until the
philosopher bears rule {Rep., v. 473 C).
Will such a ruler or such a state ever be found ? Not at present on
earth — but one such ruler and one such state is quite enough, he says {ibid.
502 A., B.).
I. The guardian must be quick to see the enemy, and swift to pursue him,
when seen — consequently, he must be courageous — must possess that certain
1 One cannot but think that Plato is summing up and idealising the two opposite race-
characteristics of the greatest peoples of Greece — lonians and Dorians.
THE IDEAL RULER 613
8omething which will make him absolutely fearless and unconquerable. In a
word, he must be manly (andreios).
2. Then, secondly, he must be high-spirited; nay, even passionate {thy-
moeides) (capable of a hot outburst on occasion, either of indignation or of zeal —
for without this mental quality, mere bodily courage will not avail much).
3. But these high-spirited courageous people are apt to be fierce — {ayrioi —
savage) — with one another, and the other citizens. We must, therefore, have
a third quality, and that is gentleness. It is absolutely indispensable that our
guardian shall not only be high-spirited but gentle (j)raos), a word one of whose
significations, " tamed," is significant enough.
4. For our fourth quality, we have an illustration or type, which is homely
indeed. Nevertheless if we are to follow Plato we must not pick and choose,
but give his notions truthfully as we find them. If our guardian is to be high-
spirited and yet gentle— on the defensive against the foe, mild towards friends
— he must have the power of discernment, of knowing who are his friends
and who are not. Here Plato's illustration is the faithful guardian of the
house, the watch-dog, at once the most high-spirited and the gentlest of the
animals — who is on guard and fierce towards strangers, simply because he
does not know them, and gentle towards those of the household because he does
know th^m. This characteristic of the dog (as watcher of the house) Plato
regards as most noteworthy, and it must be found also in the faithful watcher
of the city. He must be able to distinguish between friend and foe.
5. Then, finally, Plato adds to the foregoing characteristics one which, in
his opinion, represents the sum of human virtues — the true guardian, he says,
must be a " philosopher." We shall inquire presently what Plato meant in
very truth by this term " philosopher " — so dear to him. Meanwhile, let us
hear his conclusion as to the qualities necessary in the ruler : —
" He who would be a good and noble guardian of the city " (the true
kalokagathos), must, he says, "be by nature a philosopher — a lover of wisdom,
and knowledge, and gentle — as well as high-spirited, swift, and strong."
1. Manliness. — [This paragraph is wanting in the MS. — Ed.]
2. High-spirited. — Was Jesus Christ "high-spirited"? Can we with truth
apply such an epithet to Him ? Can we venture to say of the Man of Sorrows
that He was a "Man of Spirit"? Yea, verily, why not? Was He then in-
capable of a sudden flash of anger or of generous indignation ? If so, He was
incapable of acting in reality as Guardian either of the truth or of the interests
of others, for as Plato himself tells us farther on (Rep. iv. 441), " spirit is the
auxiliary of reason." Reason by itself is necessarily cold and slow in action —
it needs the glow and impetus of spirit to quicken it into warmth and zeal.
In fact, is it not true that the nobler the nature, the more "high-spirited" it
is ? Wherefore, let us ask : Did He who in all things was made like unto His
brethren — yet without sin — possess His share of spirit ? Let His biographers
testify. Hear what they note concerning Him before His healing of the man
with the withered arm on the Sabbath day — " He looked round on them ivith
anger, being grieved at the hardness of their hearts" — the momentary flash
revealed His Divine scorn of their narrow-mindedness which was as visible to
the bystanders as is the lightning that flashes out from an apparently serene
sky. Or again, hear His own words, chronicled for our learning. Do they not
breathe the very concentration of passion : " Scribes and Pharisees, whited
sepulchres — hypocrites — ye generation of vipers — ye that devour widows'
houses and for a pretence make long prayers — how can ye escape the dam-
nation of hell ? " Ask those who listened to Jesus Christ whether He was
wanting either in the capacity for indignation or in passionate devotion to a
6 14 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
cause? Of whom are the simple words recorded : " And His disciples remem-
bered that it was written : 'The zeal of Thine house hath eaten me up.' " And
the occasion of the " remembrance " — when the Peasant of Galilee, armed
indeed with the scourge of small cords which He had made for Himself, but
armed still more with the fire of a righteous indignation burning in His eyes,
overturned the tables of the money-changers, and drove out the traffickers from
the courts of the temple of God. Hear again His own words : " It is written,
My house shall be called the House of Prayer, but ye have made it a den of
thieves."
Does not the "high spirit" of Jesus Christ differ from the same quality
in ourselves merely in the occasions on which it was manifested ? JVe keep our
high spirit in reserve to defend ourselves and our rights — He kept His in re-
serve to defend the cause of truth and justice — to protect the unfortunate, the
weak, and those who had no helper.
3. Gentleness. — Ah ! Here is a characteristic which by a wondrous intuition
Plato has guessed at as necessary in the Ruler. Guessed at, we repeat, for is
not the whole spirit of the rule of antiquity built up on the opposite quality —
on sternness?
Few, indeed, are the instances on record in which a ruler could afford to
lay aside, even for a day, the emblems of authority — the sceptre and the scourge
— and exchange them for the olive-branch. " The kings of the Gentiles exer-
cise authority upon them, and they who do so are called benefactors," says
Jesus Christ to His disciples, " but it shall not be so among you." Why not?
" For I, your Master^ am among you as He that serveth." And, in fact, so
completely does this aspect of the character of Jesus Christ, His ^^raotTites, His
gentleness and meekness. His beneficence, fill our minds, that it has almost
overshadowed and eclipsed the other — the sterner and regal side. And yet it
is undoubtedly the combination of the two in perfect balance that made His
perfect and unique character first as Ruler of Men, and then as the Pattern
Man — file Son of Man. Do we not recognise this union of high spirit and
gentleness as at once the rarest and the most precious of human qualities, as a
something best set forth by the aides of Homer ?
4. Then, again, was Christ's claim to be the Guardian of Men substantiated
by any proof of discernment in Him ? Did He know friends from foes, true
from false, those of the household from those that are without?
To this there can be but one answer — He that spake as never man spake
knew also as never man knew. Look at that wondrous picture of the woman
taken in sin, and brought to Him for judgment by those whose zeal for right-
eousness is such that they will be satisfied with nothing less than the death of
the offender. Is the Christ deceived ? If the woman kneeling in agony in the
midst is not as yet of His household, neither in His judgment are her accusers.
Listen to His words: "He that is without sin among you, let him cast the
first stone at her." And the result? " They all went out beginning with the
eldest even unto the youngest " — being convicted of their own conscience.
Such instances, as we know, can be multiplied at pleasure. He " knew
what was in man," therefore He would not commit Himself to men. He was
deceived neither by their apparent devotion when they would come by " force
and make Him a king" — nor by apparent deference to His opinion. "Why
tempt ye Me, ye hypocrites ? Show Me the tribute-money." Well may the
apostle take Christ's knowledge of men as one of the very bases of His Church.
" The foundation of the Lord stand eth sure, having this seal : the Lord knoiveth
them that are His." And Christ Himself makes His knowledge of men the
very basis of the final judgment which as Ruler of Men He shall pass : " Many
will say to Me in that day, Lord, Lord, have we not prophesied in Thy name,
THE IDEAL RULER 615
and in Thy name done many wondrous works ? Then will I profess unto them
I never Imew you. Depart from Me, all ye that work iniquity."
5. Was Christ a philosopher ? can only be answered when we have considered
what Plato's ideal of the philosopher was. The consideration of Plato's next and
all-embracing qualification, viz. that a guardian must be a philosopher — we
shall, for the reasons before mentioned, consider apart.
The consideration of Plato's next and all-embracing qualification, viz.
that a guardian must be a philosopher, we must consider apart, not only
because of its comprehensiveness, but because Plato himself suddenly alters
his plan in the third book, and divides his guardians into two classes : (i) those
of whom we have been speaking, the watchers and defenders against enemies
whom he now calls allies of the guardians, and (2) the legislators, or guardians
proper, the philosophers, who are the real rulers of his ideal state.
To complete his description of the defenders, however, he adds two other
characteristics which we must briefly note : —
6. Love for the State. — The best guardian or watcher will be the man who
is best fitted for the duty of watching. He must therefore not only possess
wisdom and strength, but he must care for the state, make its interests his own.
Now that we have seen what Plato wished his guardians to be by nature,
we may pass on and discover with him the principles on which they were to
be selected and appointed (412 C. et seq. ; 413 0. et seq.). These qualities
which we have just noted — manliness, high spirit, gentleness, discernment,
love of knowlege — may be born in a man, but they do not in themselves make
him a good guardian, i.e. a watcher for others. He may use them, one and all,
for his own interests. Before our guardian can be appointed, then, we must
make very sure concerning two things — first, that he has that one quality
which beyond all others makes a good watcher ; and then, secondly, that he
shall possess that other quality which guarantees the stability of the first.
What, then, is the one supreme quality in a watcher ? Is it not that he
shall identify himself and his interests with the thing which he has to watch ?
The best guardian, says Plato, is the man who is most of a icatcher {i.e.
who is wrapped up, heart and soul, in the task). The watcher of the state,
therefore, must not only possess wisdom and strength, he must actually care
FOR the state. A man, he continues, will care most for what he loves, and he
would probably love most that which is benefited by what benefits himself,
and of which he might think that when it fared well, his own welfare would
be assured, that when reverses came to it, he himself would suffer. He there-
fore will make the best guardian who has been observed all his life through to
do with zeal what he considered to be for the benefit of the state, and not
even to wish to act in any way contrary to that.
That the state is first, the individual second ; that the interests of the
individual are bound up with those of the state — this is to be the guiding
principle of the ruler, and no one is to be chosen who has not given evidence
that he has taken it for his rule of life.
Later on, in the sixth book (502 E.), Plato sums up all this in the one
stipulation that the guardian must be a patriot — a philopoUs — lover of the
state.
Can we venture to say of Jesus Christ that He was a philopoUs in this
sense— that He put His state first. Himself second ; that He considered His
own interests as bound up with those of His people? Nay, ought we not
rather to ask. Of whom could such a principle be afiirmed with greater truth
than of Christ ? Does He not lay it down as the distinction between the Good
Shepherd and the hireling that the hireling fleeth because he is an hireling,
6i6 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
and careth not for the sheep. The hireling, whose own the sheep are not,
seeth the wolf coming and leaveth the sheep. I The Good Shepherd, on the
contrary, remains on the spot because his interests are bound up with the
safety of His flock. They are " his own " — what benefits them will benefit
him, what injures them will injure him. But, of course, here the parallel
fails. We see that the principle of self-interest which in antiquity, far more
than in modern life, was inseparably bound up with patriotism, falls far short
of the truth here. To watch and work for the best interests of the state was
in ancient days not only for the ruler, but for the private citizen, part of the
doctrine of self-preservation. When the state prospered, the individual was
free ; when it fell, he was enslaved. The principle of self-interest, therefore,
necessarily predominates in Plato's ideal of "caring for" the state. In what
sense, however, can self-interest be said to actuate Christ as a Ruler — as the
Good Shepherd ? Simply in that highest and most beautiful sense in which
the self ceases to be self-centred, widens out, and perpetuates itself in others.
Ask the father why he watches and toils and struggles to give his son the
best possible start in life — ask the mother why she watches and waits unresting
day and night by the bed of her sick child — and they will tell you that it is
because what they are watching and working for is infinitely precious ; their
own interests have passed over into a new self, and self-interest has taken a
new name, even the most unselfish name of love. And is not this the trans-
formation which the Christ has wrought in the ideal of the shepherd and ruler
of the people ? Is He not Himself the Father of the flock which He purchased
with His own blood ? Are not its members " the members of His body, of
His flesh, and of His bones " ? ^
To sum up, we may boldly say that Jesus was not only a pMlopolis, a
lover of His own State, the Church, but a pliilopairis^ a lover of that state into
which He entered when He condescended to take human flesh. He was a true
patriot in the natural as in the spiritual sense of the term ; He loved the little
country of His birth with a depth of affection that will only find relief in
tears ; and He loved the greater country of the whole inhabited Kosmos — no
man therein who is not His brother. " Go ye out into all nations," and win
them for Me, is His last command. He will have all men to be saved — to
come, that is, under the shadow of His wings, within the embrace of His
love. Philopolis, philojpatris — Patriot beyond all others — is the Guardian of
Guardians, Jesus Christ.
Nature of the Lover of Wisdom. — After defining those to whom the
name of " Lover of Wisdom " {pliilosoplws) is to be given, Plato proceeds to
sum up the qualities which must exist in him by nature, in order that he may
really be a partaker of true being ; and first and foremost among these quali-
ties he places —
I. Love of Truth. — The true lover of wisdom, he says {Rep., vi. 485), does
not willingly admit a lie into his mind ; he hates it, and loves the truth.
That is likely to be the case, says Glaucon.
Not only likely, my friend, retorts Socrates warmly, but necessarily it will
be the case, for the man who loves anything by nature must love all that is
akin and related to the object of his affections.
Right !
And could you find anything more akin to wisdom than truth ?
How could I ? said he.
Then can the same nature be wisdom-loving and deceit-loving ?
Impossible !
^ St. John X. 12, 13. - Ephesians v. 30.
THE IDEAL RULER 617
Therefore, he that is truly a lover of learning must from his very youth,
so far as he possibly can, strive after all truth ?
Certainly !
2. Then, this concentration of the mind on the pursuit of truth, brings
another quality in its train, viz. soundness of mind or temperance (sophrosyiie).
We know (by experience), says Socrates, that he whose desires are strongly
directed towards one thing will have them weaker in other directions, as in the
case of a stream directed into another channel.
Of course.
He, then, whose desires are directed towards knowledge and everything
connected with it, will, I think — if he be a true lover of wisdom, and not a
mere pretender — be absorbed in the pleasures of the soul, and find no place for
those of the body.
That is most necessary.
Then, says Socrates, such an one will be of sound mind = temperate
{soph7'on).
3. And being temperate, he will be in no way a lover of money, for those
things on account of which money is eagerly sought for at great sacrifice, may
be sought for by any other rather than by him (i.e. they are things absolutely
out of harmony with the character of the true lover of wisdom).
That is true.
4. And there is another quality which we must take into account when we
are deciding whether any one has the nature of a lover of wisdom, or not.
What is that ?
There must be in him no secret illiherality . A mean spirit is totally
opposed to the spirit whose striving is ever directed towards the whole of
things, divine and human.
That is most true, said he.
Do you suppose that he who has magnificence of mind and who contemplates
all time and all existence, will think much of human life ?
Impossible, he rejoined.
5. Death, therefore, will not be terrible to such an one ?
Not at all.
The cowardly and mean nature, then, can have no share in true philosophy?
I should say not.
6. What then? The soul arrayed in the beauty of order (kosmios) — the
soul that is not covetous, or mean, or boastful, or cowardly — can it in any sense
become hard in its dealings with others, or unjust ?
It can not.
By this test then you may examine the wisdom-loving soul — not confining
your examination to its youthful days — by noting whether it is just and mild,
or unsociable and rude.
True.
7 . Nor must we, I think, overlook another point.
What is that?
Whether our candidate learns readily or with difficulty. Do you expect
that any one will love adequately anything that he does with pain, and in
which after toil and trouble he makes little progress ?
Impossible.
And again, if he is full of forgetfulness, and unable to retain anything of
what he learns, will he not be empty of knowledge.
How can it be otherwise ?
6i8 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
And labouring thus in vain, will he not be compelled at last to hate both
himself and his fruitless occupation ?
How should he not ?
A forgetful soul, then, we cannot admit among the true lovers of wisdom,
but must seek those gifted with a good memory.
Certainly.
8. And shall we not maintain that the inharmonious and unseemly nature
can only tend towards disproportion ?
Yes.
And do you believe truth to be akin to proportion or to disproportion ?
To proportion ?
In addition to the other qualities, then, we must seek for a justly-propor-
tioned and gracious mind which, of its own inborn nature, shall incline towards
the true being of everything.
Certainly.
What then ? Do we not seem to you to have enumerated all the qualities
that, in a manner, hang together and are necessary to the soul which is to pai'ti-
cipate, fully and perfectly, in true being ?
These are certainly the most necessary, said he.
And can you find fault with a pursuit (philosophy) in which he alone can
engage who is by nature endowed with a good memory, quick to learn, of noble
and magnificent, gracious mind, the friend and kinsman of truth, justice,
courage, temperance ?
Momus himself (the personification of blame), said he, could find no fault
with such a pursuit.
Then, said I, is it not to such as these, and these only, when perfected by
years and education, that you will entrust the state ?
[The comments on the first three qualifications of the ruler were planned,
but not written. — Ed.]
"When we come to the next (or fourth) qualification of the Ruler — we are
for the moment staggered. Magnificence ! Can the word in any way be pre-
dicted of the lowly Carpenter of Nazareth ? Yea, verily — in all aspects of His
character magnificence is the only word which can be used of Him with pro-
priety, for this word ^^ megaloprepeia,^^ generally rendered by " magnificence,"
means in its trueness, simply " befitting greatness."
Whether we take it in its etymological significance, however, or in its
secondary and ordinary meaning, the mind of Jesus Christ, with reverence be
it said, will stand the test. He was magnificent as no mortal man ever was,
before or since. Let us venture to measure His earthly manifestation by
Plato's standard.
(a) Magnificence in giving. — Where do you find a " secret corner of
illiberality " in Him ? When Jesus Christ gives. He gives as the Giver of the
sunshine and the rain from heaven. Think of the wine at the marriage feast
— the ample, bounteous store far and away beyond the needs on the surface of
the occasion that called forth the gift. Think of the feeding of the fainting
multitudes. When Jesus Christ feeds. He feeds not by ones and twos, or even
by hundreds — but by thousands. All are satisfied, and a surplus is left. The
disciples cast the nets at His bidding — they draw them in, full to overflowing.
It seems as though He who said, " It is more blessed to give than to receive,"
resented the restraint which He imposed upon Himself in the matter of giving
— as though HiSj Divine bounty on the occasions when He allowed it play,
welled over in the very delight — the " blessedness " of giving.
{h) Magnificence in receiving. — Our Lord has this other characteristic of a
THE IDEAL BULER 619
truly " great " mind — He can recognise and appreciate greatness in others. He
who knows the blessedness of " giving " allows that joy to others as well as to
Himself. When His disciples rebuked the " waste " of the ointment poured
upon His sacred body, they doubtless expected to be commended by Him who
had said, " Gather up the fragments that remain that nothing be lost." Not
so ! Christ can exercise a wise economy, but He can be " magnificent." Be-
hind the " waste " He perceives the priceless treasure of a magnificent impulse
— it is the devotion of a heart nigh to breaking with its weight of gratitude
that finds vent in the fragrance of the spices, and the Master accepts the costly
sacrifice, as He had accepted the silent homage of the poor woman who washed
His feet with her tears and dried them with her hair — the deepest and most
lowly tribute ever paid by impurity to purity in all the magnificence of its
lustre. Christ is magnificent also in this, that He measures m^n by motives,
not by acts — the two mites of the widow outweighed in His esteem the treasures
of the wealthiest because of the magnificence of the motive that prompted
and accompanied the gift — the dedication of the soul and body, the all of the
giver. Yes, Jesus Christ is princely in His magnificence, both as Giver and
Receiver.
(c) Then, finally, is He magnificent in Plato's ultimate and most real sense ?
Does He "think much of human life" and its interests, or is He magnificent
in mind — absorbed in great and lofty aims, " contemplating all time and all
existence " ?
Who ever surpassed Jesus Christ in the magnificence of His plans and
aims? How absolutely insignificant — how contracted has the ideal state of
Plato himself become, when contrasted with that Kingdom of God which Christ
came to found !
Think of the scheme and its originator — a Syrian peasant building up in
imagination a kingdom which is to fill the world, a kingdom against which the
gates of Hades and of death shall not prevail — a kingdom which literally is to
embrace " all time and all existence."
Think of the means by which the kingdom is to develop. No external
power, whether of pomp, or grandeur, or the sword, or favour of the great of
the earth, is to have share in the enterprise. The kingdom is to grow as nature
herself grows, from within — not from without — by sheer internal force.
Truly in the magnificent simplicity of the means to be employed the scheme
betrays the Master-mind.
Then, finally, think of the end — the picture of the Founder of the Kingdom
as Judge — the throne set — the attendant angels— all nations gathered before
Him to hear their final doom — the separation of just and unjust, accomplished
by the insight of the Judge as easily as the separation of sheep from goats by
the shepherd.
Why did not His hearers resent these pictures of the last judgment and
the statement of the speaker, their fellow-man apparently, that He was to be
arbiter of their eternal destiny ? Simply because the whole picture was in
harmony with the character and life of the speaker. His hearers felt instinc-
tively that the sifting and the separating had begun already with the appear-
ance of the Founder. Each knew in his heart that the witness of John the
Baptist was true. '' There stand eth one among you whom ye know not. He
it is who, coming after me, is preferred before me, whose shoe's latchet I am
not worthy to unloose."
Yes— think of all this, and we shall cease to ask whether Jesus Christ was
''magnificent" or not. In His giving and taking. His plans, schemes, aims,
Jesus Christ stands out with simplicity and dignity of the one truly " magni-
620 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
ficent mind " that has always acted, spoke, and thought as " befitted
greatness."
Definition of the Philosopher.— The very first quality which Plato
requires in the philosopher who would be guardian or ruler is, that he shall
have eyes.
About this, he says, there can be no doubt. We need, not a blind man,
but one who has keen sight, to keep guard over anything. And this being so,
what about keeping watch over the laws of the State ? How do they differ
from the blind — those men who in reality have no knowledge of the true being
of each thing, and have no clear pattern in their own souls, and are not able
to follow the example of the painter — to direct their gaze to absolute truth, to
refer constantly to that, and behold it as exactly as possible, that they may
order the laws here concerning the beautiful and the just and the good, if it is
necessary to make new laws, and may watch over and preserve those already
in existence?
Is he who has not this power of vision any better as a legislator than a
blind man ? We trow not.
The final definition of the lover of wisdom-ruler, then, is that, in contra-
distinction to such as wander about vaguely in subjection to the many and
varying opinions of the hour, he shall have true spiritual insight, and shall be
able to grasp the eternal and unchanging.
Of course one of the great necessities of " the eyes " is in the matter of
judging as well as legislating.
We have already spoken of our Lord as Judge, and the feeling amongst
those who heard Him that the judgment had begun already. St. Peter's
outburst, " Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, Lord," must have had
many an echo. But let us note that Jesus Christ never asks to be acknow-
ledged on a mere impulse of the sort. His claims are of a deeper nature. He
and they appeal to the "divine element" in man — the reason. Now, has
Plato, the most reasonable of reasoners, anything to tell us about the qualifi-
cations of a judge ? He has, and most weighty is his reasoning. He says in
a famous comparison of the training of judge and physician : —
Those physicians will become most skilful who from youth up have com-
bined with the learning of their art the greatest experience of disease, and
that in the worst possible forms ; and who, moreover, are not particularly
healthy by nature, and have themselves suffered from all manner of diseases.
For, I imagine, they do not cure the body by the body — in that case, we
could not allow them ever to be or to have been ill ; but they cure the body
by the soul, which is not able if it has become and is ill, to cure anything.
But the judge governs the soul by the soul ; hence it is not allowable that
he should be trained from youth up, amid vicious souls, or should consort with
them, or pass through and commit all manner of unrighteousness in order that
he may be quick from his own experience, to form a judgment concerning the
sins of others, as in the case of the diseases of the body. But the soul must
have had no experience or contamination of evil habits in youth if, itself noble
and good, it is to judge righteous judgment healthfully. Hence, youths who
are good and honourable appear simple and are easily imposed upon by the
unjust, because they have no examples of what is in themselves, evil.
Hence, again, the judge must not be young ; he must have acquired his
knowledge of evil late, not as something at home in his own soul, but as some-
thing foreign to it, which he has studied in others through a lengthened period,
and the nature of which he has discerned by knowledge (episteme), not by
actual experience (empeiria).
THE IDEAL RULER 621,
Most noble indeed, responds Glaucon, will such a judge be.
Our Lord as Judg-e and Physician.— Who does not see that Our Lord
fulfils every requirement of this " most noble " judge ? Who but He among
the children of men could say to those who had every opportunity of watching
Him, "Which of you convinceth Me of sin"?i He alone was "pure and
uncontaminated from youth up." He alone would study evil as something
"foreign" to His soul, never "at home" there, and, being thus Himself
" noble and good," could " pass righteous judgment healthfully."
Then, again, look at Jesus Christ as the physician, no less than the judge,
of the soul. Is not He who Himself bare our sicknesses, and made experience
of bodily weakness and suffering in its intensest shape, best able to diagnose
the action and reaction of body and mind one upon the other, and to know
how far a poor soul is really responsible for those sins, which, as Plato tells us
in the Timxus, are caused by the influence of the body upon it? Is it not just
because of His deep personal experience of human weakness and suffering that
He is to be the Judge of human conduct? "The Father hath committed all
judgment to the Son." Why ? Because He is the Son of Man.^
2. But then, what is that second quality which ensures the stability of
this " caring for " and " love " of the state ? It is faithfulness. And how
can it be known that a man is faithful ? In no other way than by the touch-
stone of trial. The guardian must be proved as to the firmness of his resolu-
tion to do all for the good of the state ; he must be put to the test in no less
than three different ways : —
(a) Constancy against deception. — First, says Plato, from youth up, he must
be carefully observed, and set to perform those works in which he would be
most likely to forget or be deceived about his great ruling principle. He who
remembers a;id is not to be deceived is to be chosen as ruler ; he who forgets
is to be rejected.
(b) Constancy under trial. — Next we must set before him labours and pains
and conflicts (agones), and see whether he will remain faithful to his principle
under all.
(c) Constancy amid terrors and pleasures. — Finally, he must pass through a
third kind of contest ; he must be exposed alternately to influences which
exert a sort of fascination over the mind — terror and pleasures. And having
thus been tested much more thoroughly than gold tried in the fire, we shall
see if he is able to resist these fascinations and come out of them all nobly and
with dignity, showing himself a good guardian of himself and of the " music "
which he has learned. Is ote the phrase, " The music which he has learned,"
and preserving all through, rhythm and harmony within himself, so as to be
of the greatest use to himself and to the state.
He who, as boy, youth, and man has been thus put to the test, and come
uncontaminated and pure out of the ordeal — he shall be appointed ruler and
guardian of the state, shall be honoured during life, and after death receive the
highest meed of glory, and the noblest memorials which we have to bestow.
Now is there anything in the life of Christ corresponding to this process of
sifting and proving ? Let us take Plato's tests in his own order and examine
them.
(a) The first trial consists, as we remember, in the being set to do works in
which the future guardian may be specially apt to forget and be deceived about
his great principle of the good of the state.
Naturally, when we begin to think about Christ in this connection, our
minds turn at once to the great temptation which the Evangelists tell us took
1 St. John. 2 St. John.
62 2 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
place just before He entered upon His public work, and began to found that
ideal state, the kingdom of heaven. We can see that here Christ — looking at
Him for the moment simply as a man amongst men — is in a position in which
He is peculiarly liable to be deceived into taking wrong views and making
a false start, inasmuch as He has had no experience of public life. At the
time of the trial, moreover. He is alone, and has been so for a lengthened
period, which has been occupied with high thoughts of the great work before
Him, and His own scheme for its accomplishment. Again, He has taken
no food for forty days ; His protracted fast, combined with sustained mental
effort, has left the Son of Man weaker, apparently, than the weakest of His
human brethren. At this juncture the temptation comes : " Command that
these stones be made bread " — " Use Thy Divine power for Thyself and Thine
own necessities ! "
Will He yield ? No ! The Divine power which He possesses as Son of God,
He will use, as Son of Man, only for the good of His state, of His flock ; and
He, who afterwards fed the multitudes, "because He had compassion on them,"
will not have compassion on Himself, so far as to give Himself any advantage
over them. "In all things it behoved Him to be made like unto His brethren,
that He might be a merciful and faithful " ^ Guardian. His citizens will have
to fast and suffer hunger in days to come — they will have no Divine power to
meet the necessity, and He, accordingly, divests Himself of this power that
He may identify Himself completely with them, and leave them an example of
submission and endurance. Christ is faithful to His brethren and the good of
the state.
Then the temptation comes in another form : " Do something daring and
grand — something which will excite the wonder of the multitude, and draw
the attention of men to Thyself, and Thy work — and mark Thee out as Him
whom the angels in their hands have borne up, the Chosen, and Preserved
of God."
What ! Build the ideal state, the kingdom of God, upon a foundation of
excitement and spurious emotions that appeal to the most non-thoughtful
elements in man? The suggestion is not to be entertained for a moment.
Again, the Christ is faithful to Himself and the good of the state.
Last comes the most subtle trial of all. " Thou art about to enter upon
a dangerous enterprise. Thou, poor peasant of Galilee, wouldst convert the
world, wouldst alleviate the countless miseries of human life, wouldst bring
back again the golden age. And how, thinkest Thou, can success be com-
passed without the material elements of success ? How wilt Thou gain a
single follower with naught of worldly store to offer? I, Mammon, am at
Thy service, if Thou, with Thy commanding intellect, wilt but own that I — not
God — am ruler of the world ? "
Again the Christ is not deceived. The state, whose foundation is God,
and whose first and last stone is self-sacrifice, needs no such ally as is now
offering himself, a very wolf in disguise, to the Shepherd. ''Get thee hence,
thou enemy. It is written. Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him
only shalt thou serve," and the enemy, detected, leaveth Him.
Thrice, then, Christ comes victoriously out of the attempt to deceive Him
and make Him "forget." He will be faithful to His subjects, identify His
interests with theirs, and build up the state, even the kingdom of God, on
the noble lines of absolutely disinterested toil and suffering. And let us note
that the threefold victory is won, in each case, by the memory of the " music "
^ Hebrews ii. 17.
THE IDEAL RULER 623
wherewith as man He has stored His mind : " It is written " — " It is written "
—" It is written." 1
(b) Plato's second test corresponded exactly to that which the Son of Man
voluntarily chose when He refused to build up His state by the help of the
temporal power in any shape or form. There are set before Him "labours
and pains and agonies." We seem to have here, in brief, an epitome of the
life of Christ — the labours, the earlier labours at the carpenter's bench, the
later labours in the building up of the kingdom — the three years of constant
and exhausting work teaching in private, preaching in public, the journey ings
to and fro, the ministering to the bodily wants of the multitudes, the healing
of the sick, the lame, the lunatic, the blind ; the pains — the physical priva-
tions, "The Son of man hath not where to lay His head," the enduring of
weariness, of hunger, of thirst — the mental suffering of perpetual contradic-
tion, of rejection, of contempt and scorn, of treachery and betrayal ; finally,
the untold agony of the last great struggle, and its consummation on the cross.
(c) Then, as to Plato's third test — the exposure to the " fascinations "
of terror and of pleasure. Is there anything on record which shows that
Christ ever lost His presence of mind? Does He show perturbation when
roused by the shrieks of His followers amid the howling of winds and waves
on the Lake of Galilee? Listen to His accents, sweet and musical as ever,
" Why are ye fearful, ye of little faith ? " 2
Does He shrink and quail when brought bound before the man who tells
Him that he has power to crucify Him ? Jjisten again to His words : " Thou
couldest have no power at all against Me except it were given thee from
above." ^
Has He lost the gentle " rhythm and harmony " of perfect self-command?
Is He not still, although bound, " Guardian of Himself " ? Yerily, the King
of Terror has no terror for Christ.
Then as to the test by pleasures — it is difficult even to think of " pleasure "
in connection with the Man of Sorrows. Nevertheless, inasmuch as He was
" in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin," the Son of man must
needs have passed through this ordeal also, and we know at least of two points
on which He was assailed — two rocks on which human souls, and these not the
least noble, have made shipwreck — the love of honour and the love of power.
How does He meet them ? By declining to receive either the one or the
other. Those whom He has restored to sight, He strictly charges, " See that
no man know it.""* To the leper cleansed. He says, " See thou say nothing to
any man."^ " I receive not honour from men."*^ The fame of Him goes
abroad, the multitudes come together to hear Him — He withdraws Himself
into the wilderness, and prays.'^ He perceives that they will "come and take
Him by force to make Him a king " — " He departs again into a mountain
Himself alone. "^ "My kingdom," He says to the Roman governor, "is not
of this world." The "fascinations" of fame and power have no fascinations
for Christ. He remains to the end faithful to His State, and to what He
considers will be for her good.
" Christ Jesus, who was faithful to Him that appointed Him ... as a
Son over His own house, whose house are we."
Does He not then correspond in every detail to all that is noble in the
ideal guardian of Plato ?
1 St. Matthew iv. 4, 7, 10 ; St. Luke iv. 4, 8, 12. ^ g^. Matthew viii. 26.
3 St. John xix. 11. '' Heb. iv. 15 ; St. Matthew ix. 30.
5 St. Mark i. 44. "^ St. John v. 41.
7 St. Luke V. 16. ** St. John vi. 15.
624 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
Was ever man tried and tested as was the Man of Sorrows ? Was he not
" proved more thoroughly than gold in the fire " ?
Did ever man endure more nobly labours, pains, and agonies than He
who tasted death for every man, and underwent the great experiment of
suffering that He might identify Himself with us — have our poor human ex-
perience, and be able thereby to sympathise with us ? Did ever man come out
of the ordeal with more perfect " dignity " than He whose very executioners
were forced to cry, " Truly, this was the Son of GoD ! " ^
Yerily we answer. He hath proved Himself by the test of experiment, no
less than by the supreme qualities of His nature, worthy to be guardian and
ruler of mankind, worthy to receive the highest "meed of glory," the "noblest
memorials " we have to offer — Christ, the King of kings, and Lord of lords —
the Good Shepherd, the faithful teacher and guardian of His people.^
v.— PLATO'S LIMITS
The name given to this section — Plato's " Limits," or, to express it more
honestly, Plato's "Mistakes" — will not please some of our readers. All that
we have hitherto gathered from the works of this greatest of Hellenic thinkers
is so godlike that we are inclined to demur to the notion that his genius could
be limited. Nay, some may even ask what difference there is between the
thought of a Plato, and that which we are accustomed to regard as "inspired."
Plato himself believed that he too " spoke not without some breath of inspira-
tion from God," and he was right. No thinking man or woman will deny that
(as Justin Martyr, Clement, and others of the old fathers maintain) the logos
has ever been in the world. The Divine reason could use a Plato as an instru-
ment equally with a St. John or a St. Paul. Wherein, then, lies the difference
between a John and a Plato ? Simply in this, that inspiration is one thing,
revelation another. Plato had the true enthusiasm (GoD-within), the inspira-
tion of the Divine reason, irradiating that Divine element, the human reason,
which was given to man, as he says in the Timeeus, " to raise him as a plant,
not of earthly, but of heavenly growth to his kindred which is in heaven."
Plato, more than any other pre-Christian thinker, "felt after" God — hence
more than any other he " touched " God. But Plato's touching (and conse-
quently, his light) was intermittent and partial. He was not " That true
light which lighteneth every man that cometh into the world," any more than
the other forerunners, Hebrew or Hellenic, of the light. Plato, in fact, with
all his breadth, his sublimity, his penetration, has his limitations. Consciously
and unconsciously, his was no universal message for mankind. Far from that,
it is not too much to say, that had some of his ideas been carried out into
practice, the result would have been absolutely fatal to the best interests of
mankind. This will become evident if we look at certain broad features of his
teaching.
(i) Plato and the Masses. — Not only would Plato himself have been
the first to scout the notion that his own views could be shared by the mass of
men around him, but it is not too much to say that he would have regarded
with absolute distrust any system of philosophy which advanced the claim
to be universally comprehensible. "The world," he says emphatically, "can
never be a philosopher, i.e. can never love wisdom " {Rep., vi. 494 A.).
1 St. Matthew xxvii. 54.
2 Hebrews iv. 15. In the original : " We have not an High Priest which cannot sympathise
with our weaknesses, but was in all points," &c. (i Tim. vi. 15).
PLATO'S LIMITS 625
An aristocrat by birth and education, Plato's conservative notions, in-
herited and acquired, leavened his whole after-thought.^ The philosopher
€ame to be in his opinion the true and only aristocrat, and in the very nature
of things (according to him) it was as impossible that Demos could turn
aristocrat in the intellectual or spiritual, as in the political, sense.
How Plato regarded the People : (a) Intellectually.— To begin with, Plato
did not even wish that all men, the rough and ready multitude, should be
among his followers. True, he, like Socrates, taught openly, freely, and in
public in Athens, and any one who chose might listen ; but of those who would
penetrate the depths of his philosophy and become his disciple in the true
sense, he demanded a preliminary scientific culture. " Let none ignorant of
geometry enter here," was the inscription above the door of the garden where
the privileged few were allowed to meet. Hence Plato's gospel consciously
addressed itself only to the cultivated. He had no notion of taking such
material as uneducated fishermen or uncouth tax-gatherers — men of the
people — to experiment upon. His philosophy is therefore, naturally, in the
strictest sense, aristocratic and exclusive. He deliberately shuts out the
majority of mankind, not, let us note, from actual intolerance, but simply
because he does not think them capable of entering into his ideas. Could the
great crowd, he asks, rise to the distinction between the absolute beauty,
beauty in itself, and the many beautiful things which appeal to the senses ?
Impossible ! erf/o, the world can never be a lover of wisdom.
Whether Plato is right or wrong in his estimate of " the world " does not
■concern us here. A John and a Paul, nay, a Christ, have also something to
say of the inability of the world to receive their message. The difference
iDetween Plato and these later teachers lies in this, that, whereas they pressed
their message earnestly on the attention of the many, if by any means they
might gain some, Plato does not concern himself about the many — they do
not even come within his horizon as available material for discipleship. Jesus
Ohrist believed in the capacity of man — man in his native simplicity, humble,
rough, uneducated — to grasp the distinction between the things of eternity
and the things of time ; Plato did not.
{b) Socially. — Into the question of Plato's political views this is not the
place to enter. That the democracy, however, with its license and freedom of
speech, was distasteful to him by nature follows from what has been already
said, and is evidenced by many passages. Moreover, there can be no doubt
that Plato's natural distrust of the form of government most congenial to his
fellow-citizens was largely influenced by the fact that it was the democracy
that had condemned Socrates. ^ The death of the Master was a turning-point
in the life of the other disciples. Hence the fact remains that Plato is not in
touch with the political life of his day, and he consoles himself by the building
of an ideal state in which the people, as a determining factor, shall be reduced
to the smallest possible proportions. In this ideal state there are to be three
1 Plato's "aristocratic" leanings (in the conventional sense) are evident enough in the
•earlier Dialogues, when he appears as a believer in the doctrine of heredity. In the Charmides
O57. 158), for instance, he says of the youth from whom the Dialogue takes its name, that
*' there are no two Athenian houses the alliance of which was likely to produce a better or
nobler son than the two from which" he has sprung. *' Having such ancestors," he adds,
•"you ought to be first in all things."
But in later years Plato, however he may still cling to the' scientific truth undoubtedly
involved in heredity, has got over any pride of life attaching to it : witness the good-humoured
ridicule poured upon the *'pomp of pedigree " in the famous portrait of the true philosopher in
the Thesetetus (174, 175).
2 We may just remind ourselves in passing that the philosopher found no friends among
the aristocrats. We know how he fared under the rule of The Thirty.
2 R
626 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
classes — the people generally, spoken of as " traders" ; a military class for the
protection of the whole, designated " guardians " or " auxiliaries " ; and lastly,
the very few wise men, the philosophers who are to rule the whole, known as
*' counsellors."
That some such division must of necessity exist in any state is evident ;
but the strange thing in regard to our philosopher's scheme is that the classes
which of necessity form the great bulk of the citizens vanish almost entirely
from his view. The many are there, it is true ; but in Plato's eyes their sole
raison cfetre would seem to be simply that they may be governed, directed,
ruled by the wiser few, for whom and for themselves they provide the neces-
saries of the bodily life. That the people, the traders, are to share in the
spiritual and intellectual culture so carefully thought out for their guardians
and counsellors is nowhere made evident in the Repuhlic. " Let us eat and
drink, for to-morrow we die," would seem to be a maxim good enough for the
seething mass of ordinary mortality. That this is a fair inference to draw
from Plato's silence as to the culture of the people may be seen by the position
which he assigns them in the comparison between the body human and the
body corporate — an analogy pushed, like others in Plato, much too far, but
none the less instructive as to his own intention. In the great body of the
state the philosopher-ruler corresponds to the head, the immortal or reasoning
part, in the individual ; the guardians or military class to the high-spirited
portion of the soul •, the great mass of the people, the traders, to the desires
and appetites — the lowest and unreasoning part, which has to be kept strictly
under control,^ "held down," lest it should overthrow the whole. Can
anything be more significant.^
Amongst the one or two things in Homer which Plato commends (i?ep., iii.
389 E.) is the description of the silent march of the Achseans : —
** The Greeks marched breathing prowess,
. . . in silent awe of their leaders."
This may fairly be taken as his ideal of the attitude of the many towards
the few — political self-effacement, silent obedience combined with unquestion-
ing faith in the judgment and wisdom of their leaders — a very necessary
element in the body corporate at certain crises, we admit, but not a summary
of the whole duty of man, of the humblest of citizens, whether considered as a
political unit or as a social, intelligent, and religious being. " Note," he says
(i?e^., 431 C), "that the manifold and complex desires and pleasures and
pains are mostly found in children and women and slaves, and in the freemen
so called of the lower and more numerous class. Whereas the simple and
moderate desires which follow reason (nous) and are led by mind and true
opinion are to be found only in a few, and those the best by nature (pJiysei)
and best educated. Very true. Do you not see that these have a place in our
state, and the lower desires of the many are held down by the desires and
wisdom of the more reasonable few ?
To be quite fair to Plato, however, we must always bear in mind that his
" aristocracy " is meant to be, in the true sense, the rule of the best. Although
the caste system plays so conspicuous a part in the ideal state, we can recognise
the difference between man and man. In the parable of the metals (Rep., iii.
^ See the extracts from the Timseus, pp. 544 ff.
2 " The citizens (of the ideal state), as in other Hellenic States, democratic as well as
aristocratic," says Prof. Jowett {Introd. to the Rep., p. clxxii), "are really an upper class, for
although no mention is made of slaves, the lower classes are allowed to fade away into the
distance, and are represented in the individual by the passions." See also the passages in our
philosopher, on which the above remarks are based, in Book IV. of the Republic, p. 431.
PLATO'S LIMITS 627
415) — wherein the ruler is set forth as having an admixture of gold in his
composition, the auxiliary of silver, and the husbandman or craftsman of brass
or iron — he insists that the original stock is one, and thus that a golden man
may chance to have a son of brass — and the brazen man may equally have a
son of gold. In such a case, the brazen son is not to be allowed to rule simply
because he happens to be the son of his father, the golden man — he must de-
scend in the social scale ; while, on the other hand, the golden son is not to be
kept plodding in the fields because he is descended from the brazen man : he
is to be transferred to the ruling class. La carriere aux talents I — Plato's aristoc-
racy is thus really one of mind and intellect. Nevertheless, there is no getting
over the fact, that it has no sympathy with the people. Plato's attitude to-
wards the great mass of men at the best, is one of tolerance only. He has no
message for the many. His message is carefully restricted to the few.
(2) Plato's Views on Work and Trade.— Closely connected with Plato's
conception of the masses, are his notions concerning work and trade. The
great majority of men are absolutely dependent on their own exertions for
their daily bread — a determining factor which can be ignored in no system of
universal application. How does Plato treat it ?
At the outset with dignity and reasonableness. He lays down as the raison
d^etre of the state the fact that no man is self-sufficing (autarkes). Each needs
the help of others — each can contribute something welcome to others and to
the general well-being. Hence in the Republic the ideal state begins with the
recognition of this fundamental truth. '' To secure the interchange of that
which each has produced by labour is," he says {Rep., ii. 371 B.), " one of the
chief objects for which we have formed them (the four or five who amalgamate)
into a community, and founded a state."
Throughout the whole account of the grounding of the state, we find stated
in the clearest way the first principles of sound political economy — the necessity
for work, and that on a large scale, that there may be a superfluity for purposes
of export — the advantages of commerce in conveying this superfluity to the
places where it is needed — the great principle of the division of labour — all are
brought out in the happiest way, and even the dignity of manual labour — of
the " common " work of the farmer, builder, weaver, and shoemaker — seems to
be recognised, inasmuch as it contributes to the well-being of the whole.
How comes it, then, that one who has this clear perception of the actual
necessity of work and of trading should nevertheless speak elsewhere of both
with the most absolute contempt?
The answer to this puzzling question is, we think, to be found in Plato's
" aristocratic " ideal, as we saw it in our last section. We know the attitude
of Plato towards the people — the people in the body corporate correspond to
the animal desires of the individual. Hence, as a natural result of such a
theory, the avocations they pursue can have no higher aim than the satisfying
of the bodily appetites. The aim of the philosopher, the true aristocrat, is, on
the contrary, to die to these bodily appetites (Phasdo, 63, 64), and the only
work worthy of the name is the pursuit of truth.
The necessity for the manual labour of the toilers disappears from Plato's
views as entirely as do the toilers themselves. However attractive the labori-
ous life of the primitive community, as seen through the haze of the ages, may
be, the same laborious life becomes quite another thing in the broad daylight
of present surroundings. The planting and building, weaving and shoemaking,
done as " common" contributions to the commonwealth, wear a different aspect
when done for the " sordid " hope of gain, and Plato turns away in disgust
from their contemplation. Forgetful of the fact that the pursuits which supply
628 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
the wants of the body are as necessary in the mature as in the infant state, he
can credit those who follow them with no higher aim than the ministering to
sensual cravings and the heaping up of luxuries.
The fact that in a Greek community manual labour was mainly performed
by slaves, had, of course, an enormous influence on the way in which such
labour came to be regarded — work pe7' se was degraded by the association.
Nevertheless this other fact remains, that Plato, our philosopher of philosophers,
despised manual labour, whether done by slaves or by freemen, simply because
it had for its object the body and the bodily wants. In no way is this more
strikingly shown than by a passage in that very dialogue (the Repuhlic) where-
in work appears as a foundation of the state. The reader will recollect the
wondrous parable of similitude wherein the soul is set forth under the image
of the composite form which contains, under the guise of a human being, three
different natures — those of the man, the lion, and the many-headed beast. He
will recollect also that the growth of the Man, the smallest of the three,
is conditioned by his being able to keep in check the other two creatures
within him. If he fails to do this, all is lost — the man, the reasoning power,
is dragged helplessly hither and thither by the lion, his own wilful spirit, and
the many-headed beast, his own appetites, at their pleasure. It is in this con-
nection that Plato drags in the following allusion : " And why is it, think you,"
he asks, " that the work of mechanics (banausia), and artisans {cheirotechnia), is
accounted disgraceful ? Can we assign any other reason for it than this, that
when a. man's noblest element is weak by nature, he is unable to govern the
creatures within him, and can learn only the arts of ministering to their wants
and flattering them ? " ^
We must ask again : Can anything be more significant ? As in the case of
his attitude towards the people, Plato's attitude towards the " common " every-
day work of life is based on a fundamental error.
Then, as regards commerce, the outlook from the Platonic standpoint is not
more hopeful. No philosopher could possibly engage in trade. Considering
that the greatness of Athens — her large-mindedness and freedom from pre-
judice — was largely due to the enterprise of her merchants, one would have
expected some appreciation of this in an Athenian.
The very reverse of this is the case with Plato. He sketches out in the
Repuhlic, it is true, the part played by merchants in the growth of the state,
and seems to speak with a certain respect of them and their efforts ; but in
the Laius (viii. 846 et seq.), his ideas are so far altered that no trading what-
ever is to be carried on by natives — it is to be left to aliens and slaves.
Trade, he admits, is not bad in itself ; but it engenders the desire of gain,
which again leads to extortion. Hence he who engages in it must be a
stranger — not one of the favoured few in the colony for which Plato is
legislating (Law-'s, xi. 918). "Touch not, taste not, handle not." The three
classes in the colony are therefore to be freemen, slaves, and craftsmen
{demiurgi). Strange revolution of the opinion that the very workers-for-the-
people, the demiurgi, who are hailed with welcome everywhere in Homer —
those who have the precious art-in-the-hand, cheirotecTinia — should be scouted
and shut out from the society of the eleutlieroi, the freemen, the generous !
Here, again, we must confess, Plato has no universal message. The work
of the world must go on ; but it was left for the Master Himself to ennoble
it by the infusion of generosity — His own example. Christ perceived in the
common every-day world-work a sphere for the exercise of the highest philo-
sophy, the noblest self-sacrifice ; Plato did not.
^ Cf. also the. remark put into ^e mouth of Critias the aristocrat, in the Charmides.
PLATO'S LIMITS 629
(3) Plato's Views on Slavery.— If the story that Plato himself was on
one occasion sold into slavery is true— and there is no reason to doubt it— we
should expect to find in him genuine sympathy with the lot of the most
unfortunate section of an Hellenic community. Nor are we altogether dis-
appointed. To this episode in his life is probably to be attributed his earnest
pleading for Hellenes conquered in war. Hellenes, he says {Rep., v. 469 E.
et seq.), ought not to enslave one another, for they are kinsmen, one family,
one race. And although he does not go on to plead for the "barbarian"
under like circumstances, yet this is due to the fact that such a notion as the
entire abolition of slavery would have been regarded as the height of absurdity
in antiquity.
Slavery was, so to speak, one of the bases on which antique society rested.
To dispense with slaves would have been considered by an Hellenic community
a proceeding as impossible as, by ourselves, to dispense, not only with domestic
servants, but with the great body of workers generally. Where manual labour
was despised, it was only the existence of an immense number of involuntary
labourers that could set the statesman and the philosopher, equally with the
man of pleasure, free. Hence slaves were regarded as a kind of property in-
dispensable to the higher interests of the community, and the only question
that could arise concerning them was as to the manner in which they should
be treated.
The question was by no means an easy one. Man, as Plato observes
{Laios, vi. 777 B.), is a troublesome animal; and when you come to carry out
in practice the necessary distinction between slave and freeman and master, he
is not likely to be very easily managed, or to become so. The Lacedaemonians
had found out this fact with their Helots and the conquered Messenians — the
Thessalians with the Penestae — viz. that slaves were troublesome property.
As to the mode of treating them, says Plato (ibid., 776 D., E.), Greek opinion
is divided. All would acknowledge, he admits, that we should try to procure
for ourselves slaves as well-disposed towards us, and as good as possible ; for
many a slave has proved better than a son or brother, and has saved his
master's life and property — yea, his whole house. These stories are reported
concerning slaves.
But, then, on the other hand, there are those who hold that the soul of
a slave is corrupt (literally, that there is nothing healthy in it), and that no
prudent man will trust himself to any one of the class. Even the wisest of
poets says that —
" Thralls are no more inclined to honest service when their masters have
lost the dominion, for Zeus, of the far-borne voice, takes away the half of a
man's virtue, when the day of slavery comes upon him " (Hom. Od., xvii.
322-323).
There being, then, these two diverse opinions concerning slaves, some will
trust them in nothing, and, by punishing them like wild beasts with goads
and whips, make the souls of their slaves three times, nay, many times more
slavish than they were before. Others do the very reverse.
Which course, then, is to be adopted ?
Plato steers a middle course. We must treat slaves well, he says, not only
out of regard to them, but far more out of regard to our own self-respect.
The proper course to pursue with slaves is, not to treat them with violence
and contempt,^ but — here Plato speaks out a noble word — to be, if possible,
even more just towards them than towards our equals. He who reverences
justice and hates injustice by nature (from his heart) — and not for the sake of
/ ^ Hyhris = injury and insult.
630 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
appearances merely — is discovered in his dealings with those towards whom he
could easily be vmjust. He, therefore, who is free from impiety and injustice
towards his slaves, will best be able to sow the seeds of virtue in them. And,
he adds, this applies to all in authority — to master, ruler, every one in power
over those weaker than himself.
Truly a divine maxim ! It is only in Plato's practical application of it that
we find the " limits."
One would naturally expect that a legislator (and Plato throughout the
Laws speaks in the character of a legislator) who feels so keenly the necessity
of doing justice to the weak, will take special precautions in regard to the
class that by no possibility could make its wrongs known, or obtain redress.
Throughout the enactments in the Laws, however, the very dialogue which
contains the noble sentiment referred to, we find one law for the freeman,
another for the slave. As instances, let us take the following : —
(i) If a stranger passing along the road shall help himself in ignorance to
fruit that is not meant to be eaten, but to be made into wine or stored — if he
be a slave, he shall be beaten ; if a freeman, dismissed with an admonition
{Laivs, viii. 845).
(2) As regards treasure-trove, if a man have " taken up that which he
laid not down," and another discover the matter and give information about it
— the discoverer, if he be a freeman, shall have the honour of doing the right
— if he do not inform, the dishonour of doing the wrong. If the discoverer be
a slave and inform, the state shall give him his freedom ; if he do not inform,
he shall be punished loith death. Note the difference between the treatment
meted out (Laivs, xi. 913-914).
(3) Again, he who kills his own slave (either unintentionally or without
premeditation, in a fit of anger) shall undergo a purification and be free from
the homicide {Laivs, ix. 865 D.), but the slave who kills his master (also without
premeditation, and in a fit of anger) shall be put to death {ibid., ix. 868 B.), and
the significant words are used that the kindred of the deceased shall do with
him as they please, provided only that they do not spare his life (ibid., 872).
Or, if a slave kill a freeman not his master, he is to be given up to the kindred
of the deceased, who shall be under an obligation to put him to death, in lohat-
ever way they please. It is clear from another passage describing the punishment
or a slave who has premeditated a murder what the fate of the man would be.
The freeman who kills his slave in a fit of anger is purified and gets off scot-
free — the slave who kills his master under similar circumstances, and possibly
far greater provocation, will certainly be put to death, and probably scourged
to death.
With these instances of Plato's " justice " before our eyes, his noble senti-
ments regarding the treatment of the weak vanish into very thin air indeed.
Granted that in a slave-holding community such laws were necessitated by the
circumstances of the case — granted that an owner-killer must of necessity, as
Plato puts it, be killed himself — and that in such a way as should act as a
warning to others — if all owners were not to live in fear and trembling — this
only demonstrates that, as regards those conditions of society which could create
such a necessity, Plato was not in advance of his age. He admits the " neces-
sity " and prepares the laws. Here again he has no universal message. His
own famous description of the manner in which slaves should be treated in
private life also proves this. It is meant as the " middle way " between the
two Hellenic methods of over-severity and over indulgence previously de-
scribed.
Slaves are to be chastised when they deserve it, and not remonstrated with
PLATO'S LIMITS 631
as though they were freemen, and so made conceited. Almost every word
addressed to a slave should be a command ; and never on any account should
we jest with a slave — this is a foolish way which many people indulge in, and
thereby make it more difficult both for the slave to endure the life of servitude
and for the master to rule {LawSj vi. 777 E,, et seq.).
Never remonstrate with a slave — literally, don't appeal to his reason — you
will only make him conceited — alivays address him with the w(/rd of command I
Here are "limits" in truth, bounds strictly defined. Imagine what Plato's
amazement would have been had a runaway slave presented himself to him
with a message such as that of St. Paul to Onesimus regarding Philemon (Ep.
to Phil. 16) — " Receive him — no longer as a slave, but above a slave — brother
dearly heloved both in the flesh and in the Lord." What ! the philosopher —
the man representing the Divine and immortal and reasoning part of society —
receive the slave — the man representing its more animal wants and desires, the
man who is never to be reasoned with, but always addressed in the tone of
command — as a brother, a dearly-beloved, not only socially (in the flesh) but
spiritually ! Admit such an one to the intellectual and spiritual franchise ? —
Never ! — the thing is impossible, for the simple reason that from Plato's stand-
point the slave is not capable of understanding his message. Between the
freeman and the slave, as between the philosopher and the multitude, there is
a great gulf fixed, and Plato is not the man to bridge it. It was left for the
Master Himself to solve this tremendous problem of antiquity. He alone saw
into the dumb oppressed " slavish " soul, and gauged its capacities. " Art
thou called being a slave ? Care not for it. Thou art the Lord's freeman ! "
Christ alone is the true champion of the weak. He alone has meted out true
justice between man and man. He alone established one law and one standard
for master and for slave —from Him alone, and from no philosopher or system
of philosophy did the world receive its charter of freedom ! for in Christ Jesus
there is neither master nor servant, bond nor free — all are equal before Him
(Gal. iii. 28).
(4) Plato's Conception of Women. — " Now," says the lover of Plato, " here
at least your ' limits ' stop — here you must acknowledge our philosopher to be
ages in advance of his age. If Plato is not the champion of the slave, you
cannot deny his claim to be, at any rate, the first advocate of the rights of
women."
Let us look into this " claim." Plato certainly devoted a great deal of his
attention to the position of women, but whether it be correct or not to de-
signate him an advocate of their rights, an impartial examination of his opinions
only can reveal.
(a) Plato's general Attitude towards Women. — In the first place then, we
recall the well-known utterance with which we are already acquainted. " I
have reason," Plato is reported to have said {Lactant., Div. Inst, iii., xix. 17),
<'to thank Heaven for much; but especially that I came into the world as a
human being, and not as an animal ; as a man and not as a woman ; as a
Hellene, and not as a barbarian." Here the human being, the man, and the
Hellene are opposed to the animal, the woman, and the barbarian. As this
saying, however, is attributed also to Thales and to Socrates (Diog. Lcert., i.
33), we need not lay too much stress upon it— beyond pointing out that the
mere fact of its being put into the mouth of Plato is significant, as showing
the opinion of antiquity in regard to the general drift of his views.
(b) The Origin and Nature of Women.— When we turn, however, to what
is now admitted to be undoubtedly Platonic, we find a startling light thrown
on the "I thank God that I did not come into the world as a woman." Why
632 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
this fervent thanksgiving ? Because, says Plato in the Timseus, a woman re-
presents a failure. A woman is a man who has failed in his first life-probation,
and sinks in the second birth into the form of a woman. " Of the men who
come into the world,'' says our philosopher, " those who are cowards, or have
led unjust lives, may be fairly supposed to change into the nature of women in
the second birth" {IHm., 428). Shade of Antigone, of Iphigenia ! see here to
what, in the esteem of philosophy, you are fallen ! If the soul falls into this
second probation, continues the master, it sinks into the form of an animal.
Women, then, according to the highest wisdom of antiquity, are a sort of
cross between the man and the animal. In Plato's view, women are not in-
cluded in the numbey of the elect souls sown at the beginning in the stars —
the souls who are to be the most religious of beings — the souls about whom the
Creator is said to have taken special care that all should have the same start,
the same chance, that none should suffer damage at His hands. From this
special care women are expressly shut out ; they do not, in Plato's opinion,
start on an equality with men ; they have no free choice ; they are simply the
recipients and inheritor's of a failure. We ask again : Can anything be more
significant ?
(c) The Social Equality of Women. — " You are extremely unjust to Plato,"
says our enthusiast hotly. *' Why quote a work like the Timaeus, a work
abounding in all sorts of curious fancies, a mere outgrowth of his system ? Go
to the sun and centre of it — the Republic — and see there Plato's ideas about
women ! Does he not maintain that they are in every respect to be on an
equality with men, to receive the same education and training, to take part
not only in war but in the highest of all earthly dignities, the government of
the state itself ? So far from finding ' limits ' here, an ' impartial ' critic
will find Plato to be, as we maintained, ages in advance even of us moderns.
What have you to say to all this ? Is it not true ? "
It is. Plato's eye was too keen not to detect the enormous injury done to
the state by the prevailing customs and opinions regarding women, not to see
the immense benefit that would accrue to it from such an access of strength as
must result from the cultivation of the neglected half of society. In this true
insight, Plato is indeed a pioneer and a path-breaker. Where, then, do you
find his " limits" ? says our opponent triumphantly.
We find his "limit" in this, that Plato's highest conception of women in
the Republic, as in the I'imaeus, is still that of the inferior man ; we find his
" mistake " not only in this a priori conception, but in the reasons given for
introducing women to public life.
Proofs. — Plato's conception of the relation of the sexes in the RepidMc
(v. 455 D.) is as follows : "There is no business of the state," he says, " which
a woman can manage simply as woman, nor that a man can manage simply
as man, but the gifts of nature are distributed alike in both. The woman
shares in all pursuits by nature as does the man ; but in all the woman is
weaker than the man."
"/tz all, the woman is weaker than the man" — a statement supplemented
in the Laws (vi. 805) by the assertion that " in virtue the woman is inferior
to the man." Here is Plato's "limit." Here we part company with him.
The woman is undoubtedly weaker than the man in many pursuits "of life;
but is it not true that in many she is stronger, aye, and these not the mere
"making of pancakes and hotch-potch," in which he is willing {iUd., 455 C.)
to accord to her a certain superiority.
His Reasons for the Enfranchisement of Women.— (a) Do not
suppose that Plato desires women to share the pursuits of men because he has
PLATO'S LIMITS 633
noticed that woman are the complement of men and have capacities which
supplement those. of men. Not so! our philosopher is a great observer, but
he has not observed this. He has, however, watched the animals and found
ou^ that the female takes her part equally in everything with the male {Bep.,
V. 451 E.). Why not apply the same rule to the human animal? So far the
Republic. In the Laivs, our philosopher goes a step farther. By making the
women share the pursuits of the men, he says, the state will not be robbed of
half its legitimate service. Under the prevailing system the state, instead of
being a whole, is reduced to a half, while it has the same imposts to pay and
the same toils to undergo. Let the legislator, then, insist on the women doing
their part, and not allow them to live on in sloth and luxury (Laics, vii. 80 q,
806 C).
We commend to the notice of our enthusiast the refinement and generosity
underlying these reasons for admitting women to public life. The bearing
and rearing of future citizens is not a sufficient contribution to the com-
monwealth ; in addition, the woman must now take her full half of the man's
work. The female animal does it — ergo, why not the female human animal ?
A has le sentiment — vive Vutilitarianisme 1
Is there a trace here of the highest modern ideal of woman — of woman as
the " diviner " man, man free from thought of self, a ministering angel ? We
trow not. And whence the change in thought and opinion concerning woman?
Again, is it not due to the deeper penetration of the Master ? Jesus Christ
placed no "limit" to the development of woman. In his eyes woman possesses
that first start, that right of choice, equally with man, is equally capable of
exercising it : " Mary hath diosen that good part, and it shall not be taken
from her." The free self-determining power — denied to woman in antiquity by
philosophy as by custom — was restored to her by Jesus Christ. But while we
thus briefly point out the " limits " of Plato's conception of women, we are
equally bound to point out that, in two respects at least, Plato still acts as a
pioneer on this very subject : —
(a) One of the most fruitful elements in the modern education of women
moves on strictly Platonic lines. Plato enforces his reasons for teaching
women to bear arms by the argument that they would thus be able to defend
their city in the enforced absence of the fighting men on a campaign. Women
should be instructed in tactics and the use of arms, so as to know what to do
in the event of an attack on the city from either barbarians or Hellenes.
"Great," he says {Laics, vii. 814), "would be the disgrace to the state if the
women had been so shamefully trained that they could not fight for their
children — as birds will for their nestlings against the strongest creature, die
and face any danger — but must rush to the temples and crowd at all the altars
and shrines, and bring upon the human race the reproach that of all animals
man is the most cowardly."
Here is a challenge to the women of Hellas — to women for all time ! In
our day it has been bravely taken up, for it is the application of this argument
to the conditions of modern life that has reversed the mistaken and ridiculous
notions regarding the employment of women current not so long ago among
ourselves. People have now the common sense to see that any pursuit
honourable in a man is equally honourable in a woman, if it renders her
independent, and able to fight the battle of life for herself and those who have
claims upon her.
{h) Secondly, in the recognition of efforts made by women, Plato is vastly
more generous than, until very recently, was modern society. In him there
is no trace of the grudging spirit that would keep back the public recognition
634 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
of intellectual distinction from a woman, simply because she was a woman.
Both in the Republic (vii. 540) and in the Laws (802) women are to be honoured
as they deserve equally with men. For this, women may indeed be grateful
to Plato, and accord to him, so far, the title claimed for him by our enthusiast ;
in this respect Plato was certainly the first advocate of their rights.
Plato's Communism. — No feature of Plato's ideal state is at once so
attractive and so absolutely repulsive as that which must now engage our
attention, the communism which he desires to introduce. The object he pro-
poses to himself is one to gladden the heart of God, the scheme whereby he
seeks to render it practicable, well-nigh unnameable.
Plato's object here as everywhere is the attainment of harmony in civil
and social life. The troubles which beset existing civilisation were not
unknown in the fourth century before Christ. The conditions of life might
be less complex, but the root of the matter, human nature, was the same.
The unceasing and never-to-cease diversity of talents, opportunities, and use-
made-of-opportunities, existed then as now, and then as now the classes and
the masses confronted each other. Plato has observed [Rep., iv. 422 E.) that
*' Every city, however small it may be, contains within itself two cities — the
city of the poor and the city of the rich. These," he adds, " are at war with
one another, and in each of these two great divisions there are again many
smaller ones," produced by the different associations or the different tempera-
ments of men.
All this is to be obviated, for in the ideal state there will be neither
poverty nor wealth, and Plato speaks out the noble word that the very aim
of the state is, not the happiness of any one class preferred before others, but
the greatest possible happiness of the whole {Rep., iv. 420). How is this to be
attained ? By leading the individual units of the state to consider themselves
simply as members of the great whole, and he illustrates his meaning by the
famous simile of the body and its members. " When a man has hurt his finger,"
says Plato, " the whole community of the body, drawn towards the soul as its
centre, and forming, as it were, one kingdom under her leadership, becomes
aware of it, and together feels the pain of the part injured, so that we say,
' The man feels the pain in his finger ' ... so when any one of her citizens
experiences either good or evil the (ideal) state will say that the experience
is hers, and all will rejoice or sorrow together" {Rep., v. 462 0. et seq.). Could
any conception be grander or more noble? Here, indeed, Plato touches God,
here he anticipates with true prophetic insight the very ideal proposed to Him-
self by Jesus Christ, " that they all may be Otis" (St. John xvii.).
When we turn, however, to the method by which Plato seeks to realise
this grand ideal, we are painfully reminded that we have to do with gropings
in the darkness as well as with Divine anticipations ; Plato's scheme for bring-
ing about this " common " unity of feeling is, perhaps, the most serious error
in judgment ever committed by any thoughtful man. It is nothing less than
the abolition of all private interests, of everything belonging to the individual
as such, the merging of all in the state. To abolish ownership in any shape
is an error almost inconceivable in one belonging to a nation of experimenters,
for with the cessation of individual proprietorship individual effort must also
cease. But this first error leads on to one still more fatal : if the distinction
of "mine and not mine" is to be logically done away with, everything must
come within its range, nothing may escape its application, and not only my
property, but my home, my wife, my husband, my children, must cease to
exist. Never was principle more ruthlessly developed than the communism
of Plato. What he proposes is nothing less than that for family-life shall be
PLATO'S LIMITS 635
substituted a community of wives and children. Marriage is to become simply
a department of the state.
We may note in passing that this great blot on Plato's pure ideal proceeds
not only from his communistic notions, but in part also from his conception of
women as already described. If women are only ''weaker men," they are
certainly not entitled to have or to hold a separate sphere of their own. Family-
life and the home are abolished (or rather abolish themselves) of necessity.
If women are to take their full share of public duties, they must live in public,
their whole time is to be devoted to the service of the state, the so-called
'' domestic " duties, the rearing and training of children, must of necessity be
relegated to officers appointed by the state.
Thus by a combination of two fatal errors, Plato cuts at the very roots of
his own tree of life, for he does away with the home and the family, the unit
of the state, the fms et origo of all healthful state-life. Truly, the singer of
the true wedded love of Hector and Andromache, of Odysseus and Penelope, the
painter of the sweet and wise wife and mother. Arete, of the sweeter daughter,
Nausicaa, Homer, the slighted poet, was avenged with a vengeance when
Plato, the philosopher, committed himself to this astounding scheme. For-
tunately for society, the sturdy common sense of society recognised here in
the poet a guide truer and wiser far than the philosopher.
We need waste no words upon the scheme itself, still less need we pour
the vials of our wrath upon the philosopher who propounded it. Plato must
not be judged by any ordinary standard ; he has no mean or ignoble end in
view — the very reverse. Marriage is to be made as holy as possible ; it is not
to be entered into as a matter of personal choice, but solely for the good of
the state. For this reason, individual preferences are to be subordinated to
outside guidance, the will of the legislator, who will assign to each disposition
and temperament its right and fitting correlative and corrective, and so bring
about the improvement of the race. How utterly impracticable (even were it
desirable) all this is, needs no demonstration.
(6) Plato's Humanity. — We are often told that humanity had no existence
in antiquity, and if we add the explanation, " humanity," in its largest sense —
love for man as man, the statement is true. To say, however, that the people
who coined the word " phil-anthropy," used it without a meaning, would be to
say what is manifestly unfair. Plato, at least, had a true sense of humanity —
within certain limits — witness his rules for the conduct of war and his ideal state. •
(i) No Hellene, he says {Rep.., v. 469 B. et seq.), is to be held as a slave by the
state, and in war Hellenic cities are not to be enslaved either by our state or
any other, if we can prevent it — so that all Hellenic states may present a
united front to the common enemy, the barbarian. War between Hellenic
states is not war, but variance or discord, inasmuch as it is a quarrel between
friends — the name " war " is to be kept for the contest with the barbarian.
(2) The bodies of the dead are not to be stripped on the battlefield, except
of their armour. ^ Is it not ungenerous and avaricious to plunder the dead ? says
Plato ; and is it not mean and womanish (!) to regard the body of the slave as
an enemy, when the real enemy has flown away, and left behind him only that
in which he fought ? Is not such conduct like that of dogs which are angry at
the stones that are thrown at them, but don't touch the thrower ?
(3) Spoils — least of all those taken from Hellenes — are not to be offered as
gifts, boastfully, in the temples, if good feeling with other Hellenes is to be kept
up — in the fear that what has been taken from kinsmen may be a pollution, un-
less commanded by the god himself. (This after the Peloponnesian War, and
the bitter struggles recorded by Thucydides.)
636 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
(4) No horrors of war are to be perpetrated in Hellenic lands — the country
is not to be devastated, nor the cities burned, nor all alike, men, women and
children, reckoned as enemies. Why? Because the Hellenic races are re-
lated ; they form one family. All Greeks are kinsmen, while the barbarian is
a stranger and a foreigner. War among Hellenes is only discord among kins-
men, Hellenes will be friendly correctors of their kinsmen (sophronistae, = trying
to bring them to a right mind) ; they will not be stern chastisers, bringing
slavery and ruin upon them.
It is evident from the foregoing that Plato has a very clear understanding
of " humanity " — he will not even wound the feelings, much less the bodies of
his "kinsmen" ; but the limits, of course, are equally evident.
(i) Treatment of the Barbarian. — These humane rules are to be observed as
regards the treatment of the Hellenes. As for the " barbarians " (a name which
includes every race under the sun except the Greeks) — they are to be treated
" as the Hellenes noio treat one another ^^ — that is, the burning, destroying, pillag-
ing and enslaving — are left in full force. All the horrors of war may freely be
perpetrated when the object is neither kith nor kin to Hellas.
(2) Treatment of the Sick. — Again, when we come to a class at all times
numerous in every community — the incurable, the helplessly sick, those in
whom modern society takes a special and pitiful interest — what is Plato's atti-
tude towards them? He places them, poor wretches, in the same category as
the incurably bad. In the ideal state, he says, " Medicine and law will take
care of such citizens as are of a good nature in soul and body. Those who are
not so in body, they will leave to die ; those who have corrupt and incurable
souls they will themselves put to death " {Rep., iii. 410).
(3) Treatment of Weakly Children. — In the Republic (v. 460 0.) it is enacted
that the children of the state-made marriages before mentioned are to be taken
away from their mothers immediately after birth, and handed over by the proper
officers to the nurses, who shall dwell in a separate quarter of the city. But,
note, the children of parents inferior in any way, or children themselves de-
formed, are not to be brought up — they are to be ^^ put away in a secret and un-
known place. ''^ Plato can doubtless plead to this monstrous law the authority
of Spartan custom, but it is some consolation to think that he himself was
ashamed of it, for in the Timmus it is quietly withdrawn. The rule applies
only to the children of the two highest classes (the rulers and guardians) and
• in the cases alluded to it is said in the Tima^us that the children are to be —
not destroyed, but distributed secretly amongst the lower classes of the
community.
Add to the foregoing, Plato's laws for the punishment of slaves, and we
shall see how far the noblest thinker of antiquity was from the Christian
standard of " humanity."
(6) The Isolation of the Philosopher. — Hitherto we have been considering
Plato's relation to those with whom he was out of sympathy, either wholly or
partially — the masses, the toiler, the trader, the slave, the woman, the bar-
barian. Now let us turn to the class with whom he was actually in touch.
Let us look at the effect of his teaching upon those whom he understood, and
with whom he was in fullest, most generous sympathy — the seekers after truth,
the lovers of wisdom, the philosophers. And here it is abundantly clear from
what has already been said, that Plato's was an isolating policy — outwardly,
for his philosopher is a stranger, not only to the feasts and the rivalries of
men, but to the agora, the law-courts, the senate, and all the busy haunts of
life {ThedRt., 173) — and yet vaore^inwardly, for his thoughts are to be constantly
turned upon himself — in the noblest way, certainly, for it is the care of the soul
PLATO'S LIMITS 637
— the daily dying, the preparation of the soul for her release, the adorning of
the soul with her own proper jewels — that is to occupy him {Phgsdo, Si, 114 C.
et seq.).
Granted the beauty and sublimity of Plato's method, it cannot be denied
that its ultimate tendency was to render the philosopher self-centred, and to
withdraw him from intercourse and sympathy with his fellows. This being so,
it stands self-condemned as one-sided, wanting in balance, and therefore tending
to defeat its own object. Let Plato himself bear witness to this. In the famous
picture of the philosopher in the Thesetetus, he says : *' Just as Thales, while
gazing at the stars and looking upwards, fell into a well, and a clever and
witty Thracian handmaid jested and said that in his eagerness to know what
was in heaven, he did not know what was before him at his very feet — so the
same jest is applicable to all who spend their lives in philosophy. For, in
truth, such an one does not know his next-door neighbour — either what he
is about — or, indeed, whether he is a man, or some other creature. But
as to what man is, and what it beseems such a nature to do, or to suffer
different from any other — into this he inquires — this he investigates with
all* pains and troubles." The witty Thracian handmaid had certainly, by
Plato's own showing, some foundation for her impertinence.
If the philosopher stops short at himself, and " investigates with all pains
and trouble " only his own ego, and how he is ever to arrive at a right esti-
mate of the universal and many-sided creature man, would not his old master,
Socrates, have bid even a Plato distrust this mode of pursuing the inquiry ?
It might answer in the hands of a Plato, but how about the crowd of smaller
men who tried to walk in his steps ?
True, in the Republic Plato's philosopher is not allowed to keep his wisdom
or his acquirements to himself. The mar who has been converted, released
from his chain and turned round towards one light — the man who has himself
made the steep and toilsome ascent of the hill of God — must descend again
into the cave of the world, and seek to enlighten and persuade his brethren
{Rep., vii. 519 C. et seq.). He is not to be suffered to dwell apart, fancying
that he has already arrived at the Islands of the Blessed. No one class in the
ideal state is to be happy above the rest, and therefore the philosopher-ruler is
to take his share of the burden of governing — a living, active share in the
moulding and guiding of the state. He alone will make a good and wise
ruler, for he alone is unselfish, single-eyed, despising the ambitions and
honours of men. Plato's ideal here again touches very nearly the Christian
standard. Wherein then are its limits to be found ?
(.1) First, in tl^is, that the object of Plato's philosopher in taking office
is not wholly unselfish — if he does not take the reins he will certainly find
himself subject to men inferior to himself. This is the penalty for indifference
to the good of the commonwealth.
(2) Secondly, in this, that the entire self-sacrifice which the highest Chris-
tian standard demands never occurs to Plato. His philosopher will willingly
take his turn in the dark underground — i.e. in managing state-affairs, because
the greater part of his time will be passed, in the light — i.e. in self-improve-
ment (Rep., 520 D.).
(3) Thirdly, in this, that Plato's ideal of the philosopher directing, ruling,
and taking an active part in life's duties exists in theory only. Plato does
not expect to see it realised. The truest lover of wisdom he had ever known
— the man who had seen the light, and had gone down persistently into the
cave and sought to persuade his brethren there — had been judicially murdered ;
638 PLATO— THE IDEA OF GOD
and Plato anticipates no better fate than that of Socrates for any other who
ventures to he, and not to seem, just.
Hence, his philosopher, when he has delivered his message, has delivered
his own soul — the world must go its own way, he will go his — the two utterly
part company.
The lover of wisdom in Plato's time found himself, he says, in the position
of " a man who has fallen among wild beasts, and is neither willing to commit
wickedness with them, nor, singly, to resist all their fierce natures " [Rep., vi.
496 D.). What is a man to do in such a case? He sees that before he could
help either the state or his friends he would probably lose his own life, and
thus do good neither to himself nor others. " Taking all this into considera-
tion," says Plato, "he holds his peace, and does his own work ( = goes his own
way). He is like one who in a storm retires behind a wall from the dust
and sleet of the driving wind ; seeing others filled to the full with lawlessness,
he is content if by any means he himself may live his life here pure from
unrighteousness and unholy deeds, and depart, when the time of his release
comes, with a bright hope, in peace and good-will."
Do we blame Plato if, like the man fallen among wild beasts, he seeks first
his own safety ? Do we blame him for retiring behind the wall ? Certainly
not. The whole passage in its hopefulness represents the general opinion
of the nobler minds of antiquity. To regenerate the mass of mankind was
a task beyond any human power, and we need not condemn Plato if he frankly
abandons it. The apostasis of his philosopher, however — the retiring from
active efforts among men — would be simply apostasy in the Christian.
Summary. — Very briefly we have glanced at the " limits " of a noble mind.
"We have dealt with Plato as he himself dealt with Homer. Great as are our
love and veneration for Plato, we say with him, " Truth is greater than any
man — therefore truth must be spoken." Do we thereby make void his claim
to be a Divine fore-runner ? God forbid ! If it had been possible for man
to be saved by philosophy, the philosophy of Plato would have saved him.
But philosophy, as we have seen, only touched the fringe of the question — the
great heart of society never throbbed and stirred under Plato's influence. He
approached society as a stranger, from the outside. When the true enthusiasm
for man qua man was aroused, it showed itself in a way diametrically opposed
to the method of Plato. The leaven began to work in the very midst of human
society — it did not, like philosophy, stand outside it. It began, too, with the
classes of society from which philosophy stood most aloof — gathering up the
skirts of her garments lest contact with them should defile her. The toilers,
the traders, the publican and tax-gatherer, the slaves, the barbarian, the
hopelessly sick, the fallen — these were the first to hear the universal message,
to be transformed, purified, renewed by the energising of the sweet and gracious
mind of Jesus Christ in their midst.
What philosophy could not do, in that it was weak through the flesh,
God, sending His own Son in the likeness of sinful flesh, did, that the
righteousness so nobly foreshadowed by philosophy might become an accom-
plished fact, and that not in one privileged class alone, the few, but in all.
" There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is
neither male nor female ; for ye are all one in Christ Jesus." Here is the
universal message, the universal charter, towards the fulfilment of which man-
kind is slowly working its way — Jesus Christ still in the midst.
§ XIIL— ARISTOTLE— THE " METAPHYSIC "
I. The Ladder of Knowledge. II. Wisdom the Knowledge of Causes.
III. Characteristics of Aristotle. IV. Definitions. V. The
Ladder of Inquiry.
The " Metaphysic " of Aristotle.— The Mefaphysic of Aristotle is only
a fragment, and of its thirteen books not all are considered genuine. As a
whole, in the form in which it has come down to us, it has probably been
patched and put together by some later hand. Nevertheless, certain portions
are undoubtedly the work of Aristotle, and these for our inquiry are of the
highest importance and value.
To all the genuine works of Aristotle is prefixed a short introduction,
ushered in by some pithy saying which may be taken as the keynote to the
whole. The Metaphysic is no exception to this rule, for before it stand the
words, I' All men by nature desire knowledge " — a saying which, simple as it
seems, is nevertheless from its position — graven, as it were, above Aristotle's
search after God — full of the deepest meaning. To Aristotle the thirst for
knowledge is the thirst for God. This will become apparent if we follow in the
track of his thoughts.
1. The Ladder of Knowledge. — i . " All men by nature desire knowledge "
— literally, all men by nature stretch towards knowledge, reach out to it, grasp
after it (oregontai). That this is the case is, he says, proved by the value
which we place upon our natural senses, and above all on the sense of sight.
Even if we do not specially need our sight for the carrying out of some
practical undertaking, we still set the utmost store by it. Why? Because
sight is the channel whereby, most of all, we get to know things, become
acquainted with the individual objects around us. By perception, the use
of our senses, we stand, as it were, upon the first rung of the ladder of
knowledge.
2. But we must go up higher — other creatures possess the senses as well as
man, and use them too. Other creatures have sight and hearing, some have
intelligence, and some have memory ; but man does not live by these alone.
He has a something in which other creatures can have but a small share, viz.
experience. Now experience proceeds from memory, but it is memory directed
by the reasoning power. Man observes a certain thing time after time, makes
a dozen experiments by the aid of his senses, forgets them not, and gradually
there grows out of his experiments — out of many recollections bearing on the
first experiment — that which we call experience, that which constitutes the
second rung of the ladder of knowledge.
3. Still, we cannot remain standing ; we must go higher yet. Experience
is all very well, a noble and good thing in its way, but it is confined to the
individual. He has the " knack," as we say, of observing things or doing
things; but, unfortunately, he cannot pass on that "knack" to others, any
more than he can lend them his own keen eyesight or the dexterity acquired
by long practice.
The next step in the ascent, then, requires something more even than the
intelligent use of perception and memory — it demands a higher use of the
639
k
640 AKISTOTLE —THE " METAPHYSIC "
reasoning power, even a looking below the surface, a generalising and seeking
into causes. And the man who seeks into causes has attained the third
rung of the ladder, and stands on the secure resting-place of techne — art.
" Experience," says Aristotle, " is the knowledge of individual things, art of
things in general." Herein lies the difference between man and man, between
the master-builder and the workman. The one knows the causes of things,
the other does not. The workman who is content to do his work mechani-
cally, the cheirotechnes who has art only in the hand, is on a level with soulless
things — he does his work from habit, custom (ethos) ; as the fire does its work,
from something in its nature, i.e. because it cannot help itself. There is no
credit due to either of them. This is the reason of our honouring the architect
above his labourers : they know ivhat ; he knows tvJiy. The master-builder
has not been content with the " rule of thumb " knowledge of experience ; he
has dived beneath the surface, reasoned from one set of individual experiences
to another ; he has generalised and so detected the first principles and the
causes of his operations, and he has thereby created an art.
And not only so ; he has also become a benefactor of the race, for by
the discovery of the first principles of his art, he is in a position to hand them
on to others, and bid them adapt and develop them in circumstances where
experience is lacking. In other words, he has become a teacher, and opened
up the path of progress. A little later Aristotle speaks the grand words,
which ought to ring in our own ears, " They teach, who explain the causes of
things," and they only. None others are teachers in the true sense ; let them
profess what they may.
We have made considerable progress in our ascent of the ladder of
knowledge — from perception by the senses to the knowledge of experience,
from the knowledge of experience to the development of art, from the develop-
ment of art to its universal diffusion by the teacher. Is there anything higher
than the third of these three grades : —
Perception by the senses,
Experience,
Art?
There is, for Aristotle proceeds to discriminate between art and art,
between knowledge and knowledge, between science and science ; and above
all art, knowledge, and science he places what he calls wisdom = Sophia — that
knowledge which has to do with certain causes and first prii^ciples.
II. What is Wisdom ? — Every art, as we have seen, has its first principles
and causes — to which of them are we to give the name of wisdom ?
There are several marks, says Aristotle, current even in the received
notions concerning wisdom and the wise man, which may help us to answer
the question. Briefly (with Aristotle's own comments), these marks are : —
1 . Wisdom is that which has to do with the universal, thus embracing the
particular (and as we may say in modern language, avoiding one-sidedness).
2. " Wisdom " is, even in popular esteem, that which is hardest for men to
understand. It is impossible, therefore, that it can be perception by the senses
since this is common to all. " Wisdom " is farthest from such knowledge, for
what it deals with is not to be perceived by the senses (not to be seen, grasped,
heard, touched or handled).
3. Wisdom is, also in popular esteem, that which is exact. In every de-
partment of knowledge we regard him as the wise man who goes to work
with the greatest accuracy, and who is —
ARISTOTLE— THE "METAPHYSIC" 641
4. Able to teach, for teaching consists in giving the causes of things, and
" wisdom " is that which has to do with causes.
5. Wisdom is, again, and here we approach the true Aristotelian definition
— that which is sought for itself alone ^ and not for the sake of any material
advantage.
6. Finally, " wisdom " is that which, even in popular esteem, enables a
man to rule and guide others— a faculty which, according to Aristotle, springs
from discerning the object for which everything is to be done, and this object
is nothing less than the good {fagathon) in everything, and the best {to ariston)
in nature as a whole.
" Wisdom " then has to do with causes, for the good = the object belongs to
the causes.i It has nothing to do with mere utility, for it sprang at the first
from wonder — astonishment at the mysteries of nature — and this wonder pro-
ceeds from the feeling of ignorance, leading on to inquiry — the search into
causes, and this inquiry first began when all the material necessities and even
the enjoyments of life were already provided for — when men had leisure to
think and to reflect. So, in Egypt, mathematical science began with the
priests, the body of men who had most of that precious thing, leisure — there-
fore, Aristotle dwells upon the fact that " wisdom is that which is sought for
itself alone."
" It is the only freeman among the sciences." All the other sciences con-
duce to some practical end, as slaves minister to a master ; but the knowledge
of causes exists by and for itself.
Hence, continues Aristotle, some may be disposed to agree with Simonides,
the old poet, when he says that such knowledge (that of causes) befits not man
— it is the meed of honour of God alone to know the causes of things ; and
verily, if the poets speak truth, and the Divinity is jealous, then here indeed is
the very case in which they would be jealous touching the possession of this
precious knowledge of causes. " But," says Aristotle, nobly vindicating at
once the honour of God, and the honour which He has conferred on the intellect
of man — " It is not possible for the Divinity to be jealous." ^ As the proverb
says, " The poets tell many falsities."
This knowledge is necessarily the most precious of all — for what is most
Divine is also most precious, and it has two distinguishing marks.
1 . It is that knowledge which most of all belongs to God.
2. Its subject must be the Divine.
Such is Aristotle's definition of sophia = wisdom.
The Hig-hest Step in the Ladder of Knowledg'e.— In the Fifth Book
of the Metaphysics, Aristotle reverts again to that ladder of knowledge which
we have climbed so far with him in the First Book, and proceeds to divide all
knowledge that requires thought (or participates in thought, dianoetike) into
three great branches : —
1. Productive Knowledge (poietike), the principle of which is mind (nous),
or art (techne), or some other power of faculty {dijnamis).
2. Practical Knoivledge (praktike), in which the principle is deliberate re-
solve, some ethical motive.
3. Contemplative Knowledge (theoretike), springing from reflection, observa-
tion, and the exercise of the reasoning power.
Of these three, the last, contemplative knowledge — stands highest in Aris-
totle's esteem, inasmuch as it is pursued for itself alone, for the sake of know-
1 See further, below.
2 Cf. Plato's noble assertion in the Timseus : " God willed that all should be as like unto
Himself as possible" [ante^ p. 548).
2 8
642 ARISTOTLE— THE "METAPHYSIC"
ing, not for any mercenary or material advantage ; and he proceeds to divide
it again into three great classes : —
(a) Physics, the contemplation of physis = nature, the science that has for
its subject things which are not immovable (not eternal, but passing away)
and which cannot be separated from matter (hyle).
(b) Mathematics, the science that has for its subject things which are indeed
immovable (numbers), but which, like the things of nature, also cannot be
separated from matter. They are, as it were, in matter (en hyle).
(c) Tlie First Philosophy (p?'o^e philosophia), the science that has to do
with things which are immovable, eternal, and separated from matter.
" Of necessity," comments Aristotle on the last class, " all causes must be
eternal, but especially these ; for these (invisible, eternal, immaterial things)
are the causes of the visible Divine things (i.e. the heavens)." " There are,
therefore/' he continues, " three branches of the contemplative philosophy —
physics, mathematics, and theology (the science that contemplates the Divine).
For it is clear that if the Divine exists anywhere, it must exist in this Nature
(eternal and separate from matter, or the things of sense), and that knowledge
which has to do with what is most worthy of honour must itself be most worthy
of honour. The contemplative sciences, then," he concludes, " are to be pre-
ferred before the others, and of these the first in rank is theology (the science
of God)."
Summapy. — Aristotle's Ladder of Knowledge may be briefly tabulated
thus, beginning with the lowest and ascending to the highest : —
I. The knowledge derived through the senses.
II. The knowledge derived from experience.
III. The knowledge derived from the reasoning power and thought, crys-
tallising itself into art (techne), or science {episteme).
Thought-knowledge, again, divides itself into three branches : —
A. Productive knowledge.
B. Practical knowledge.
C. Contemplative knowledge.
Contemplative knowledge, finally, ascending through —
1 . Physical knowledge, and
2. Mathematical knowledge
reaches the highest object to which the human mind can attain in
3. Theology — the knowledge of God, the only true " freeman" among the
sciences.
Have we not here, as it were, an Hellenic comment on the prophetic
words 1 — "Let not the wise man glory in his wisdom, neither let the mighty
man glory in his might . . . but let him that glorieth glory in this, that he
understandeth and knoweth Me, saith the Lord."
True, we can hardly ascribe to Aristotle the full knowledge that forms the
kernel of the prophet's thought. Nevertheless, Aristotle, too, had his vision of
God, and we shall presently go on to behold it as best we may through the
vista of the ages.
Before entering upon our examination of Aristotle's conception of the
Divine nature, however, we must pause to emphasise what has already be-
come apparent to us — the fact, namely, that to him God is knowledge, or, in
other words^ to Aristotle the knowledge of God is the highest of the sciences.
Hence his is what we may venture to call the scientific conception of God.
Plato's conception is that of the poet-philosopher ; Aristotle's that of the
^ Jeremiah ix. 23, 24.
ARISTOTLE— THE "METAPHYSIC" 643
scientific philosopher — the man who will not be carried away by his imagina-
tion, but demands clearly reasoned proof at every step. It behoves us there-
fore, (i) to learn something of the character of Aristotle as a man of science,
and (2) to make ourselves acquainted with the meaning in which he uses
certain scientific or philosophical terms. Neither of these preliminary in-
quiries presents any great difficulties. Aristotle reveals himself and his
character clearly, as does every great writer, in his works, and both the general
language in which he expresses his thoughts and the special terminology
peculiar to himself, are clear, definite, and precise to a degree.
III. The Charactepistics of Aristotle as a Man of Science.— We now
pass on to group together briefly the leading characteristics which distinguish
him in relation to his work — i.e. his own special mental attitude in regard to it.
First,^ then, let us note that Aristotle is an upholder of two things which
the sophistical teachers of his day, as of Plato's, held to be opposed. They
maintained (i) that because things are constantly changing and passing away
— flowing on with the river of Heracleitus ^ — therefore there is no such thing as
positive knowledge or truth, and (2) they declared, as the natural outcome of
this doctrine, that it did not signify what opinions a man held, or indeed,
whether he professed any definite beliefs at all. Was not one man's opinion
as good as another's ?
Against such teaching Aristotle steadfastly set his face. "If what every
one says is true," he argues, " then there is no distinction between true and
false," and the consequences of such confusion of thought are most grievous.
Aristotle held, (i) as strongly as did Plato, that there is an objective truth
outside of, and distinct from, a man's " private judgment " on the matter ; and
(2) that it is a man's duty to form an opinion and educate his judgment in
regard to that truth.
" If," he says, " a man has no definite opinion, and belief and unbelief are
alike to him, how does he differ from the plants ? "
2 . Then, secondly, we find that Aristotle is in the truest sense of the word
a teacher, faithful to that definition of his with which we are already familiar :
''They are the teachers who explain the causes." Aristotle can be satisfied
with no surface-work — to the best of his ability he goes straight to causes and
first principles, and strives to penetrate into the very roots of things. In the
Prior Analytics (I., xxx. 2) he uses an expression very characteristic of himself
when he speaks of " hunting first principles " (thereuein archas) — chasing them
with the eagerness of a hunter intent on his prey. And the reason is that (as
he tells us in the Ethics, I., vii. 21), first principles have great influence {rope)
on the course of an inquiry — literally, they "turn the scale" in the argument.
As the proverb says, continues Aristotle, " The beginning is more than half of
the whole," or, as we may put it — " A good start is more than half the race ; "
and hence we cannot be too zealous in our pursuit of first principles, or too
careful in having them clearly defined.
3. Nevertheless, although Aristotle is thus urgent in insisting on a man's
having definite opinions, and thus eager in hunting out first principles, he
clearly sees that there are certain limits which cannot be overstepped. We
cannot go back and back indefinitely. There are certain facts which must be
taken for granted. "We must not," he says in the Ethics (I. vii. 21), "de-
mand the cause equally and alike in all things. In some things it is enough
that the fact be well established, as is the case with first principles. Now the
fact (itself) is a first point and principle. But some principles are perceived
^ See ante, p. 545.
644 ARISTOTLE— THE " METAPHYSIC "
by inference, 1 some by intuition,^ others by a sort of habit of the mind,^ and
in short, different principles in different ways." We must try to follow after
each of these in the natural way — that is, not demand a proof which from the
very nature of the thing in question cannot be given.
And again, in the Metaphysics, he says of those would-be philosophers who
demand proof of things which form in themselves the basis of proof, that by
this demand they only show their own want of acquaintance with logic {Met.
iii. 1005 h 2).
4. Further, let us emphasise again a point already noted — Aristotle is no
nature-worshipper. Fascinated and deeply engrossed as he was by his inves-
tigations into nature, he yet assigns to these, as we have seen, only the third
highest place in the ladder of knowledge. Elsewhere {Met. iii. 1005 a, 33 seq.)
he says," There is something which is still higher than the knowledge of nature
(for Nature is only one department of being), that knowledge which has to do
with the universal and the first substance or essence {^wote ousia). The
knowledge of nature is a kind of wisdom {sophia tis), but it is not the first."
Certainly, no true inquirer will decry the knowledge that comes to us through
the senses, the avenues or channels through which we become acquainted with
things around. Least of all is such an one as Aristotle disposed to undervalue
it. " As regards the question of Truth," he says, " and the doctrine that not
all that appears (the phenomena around us) is true, we must observe that
perception by the senses is not false when it is kept in its own sphere, but,
imagination is not perception." And what he means by mistaking *' imagina-
tion " for perception becomes clear from another passage in which he points
out the limitation of perception. "There is another objection," he says,
"which we must raise (against those who held materialistic views), this,
namely, that the portion of the universe which is perceptible to the senses is
but a small part, and yet they draw conclusions from this small part to the
whole ! " To Aristotle, as to Plato, there was a something invisible, impalpable,
beyond the ken of the senses, eternal in the heavens, beyond the fleeting river
that engulfs the things of matter and mortality. Aristotle is no nature-
worshipper.
5. Finally, let us note again that Aristotle is no intellect- worshipper.
True, he says in one place (Met. xii., ix. 1074 & 15) that "mind (nous), the
thinking power, is the most Divine of all phenomena ; " but in another (1074 b
29) he straightway adds, " It is clear that there is something more worthy of
honour than the thinking power, viz. that which occupies the thinking power,
its thoughts " (to noumenon), a distinction with a difference. Not the mind
occupying itself with no matter what, is, in Aristotle's opinion, worthy of
admiration, even were it (and it is in this connection that, with all reverence,
he is speaking) the Mind of God Himself, but it is the Mind occupied with
grand and noble thoughts alone that is or can be, from the very nature of the
case. Divine.
Summary. — " If a man has no definite opinions, if belief and unbelief are
alike to him, how does he differ from the plants?"
They are the teachers (opening up the path of progress) who explain the
causes.
" We cannot always demand the cause." The " reason why " must some-
^ Epaqoge, evolution of a general law out of many particulars.
^ Aisthesei, aisthesis, is not to be restricted to the perception of the senses ; rather it is opposed
to them as intuition is to inference.
3 Etkismos is a sort of unconscious induction, a process by which general truths may be said
to grow up in the mind (Sir A. Grant, in loc. ).
ARISTOTLE— THE "METAPHYSIC" 645
times be taken for granted. The nature of the proof must be in harmony with
the nature of the thing to be proved.
" There is something higher than nature."
"There is something higher than mind."
These few "characteristics" which have presented themselves almost
unbidden from the stores at our command, may suflSce to reveal the man with
whom we have to do, resolute and thorough in his search after truth, cautious,
conscious of his own limitations ; yea, humble and reverent, in his approach
to it.
IV. Aristotle's Definitions.— The philosophical terms to which we would
now briefly invite the reader's attention are five in number : —
i.^ Action = the Cause. —The word " Cause" takes, as we have seen, a very
prominent place in Aristotle's terminology, and we may now go on to notice
that he employs it in a sense much wider than the modern use. We mean
by the " cause " of a thing simply that which produces it, the working-power.
Aristotle, however, distinguishes no less than four causes, two inner = in
the thing itself, and two outer = independent of it.
The Tiuo Inner Causes are : —
(i) That out of which a thing is made = Matter. In this sense metal is
the " cause " of the statue ; the silver the " cause " of the bowl.
(2) The shaping Idea = Form, that which was to be, the conception latent
in the thing itself, its very nature or essence.
The Two Outer Causes : —
(3) That which effects the change, the working or moving power. In this
sense the counsellor is the " cause " of what is done in the state, the builder
is the " cause " of the house.
(4) That for which the thing is done, the object or end, the telos. In this
sense the attainment of health is the " cause" of exercise, " Why do we take
a walk ? — In order to be healthy," we reply, and when we make this reply,
says Aristotle, we believe that we are assigning the " cause " of our action.
The four causes may thus be said to correspond to the four questions : —
1 . Out of what ? 1 = Matter.
2. Into what?2 = The whole, the synthesis, shaped by determining Form.
3. By what agency ? ^ = The moving power.
4. For what purpose ? ^ = The telos = the object.
And note that the first three are all subordinate to the fourth, the telos.
The matter, the form, the worker, the wood, the house, the builder, are all
subservient to the end on account of which they come into existence ; and that
end in Aristotle's view is the good. We remember his definition of wisdom,
" That which enables a man to discern the object for which things are done,
the good (fagathon) in everything and the best {to ariston) in nature as a
whole. Wisdom has to do with causes, for the good = the object belongs to
the causes," " Finally," he says in his definition of causes, " there is some-
thing which is the end or goal, the telos, of the others. For that for which
all exists (by reason of which, on account of which) is the best, and wills to
be the goal of the others. It matters not," he adds, " whether we call this
the good-in-itself or the good in concrete (the good manifested in the things
of sense)."
The good is to Aristotle the Causa finalis, the final cause, the end and
goal of all that exists, God Himself, who wills to be the goal of the universe.
^ To ex hou aitia. ^ To ti en einai.
3 Hothen he arche tes metaboles. *' To hou heneka.
646 ARISTOTLE— THE "METAPHYSIC"
2. Natu7'e=physis. — What does Aristotle understand by "nature"? The
summing up of his definition is as follows : —
" From what has been said, it follows that the first and strictly correct
significance of nature is, that which has the principle of movement in itself."
" Matter," he adds, " is called ' nature ' because it can receive such a
principle into itself and the processes of birth and growth, because by virtue
of this they are principles of movement. And this principle of movement
which is in the things of nature is latent (immanent) in them, either
potentially (dynamei) or actually (enteleclieia).'^
What Aristotle means by nature being that which is capable of " receiving
the moving principle" will become apparent as we proceed.
3. Energeia and (4) Dynamis. — Here we have a pair of terms all-important
to the right understanding of Aristotle.
Energeia is not with him, what we understand by " energy," latent force ;
it is much more. We cannot translate energeia by " energy " unless we mean
energy-in-action, energy displaying itself in power and reality, energy actually
working. Hence, reality, actuality (aktualitdt), the word preferred both by
English and German commentators on the philosopher. It is necessary to
keep this distinction in view.
Dynamis, on the other hand, is latent force, which may or may not pass
into energeia; it may lie passive, or it may show itself in action as energeia.
Thus it answers to our term " potentiality " = capacity to be or become.
Of these two terms, it will be readily seen that energeia is by far the
higher in Aristotle's view. Dynamis may exist, the power to become may be
there, but it cannot show itself or pass into life without the quickening of an
energeia outside of itself.
5. Kinesis = movement is a term closely connected with the preceding.
With Aristotle it means more than with us. "If we try to explain one word
by another, we should say that movement to Aristotle is ' change ' {metahole) ;
or if we wish for a formal definition, we should say that ' movement ' is the
transition from mere possibility to reality." It is very important for us, in
connection with our present subject, to recollect that Aristotle held " move-
ment" to be due to an impulse from without. " All that is moved," he says
in the Physics, " must of necessity be moved by something," even when the
movement seems to proceed from itself.
6. Telos we have already commented on. It is the end or goal for which
a thing is done, as health is the telos of exercise. ^
7. Ousia = substance or essence, is that which constitutes the essential nature
of a thing ; the hypokeimenon, that which underlies the qualities or "accidents"
of the thing.
Y. The Ladder of Inquiry. — From the foregoing we shall already have
perceived what the object of the Metaphysics is — nothing less than an en-
deavour to find out the cause of all causes. The knowledge of this first cause
is the first philosophy, the highest of all the sciences.
Aristotle prefaces his own explanation with a critique of the various
doctrines set forth by his predecessors, an historical review which forms our
most trustworthy account of the early philosophy. He shows that the first
question which roused the interest of thinkers was this : What was the proto-
element or original element? — a question which we can only understand as
they who asked it understood it, if we bear in mind that by the proto-element
they meant, not the proto-plasm, the first " stuck-together " of modern
^ See a very clear explanation of this statement in Rolfe's Auffassung von Verhaltnisse
Oottes zur Welt und zum Menschen, p. 19 et seq.
ARISTOTLE— THE "METAPHYSIC" 647
philosophers, but that which stuck-the-rest-together, an active combining
synthetising element. What in all the world could this have been to produce
the extraordinarily varied phenomena of nature ? This was the first question
of questions in philosophy.
Beginning with the water theory of Thales, Aristotle traces the develop-
ment of the answer to the question, and points out that no two philosophers
agreed in their solution of the puzzle. Each of the " elements " (earth alone
excepted) had its man, its advocate urging its claims to be considered this
w?--element — that out of which all else had developed itself. Earth was
rejected in the inquiry, partly because she had already done duty in the
myths and the popular fancy as the " great mother," but partly, also, because,
as Aristotle says, earth particles are too gross for the purpose in view. The
proto-element must have been that which consists of the smallest and finest
particles, because from it by composition (synthesis) everything else had
proceeded. Thales maintained, as we know, that the origin of all things was
water ; Anaximenes upheld air ; Anaximander, something which is thicker
than air, but thinner than water ; and Heracleitus propounded that doctrine
which seemed the most probable of all, viz. that the combining moulding
substance was fire. Finally, thinkers were confronted with the unanswerable
argument that that which is " compounded " is later in time than the things
out of which it is compounded, and that consequently earth, air, and water
must all have been proto- elements as well as fire — a thought which pro-
bably led to Empedocles' theory of the four elements, as well as to that
of Anaxagoras, who started from an infinite number of first particles or
principles.
The earliest philosophers, then, as Aristotle emphasises again and again,
sought for a material cause ; their m'-element must have been in the form of
matter {en hyles eidei) evolving all things out of itself, its outer form changing
while itself remained as the eternal substratum.
According to all those mentioned, says Aristotle, " there could only be such
a first cause as could be imagined in the form of matter, but," he adds, *' the
question itself opened up the way for them, and forced them to seek farther.
For, whether it be maintained that birth and decay proceed from one thing or
from many, we are still obliged to ask : Why does this take place, and what is
the cause of it ? It is clear that matter does not produce the changes in itself.
I mean," he adds, "for example, that neither the wood nor the metal is the
cause of any change that takes place in wood or metal — the wood does not
make a bed, nor the metal a statue. Something else is the cause of the change,
and the seeking of this cause is nothing else than the seeking of another prin-
ciple — that which we call the principle of movement." ^
Just, then, as we marked the various steps of the ladder of knowledge, so
now Aristotle calls upon us to note the various stages in the ladder of inquiry.
Question First. — What was the proto-element ? was it in one form or in
many?
Question Second. — What was the principle of movement ? that which worked
upon the proto-element or elements, and produced the changes in nature.
The earliest inquirers were not much troubled by this second question.
Flowing water, burning fire, seemed to them to have in itself that which
could explain motion and change. The Eleatics, the Italian philosophers who
succeeded the Ionian physiologists, also interpreted the phenomena of nature
in their own ways. True being, they said, is without movement; all that
1 By " movement " Aristotle, as we know, means also change.
648 ARISTOTLE— THE "METAPHYSIC"
changes belongs to the world of appearance only — an explanation which
explained nothing.
The Pythagoreans made a step in advance of the physiologists, inasmuch as
they abandoned matter ; but their theories of number were, as Aristotle justly
points out, superficial and arbitrary, while the very conception of "number"
does not really get beyond matter. The Pythagorean system then was a sort
of half-way house between matter and spirit — and in this category as we know,
Aristotle places the study of mathematics. It is a help to the highest know-
ledge, but not itself the highest. The Pythagoreans could not explain their
own theories — " how numbers are ' one,' or soul and body, or, generally, the
form and the thing done." The moving principle was not discovered by them.
Then came the Atomists, Leucippus and Democritus, the precursors of the
theorists of the present day ; but they too, says Aristotle, left the question
unsolved like the others.
Motion, according to them, was the result of some inner necessity in nature,
what we should call a hidden natural law.
As Aristotle observes, "None of these theories sufficed to explain the
origin of things," and he again makes the pregnant remark, that truth itself
forced inquirers to seek the next principle. The goodness and the beauty of
things, he says, could not possibly have their cause in fire or water, or any such
thing, and he does not believe that the early thinkers themselves entertained
such a notion, or that they ascribed a matter of such importance (as the con-
stitution of the universe) " to automatism (automatic force = necessity) or
chance."
After the early Physiologists had said their say, the problem still remained,
What — who — induced the rush of the combining water? What or who kindled
the moulding fire ? If we answer with the Atomists, " An inner necessity of
nature," the further problem remains, " Why this ' necessity ' ? Who planted
it in nature, and directed it ? Who designed the operations of ' necessity ' =
natural law ? Democritus himself, with his clear good sense, recognised the
wonderful evidence of design in the structure of the human frame. Demo-
critus himself, although he clung to the doctrine of necessity, would by no
means allow the rule of chance. Thus Aristotle leads us on to see that the
first two steps in the ladder of inquiry —
Which was the first element ?
What was the moving force ?
necessitate a third question —
3. Who, or what, directed the moving force ?
And the answer to this, the question of questions, was, he says, discovered
first of all by Anaxagoras. The power that all the others had been in search
of was akin to the power that in-dwelt in each of themselves : nous — mind
the supreme intelligence. Only by such a first cause working on and in matter
can movement and change be explained. " Mind working in nature, as it does
in living creatures," says Aristotle, " he declared to be the cause of the whole
world-order, a statement which in contradistinction to the haphazard con-
jectures of the first philosophers, opened the way for sober thought." To
Anaxagoras belongs the merit of having been the first to discriminate between
matter and spirit. Here we have the foundation for " sober thought," but the
statement itself again forces us on, and thinkers were obliged to ask —
4. Of what Nature is the Supreriie Mind ? Is this intelligence benevolent
and good, or malevolent and evil ? We know already Aristotle's idea on the
subject, and in speaking of the doctrine of Anaxagoras, he immediately pro-
ceeds to state that Anaxagoras' discovery had a double consequence — by it the
ARISTOTLE— THE "METAPHYSIC" 649
cause of the good was acknowledged to be the principle of things, as well as
that principle of motion of which they had been in search.
The doctrine of the good as the ruling principle, however, was not univer-
sally accepted, as we remember, and Aristotle points this out. Men had ob-
served, he says, that there exist in the universe not only order and beauty, but
disorder and the reverse of the beautiful, and that the evil was more abundant
than the good, the hateful than the beautiful ; and out of the perception of
this fact (or supposed fact) had grown that doctrine of Empedocles, which set
up two rival contending principles — love and strife (philia and neikos) as the
causes, respectively, of good and evil. This doctrine Aristotle will by no means
accept. Still less does he admit the premises on which it is built. *' In all
things the good is the predominant principle," and he gives the best and most
scientific of reasons for the statement. The notion that strife is immortal, he
says, is senseless. For strife itself is of the nature of evil. If evil, as supposed,
were the prevailing principle, how could things be held together — how could
anything be lasting and permanent — still less immortal? Strife — evil are
dividing, disintegrating powers. How can they produce anything lasting, still
less hold things together ? And in a very beautiful passage which we shall
meet with shortly (Met. XIV. iv. 109 1 b 18), Aristotle arrives at the deep
and most pregnant conclusion — " by nothing else is anything immortal than by
reason of its possessing the good." The good is the combining, moulding,
holding-together force which alone, from the very nature of the case, can be
immortal.
All this the first philosophers had seen but dimly. Anaxagoras himself, as
we know from Plato, made a very poor use of his discovery. He dragged in
spirit as the cause of things only when mechanical causes failed. We re-
member the graphic account which (in the Phsedo ^) Plato puts into the mouth
of Socrates, of the disappointment which the half thought-out theories of
Anaxagoras had brought to earnest men. Anaxagoras assigned " causes " for
the existence of things, he says, much as they would do who should give as the
cause of Socrates sitting quietly in the prison at Athens, the physical fact that
the bones and sinews of Socrates were capable of contracting and permitting of
his sitting down. Was this the cause of the presence of Socrates in the prison-
house ?
"By heaven!" says the old philosopher, ''if it depended on my bones
and sinews, they would long ago have decamped and been found miles away
from Athens."
The causes of Socrates' sitting quietly in the prison-house were spiritual
causes, the sentence of the Athenians on the one hand, his own noble and
resolute mind, which prompted death rather than flight, on the other.
So, to all thinking men, intelligence— directing, resolute mind, planning,
organising, making decisions and taking its stand upon them — alone can ex-
plain the real cause of things, is itself the first originating cause.
That the early philosophers did not perceive this, that Anaxagoras himself
failed to see the full drift of his reasoning, was to be expected. The progress
of truth is always gradual. The earliest philosophy, as Aristotle says,
" stammered "—spoke like a lisping child— as was natural. Those who came
later in the day, like Anaxagoras, he compares to untrained soldiers, who often
contrive to deal good blows, but have no system. The early philosophers did
not really know what they were maintaining, they had not fully reasoned out
their statements.
Summary of the ATgnment— Question First. Which was the proto-
element ?
1 See ante, p. 558.
650 ARISTOTLE— THE "METAPHYSIC"
Ansioer. "Water, air, fire, atoms — one element or all.
Objection. These things are material. How can matter develop itself?
" The metal makes no statue, the wood no bed." There must have been a
working power.
Question Second. What was this working power, this principle of motion ?
Ansvjer. Water-combining — fire-moulding, some mechanical force, some
inner necessity or law of nature.
Objection. What — who — began the movement of the elements ? Who con-
structed the mechanism ? Who implanted the necessity ? Who gave the
law? There must have been a power to impart the first impetus, a power
to guide.
Question Third. What was this impetus-giving directing force ?
Ansioer. Intelligence — nous — supreme mind.
Objection. Evil is abundant in the world.
Question Fourth. What is the nature of the supreme mind ?
Ansioer. The nature of the good. That which began and sustains the move-
ment of the Kosmos must be eternal. Evil is not eternal. It is a dividing,
disintegrating, destroying influence. If evil had been the ruling power, the
universe must long since have crumbled to pieces and ceased to be. Only by
possession of the good is anything immortal.
Thus, the various steps of the ladder of inquiry land us on the same
heights as did the steps of the ladder of knowledge. By both we have climbed
up to God — highest knowledge, highest good, the only possible originating,
directing, sustaining first cause.
ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
I. Introduction. II. The Early Theories concerning the Soul. III.
Aristotle's General Definition op the Soul. IV. The Ladder
OF Life.
I. INTRODUCTION
When we turn to the subject of the soul, its powers and capacities, we come
to one which Aristotle regarded as second only to the " First Philosophy,"
the knowledge of God. To it he devoted the three books of the treatise
Concerning the Soul — a treatise which, with all its brevity, is among the
most precious that have come down to us under his name. Of its genuineness
there is no doubt; and, like all the true works of Aristotle, it opens with
a pithy introduction, which gives the keynote to the whole. We recollect
the first sentence of the Metaphysics : "All men by nature desire knowledge";
and by the side of this we may place the introduction to the work On the
Soul. "Knowledge," says Aristotle, "we take to be something noble and
honourable ; but," he continues, " we make distinctions — one kind of know-
ledge we esteem more than another, either because of the degree of pains-
taking and exactitude (akribeia) required to attain it, or because the subject
with which it deals stands higher or is more worthy of our admiration. On
both grounds, we place our inquiry into the nature of the soul in the first
line. And we shall not err if we say that this knowledge is of great im-
portance for truth in general, and especially for the investigation of nature ;
for the soul, we may say, is the principle of living creatures. " Let us then
endeavour," he adds, " to contemplate (bring our own highest thoughts to bear
upon) and to know both the nature and the essence of the soul."
Thus the task which Aristotle here sets himself is, once more, the inquiry
into causes. He is not content with learning the nature of the soul, i.e.
the natural conditions under which it exists, but will even try to realise its
true essence — to penetrate, as it were, into the inner secrets of its being.
A profound task ! and no less perplexing than profound — just in proportion
to the supreme importance of the subject is its difficulty. Aristotle himself
declares that to " attain to any reliable knowledge about the soul is altogether
and in every way one of the most difficult of tasks."
Difficulty of the Subject. — This difficulty arises in greatest measure
from the complexity of the subject. In Aristotle's view, it is impossible to
study the nature of the soul by itself alone. The soul, he says, cannot be
considered apart from the body ; for without the latter, it would seem that, as
a rule, the soul neither exercises its functions nor even suffers passively. For
instance, in such feelings as anger, boldness, desire, and in perception by the
aid of the senses, the body takes part as well as the soul. Hence the physio-
logist must be consulted in the inquiry no less than the philosopher, although
the explanation which each would give of the cause of the feelings mentioned
would vary with his particular standpoint.
6s I
652 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
Thus, in regard to the feeling of " anger," the philosopher would tell us
that it is called forth by the desire to retaliate ; whereas the physiologist's
explanation would be that it is produced by a seething of the heart-blood
or heart of the body. Both are right, in their own respective spheres, says
Aristotle — the philosopher looks to the spiritual cause, the form or idea ; the
physiologist to the corporeal cause, the matter on which the idea works.
Even in thinking, that function which beyond all else is the peculiar
function of the soul, we cannot altogether separate soul and body ; for
thought, in some of its aspects, is indebted to imagination; and imagina-
tion, in its turn, is indebted to the senses. Wherefore, body and soul are so
interwoven one with the other — they act and re-act to so great an extent the
one upon the other — that, in Aristotle's view, no inquiry into the nature of
the soul can be profitably undertaken apart from the consideration of the vital
union between itself and its shrine, the body.
We see at once from this preliminary statement how widely Aristotle's
psychology differs from that of Plato.
In Plato's view the body is indeed to be exercised and developed, but this
is in order to prevent its becoming a drag upon the soul, or to hinder its
getting the dominion over the soul. In the end, it is only the mortal coil
from which the true lover of wisdom is glad to escape as soon as he can do so
without offending his masters, the gods.^
Aristotle, on the other hand, always speaks considerately and respectfully,
as it were, of the body. He treats it throughout as a workman treats some
valued instrument or tool which has stood him for years in good stead, and
which he prizes on that account. Aristotle's psychology is, therefore, the first
really scientific attempt to understand man as he is — a synolon — body and soul
both together forming a whole.
In fairness, however, the two systems ought not to be compared, for except
in the Timseus, Plato scarcely touches those physiological questions, which
possess very much attraction for Aristotle.
Plato's psychology is infinitely precious to us, having regard solely to the
spiritual side of the complex " man " ; Aristotle's is no less interesting as
dealing with both sides of the problem. If we miss in him the dramatic force
which lends so vivid a charm to Plato's style — if we find in him no striking
allegory such as that of the "charioteer and his steeds" or the "threefold
image " of the soul — we experience nevertheless in the study of Aristotle the
keen interest which the working out of a solid well-built argument never fails
to bring.
Let us note that here, as elsewhere, before proceeding to rear his structure,
Aristotle clears away the ruins of older theories, and thus prepares the ground
for his own.
II.— THE EARLY THEORIES CONCERNING THE NATURE
OF THE SOUL
Greek thought had early fixed upon two signs by which the presence of the
soul in anything might be known. These were : —
(i) The power of movement.
(2) The power of feeling or perception by the senses.
By these two tests it was held that the en-souled might be distinguished
from the non-souled, the animate from the inanimate.
^ See ante, p. 575.
THEORIES CONCERNHSTG THE NATURE OF THE SOUL 653
Of these two, movement first naturally attracted by itself most or all of the
attention of thinkers ; and Thales, the father of philosophy, went so far as to
attribute, in the personifying fashion of the age, a soul to the magnet because
of its power in moving the iron.
Then arose the question : What is the nature of the soul, of this mysterious
tenant of the body, whose departure from it produces the awful change known
as death ?
To this question of questions there were three leading classes of replies, all
of which concurred in one point, viz. that the soul participates in the nature of
the body, i.e. that it was material.
1. The Elemental Theory.— There were those who maintained that the
soul was composed either of one " element " or of several ; and, as in the case
of the problem concerning the great moving power of the universe (see ante,
p. 551), so here also, as regards the little moving power of the individual,
every " element " except earth had its advocate.
{a) Water. — Hippo, a physiologist of the Periclean age, who held fast to
the earliest doctrine of all concerning the proto, or first, element — that pro-
pounded by Thales (p. 647) — declared that the soul must also be composed of
water. The reason for this (to us) extraordinary conjecture was doubtless the
part played by moisture in the development of life.
{h) Air. — Diogenes (of Apollonia) maintained that the soul must be formed
of air, the very finest (and most spiritual) of the elements.
(c) Fire. — Heracleitus held (as we know) that the soul consisted of fiery
or warm dry vapours (see ante, p. 647).
{d) Blood. — Finally, Critias^ was of opinion that the soul is to be found
in the blood, inasmuch as feeling is intimately connected with the soul, and
feeling is based on the nature of the blood.
Each of these theories had its adherents, because each and all were based
on a very plausible notion, which, as we shall presently see, Aristotle
demolishes at a stroke.
2. The Mechanical Theory. — Then there was the scientific, and, to
many minds, most attractive explanation of the atomists, Leucippus and
Democritus and their school, aptly termed the " mechanical theory " of move-
ment, and to it our philosopher devotes a good deal of attention. Democritus,
then, maintained that the soul is fire and heat — fire, because this is the most
immaterial of the elements, consists of the finest particles, and is itself moved
as well as the mover of other things. According to him, there is an infinite
number of indivisible atoms (see ante, p. 648), and of these he calls those
which are globe-shaped fire and soul. This fire-soul is identical with the spirit
(tiows = mind), and it consists of the original indivisible atoms, whose capacity
for movement proceeds from their fineness and their form, for their spherical
shape it is that enables them to penetrate through everything. To these
belong the so-called "sun-dust" particles, which come through the windows
and are visible in the sun's rays. These fiery, globe-shaped soul-particles are
drawn in with the breath, and so long as respiration continues, they maintain
life by keeping up the fire-soul within. Whenever, on the other hand, breath-
ing is impeded, the presence of the cold outer air gets the upper hand, the
fire-soul is not replenished — it goes out, and death ensues. Hence, on this
theory, as Aristotle remarks, respiration is the limit or standard of life, a truth
which, in its own way, no one can deny.
The theory, however, as an explanation of the phenomena exhibited in a
1 Probably the leader of the thirty tyrants, and, if so, the disciple of Socrates, and a man
of culture.
654 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
living creature, is exceedingly weak, and Aristotle finds no difficulty in dis-
posing of it. " Democritus says," he observes, " that the globe-shaped atoms
are in motion because from their nature they cannot stand still, and thus they
draw the whole body with them and bring it into motion." And to this theory
a certain sect whom he calls " Pythagoreans," ^ added the shrewd observation,
that the particles which dance in the sunlight are in perpetual motion, even on
the calmest day. Well, says Aristotle, granted that these atoms by their
natural incessant motion produce motion in another. We must ask, Is standing
still to be explained in the same way ? How can you account on this reasoning
for rest, pause, cessation from motion ?
" No ! " he says emphatically. " Not in this way does the soul move the
living creature. Much rather does she move it by some definite choice and
conscious thought ! "
3. The Harmony or Combination Theory.— Finally, there is that
subtle theory about the soul which we have already met with and seen refuted
by Plato {ante, p. 602), namely, that the soul is a "harmony." That Aristotle
also deems it necessary to draw this theory within the scope of his inquiry is a
proof of the fascination it possessed for the Greek mind.
There were no less than three ways in which the supporters of this doctrine
tried to demonstrate its truth in his day.
{a) Harmony, they said, is the union-blending and synthesis of opposites,
and so is the soul.
No, Aristotle replies, the reasoning is not applicable, because it would
reduce the soul to a new series of relationships between certain conditions or
attributes. What becomes of the real underlying thing that supports these
conditions and attributes ? What becomes also of movement ? It is not
possible to explain the nature of the soul in this way. You may say of health
or of any excellence of the body that it is a harmony, but you cannot thus
define the underlying thing, the soul itself.
{/;) Harmony, they say again, lies in proportion or the just adaptation of
parts, and in this way the soul is a harmony of parts.
No, replies Aristotle again, your use of the term is inadmissible in regard
to the soul. Proportion has reference to the sizes and relationships of the
various parts out of which a whole is composed. You may, indeed, easily
measure the parts of the body. They are put together in a manifold number
of ways ; but of what is the spirit (the invisible nous, the thinking mind) com-
posed ; or in what way can we understand even the lower parts of the soul, the
perceiving and appetitive organs ?
(3) Harmony, they say finally, is the mingling (of material elements) in due
proportion.
This definition, says Aristotle, is just as foolish as the others, the mingling
of elements in proportion ! but of what elements, of those that form the bones,
or of those that form the flesh? It is quite plain that the proportion in
which the " elements " are mixed cannot be the same in both cases. If this
assertion be true, and the soul consist of a harmony of material elements, then,
as a necessary consequence, we must have many souls, and these spread over
the whole body. Wherefore, Aristotle concludes, it is not possible for the soul
itself to be a " harmony " in any of these senses whatsoever.
Underlying these various theories — the " elemental," the "mechanical,"
and the " harmony " theories — is the assumption that the soul is material,
composed of the same elements as the body. The basis of this assumption is a
^ It is by no means certain what school Aristotle is alluding to under this name. He
seems to know but little about Pythagoras or his followers.
ARISTOTLE'S DEFINITION OF THE SOUL 655
doctrine which at all times found great favour with the Greeks, one which, in
its own sphere, is perfectly true, viz. that " like is only discerned by like."
The soul perceives all, hence, it must consist of the same elements. If " like
is discerned by like," the soul must contain everything within herself in order
to be able to discern them in others. This notion Aristotle refutes with his
usual masterly skill. This, he says, would only enable her to discern the
elements in things— what is it that enables her to discern a whole ? — not only
the elements out of which a thing is made, but the particular and special
whole into which they are formed. Shall we say that a whole " stone " or a
whole " man " is present in the soul, as well as the elements of which they are
composed? How is it that the soul can discern God, or man, or flesh, or
bones ? And how does she perceive the good and the not good ? Are these
made out of material elements? And if not, how? On the theory that "like
is discerned by like," as interpreted by those people, if the soul is material as
they maintain, how can she discern these things? God — the good — these are
not material, and yet the soul discerns them.
So at every point Aristotle demolishes the theories of the earlier philo-
sophers. They were not worthy to be held by a thinking mind. " All," he
says, " with one exception, declare the soul to be composed of all the elements
or a combination of all. Anaxagoras alone maintained that the spirit = nous,
the thinking power, has nothing in common with anything else. " Spirit alone
of all that exists," he said, *' is simple, unmixed, and pure. He refers both
knowledge and movement to it," comments Aristotle, *' when he says that the
spirit has set the whole in movement. Anaxagoras it was who paved the way
for the great thinkers of the world by placing spirit on his rightful throne in
the microcosmos of man as in the macrocosmos of the universe ; but Anaxa-
goras, as we know, both from Plato (see p. 561) and from Aristotle, left much
unexplained, and did not even endeavour to work out logically the great idea
which had come to him.
III.— ARISTOTLE'S DEFINITION OF THE SOUL
We can easily understand that the upholders of these old theories when
they saw them knocked down, one after the other, by the ruthless logic of
Aristotle, would insist on having their revenge. " If," they would say, " the
soul is not composed of one or more of the * elements,' nor of fiery, life-giving
atoms — if it is not the union of opposite qualities, nor a something justly
and beautifully put together in the same way as the body — if it is not, so to
speak, a * chemical mixture ' in which all the ingredients are so combined that
nothing is either wanting or in excess— if amongst the idealists, your own
friends, you are still not satisfied, if the nous of Anaxagoras is not explained
sufficiently, if the magnificent thoughts of Plato do not content you — what, in
Heaven's name, do you conceive the soul to be ? We demand an answer."
And the answer Aristotle was not slow to give. He puts it forth in the
shape of a " definition " which must always hold its own as one of the most
fertile of human thoughts. It is to be found in the second book of the
De Anima : —
*' The soul is the first entelecheia of a body, which has the capacity for life."
A little further on, he repeats the same thought in different words : *' If,"
he says, " we would put forth a definition applicable to every soul, it would be
this, viz. the soul is the first entelecheia of a natural organised body."
The reader will probably be puzzled rather than enlightened at the first
656 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
glance by the definition, and more than disposed to say, " What may Aristotle
mean ? I can understand the definitions of the older philosophers — I know
what Critias implied when he said that ' the soul was the blood, for the blood
is the life' — but this definition — the entelechy of an organised body? The
shell of your fertile kernel is altogether too hard." Nevertheless it is worth
the cracking. Aristotle, like a Greater, bids us " seek " that we may find.
Let us place by the side of the definition, an etymology, with which we are
already familiar, and see if it does not help us.
The soul is the first entelecheia of a Entelecheia, is that which contains the
body which has the exponents (dynamis) end — telos. It is therefore the being in a
for life. state of completeness or perfection.
In other words, the soul is that which energises — works out the end or
object for which the body exists.
If we could imagine a living " something " taking possession of a block of
marble (or any other kind of matter), entering into it, and proceeding to evolve
by slow degrees from the block a shapely statue — moulding it from within out-
wards, and endowing it for a time with its own life, that living something would
be the first entelechy of the statue.
If, again, we could imagine the statue thus shaped and endowed as itself
energising, putting forth all its powers in reality, in active work — then we
should have a rude conception of its second or final entelechy. For in doing
its work, it would be accomplishing its end, or ielos.
This figure may serve to illustrate after a lame fashion Aristotle's doctrine
of the soul. After a very lame fashion, indeed ! — for what figure could do
justice to the real power of the mysterious something which we call Life, to
the phenomena of growth and increase witnessed in every " natural" organised
body that has the capacity to receive and develop " Life " ?
Let us now rehearse and tabulate Aristotle's definitions, using his own
peculiar terminology, with which it is absolutely necessary to make ourselves
at home : —
(i) The soul is the true essence (ousia), the substratum or thing that under-
lies (hypoJceimenon) ; it is the form or indwelling idea (eidos) ; the energising,
vitalising, working power {energeia).
(2) The body is the matter (Jiyle) on which and in which the soul works —
that which has the capacity {dynamis) to receive and be formed by it.
(3) Body and soul, as form and matter, correspond to one another, and the
one works, the other is worked upon ; and the union of the two produces a
whole (the synolon — all together), the individual.
(4) The soul acting in, on, and by means of the body is entelechy — its
realisation ; for it, the soul, is itself the end (telos) for which the body exists.
This entelechy is twofold : —
(a) It exists first in the same way that knowledge (episteme) unused, exists
— that is, in, as it were, a slumbering state.
(b) It develops later as knowledge used — highest thought {theorein), mind
and spirit awake, and put forth all their energies.
In Aristotle's precise words : " In the existence of the soul, there are both
sleeping and waking — waking corresponds to our highest thought {theorein) ;
sleeping to the possession of knowledge not put forth.
Well might Aristotle say of the early philosophers that they " hoped " and
stammered ! By the side of a conception such as this, the old theories are
absolutely childish.
ARISTOTLE'S DEFINITION OF THE SOUL 657
These considerations naturally present themselves immediately in regard
to it : —
1. The Two Conceptions of the Idea. — Aristotle's doctrine of the soul
is an extension or adaptation of Plato's doctrine of the ideas. Plato held, as
we know, that the ideas — the ideal forms or prototypes after which all earthly
things were fashioned, exist in heaven. In the Ethics and elsewhere Aristotle
rejects this conception ; it was not sufficiently " practical " or workable for him.
Notwithstanding, he is himself no less an idealist than Plato — with this differ-
ence, in that instead of the idea being for him a sublime object of contempla-
tion existing apart beyond the earthly sphere he conceives of it as a living
moulding force existing within the individual. We hold both philosophers to
be in the right. The Idea is in heaven — the Idea is also within us.
2. The Nature of the Connection between Soul and Body. — The definition
also helps us to understand Aristotle's doctrine of the intimate union between
soul and body. This union is not to be explained on the old materialistic
ground that soul and body are alike formed of the same material elements.
Not so ! as we have seen, Aristotle proved that spirit is something entirely
different and distinct from matter, it is not from its " likeness " to matter that
its power of discerning matter proceeds. The connection between soul and
body is of a totally different character, it is that of worker and thing worked
upon in the first place, of worker and his instrument {(yrganon) in the second.
"We need as little inquire," says Aristotle, "whether soul and body are one,
as we need ask whether wax and the form of the wax are one."
3. The definition, again, closely followed, opens up a very wide vista.
Aristotle says, not only that the soul is the entelecheia of the body, but he
adds that if the definition is to be an all-embracing one, it must run thus, viz.
" The soul is the first entelecheia of every natural organised body," capable of
receiving life. It therefore includes the whole realm of animated nature,
of what we now understand by Physiology {physis = nature) as well as what
we call Psych-o-logy (psyche = the soul).
4. We are thus led on necessarily to a closer examination into the mani-
festations of the mysterious power which we speak of as "life." " Life," says
Aristotle, " is understood in different ways, and when even one of the dif-
ferent modes of life is present, we say that the thing " lives," as e.g. when
mind is there, or feeling, or movement, and standing still, or that kind of
movement which relates to nourishment,^ showing itself both in increase and
decrease. Thus, all plants "live," for they have the power of taking in
nourishment, and increasing or diminishing.
If plants then possess "life" they also, to use the Aristotelian terminology,
possess a soul, as do the unreasoning living creatures which show their " life "
by their " movements " from place to place, the animals. From this it follows
necessarily that as there are different degrees of "life," so there must be also
different kinds of " soul."
One feature, however, is common to all souls, this, namely, that they can
only work in and on that particular kind of body, that "organism," for
which they are specially suited. This is implied in the very word entelecheia =
the working out of an end, the realisation of an object. There is no such
thing as a soul becoming the tenant of a body, at hap-hazard, accidentally, or
by " chance." ^
The soul, with all its wondrous vital force, can only energise such powers
^ As we know, the term "Movement" { = kinesis) includes in Aristotle's use of it what we
understand by change.
2 The bearing of this on the Pythagorean doctrine of the transmigration of souls is evident.
2 T
658 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
and capacities as are already in existence slumbering in the nature to which
it comes. The soul, or life-force, properly belonging to the highest material
organism, the human body, would be powerless to energise in the body of the
most intelligent of animals, say, that of the dog. Why ? Because it would
be without its own appropriate tools (or^awa = instruments). It could not
make use of the body of a brute.
" We might as well maintain," says Aristotle, speaking in that personifying
strain which his countrymen understood so well, " that the building Art could
clothe herself in a wind-instrument " (could make use of a flute as her tool
instead of hammer or axe), " for," he adds, " just as Art makes use of her own
proper tools, so the soul makes use of the body."
The consideration of the different kinds of " life " thus brings us finally to
another of those wonderful ladders of reasoning, those classifications or ascend-
ing scales by means of which Aristotle delights to build up his arguments, and
from the heights of which it is so easy for us to look back upon the whole
upward path.
IV.— THE LADDER OF LIFE
To give a very full view of Aristotle's psychology in the space at our dis-
posal is not practicable. All that we can hope to do here is to sketch it in
outline, and bring out as clearly as possible the leading points of thought as
we ascend.
I . First Stag'e : the Veg'etative or Nutritive Soul {psyche threpUke).
(a) The Basis of Life. — This, the lowest form of life, exists in " every natural
organised body," without exception and of necessity, for, deprived of it, no
mortal thing could " live " in any sense at all. Without the nourishment of
the body through the nutritive soul, or capacity, the "higher" soul could not
exercise its powers. The chief function then of this lowest soul, the basis of
life, is the taking in and assimilating of food. " This power of taking nourish-
ment," says Aristotle, " can be separated from the other powers of the soul,
but not they from it" {i.e. the nutritive soul can exist alone, not so the higher
soul). " This becomes clear," he adds, " when we consider the plants, which
possess no other power of the soul," and yet, in a true sense, they live.
" Life then comes to every living creature through this principle, that of
assimilating nourishment."
{h) The Continuity of Life. — But the lowest soul has another and most
important power, that of reproduction.
" The most natural of the functions peculiar to living creatures, in so far
as they are perfect . . . is," says Aristotle, " the producing of others like unto
themselves, the animal bringing forth the animal, the plant, the plant."
Observe, that while Aristotle calls the capacity for assimilating nourishment
*' the first and most common power of the soul," he describes reproduction as
the "most natural work function of living creatures." In other words, the
propagation of the species is the function which is most in accordance
with that design in nature, the Divine purpose which to Aristotle's keen
eye is so clear. He shall describe this purpose in his own words : —
" The most natural of functions to living creatures," he says, " is the
producing of others like unto themselves — the animal bringing forth the
animal, the plant the plant — to this end, that they, in so far as they are
able, may share in the eternal and the Divine ; for this is what all reach after
(lit., stretch towards = oi'egontai), and it is in accordance with this that every-
thing in nature is done. . . . But as it is not possible for these creatures to
THE LADDER OF LIFE 659
share in the eternal and Divine— since that which is perishable cannot abide
continually as an individual — they take part in it according to their ability,
some in a greater, others in a less degree." They continue, not as individuals,
but as a race. '' In number they are not one," he adds ; " but in form they
are one." ^ That is, the creatures belonging to the humbler grades of life
abide continually as one in idea — not as individuals, but as a race or genus.
The oak-tree decays — as an individual it cannot abide continually; but the
genus oak lives on; its form, its idea is one through countless generations.
And so in their degree the plant and the animal do ''stretch towards the
eternal and Divine," for their humble "soul-life" is preserved in that of their
species.
And let us note that this is involved in the object towards which, as
Aristotle tells us, all nature strives. For the object, he says, is twofold. It
is subjective as well as objective, and the one implies the other. In striving
towards the objective end — the telos, the good ^m- se " sharing in the eternal
and Divine," the subjective end, even the preservation of " life," the perpetua-
tion of the idea in the species, the lesser good, is attained.
(c) The Conditions of Life. — Lastly, Aristotle considers the " why and the
wherefore " of the manifestations of life — the growth of living things : to what
is it due ? To him there is but one answer. It is due to the in-dwelling soul
or idea. The soul is the determining "cause" (aitia) and principle (arche) of
the living body. And it is the cause in three distinct ways : —
(a) As the cause of movement (and also of change and " metabolism,"
see p. 657).
(b) As the object-cause, as explained above.
(c) As the essence or substance (ousia) of the ensouled body — that which
makes it to become in reality what it is in possibility.
The soul as cause is quite sufficient to account for all the phenomena of the
living thing. In this connection we have another of Aristotle's beautiful con-
ceptions. " It is manifest," he says, " how the soul is the object-cause; for just
as mind works [in man] on account of an object, so does nature, and the object
is her aim and end (her telos). And just as nature works towards an object
[in the great whole], so does the soul in living things ; for all natural bodies
are instruments of the soul, and this in plants as well as animals." The soul,
then, the in-dwelling idea, shapes her instrument to her own purposes, and
the limits of its growth and increase are determined by her. Some of the
early philosophers had attributed the phenomena of growth and nourishment
to the action of fire, as being the only body or element in which nourishment
and growth are manifest. As we recollect, the soul itself was held to consist
of fiery particles. Aj^istotle shows the folly of this reasoning. It is impossible,
he says, that, either in plants or animals, fire can be the working power. It
may, indeed, he admits, be a helping cause (synaition),^ but it cannot be the
absolute cause . . . for the growth of fire goes on to infinity so long as
there is any material to consume. But " — note ! — " in all things framed by
nature there is a limit, and a reasonable proportion (logos), both as regards
size and growth." And this (arrest at the proper terminus) is due, says Aris-
^ The reference to the "helping cause" is one of the many wise and moderating touches
which we find in the true man of science. " That by which the body is nourished," he says,
"is twofold — as in the case of a ship which is steered by the hand of the steersman as well as
by the rudder. In like manner the food which is taken must be digested, and this takes place
by means of the bodily heat ; wherefore every ensouled body possesses heat." Nourishment
again prepares energy.
66o ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
totle, "to the soul, and not to the fire — it is the work of the idea (the
logos) rather than of matter " in any shape or form whatsoever.
Summary : First Point. — The lower functions and powers necessarily pre-
cede the higher (first the natural, then the spiritual). On this Aristotle insists
strongly over and over again.
Second Point. — Everything in nature strives to share in the Divine and the
eternal. This most beautiful conception helps us to understand what Aristotle
means by the whole universe stretching towards God (see ante, p. 645) — God
the Eternal, Himself unmoved, but the Mover, attracting all that lives, from
lowest to highest, towards Himself. He, the Good, willed to be the Object-
Cause of all things.
Third Point. — The twofold object. In striving towards the Divine objective
cause, the creature secures its own subjective good.
Fourth Point. — The conditions of growth determined not by matter, but by
the in-dwelling idea, which vivifies, moulds, promotes growth, and arrests it at
the right stage. And this idea? How is it to be explained? Only by a
reference to the Orderer of all, who is both in the order of the universe (the
idea), and apart from it as the commander of an army is, both in the order of
his forces, and yet apart from it
Second Stag'e : the Sentient and Pepeeiving Soul {psyche oisthetike)—
The Importance of the Senses. — (a) The senses form the basis of a living thing's
self-help.
Life, vitality, comes to every living thing, and is maintained, as we have
seen, through the capacity for assimilating nourishment ; but when we begin
to speak of the zoon, the living creature par excellence — the animal — we attach
to the idea of " Life " a higher power, that of feeling, cesthesis.'^
The humblest creature above the level of the plants in the scale of being
must necessarily possess feeling, or it would be destroyed. Plants do not
possess feeling — why ? Because they do not absolutely require it. Here again
we have one of Aristotle's famous dicta : —
" Nature," he says, " makes nothing uselessly ; for everything that is
natural either exists on account of an object, or accompanies an object."
What object would the senses serve in plants? Obviously, none.
Those living things that remain on one spot and are rooted to it, says
Aristotle, can do without the senses, for they draw their nourishment from
whence they sprang — mother earth [ibid., iii. 12, 434 h, 2).
But when we come to creatures a little higher on the ladder, the conditions
of existence are different, and nature accommodates her endowments to the
necessity of the case. " If," he says, " there were a body which could move
from place to place without at the same time possessing the sense-feeling, it
would be destroyed, and would not reach its object, which is the work of
nature — for how could it nourish itself ? "
The primary object of the senses then is the securing of nourishment, and
the animal is so much higher than the plant in that it has to exert its powers
in order to acquire that which the plant obtains unconsciously. Even a
creature such as the polypus, which, like the plant, remains on one spot,
we dignify by the name of "animal" — living thing, on account of its pos-
^ It may astonish some readers to find the "aesthetic" soul ranking only second in the
scale of being. The explanation, of course, is, that we must not read modern uses into old
words. " ^Esthetic," like many other terms, has changed its meaning in the course of the
ages. Not only in the Aristotelian terminology, but in its ordinary etymolog cal sense among
the Greeks, cesthesis denoted simply feeling or perception.
THE LADDER OF LIFE 66 1
sessing the feeling-apparatus and the energy necessary to procure its own food
(ibid., ii. 2, 413 b, 2).
The first step in the development of conscious, as distinct from unconscious
life, is the attempt at self-help, and the necessity for this self-help in minister-
ing to the lowest need of all, the need of bodily nourishment, continues in force
in mortals, high as we may mount through the later stages of the ladder of life.
" First the natural, then the spiritual."
(b) The senses form the basis of the creature's practical activity. Ob-
viously, however, in these later stages the senses play another and a higher
part. To quote Aristotle again (ibid., iii. 12, 434 b, 3) : It is not possible for the
body of a living thing which does not remain fixed to one spot, to possess, on
the one hand, a soul and a discerning mind (nous kritikos), and, on the other
hand, to be without the senses. For what, he asks, in such a case, would
either soul or body profit it ? Nothing. It is the senses that form the basis
of its practical activity. It is through the senses that even the highest soul
— that which possesses nous, Mind, the soul of man — is put en rapport, not only
with the world outside itself, with other bodies and souls, but, strange to say,
with its own body, that of which it is the tenant. Such is the importance in
Aristotle's eyes of those organs so despised by certain schools of philosophy —
the senses.
What, then, are the senses ? The senses, we say, are the channels through
which the soul communicates with the outside world. But how is this effected ?
By means of the impressions received through the senses. "The organ of
sense (cestheterion)," says Aristotle (iii. 2, 425 b, 23), "is that which is capable
of receiving an impression of the thing perceived without the accompanying
matter (aneu Us ules)." Elsewhere he puts the same fact a little differently.
Speaking of the senses in general, he says that they " receive the forms of the
objects perceived without the accompanying matter as the wax receives the
stamp of the signet-ring without receiving the iron or the gold of which the
ring is made. It receives the gold or silver stamp, but not as gold or silver "
(ii. 12, 424 a, 17). The form alone is stamped on the wax — the form alone is
impressed on the individual sense. It is well to note this definition, for it
leads us up to the next rung of the ladder, as we shall see presently.
In the sense-organ (oestheterion) is lodged the sense (cBsthesis = ^0'WQv of
perception), but this power is potential only. It is simply a (i^/^amis = capacity,
and before it can become an energia = reality, it requires not only a stimulus
from without, the object to be perceived, but a medium through which the
object may be perceived. Thus, before a sense can act at all, four factors
must come into play. We must have : —
(a) The sense-organ, e.g. the eye ;
(b) The sense itself, the capacity of vision ;
(c) Light, as the transparent medium, to reveal the object ;
(d) Finally, the object to be perceived, which is altogether outside and in-
dependent of the perceiving soul.
Take away any one of these four factors and the sense is useless. This also
is a point to be noted, since it too contrasts with a higher stage of life. The
life of the senses is a life lived of necessity in dependence on the outer world.
Note again one other point, which Aristotle brings out clearly, viz. the dis-
tinction between the sense and its organ. "It is the sense-organ (the cesthe-
terion),'' he says, "in which the capacity { = dyna7nis, power to see, hear, &c.)
is lodged. In one way, therefore, the organ and the capacity are the same ;
but their nature is different, otherwise the sense would be material."
" For instance," comments Bender, in loc, " light and the eye are indeed
«6i ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
one and not separable ; but in conception they must be different, for the sense
of sight is not material, but dynamic." So then, to quote Aristotle once more,
" the sense is the conception, the logos, so to say, the reasonable, rational
part, and the potentiality (dynamic conception) of its organ." In other words,
seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, smelling, are the work of a certain life-power
dwelling in matter, and acting through matter, but not itself material.
The Senses in Particular. — Aristotle devotes considerable space to a
discussion of the five senses, and the media through which they act. Here we
need not follow him in detail, but shall merely gather up points of special
interest.
{a) Which is the most hnportani of the Senses ? — Probably if the question
were addressed to ourselves, ninety-nine out of a hundred would reply at
once, the sense of sight, and for the reply we should seem to have not only
"common" sense, but high authority on our side. Plato, as we recollect, was
of opinion that sight and light are given to the mortal thinking creature for
high ends, in order that, by beholding the harmony and order of the heavenly
bodies, he may be induced to bring his own nature into conformity with that
order and harmony. But we have not yet reached the thinking creatures.
Other animals besides man possess the senses ; man's nature has much in
common with theirs, and the question before us is : What sense is most
important to the sentient creature of every rank, from lowest to highest?
Aristotle answers without hesitation : the sense of touch. First the natural,
then the spiritual. The sense of touch, of feeling, is the basis on which the
other and higher senses rest. If a creature which can move from place to
place had no feeling, it could neither perceive what to flee from nor what to
lay hold of, it could neither avoid the impedimenta in its way, nor grasp its
necessary sustenance, nay, it would not be master of its own body, unless it
felt it. The sense of touch then would seem to be absolutely indispensable for
the safety and protection of the moving creature. And with touch Aristotle
associates taste, as being a sort of touch. These two senses form, as we have
said, the basis of sentient life. "The first sensation in all animals," says
Aristotle, "is that of touch," and just as the lowest life of all, the power of
assimilating nourishment, can be separated and exist apart from the higher
powers, so also can touch exist apart from the higher senses. They exist for
the well-being {to eu), the comfort, and higher aims of the creature, touch and
taste are necessary to its very life.
But although touch is thus common to all animals, we should do it an injustice,
indeed, were we to class it merely with the vegetative or nutritive power of
the soul. Touch is capable of rising to some of its highest needs, and can
indeed, on occasion, render the highest service. In his quiet way, Aristotle
waxes enthusiastic over the wondrous powers of touch, powers so wondrous
that he marvels whether it is indeed one sense or many. This basis-sense, to
which we are all so much indebted, what can it not do ? Even without special
development or training, see what information it brings to us, and that con-
cerning the most diverse things, warning us, putting us on our guard, whether
an object is hot or cold, hard or soft, rough or smooth, moist or dry, and with
its coadjutor the tongue, telling us whether it is sweet or bitter, large or small,
thick or thin, and all this through a medium so strange, and unlikely to possess
such powers, the flesh. Aristotle finally comes to the conclusion, as usual,
that the real discerner is the something within, that immaterial something
which, while it uses the flesh as its instrument, and so is one with it, is still
distinct from it. "We are touched," he says, "with the flesh, not through
it, as a shield and its holder are hit together" (ii. ii, 423 &, 11).
THE LADDER OF LIFE 663
"Man," he says in another place (ii. 9, 421 a, 16), "is inferior to the
animals in the keenness of his other senses, sight, hearing, smell; but in
touch and taste, the two which are absolutely indispensable in the struggle
for existence, he far surpasses all in accuracy and delicacy. Wherefore " —
note ! — " man is the most sensible of all animals." And he proceeds to deduce
from this premise a curious conclusion. " The proof of this is," he says, "that
in the race of man it is upon this sense (the sense of touch) that the dis-
tinction of ' gifted ' and ' not gifted ' by nature is based ; for those who have
hard or tough flesh are naturally dull, whereas those whose flesh is soft and
tender are naturally clever ! "
Here we have indeed a "touch" that is essentially Greek, an idea peculiar
to a sensitive artistic people. The old word-coiner who first proudly described
himself as cheirotechnes = having art in his hand, was doubtless quite of
Aristotle's way of thinking. And even we, who rather plume ourselves in
these latter days upon our " horny-handed sons of toil," do we not still bear
witness to some subtle distinction which baffles definition when we speak of
the exquisite " touch " of some " king of his hand " ? 1 Nay, do we not place
touch on a higher throne still, when we feel that a warm clasp of the hand
speaks more directly to the heart of faithfulness and truth than do the sweetest
of glances or the kindest of lip-promises. ^
So much for the sense of touch. Aristotle's remarks on the other senses
do not call for special comment. We may, however, just point out, for the
sake of impartiality, that, far in advance of his age as our philosopher is in
most things, he is yet liable to err and make a retrograde step like his neigh-
bours. His conception of the action of light, for example, is inferior to that
of his predecessor, Empedocles, who, years before, had maintained that light
moves and requires a certain time to reach the earth from the sun. Aristotle
(ii. 7, 418 h, 20) scouts this doctrine, and declares that light cannot possess
motion, otherwise, in so large a space as that between the sun's rising and
setting, it could not fail to be observed.
On the other hand, his definition (ibid.) of " light " is as beautiful as it is
profound. " Light," he says, " is the beality (the energeia) which makes
things visible," a definition that holds good in the spiritual no less than in
the material world. Things exist, but before the energising light is shed
upon them they are hidden from us ; so far as we are concerned they are
non-existent, and yet they exist. E pw si muove ! — " More light ! " cried
Goethe on his deathbed, as the dawning realities of the unseen world broke
upon his inner light. " I am come a light into the world," responds He who
energises ^ in the souls of men " that whosoever believeth in Me should not
walk in darkness, but should have the light of Life."
(&) The Economy of Nature. — Another point which Aristotle brings out very
clearly is the wise economy shown in the designing and planning of natural
things. That " everything in nature exists for an object," he has already told
us ; but now, in ascending the ladder of sentient life, he is struck by the fact
that existing organs are made to serve a double purpose. The same organ
which exists for the sake of mere animal existence in the lower creatures
ministers in the higher to intellectual ends. " First the natural, then the
spiritual." "Nature," says Aristotle (ii. 8, 420 h, 17), "makes use of the
breathing apparatus for two works — as in the case of the tongue, which serves
both for tasting and for speech. Of these two functions," he adds, " tasting is
that which is necessary, and hence this function exists in many creatures ; but
for the purpose of interpreting thought, speech is present only in the higher
1 Cheironax. 2 «< jje took her by the hand." ^ That worketh in you.
664 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
creatures. This is not absolutely necessary to life, but it exists for the sake
of well-being (or happiness). In like manner, breathing serves a double
purpose. On the one hand, it exists of necessity, on account of the inner
bodily heat ; and on the other hand, because of the voice, and in the latter case
the reason is still the same — the well-being of the creature {to eu).
Tasting and internal heat are absolutely necessary to the life of the inferior
animals ; hence they, like ourselves, possess a tongue and a breathing ap-
paratus. In the case of thinking man there is a higher function to be
performed — the interpretation or communication of thought. But the same
organs — the tongue and the lungs — are used for the attainment of both lower
and higher ends. There is in nature, Aristotle would say, no casting aside
of agents ready to hand — no wasteful introduction of new instruments when
the old ones are susceptible of adaptation. " Gather up the fragments that
remain, that nothing be lost," is the rule stamped everywhere and on all things.
(c) The '^ Mean" or Harmony of the Individual Senses. — A third point in
Aristotle's ladder to vhich one must give heed is his insistence on the balance
or proportion {logos — reasonable relationship) which exists by nature between
the sense-organ and the object by which it is affected. " Every ' too-much '
{hyperbole)" he says (iii. 2, 426 a, 27), " spoils this proportion — as, for
example, in the case of the hearing, any sound too high or too low works
injuriously upon it. And the same rule holds good in regard to the other-
senses — to taste and sight — witness the effect of colours too bright or too
sombre — and to smell, as evidenced by the action of odours too sweet or
too powerful. Hence perception — the right exercise of the senses — is a sort
of reasonable proportion — a logos."
Here we have again that essentially Hellenic doctrine of the " right
middle," or " happy mean," which we have traced so persistently in Greek
reasoning from Hesiod downwards. The avoidance of the "too -much," as
well as of the '' too little," is to the Makers of Hellas an essential element
of all sober thought. With Aristotle the doctrine of " the mean " assumes
peculiar prominence, as we shall find presently when we come to inquire into
his system of ethics. Here the existence of " the mean," the observance of
the due proportion, is taken as the standing natural rule whereby the senses
are preserved in their integrity. "The ' too-much' gives pain, or destroys."
{d) III. The Discriminating Soul {to krinon) — {a) The Common Bond. —
We now come to an all-important question : What is it that keeps the senses
together? that enables the soul to preserve its own unity in the midst of
the impressions streaming in upon it through its five gateways of information?
Let us look at the problem a little more closely.
When the soul receives impressions from any object through different
sense-channels at one and the same time (as, to use Aristotle's illustration,
when an object is both yellow and bitter), each sense informs it of that which
appertains to its own special domain. Sight tells it that the object is yellow,
taste that it is bitter. Here, however, the work of the senses ends. The
senses convey information to the soul, but they can make no use of the
information thus obtained. The senses can only discriminate in their own
sphere — sight between white and yellow, taste between sweet and bitter.
What is it that combines these two pieces of information into one, and decides
that the object which is the common property of both senses — inasmuch as it
is both yellow and bitter — is bile ? ^
Paradoxical as it may appear, the combining something is a faculty whose
^ We must not take offence at Aristotle's illustrations. They strike us often much in the
same way as Socrates' " cobbler and carpenter " illustrations struck his countrymen.
THE LADDER OF LIFE 665
primary function is not combining or synthesis, but separating or analysis.
It is, in fact, a sort of higher perception, whose business it is to analyse,
test, and discriminate between the five sets of perceptions brought to it by the
senses, and then to combine them and arrive at a decision.^
To state the case in another way : When the senses recognise any object
as *' common " property — that is, as conveying impressions to several of them at
the same time — they recognise that the object consists of a unity of different
qualities; whereupon they also draw up into a unity, bring the information
or impression which each has received to a higher court, and submit the
whole to a higher power, which sits in judgment on the various impressions
collectively. This is necessary, for what can "sweet "or "bitter" know of
"white" or " yellow"? How can any one sense discriminate in the sphere of
another ?
"It is not possible," says Aristotle, " that the individual senses in their
isolation can judge or discriminate that the ' sweet ' is something different from
the ' white ' ; but both must be revealed and made clear by some one faculty. . . .
This one it is which must say that they are different," and this one supreme
faculty is none other than to krinon = the sifting, discriminating faculty, the
basis of that which, when exercised in higher functions, we call the judgment
— in the every-day affairs of life — common sense.
But why, we may ask, is it necessary to have so many senses ? Would it
not have been better had one sense only discharged the duties of the five,
and conveyed all impressions at once and directly to the soul ? Not so, says
Aristotle. In the exercise of the several senses he perceives a high purpose.
The reason why we have several senses instead of only one combining all, is
that, by this means, one sense corrects the impressions received by another,
and details are more accurately known. Sight, for example, which is mainly
concerned with colour, might not be able to distinguish details of size, were it
not aided by touch — and so on. The information brought by the different
senses, therefore, saves the judging faculty from arriving at a false, or defec-
tive, or one-sided conclusion.
So, says the old master (in his own way) with the psalmist : " We are fear-
fully and wonderfully made."
We, in our day, are inclined to treat the judgment as something exclusively
belonging to mind ; but there can be little doubt that the animals possess the
critical faculty in the sphere of the senses, for what is the " sagacity " of the
dog but the power of putting "this" and "that" together, and deciding on
the merits of the case?
By the exercise of the critical faculty in the humble sphere of the senses,
then, according to Aristotle's classification, this faculty becomes trained to use
its powers in higher things. First the natural, then the spiritual — for, allied
with mind, is not this discriminating, judging faculty, the one quality which
shines out supreme in all the Aryan races. Have we not seen throughout that
krino, I sift, I test — and then, and not till then — I decide, is the very faculty
which made the Makers of Hellas, which enabled them to preserve the good
handed over to them from other nations, and to discard and throw away the
worthless and the bad ? As in the childhood of the race the word (krino) itself
was coined at the sifting of the barley and the throwing out of the husks in
the old Aryan home.
1 " A higher perception works in all the separate senses — the synthesis of the individual.
There must be a common bond in the individual which holds together and combines the
separate perceptions ; man cannot fail to perceive, as it were,^ within himself through his
different senses as though he were several individuals" (Bender, in loc).
666 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
Hence, though Aristotle links the critical faculty with the senses as being
their connecting bond, he yet places it on that higher level to which it mani-
festly belongs when he singles it out as one of the " marks " by which the soul
may be known — movement, thought, discrimination [krinein), and perception.
{h) Are the Senses to he Implieitly Trusted ? — Here we have another vital
question — one, moreover, to which many persons would be ready to give the
unqualified answer : " Certainly ! I saw such and such a thing with my own
eyes — I heard such and such a thing with my own ears — ergo, the impressions
which I received must be true."
Must be true ? This is a point which requires light — for in it the sub-jective
and the ob-jective meet. The opinion of an expert, of a trained observer, must
be called in to decide. We must ask one who has diligently used both eyes
and ears, and trained them to a degree of exactitude and precision beyond the
power of the ordinary observer. Such an one is Aristotle — and what says he ?
Simply this, that the senses are not to be implicitly trusted, and he makes his
verdict clear in a very simple way. He divides (iii. 3, 428 h, 18) perception
into three stages : (i) Perception, he says, by each sense in its own sphere
(aisthesis ton idion), is true or has but a slight measure of falsehood. For in-
stance, the eye discerns quite correctly that a certain object is " white."
(2) In a second degree, where the perception has to do with that which is
accidental to its own sphere, it is not so reliable. Here the particular sense
may be deceived ; as, for example, the eye may see, indeed, that the object
described is white, but whether the object is this or that — (a white rock, or a
white house, or a tree in white bloom, &c.), it may not be alDle clearly to dis-
tinguish. Deception on the part of sight is possible.
(3) In the third degree, which requires the greatest measure of accuracy,
inasmuch as it has to do with such qualities as size — the risk of deception be-
comes intensified. What the eye takes to be a small object, for example, the
sun — may really be of vast dimensions.
To sum up — in the first stage, in its own domain, a particular sense, say
sight, is to be trusted : a certain object is white.
In the second stage, when another factor comes in, sight is not so trust-
worthy : the object is white, but we are doubtful as to its precise shape — is it
a white rock or a white house ?
In the third stage, when we come to define the size of the object, sight may
be altogether at fault.
This perception by the senses is only true in its own sphere, the lowest.
Not even the discriminating faculty (to krinon) can save it from error when it
goes out of its own sphere ; and the higher it ascends, the more likely is it to
be deceived.
Thus, keen and practised observer as he is, Aristotle attaches no great
weight to the impressions received by the senses. Their truthfulness requires
to be tested, and their conclusions have to be modified and controlled by very
different powers. Hence, in the Metaphysics, as we have already seen,i he
will not allow the name of " wisdom " to knowledge as conveyed by the senses :
" They only tell us what — they never tell us why." It is quite clear that even
the discriminating faculty, to krinon, with all its sharpness, cannot help much,
so long as it is chained to the senses. We must ascend yet another step in the
ladder before we can breathe a freer air.
IV. The Imaginative Faculty {phantastike). This freedom comes to us
when we arrive at a stage where we are not actually fettered by the things of
^ See ante, p. 640.
THE LADDER OF LIFE 667
sense, although indeed, we are still dependent on them to a certain extent ;
and this stage is presented by the imagination or phantasy ( phantasia).
What, then, is this phantasy ? Clearly, says Aristotle (ibid. iii. 3), it is not
perception, for the senses require an object to be perceived, and the energising
medium which makes the object perceptible, as in the case of sight, light, and
seeing ; but we have phantasies or fancies when neither object nor medium is
present, as in our sleep. Again, it is equally clear from the nature of our
phantasies that what produces them is not the discriminating or judging
faculty, either in its lower or its higher stage, neither is it the opinion (doxa)
formed by the exercise of the judging faculty ; for, he adds, faith or belief
(jnstis) follows opinion, but animals have no belief, and yet they possess
phantasy.
If the imagination, then, is neither perception, nor discrimination, nor
mind, what is it ?
Phantasy, says Aristotle (429 a), ''is a movement called forth by the
energising of the senses." In order to understand this definition, let us recall
that of the sense organ. " The sense organ," Aristotle told us (see ante, p. 661),
" is that which is capable of receiving an impression from an object without
the accompanying matter, as the wax receives the stamp of the seal without
receiving its metal." Now we must advance a step further and note that the
impression remains in the sense organ, clings to it, as it were, and becomes the
source or basis of imagination, of phantasia, that is, of the power by which, as
Aristotle puts it, we conjure up before us a phantasma, i.e. a real picture or
mental view, and not a mere metaphor or picture in words. So closely is
imagination rooted in the senses, that Aristotle traces the name phantasia to
phaos = \ight, for sight, he says, is pre-eminently the means of perception, and
without light there is no seeing. Phantasy, then, is that process by which
impressions are photographed upon the sense organs, and which, often repeated,
make those impressions permanent.
It is evident, of course, that imagination — the power of producing mental
images — has its primary root in, and springs from, the senses, and is thus
most closely linked to them and to the memory of which, in turn, it may be
said to form the basis. But it does not end where it begins. How is it that
imagination can shake itself free, not only from dependence cJn the objects of
sense, but even from dependence on the impressions left by those objects, and
conjure up for us pictures of a different order — visions of what eye hath not
seen, nor ear heard? This happens only on a higher level of the ladder of
life, when imagination is taken hold of, energised, and used by mind.
There are therefore, as Aristotle puts it (iii. 2, 434 a, 5), two kinds of
phantasy —
(a) The imagination of the senses (phantasia cesthPtike), which we share
with the animals ; and
(b) The imagination of the deliberative faculties (phantasia boideutike),
possessed only by reasonable and reasoning creatures (logistikoi), those who
are endowed with the logos.
That Aristotle should attribute imagination to the lower animals is a
doctrine which rather staggers us on first presentation. He makes it very
clear, however, in the following way : Some natural things possess, he says
(ii. 3, 414 a, 29), as we have seen, only the power of assimilating nourish-
ment, as in the case of the plants ; others have in addition the power of feeling
(to cedhctikon), but such creatures as have the power of feeling must also have
that of desiring (to orektikon). . . . All animals have at least one of the senses,
the sense of touch ; and where feeling of any sort exists, there must also be
668 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
pleasure and pain, and the pleasurable and the painful ; and where these exist,
there must also be desire, and it is directed to pleasure. But how can a
creature, even of the humblest grade, desire or long for anything unless it
have before it a phantasy of the thing longed for, say some special kind of
food ? How can it even avoid the painful and seek the pleasurable ? Only by
the power of the phantasy or impression left upon its senses when the objects
that produced pain or pleasure respectively are withdrawn.
This lower kind of phantasy, then, the animals must needs possess ; but, as
Aristotle points out (iii. ii, 434 a, 4), they possess it after their fashion.
" Just as animals move about aimlessly, without fixed purpose or plan such as
thinking man makes for himself, so phantasy exists in them in a certain sort
of indefinite way {aoristos)."
" Nature makes nothing in vain." This favourite doctrine of Aristotle's
we have heard over and over again. Now let us hear the corollary : " She
omits nothing that is necessary to her purpose" (iii. 9, 432 b, 21). If the
effects of perception ceased with the immediate result produced, what poor,
shiftless, hand-to-mouth creatures would the best of us be ! Nature, or God
in nature, however, has provided a remedy against this in the simple fact that
impressions linger, are photographed more or less permanently upon and within
us, and thus the countless "experiments" made by the senses have a chance
of developing into or building " experience."
Imagination, of course, has all the defects of the senses ; but it is neverthe-
less the source of great good. " From its permanence and its likeness to the
perceptions of the senses," says Aristotle, " much is done through the imagina-
tion by living creatures — by some, for example, the animals, because of their
having no mind (nous) ; by others, for example, men, because mind in them
is often obscured by disease or sleep."
Here we leave imagination for the present, to return to it again shortly.
Meanwhile, we may perhaps best sum up the results of Aristotle's teaching by
realising the fact that we are now standing on the bridge between the lower
and the higher powers of the soul. Imagination, on the one hand, touches the
senses from which she springs ; and on the other hand she reaches out to, and
is grasped by, the energising mind. It is undoubtedly by means of the lower
phantasia that the soul first swings herself free from the objects of sense. It
is equally by means of the higher and divinely energised phantasia that she
soars beyond the sphere of sense. Hence, there are spiritual no less than
" scientific " uses of this great power, so often and so unjustly despised.
Y. Nous : Spirit and Mind. — Hitherto we have been considering the
lower powers of the soul — those which animals, in their measure, possess in
common with man. Now, at length, we ascend to the special something that
distinguishes man qua man. This something — nous, spirit or mind — holds
with Aristotle a place analogous to that which the logos, reason, holds with
Plato, It is the supreme power — controlling and directing all the others.
Everywhere, and on all occasions, Aristotle maintains with the greatest
earnestness the supremacy of spirit, not only over matter, but over that
which is linked to matter, perception by the senses — and he gives here
as elsewhere certain exceedingly clear reasons for his conviction. Let us
briefly follow his argument, and look with him at the question, first in a
general, and then in a more special way. We ask, then, generally : —
(i) How and in what ways is Spirit superior to perception?
(a) First and chiefly, Aristotle answers, because it is spirit — mind and not
matter. What, then, we ask again, do we mean by " spirit " ? Aristotle gives
us a definition in the words of Anaxagoras : —
THE LADDER OF LIFE 669
(a) " Nous = spirit, is simple ( = a simple essence, not composite in its
nature) ;
(3) " It is unaffected by anything (apathes, and therefore unchangeable in
its own proper nature, and indestructible) ;
(7) " Finally, it has nothing in common with anything else." Mind cannot
possibly enter into communion with matter.
"Mind cannot be mingled with the body, for then it would receive some
corporeal ' quality ' ; it would become ' cold ' or ' warm ' ; " — motions which have
no applicability to spirit — " or it would be a sort of tool or organ — as, for ex-
ample, of the sense — but spirit is nothing of the sort"(iii. 4, 429 a, 24).
Spirit is not the tool, but the ruler of the senses. " The mind," as Anaxagoras
says, "must be unmixed in order that it may rule," that is, as Aristotle
interprets it, in order that it may know — -for only the faculty that really
knows is competent to take the lead and rule. Hence spirit must be alone
and supreme upon the throne. None may share it with her, and " therefore,"
says Aristotle, " she hinders strange elements from entering, and blocks the
way against them." — " That which is earthly is earthly, that which is spiritual
is spiritual."
(b) Secondly, spirit differs from matter and what is linked to it — viz. per-
ception by the senses, in this again, that whereas the senses are weak, spirit
is strong.
" When an organ of sense is subjected to any impression exceedingly in-
tense {sphodra cestheton),'' says Aristotle (iii. 4, 429 a, 29), " the exercise of its
power becomes impossible. Thus, hearing is dulled or ruined by violent noise,
sight by things that dazzle the eye, and so on. But the mind, when its atten-
tion is engrossed by anything demanding all its power (sphodra noeton), is not
impaired thereby — not the less able to grasp the more insignificant things with
which it has to deal — nay ! it does this all the better ! "
Hence, the argument implies, mind is something not only higher than, but
essentially different in its nature from perception by the senses.
Let us bear this reasoning well in mind — we shall have to refer to it again.
(c) Thirdly, spirit is superior to perception in this, that whereas perception
has to do with things that are without, spirit has to do with things that are
within. Perception is absolutely dependent on the senses and the objects per-
ceived by them — spirit can rise above all outward things, and is absolutely in-
dependent of them. "A man," says Aristotle, "can think whenever he will
(he has the power within him) ; but he cannot perceive without the objects of
perception {i.e. he is dependent upon them)."
(d) Fourthly : spirit is superior to perception in this, that whereas percep-
tion has to do with the individual — spirit has to do with the universal. " Per-
ception," says Aristotle (ii. 5, 417 h, 19), " is directed to the things that are
without, and to individual things, seeing and hearing. Knowledge (episteme)
is the universal, and it is somewhere in the soul itself" — and this in two
different ways : (a) The materials of knowledge are indeed gleaned from with-
out, but knowledge itself is that which goes on within the soul, the process of
generalising from — i.e. sifting and digesting spiritually — the materials brought
to it. (p) There is yet a higher process still wherein the spirit retires within
itself, thinks the thoughts peculiar to its own proper nature, and absolutely
detaches itself from all exterior things.
(e) Fifthly, and as the necessary outcome of the foregoing, the spirit is the
only " Freeman " among the powers of the soul. All the other powers are
chained to the body, spirit alone is free.
We recollect Aristotle's famous definition of the soul as being the " en-
670 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
telechy," the perfecting of the body.^ This is true of it as a whole — the
nutritive perceiving, judging, imagining, thinking faculties all form part
of this wondrous perfecting of the body — but the thinking part is something
more.
We recollect again Aristotle's famous assertion that body and soul are one,
as the wax and the form stamped on the wax are one.^ Now we have to add
to this assertion the qualifying statement that, although " it is," indeed, " clear
that the soul is not separate from the body," yet that this applies only to
certain parts which are not separate from the body. " But," says Aristotle
(ii. I, 413 a, 3), "there is nothing to hinder a separation in other parts,
because they are not the entelechy of a body " simply. In what way is the high-
soaring spirit of man necessary to the perfecting of his body ? The nutritive
faculty which prompts him to sustain his body, the perceiving faculty which
leads him to his food and teaches him to avoid dangers, the judging faculty
which binds together the impressions of the senses, the imaginative faculty
which arouses desire within him — all these are amply sufficient for the pre-
servation of the body. But wherein is this power to puzzle with abstract
problems, this power to retire within itself, this power to hold high communion
with things unseen, with God Himself — wherein is all this necessary to the
perfecting of the physical and material body ? Clearly, the spirit of man is
something vastly more than the entelechy of a body, however richly, nay, mar-
vellously prepared to receive it. Clearly, the energy of the spirit can by no
means be confined to the body or the things of the body.
(/) Lastly, spirit is on the throne of the synolon, the compound being called
" man," because it is the home of the ideas (topos eidon) — a reason which is
itself a noble idea and the culminating point in the argument (iii. 4, 429 a,
27). To understand it aright, however, there is one point which we must also
weigh and endeavour to grasp (as best we may) in Aristotle's own sense, and
this is, that nous —
(a) The something which is spirit and not matter ;
(h) The something which is so different from matter in its nature, that in
place of being " rubbed away " by the conflict with hardnesses, it only grows
the stronger thereby ;
(c) The something whose aim is directed to things within ;
id) The something which gathers up the individual fragments of knowledge
and deduces from them the true knowledge, the why from the manifold what ;
ie) The something which can rise to communion with the invisible ;
(/) The something which is, in short, the home of the ideas, is not one, but
two. In other words, Aristotle believed that the spirit within us is dual,
twofold in its nature.
The subject is, unfortunately, not developed so clearly as one could wish,
probably for the very good reason that it treats of a mystery beyond the power
of the finite mind either to grasp or express adequately. Still, we venture to
think that Aristotle's conception of the dual mind, the two parts which form
the whole spirit of man, is not so obscure as some commentators would have us
believe. Peirateon ! Let us try, at all events, to follow in all humility the
hints which the master throws out.
The Dual Mind. — The first point to be noted, then, is that the two parts
of the mind are not on an equality. Here, as elsewhere, there is a higher and
a lower. "As in all things natural," says Aristotle (iii. 5, 430 a, 10), "we
distinguish between matter, the possibility to become, and something else
which is the cause and the bringer-forth — something by which everything is
1 See p. 656. 2 See p. 661.
THE LADDER OF LIFE 671
effected, and which bears the same relation to that on which it works as the
relation which art bears to matter, so these differences must of necessity exist
in the soul. Mind is partly of such a nature that it can become everything
(the passive mind), partly such that it can effect everything (the active mind).
And this latter," he adds, "is a sort of state or condition like unto light; for
in some way light makes real the colours which are potential in things, and
energises the latent colours, i.e. makes them visible. And in like manner the
active mind energises and makes real the powers which are latent or slumbering
in the passive mind — brings them to light, as it were.
Elsewhere Aristotle points out that the passive mind, even when energised
by the active mind, always remains on a lower level, and has a distinct function
to perform. This is implied in the very significant names which he gives to
the two parts of mind : —
{a) The lower or passive mind in its energised state, when it is actively
fulfilling its part in the soul-economy, he calls dianoia = thought, indeed, but
discursive thought, that kind of thought which concerns itself with a multi-
plicity of things, with the passing interests of life, and is indispensably linked,
through imagination and desire, to the senses. This lower thought, inasmuch
as it always has a practical aim, Aristotle speaks of later as dianoia praktike =
the practical mind.
(6) The higher or active mind, on the other hand, he describes emphatically
as nous per se,\noein — thought worthy of the name — or theorem, contemplation
and reflection, on the highest things — things not to be perceived by the senses,
summing up later (iii. 9) both aspects in the designation nous theoretikos, the
thinking mind.
Did Aristotle then despise that practical understanding or good judgment
which is absolutely necessary for the right guidance of the affairs of life, and
which is implied in the term dianoia praktike ? By no means ! Had the
question been put to him directly, he would doubtless have said of the practical
mind as he said of perception of the senses : it is excellent, nay, indispensable
in its own sphere, but there is something more excellent and more indispens-
able still, and that is mind-in-itself — noein, tlieorein, nous theoretikos = the
thinking mind. And thus we proceed to ask yet another question : —
Why is the active thus superior to the passive mind ? — a question which
Aristotle answers very briefly, but very decidedly, thus : —
Firstly, the active mind is superior because of its very nature. The
passive and the active mind are indeed both spirit, but yet they are essentially
distinct — the one is worked upon, the other works. " This energising mind,"
he says, " is separate from matter, unchangeable (apathes), pure and unmixed
(with material elements), and in its essence (ousia) it is reality — energeia !
And that which works and produces {to poioun) is always more worthy of
honour than that which is merely passive, and the principle (arc7ie = cause)
than the matter on which it works " (iii. 5, 430 a, 17).
ih) Secondly, the active mind is the superior because, being energeia, it is
necessarily the energiser of the ideas. They, as we have seen, have, according
to Aristotle, their home in the mind, in contra-distinction to the view of
Plato, who held that the ideas, the patterns of earthly things, exist only in
heaven. Let us just remind ourselves here of what both these great philo-
sophers mean by the " idea." The idea is the spiritual as opposed to the
material ; the abstract as opposed to the concrete ; the conception of a thing as
opposed to the thing itself — in a word, the form that lives on when the matter
which it laid hold of and on which it worked has perished.
We remember Aristotle's argument against the notion that the soul is
672 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
material, because it can recognise material things.^ " Like discerns like," it is
true, but on this reasoning, the soul, being composed of material elements,
could only discern material elements. How is it that — to say nothing of her
power of discerning spiritual things, God, truth, justice — how is it she can
discern a material whole, quite different from herself, say, a stone ? The
answer, as we saw, was that she discerns not the thing itself, but its form,
its idea. " The stone," says Aristotle, " is not in the soul, but its form, its
idea is."
And coming to things spiritual, to great truths, such as justice, righteous-
ness, the good, God himself, they also, as ideas or conceptions, have their home
in the spirit of man. Their eternal pattern, we say with Plato, is in heaven,
but we also say with Aristotle that they exist in the soul of man. But how ?
"They speak truly," says Aristotle (iii. 4, 429 a, 27), "who maintain that the
soul is the abode of the ideas, but the statement must be taken with a limita-
tion. She is not so as a whole, but only as the thinking part, and the ideas
are within her, not in actuality [not in entelecheia as fully developed] but in
possibility [dynameiY^ The ideas are there, but without the light of the
energising mind they would for ever remain hidden, as colours remain hidden
in the darkness. The powers of the soul lie dormant, slumbering, until they
are awakened by that something which Aristotle compares to light. And what
is that something ? It is thought. " That part of the soul," says Aristotle,
" which we call spirit ( = 7io?<^s)— and by spirit I mean that by which the soul
thinks {dianoeitai) and understands — is not real [is not in the energeia of
existence] before it thinks [noei].^ And again (iii. 4. 429 b 30), "We must
conceive of the mind (in its pristine state) as being like a tablet {gram7nateion)
on which nothing is as yet actually written." As soon as the soul begins to
reflect, to think in the true sense = noeiri, to make use of the powers within,
she energises these dormant powers, and the writing on the tablet begins. But
this is the work of the active energising mind. It is the writer ; the passive
mind is simply the tablet or instrument of its activity. Elsewhere Aristotle
compares the soul as the abode of the ideas to the hand. " The hand," he
says, ''is the instrument of instruments; and in like manner the spirit (nous)
is the idea of ideas."
" As the hand is the instrument which enables us to make use of other
artificial instruments," comments Bender, in loc, " so the spirit is the (inner,
immanent) idea which is necessary to the apprehension of other ideas." The
energising spirit, therefore, is that which inspires and directs every other
faculty in man. The passive mind, the imaginative and the critical, the
sensitive and the nourishing faculties — all are at once the basis of her activity,
the matter on which and by means of which she works, and yet without her
they are but matter — everything in possibility, nothing in reality.
We have now asked and received answers to two great questions concerning
the spiritual nature of man : —
(i) Why is spirit superior to the other powers in man?
(2) As regards the dual spirit, why is the active superior to the passive?
We next proceed to the third and final question, that which is, after all,
the most important to each one of us : —
(3) What is this energising spirit ? Aristotle does not leave us long in
doubt. He says at once (iii. 5, 430 a, 22) : "It is the immortal and eternal "
in man.
"Since spirit is apart and distinct from matter {choi'istheis = severed and
^ See ante, p. 655.
'^ The reader will perceive the distinction drawn here between dianoeitai and noei.
THE LADDER OF LIFE 67^
separated), it alone is what its nature is — it alone is undying and everlasting
(athanato7i kai aidion)^
It alone is what its nature is (literally, it alone is the very thing that it is),
and what is its nature? Aristotle has just told us in what its essence, its
ousia, consists.
It is apart and distinct from matter (chorutos).
It is unchangeable («/pat/tes), and therefore indestructible.
It is pure and unmixed (with baser elements, amiges).
It is energeia, reality, actuality.
It is thought.
Sum up all these, and we shall find that we have before us the very
attributes of God. God, as we recollect, is also apart and distinct from
matter. 1 He also is unchangeable and pure — He is energeia, He is thought.
The "energising spirit" of the Greek is, then, none other than the
"breath of God" of the Hebrew.
" The Lord God breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and man
became a living soul."
"Let us make man in our image." The passive spirit, the latent
powers and capacities of the soul.
The breath of life. The energising spirit, which brings
with it activity and life.
''I am the Light of the World." This energising spirit is as the light
..." This is that Light which that reveals the latent colours,
lighteneth every man that cometh
into the world."
" My Father worketh hitherto. This is the Spirit that worketh, and
and I work. It is God that worketh is therefore to be had in honour,
in you both to will and to do."
" Now I live, yet not I but Christ This is the hand that makes use of
liveth in me." the instruments. This is the idea of
ideas.
Does Aristotle's doctrine of the "Dual Spirit" in man present any diffi-
culties to the Christian? We trow not. It may indeed be dark, dim, and
" undeveloped." But let us ask were the intimations of the prophets any
clearer ? No whit. Yet both stand out in the refulgence of the Light of
lights so that " he that runs may read " their import.
We have now made with Aristotle the ascent of the ladder of life. We
have climbed with him from the humblest living thing that shares mere
vegetative existence to the very throne of God. Here, as elsewhere, with
Aristotle, the climax is the same, the scale of knowledge, of inquiry, of life,
inevitably leads up to the source and consummation of all knowledge, of all
inquiry, of all life, God, at once the object-cause and the working-cause,
the pnergeia, of His creatures.
The Immortality of the Spirit. — We are now in a position to under-
stand Aristotle's doctrine of the immortality of the Spirit, a doctrine which
has its root in the tripartite nature of man, that threefold distinction between
body, soul, and spirit, which is emphasised by St. Paul no less than by the
philosopher. This distinction is well brought out in a passage which we quote
at length from our author, premising that what is obscure in it will become
clear as we proceed.
(i) Body and soul are only the instruments of the Spirit. "If we say,"
^ See ante, p. 650.
2 U
^74 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
reasons Aristotle (i. 4, 408 h, 11), "that the soul is 'angry,' it is as though
we were to maintain that the soul ' weaved ' or ' built '. It is perhaps better
not to say that the soul ' pities,' or ' learns,' or ' thinks " (or itself does any-
thing), but that the Man does this by the soul."
(2) Body and soul act and re-act one upon the other: "Not that we
should say this," he continues, "meaning thereby that movement {i.e. power
to change) lies in the soul ; but that movement now comes to her, now
proceeds from her, as, for example, perception comes to her from such and
such an object, but memory proceeds from her to the organs of sense (and
works upon them), so that they either move or remain still." The meaning
is that the body works on the soul through the senses, the eye, and can
convey impressions to her. The soul, again, by memory, works on the body,
on the senses, and the limbs. Thus, under the influence of a terrible recollec-
tion, the limbs may become stiff and refuse to act, whilst a joyful memory
will send a thrill through the whole man. So intimately are body and soul
connected, so closely are they linked together, that the one necessarily shares
the fate of the other. ^
(3) The spirit is something different, and apart from body and soul. " But
the Spirit," he adds {nous), " which dwells within us, seems to be an Essence,
and is not destroyed. The nearest approach to destruction would be the
weakness of old age ; but this," he argues, " may be explained in the same
way as in the case of the organs of sense. If an old man could obtain an eye
made in such and such a way, he would see as well as a youth. Hence it
follows that old age does not weaken because something has happened to the
mind, but because that in which the mind dwells {i.e. the body) is affected, as
in the case in drunkenness or in disease. And as regards pure thought and
reflection {noein and tlieorein\ these are weakened because something else
within [a kind of spiritual eye, corresponding to the bodily organ] has decayed,
while the thinking power itself remains unaffected, and consequently unchanged
{apathes).''^
(4) The spirit, however, is not immortal as a whole. Only the active
mind, the energeia is immortal ; the passive mind is mortal. " But passing
thoughts (thoughts concerning the things of mortality, dianoeisthai),^ and
love and hatred are not affections which belong to the unchanging spirit,
but to that which holds the spirit (its shrine, body and soul together), and
these affections are there only because it holds the spirit," i.e. they exist only
so long as the spirit has need of them, so long as it dwells in its earthly
shrine. "Therefore," argues Aristotle, "when the body decays, the spirit
neither remembers nor loves, because these are not powers of the spirit, but
of the common union (of body, soul, and spirit) which is now destroyed. The
spirit itself, however, would seem to be something more Divine and unchange-
able " {apathes, unaffected by decay). This distinction between the immortal
and the mortal spirit in man is further emphasised in another passage (iii. 5,
430 a, 22) with which we are already partly acquainted, and in which Aristotle
is speaking explicitly of the dual spirit. " Since spirit is apart and separate
in itself," he says, "it alone is what its nature is, it alone is immortal and
eternal. But it has no recollection, for the active spirit cannot be affected
{by memories or impressions of the past) and the passive spirit is mortal."
The passive spirit, with body and soul, is that which forms the basis of the
active spirit's work on earth. When that work is over, body, soul, and
^ See Bender, in loc, 33.
^ Note again the distinction drawn between noein, theorein = thought per se and reflection,
and dianoeisthai = trivial, discursive thought.
THE LADDER OF LIFE 675
passive spirit together decay, the godlike and eternal energeia alone survives,
it alone is immortal.
Such is Aristotle's doctrine of immortality. It contains a measure of
truth, and a grand measure, for which we may well be thankful, but is it the
whole truth ?
We trow not. As it stands, it satisfies no real longing of the human mind.^
(i) It does away with the identity of the individual spirit, for the active
spirit would seem to be simply absorbed at death into the Divine energeia ;
hence it does away with all true life, even of the spirit as applicable to
beings framed as we are. A spirit that cannot love or hope, that has no
memory of the past, is a something which is a contradiction in terms.
(2) It does away with the whole intellectual and spiritual lifework of the
individual that, as we take it, is the impress stamped upon the passive spirit
by the energising activity of the Divine idea within, while if this Divine
thought, this tablet on which the active spirit has been writing, sinks into
nothingness with the body, the Divine idea falls far short of that which
Aristotle describes as its goal and aim, that on which it has been expending
its energy, does not reach God any more than does the humblest plant.
(3) It does away with the doctrine of a future retribution — that fore-
shadowing of a time when every one shall give account of himself to the Father
of Spirits, and the inequalities and injustices of this life will be redressed — a
doctrine which worked so mightily in Plato, and to the truth of which our own
secret consciousness bears witness. The vision in the Gai'gias of the soul
issuing forth at death bearing the impress stamped upon it of its own deeds,
good or bad — shaped and fashioned by them into likeness or unlikeness to
God — comes much nearer to the truth as set forth in Aristotle's own great
doctrines of cause and effect — of the influence of habit — than does the notion
that the Divine energeia will survive, while its own spiritual and intellectual
handiwork perishes.
The fact is that, as stated above, Aristotle's doctrine of the dual spirit is
undeveloped. As we possess it, it contains indeed the germ of an eternal
truth, but the flower and the fruit are as yet hidden in the germ. We have
only a hint, a glorious hint, of a truth to be revealed. And we may note that
Aristotle himself is conscious that he is face to face with a mystery : " It is
not yet clear," he says (ii. i, 413 a, 8), " whether the soul is the actuality of
the body in the same way that the sailor is of his ship," The sailor steps out
of his ship with all his powers and all the faculties that make him a distinct
individual intact. Does the soul leave the bark in which she has sailed
through life, bereft of half her faculties — of imagination, of critical judgment,
of love and hope, of memory, of the dear-bought experience of the voyage ?
We say with Aristotle that such a doctrine as this is indeed " not yet
clear."
Another proof of Aristotle's hesitation in accepting his own conclusions is
to be found in the way in which he speaks of the departed in the Ethics.
There they are represented as knowing what is happening upon earth, and as
rejoicing over their descendants. Is this a concession to "popular" feeling?
1 Zeller's Notes on the Doctrine of the Dual Spii-it.— ''The active working spirit is not
only the Divine in man, but it is really not distinct from the Divine mind itself. On the
other side, we can hardly designate the supra-mundane Divine spirit as a part of the human
soul, and as that which dwells in the individual, and becomes at birth the human mind. But
we seek in vain for a solution of this difference in Aristotle, and just as little can we glean
further details of his views on the passive mind. When, therefore, we see that the opinions
held as to the exact meaning of Aristotle's views on the double spirit diverge widely, this is
due to the impossibility of bringing these views into full harmony." — Zeller, ii. 440.
676 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
— Aristotle is not the man to pay much heed to "popular" feeling. It
is the outcome of a true human and Divine instinct which not even the
necessity of pushing his theories to a certain conclusion can altogether silence
or overrule. We may well believe that Aristotle's Vernichtung — his annihila-
tion — of the passive spirit at death is due to his eagerness to annihilate Plato's
doctrine of " Recollection." ^ If the memory is made to die and all earthly
impressions fade away from the departing soul — then that doctrine is rendered
impossible. Neither the doctrine of " Recollection," however, nor its antidote,
the doctrine of the annihilation of a portion of the human spirit has any claim
to our serious consideration. They rank among the ingenious speculations
which find a place among the fossils of human thought. The theory of " Re-
collection " has long been replaced by a truly fruitful thought.
Such is Aristotle's doctrine of immortality. It contains a measure of truth,
and a grand measure — but is it the whole truth ? Does it satisfy a Christian ?
We trow not. What, to us, is a spirit without its own identity ? Wherein
to us would be the joy of a spirit-life, an immortality, without love, without
memory — with no recollection of the way we have come, of our past activities
— no recognition of those who have been dearer to us than our very selves —
no adoring gratitude to pour forth to the Father of our spirit for His loving
kindness in the past — no thought of Him who has been one with us, the life and
light of our spirit — no remembrance of Him who has guided us by the way and
given to us His fellowship ?
If all the stamp and impress of our little day on earth ceases with death ;
then the spiritual stamp must cease with the rest — on Aristotle's own showing
— for this is the result in part of the discipline of life and the spirit's own
activities.
Truly, life and immortality, in any real sense, first came to light by Jesus
Christ. In union with Him, the passive, no less than the active spirit sur-
vives — must survive, for it is that whereon the idea of ideas was worked.
Jesus Christ says — not only '' He that eateth My flesh and drink eth My blood
dwelleth in Me" — but also " I dwell in him " — in him, in that living person-
ality, in that individuality which was made in my image and is indestructible.
The Motive Power. — We now pass to a question which Aristotle treats
in a much more satisfactory way, and which we with him may consider last
as forming — in reality, although not intentionally — a bridge between his
psychology and his ethics. The question is an elementary one, asked, as we
remember, at the very beginning of the inquiry — the question over which
philosophers and sages broke their heads in vain.
What Produces Movement ? — We recollect the various answers given
to the question — the heat-theory, the dancing atoms, or sun-mote theory — and
so on. 2 Nowhere does Aristotle show himself greater than in his handling of
this self-same subject, for from it he deduces moral considerations by the side
of which the reasonings of Democritus and the others are little better than
trifling impertinences.
After alluding to these theories, he says (i. 3, 406 h, 24) : " In no such way
does the soul move a living creature — but by some sort of definite choice and
conscious thought." All the other so-called causes concerned bodily heat, the
mechanical apparatus ; bones, joints, muscles, sinews — he treats as the Socrates
of Plato treated them ^ — as what they are in reality, secondary and subsidiary
causes, subordinate to the prime mover — choice and thought, or, as he later
expresses it, desire and thought.
What is Movement? — It is always something done with an object on
^ See ante, p. 598. ^ See ante, p. 560. ^ See ante, p. 558.
THE LADDER OF LIFE 677
account of some end), and that object, says Aristotle, is a practical one,
and it takes place by the help of imagination (phantasia) and desire
(orexis). For nothing moves, he adds (iii. 9, 432 b, 14), except when force is
employed, but through the desire either of obtaining something or of avoiding
something.
Desire, then, the stimulus to movement, has itself to be stimulated by
imagination — the impression left upon the senses, the picture conjured up, of
some delight to be enjoyed, or some disagreeable thing to be fled from.
There are thus two powers which can move — imagination as a part of mind
(as dianoia) and desire. There is, however, a difference between these two
powers. Dianoia, practical mind, controlled by reason, is indeed always
directed to the attainment of an object, but it cannot move without desire ;
whereas desire is by no means chained to reason, but moves without reason,
for animal appetite {epithymia, the craving of the passions) is a kind of desire.
Reason {nous) is always right, but unfortunately, desire and imagination are
sometimes right, sometimes wrong. Not that they go wrong intentionally,
for the impulse proceeds from the thing desired, and this is always either the
good or the apparently good. What is sought is, in fact, the practical good.
Here we have the old Socratic theory : No one desires what he knows to
be bad, but, unfortunately again, the individual may be mistaken, and in his
blindness desire the bad.
The Conflict between the two Powers of Desire. — There are many
faculties in the soul, continues Aristotle (iii. 10, 433 a, 31) : —
The nutritive {to threptikon) ;
The sentient {to aisthetikon) ;
The imaginative {to phantastikon) ;
The reflective {to noetikon) ;
The deliberately willing (to houleutikort) ; '
The impulsively craving {to orektikon) ;
— and it is evident that each of these will have its own special desires, and that
these must of necessity often be at variance with one another.
The Basis of the Moral Conflict. — This happens, he continues, when
reason (the logos) and passion {epithymia) are opposed to each other — (and here
Aristotle makes one of his profoundest remarks) — and this opposition takes
place in those creatures that have the perception of time — a " time " sense, or
sense of proportion, as it were ; '' for while mind seeks to lead desire with
reference to the future, passion urges it to the gratification of the present,"
says Aristotle, "the pleasure of the moment seems absolutely delightful and
absolutely good, when we do not look to the future."
The soldier on the battlefield may be taken as an illustration of the
opposing forces of desire. At the critical moment when the enemy is gaining
ground, and he sees his comrades cut down on either side, while desire for
immediate safety is urging flight, with all the instinctive strength of the love
of life, reason rises, yea, even in the despised imagination, with the thought of
the fatherland, of home, of freedom, of the sacred cause. To what form of
desire will the man yield ? To desire for his own safety of the present, or to
desire for the future safety of his country ?
This, in smaller, humbler ways, is the conflict of desires perpetually waging
war within us — the rebellion in the state of man, as Plato puts it, wherein the
lower nature seeks to get the upper hand, the serpent and the lion to enchain
the man. Every imagination, as Aristotle puts it, belongs either to reason or
to the senses, is either logistike or cesthetike. The latter is shared in by the
lower animals ; the higher, which brings with it the conflict, belongs to man
678 AKISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
alone — to man qvd man, for he alone has the time- sense, he alone has the
thought of the future, and can measure its tremendous importance.
It is, however, characteristic of Aristotle's whole system, and a necessary
distinction from his conception of immortality as limited to one part of the
spirit, that he does not allow his highest spirit to take part in the conflict of
desires. The nous tJieoretikos does not desire any practical end ; this is the
function of the nous praldikos. Hence, the extreme significance of the remark
that the conflict of desires takes place only in creatures possessed of the sense
of time does not seem to have been probed by Aristotle himself. He does not
see its far-reaching consequences ; he does not place time in opposition to
eternity, as does Plato. In this respect, as in his whole treatment of the
doctrine of immortality, Aristotle is halting, dim, uncertain, and far inferior
to his great master.
THE IDEA OF GOD
I. — The Nature of God — the Eight Conditions
Aristotle's self-imposed task, then — the task which he began in the Meta-
physics — was the building up of a higher and truer explanation of the nature
of the great first cause. This task he did not live to complete. As we have
stated, it is not probable that either the whole of the Metaphysics, or its
present arrangement, is due to the philosopher himself. The work is frag-
mentary and unsystematic. After the elaborate prelude (the ladder of
knowledge), and the historical sketch, which we have glanced at, there follows
much more, also of an introductory character, and it is not until we arrive at the
twelfth book that we are really face to face with Aristotle's conception of the
first cause — that cause which was to explain the origin of movement, and of
all things.
And now that we have arrived at this stage, we must ask the reader not to
be repelled by the form into which Aristotle's speculations are cast. The shell
of his thought is necessarily a hard one for us, but the kernel is precious, as
we shall see.
Aristotle, then, postulates certain conditions ^ which must of necessity find
their fulfilment if we are to have any adequate explanation of the existing
order of things : —
The First Condition : the First Cause must be Eternal and Un-
moved. — There are, says Aristotle, three kinds of substances (or essences).
Two of these belong to the domain of physics.
{a) One is perishable = plants and animals.
{h) The other, eternal ( = heaven and the heavenly bodies) : and both
belong to physics, because they partake of movement.
The third essence is unmoved, — This definition he repeats further on. " We
have assumed," he says, "that there are three substances, two of which belong
to the things of nature, whilst the third is unmoved. Of this last we must
now speak, and show that of necessity there must be some eternal unmoved
essence.
That God must be eternal is self-evident to us, but we fail to see at
first why Aristotle should lay such emphasis upon the " unmovableness of
God." To discover the reason of this we must go back to those books of the
' It is, perhaps, necessary to premise that these conditions are not found grouped together
as given in the following pages, but scattered through the Metaphysics, and especially the
twelfth book.
THE IDEA OF GOD 679
Physics— the inquiry into the things of nature— in which Aristotle had already
laid the scientific foundation of the doctrine which he developed in the Meta-
physics. There he had proved —
(i) "That everything that moved must of necessity be moved by some-
thing outside of itself, even when the thing seems to move itself." Every
living moving thing, he says, consists of two parts— an actual part, one that
moves, and a potential part, one that is moved— but even the actual part, the
part that moves, according to Aristotle, receives its impulse from without
(Phys., vii. I et seq.; viii. 5). Nothing in nature, therefore, moves itself as
a whole.
(2) Hence, to find that which gives the impetus of movement to all else,
we must go back to something which is not subject to influence from without
— something which does move as a whole; something which has no merely
potential part, and therefore cannot be moved or changed from without.
(3) C^o back as far as we may, and trace it up through endless links, we
must finally arrive at a first cause. There is no going on ad infinitum. A
stick may move a stone, but it does so only in so far as the stick itself is
moved by the hand of the man who holds it, and who is himself unmoved
{Phys., viii. 5, 256 a, 4-8).
On this foundation Aristotle builds in the Metaphysics, and the very first
stone in the structure is the unmovableness and eternity of God. "There
must be, of necessity, some eternal unmoved essence." The " unmovableness"
of God is really, in Aristotle's eyes, His immutability : " He changeth not."
Second Condition : the Nature of the First Principle must be
the Good, otherwise It could not be Eternal.— There arises a difficulty
here, says Aristotle, which may be stated thus : " Whether does that of which
we wish to speak, the good and the best-in-itself, belong to the first principles
or not ? or did it arise later ? " And he proceeds to state an argument which
is not without its bearing on the questions that exercise men's minds in
our own day. " In this question the theologians (Hesiod) seem to agree with
those of our present-day philosophers, who say that the good and the beautiful
did not exist in the beginning, but have appeared with the advancing develop-
ment of nature. . . . The old poets had this notion, for they say that it is
not the first powers — such as night and Uranus, and chaos or Oceanus — that
rule now, but Zeus . . . whereas they who do not entirely accept the mythic
traditions, such as Pherecydes, and some others, place the first Creator as the
best, as do also the Magi ; and of the later philosophers, such as Empedocles and
Anaxagoras, for the one makes friendship, the other mind, to be an element."
Is God, then, the great first principle, on a level with nature, that de-
velopment may be postulated of His attributes, the good and the best-in-itself?
" It would be astonishing, indeed," comments Aristotle, " if the first and the
eternal and the self-sufficing in the highest degree did not possess this first
(essential quality) — self-sufficingness and eternal life (soundness = soteria) in
the form of the good. For by nothing else than the good alone does anything
become immortal or self-sufficing." (The bad, like strife, is a disintegrating
quality.)
The good has ever been in existence. It is the good that predominates in
the universe, otherwise it must long since have gone to pieces. It is the good
towards which the universe is moving.
Third Condition. — " There must be," he continues, " a first cause of such
nature that its essence is energeia" — that untranslatable term which we call
actuality, reality. (See the Definitions, p. 656.) "If there were a Mover or
Creator which did not actually work," £ays Aristotle, " there could be no
68o ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
motion. Potentiality cannot be ascribed to the first cause — mere capacity for
work, because capacity (even the capacity for existence) may lie dormant and
not proceed to actuality or reality. The first cause must have existed in all
its reality, and, consequently, must have been ceaselessly at work from all
eternity, communicating the impetus of its own intense life, its reality, to
others. There must be a first cause whose essence is energeia." And yet,
while thus the cause of movement and life in others, God must be. Himself,
according to the first condition, unmoved. Why? Because " movement " is,
to Aristotle, " change " (see the Definitions), the transition from possibility to
reality. There is no mere " possibility " in God. " He is," as Plato says,
'* alone expresses Him." He is intense Reality, from which all possibility of
change, of progress, of movement is excluded. Hence God is, of necessity, the
Unmoved Mover.
Fourth Condition. — Hence God must, equally of necessity, be immaterial,
apart from matter. For matter has to do with potentiality, the mere capacity
for being moved or energised, and matter is perishable. But the Divine is itself
pure energy and eternal.
Fifth Condition. — The Divine essence must be One, without parts and
indivisible, without suffering or change. " From what has been said," says
Aristotle, ''it is clear that there is some substance, essence, eternal, unmoved
and separate from the things of sense. And it has been proved also that it is
impossible that the conception of 'magnitude' (or limit) can belong to this
Substance. Much rather is it without parts and indivisible, for It moves in
boundless time, and that which has boundless power (dynamis) is not limited
. . . the conception of limitation cannot be attributed to God. Neither may
the term, ' boundless magnitude," be used, for there is no such thing. More-
over, the Divine nature is without suffering (apatites) and without change."
According to Aristotle, our human ideas of "magnitude," size or limit,
"suffering" (the being affected by anything from without), or "change" are
all equally inapplicable to the Divine nature.
" Since there is a something which moves itself without being moved,
as pure energy, this cannot possibly change in any way" {Met., xii. 1072,
h, 7 d seq.).
Sixth Condition. — The Divine, as the energising force, must have been
in existence first. If we say with Hesiod, and the old thinkers, that all things
proceeded from night (chaos) — or, if we hold with the natural philosophers
that all things were in one another (i.e. mixed in one common substance, from
which they afterwards separated) — in either case, " we afiirm the impossible.
For how can anything be moved, unless there be a moving cause = energy ?
Matter, for instance, does not move itself : the skill of the builder is necessary
for this ; neither is it the earth that brings forth of herself, but the seed. . . .
For nothing is moved by chance ; but there must always be a definite cause.
Things are moved by Nature, or by force, or by mind, or in some other way."
How, then, does the Divine move ?
Seventh Condition. — The first moving principle moves as the object of
love. We ask the reader to ponder these words. No grander thought ever
inspired a human mind — God moves as the Object of Love. How can that
which is itself unmoved, move others ? Simply by being in itself (a) the object
of desire : that to which all reaches out, towards which all stretches, for which
all longs and yearns ; and also (h) by being in itself the object of thought
and reflection. Passion, says Aristotle, longs for that which seems beautiful
(the beauty of the senses) ; but the object desired by reflection is " That
which is beautiful." And he goes on to picture this true beauty, this true
THE IDEA OF GOD 68 1
good, this first, this best-in-itself, this simple energising essence, as standing
apart in a line by and for itself— the line of the unmoved— in contradistinc-
tion, as It were, to that other line of the things which are moved and changed
by their very stretching towards, their vehement longing for the great obfect
of desire. God moves as the object of love.
Eig-hth Condition.— The life of God must be the Hfe of thought. In
no other way can God be God to Aristotle. Contemplation— the few moments
in which the soul of man succeeds in disengaging itself from the things of
sense, and steeps itself, as it were, in pure thought i— this is to him the
sumvLUTn bojium, the highest bliss of man— and this bliss, vouchsafed to us but
for a brief moment now and again, constitutes the very nature of God. God is
pure thought, pure mind, pure energy. " It is on such a principle that Heaven
and Nature depend," says Aristotle. " And there belongs to it a blessed life,
such as we taste but for a short while. With it bliss is eternal (but for us
this is impossible), since pleasure is the energy of the Divine life, and, by
reason of this, wakefulness, perception, thought, are pleasantest, and through
these hopes and memories." With us, Aristotle implies, the constant wakeful-
ness and " recollectedness " necessary for the life of contemplation are impos-
sible, by reason of our human frailty; but God knows no such limitation.
With Him, therefore, life is constant contemplation, perpetual pleasure. " Pure
thought," he proceeds, " has for its object that which is best in itself, and this
the more the purer it is. For the thinking power thinks itself according to
the measure with which it grasps the thinkable ; for when it seizes and thinks
this, mind becomes the subject of its own thought, so that mind and thought
are one and the same. For that which has the faculty of grasping thought
and the essence of things is mind. And in the possession of this faculty
lies its actuality, its energeia. So that in the faculty of thought, rather than
in energeia, seems to be that which makes mind Divine, and reflection, the
sweetest and the best."
Ninth Condition. — God can only think Himself. There is no single
point in the Aristotelian conception of the Divine nature which so powerfully
contrasts with the Christian conception as this. And yet it follows, especially
from that which has been already laid down. ''As regards the mind of God,"
so the philosopher muses, " there are some difficulties (in the way of our
comprehending it) — for mind is the most Divine of all phenomena, and yet it
is not easy to see how the general conditions of mind are applicable to God.^
If God thinks of nothing, where is then His majesty ? — He becomes as one
that sleeps. If He thinks of something (apart from Himself) and so becomes
dependent on another (for the subject of thought) — this would not be thought
according to His own nature, but potentiality (the mere capacity for receiving
thought or energeia from another). And this would not be the noblest nature,
for in thought lies the high dignity of God.
Further, if the nature of God be nous (the power of thought) or noesis (the
activity of thought), what forms the subject of the thought of God ? He must
either think Himself, or something else ; and if something else, then either
always the same, or now this, now that. "Does it then," he asks, "make any
difference in the argument whether the thought of God is the noble (to kalon)
or the indifferent {to tychon = objects of chance ) ? Would it not rather be
folly in us to suppose that diverse objects occupied His thoughts ? It is clear
that His thoughts are the most Divine and the noblest, and that there is no
change in them, for change leads to the worse. . . .
^ As Plato would say, soars upwards to its kindred in heaven. (See ante, p. 569.)
^ "My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways," saith the Lord.
682 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
Further, it is clear that there is something more worthy of honour even
than mind, the thinking-power — viz. " that which occupies the thinking-power
— thought, for thought and the activity of thought are still present even with
one who thinks the worst thoughts." The bare suggestion of this contingency
— possible enough in regard to the human thinking power — is altogether
impossible and abhorrent when brought into connection with the Divine
nature, a supposition, as Aristotle says, "to be fled from." His argument is
that : —
( 1 ) God is the first and best, the good, true beauty.
(2) As such. He cannot change.
(3) Pure thought has for its object that which is best in itself, and this
the more the purer it is.
Hence, from the logical standpoint God can only think Himself. " God
thinks Himself, if He is indeed the best, and so, with Him, thought is the
thought of thought."
Here we have, seem to have, indeed, in its very essence the old conception
of the solitariness of God. If God is the highest and the holiest, no thought
of what is less high and less holy than Himself can possibly occupy His Divine
mind. He must be solely absorbed in contemplating His own Divine perfec-
tion. What a picture of God ! It is simply a reproduction in the advanced
philosophical thought of the age of the old Homeric conception of the Deity —
a repetition of the constant refrain of the Iliad : " And the Father withdrew
Himself and sat apart, rejoicing in His glory." But here the conception of the
fatherhood so familiar to Homer is wanting. Of that noblest conception of
God — God the Father as revealed by Christ — God so loving the world that He
gave His only Son to save the world — God yearning over the world — God
suffering for the world — there is not the faintest trace. Only with the advent
of Jesus Christ could such a thought of God enter into the mind of man.
But if Aristotle failed to anticipate that which was utterly beyond the
reach of human foresight, shall we say that his " groping " after God failed
altogether ? Nay, rather, shall we not acknowledge that the Divine Logos, the
Divine reason Himself is brought nearer to us by it ? God eternal and apart
from matter — God as the Divine energeia — God working as the object of love
— God as pure thought — each of these conceptions is in itself a spring of the
deepest truth — an inspiration proceeding directly from the Logos sper7natikos
Himself, from Him who worked in Greek experimenters as He worked in
Hebrew prophets.
Summary. — "If, then," concludes Aristotle, 'Hhe life of God is as
blissful always as ours now and again, it is a wonderful existence — if it is more
full of bliss than ours ever is, it is still more wonderful. And yet so it is.
And life belongs to God, for the energy of thought is life, and thought is
pure energy, hence the pure energy of thought is life, and that the noblest,
life eternal.
" We say, then, that God is a living being, eternal and the best, and that
life and eternity, everlasting and unbroken, belong to God. Such is the nature
of God."
THE IDEA OF GOD
683
II. God and the Universe : (A) the Chain of Causes ; (B) the Evidence of
Design ; (C) God at once the Source and the Order in, and the Ruler
of, the Universe.
We now come to the consideration of the second part of the subject— the
relation of God to the visible universe. Did Aristotle say, with the Psalmist :
" The heavens are the work of Thy fingers," or did he conceive of the universe
as having an existence apart from and independent of God? Did he regard
this great being— whom he clearly knew as the erwrgeia, the life— as Himself
standing so apart in the ''line of the unmoved," as to be wholly regardless of
the other line — the line of things moving, yearning, stretching towards Him
as their proper goal and end ?
The answer to these questions may be briefly summed up thus : Aristotle
regards all nature as absolutely dependent upon God : —
(i) For movement, i.e. life, for movement is the manifestation of life ;
( 2 ) For the continuance of life ;
(3) For the conditions under which that life is carried on.
We may prove this in three ways : —
(A) By the Chain of Causes.— " Nothing is moved by chance." We
call to mind in this connection the doctrine laid down in the Physics of the
absolute necessity of postulating the existence of an unmoved mover of the
universe — one who moves all things through link after link culminating in
Himself — as a man moves a stone by means of a link between himself and that
stone, viz. the stick which he holds in his hand.^
In the Metaphysics Aristotle proceeds to develop this doctrine. We
recollect his definition of the three kinds of substance : —
(a) The highest — the non-material, the eternal, the unmoved.
(b) The next in rank, that which is also eternal, but belonging to the
domain of nature, inasmuch as it partakes of matter and of motion.
(c) The lowest substance, the perishable.
Aristotle's conception of the relation of the highest to the other substances
is that of the energiser, the giver of motion, and consequently of life. The
highest essence it is that gives the impetus to the first heaven, the " eternal "
sphere of the fixed stars, and this again in its turn moves others, i.e. the
earth and planets, the sphere of the perishable, where birth and decay come
into action.
The eternal things of the second degree. — The sphere of the first heaven he
regards as " eternal," because he holds it to be a scientific fact that motion has
always been. If God is pure energeia, that energy must have been always
in action, always manifesting itself, otherwise it would not be " energy " but
potentiality. Aristotle cannot accept the doctrine that things have arisen out
of night or chaos or non-being. The only solution to the problem of the
universe is this great doctrine of a primal energeia : " The question before us
may be solved in this way," he says. "There is something which is per-
petually moved in ceaseless motion, and this motion is in a circle ; and that
this is so is clear, not only from reasoning but from fact. And so the first
heaven is eternal. Now," he says, "there must also be something which
effects this movement . . . there is something in the middle which moves and
is itself unmoved, being eternal, pure essence and energeia," and then he goes
on to that grand explanation with which we are already familiar, that this
great something moves as the object of desire and thought.
1 See ante, p. 648.
684 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
So much for the " eternal " things of the second rank, the sphere of the
first heaven. They are moved, says Aristotle, but they also move others — the
things of the third rank, in the sphere of the earth and planets.
The perishable things of the third degree. — " If birth and decay are to come
into existence," says Aristotle, " there must be something which continually
energises in some other way. And of necessity this ' other ' must energise (a)
in one way, according to the measure of itself, and {h) in another way, accord-
ing to the measure of another."
The meaning of this somewhat obscure passage would seem to be, that the
energising of the second cause (the sphere of the first heaven) is not sufficient
without the added energising of some other cause. " What is this other ? " asks
Aristotle. " It must be either a third factor or the first. Of necessity it
is the first, for this is the cause of itself and of the other. Therefore he
concludes —
{a) '' The first is the nobler, for it was (in the beginning) the cause of
that which is always the same ( = the " eternal " sphere of the fixed stars).
ih) " Second comes the cause of that which changes, while
(c) '^ The cause that change is perpetual is the union of both (first and
second causes).
We may interpret Aristotle's chain of causes thus : the first cause is that
which has energy in itself. It is the cause of the second cause and also of the
third cause or causes that produce birth and decay ; while the perpetuity of
the cycle of birth and decay is due to the energising of the first cause, acting
in union with the secondary causes, and through the successive links of the
chain. Nature, indeed, as we have seen, is defined as that which has the principle
of movement, or the capacity for being moved, in itself — but for the con-
tinuance of this principle of movement — in other words, for the continuance
of life — it is dependent on the first great principle of energy, God Him-
self. It is indeed the action of the subordinate cause, the seed or germ,
energising according to the law of its nature that produces the changing
phenomena of nature ; but Aristotle is clearly of opinion that for its lasting
perpetuity the world of change or nature is dependent on its union with
" another," even the great first, the unmoved, who changeth not.
" If nothing exists besides the things perceptible to the senses," he says in
another place, " then nothing would be an object of thought, but the objects
perceived of the senses would be all, and there would be no ' science ' unless
we were to call perception by the senses (which is common to the animals)
' science.' Further, if there is nothing eternal, then birth coming into
existence, is impossible ; for there must be something which ' becomes ^ and
out of which it proceeds, and the last (link in the chain) must be unbegotten,
for we must stand still somewhere, and birth out of non-being is impossible.
Moreover, when there is birth and movement, there must of necessity be
a goal, for no movement whatsoever is without limit, but to all movement
there is an end " {telos = an accomplishment) towards which the movement
tends.
This goal is God — the unmoved object of desire, towards whom the whole
visible universe stretches. Have we not here a forecast of the Apostle's
words — the whole creation groaning and travailing in pain together until
now, waiting for its glorious end, the manifestation of its destiny ?
Thus far, we have seen that God fulfils in Himself two of Aristotle's
causes — the external causes — (i) He is the mover, energeia and cause of
change, the principle of movement ; (2) He is the unmoved mover, the
telos, the goal — that for which, in the ultimate sense, all exists. But what
THE IDEA OF GOD 685
of the two subordinate or internal causes: — Has God anything to do with
that out of which a thing proceeds— Matter ? or with that into which it
grows or is shaped— Form ? In other words, does Aristotle regard God as
the Creator as well as the energiser ? We may say at once that this is a
point on which Aristotle does not express himself with the clearness which we
desiderate. He seems to take for granted that matter— that is, matter in
its elemental shapeless form — has always been in existence. Birth and decay
go on ceaselessly, but it is the same " matter " which appears through the
ages in an infinitude of shapes. Hence he speaks of " the conception of
* unbegottenness ' (agennetos) which clings to matter." Life may come, life
may go; but the "matter" which serves its purposes in the shaping of the
organism remains the same. We must leave on one side the question as
to what Aristotle thought of the " creation " of this elemental matter in the
beginning. He does not even stop to consider it, for something far higher
has seized his attention, and that is the in-dwelling form which lays hold
of the elemental matter, and shapes it into what it ultimately becomes.
Aristotle would have considered the question of the creation of matter, hyle,
a very small thing beside that higher question, the shaping and determining
of the hyle. " If," he says, " matter exists by reason of the conception of
uncreatedness which clings to it, how much more reasonable is it to say that
the essential form by which it becomes something definite exists ! If neither
form nor matter has a real existence (as some philosophers maintain) then
nothing at all exists ; and if this assumption is impossible, then there must
of necessity exist, besides the concrete individual thing (the synolon), a some-
thing — the shape {morphe) and the form (eidos)."
In the eidos of Aristotle we have the idea of Plato, with this great and
essential difference that, whereas Plato conceived of his idea as something
existing apart, the heavenly pattern after which the earthly thing is shaped —
Aristotle regards the idea as the essential part of the earthly thing, that which
shapes and moulds it into what it is to be.
To this point we shall recur again. Meantime, not to break the thread of
the argument, we must look now at that feature of the controversy which is
essential to it. If everything in nature is shaped by an in-dwelling idea or
form, has God anything to do with this form ? or has everything come about by
" development " and the energising of the individual forms in the world of
Nature. Fortunately, on this point at least, we know the mind of Aristotle.
" Development," " Energising " Movement (or change), and, he says, " Nothing
is moved (i.e. changeth) by chance."
(B) The Evidence of Design in Nature. — The basis of the doctrine of
a purpose in nature was laid, as we know, not by Aristotle, but by Socrates
(p. 558) and by Plato (p. 548). To Aristotle, however, is due the credit of
having first demonstrated it on scientific grounds. He not only lays it down
(like the companion-doctrine of the Unmoved Mover) in the Physics, and
develops it in like manner in the Metaphysics, but it may really be said to
pervade the whole of his system. Examples are numerous. It is not by
chance — he says in the Physics — neither is it due to any mere natural
" necessity," that the fertilising rain falls at the time of seed-sowing ; or,
again, that the various parts of a natural whole are fitted for the special work
which each part has to perform in that whole. For instance, it is not " by
chance" that the front teeth are sharp and adapted for purposes of dividing
food, whilst the back teeth are broad and adapted for grinding, masticating
that food.
" That the great part of the evidence of adaptation in nature is no mere
686 ARISTOTLE'S PSYCHOLOGY
work of * chance/ " says Dr. Rolfes, " but is only to be explained by the causative
influence of the object or purpose," Aristotle demonstrates in the following
way :—
(a) By the regularity of its occurrence. — What " Chance " effects, happens
only now and again, but the adaptation of things to an end — what we call the
beautiful order of things — is the standing rule in nature. If this be so, there
is no other explanation than that the object is the cause. Things are as they
are, and work as they work, because both — their being and their work — are
controlled by the object.
(h) From the harmony that exists hetioeen action ami object. — A second proof,
which, however, is rather to be regarded as a development of the first, he lays
down as follows : Where the object works as a determining factor {i.e. ruling,
planning, designing) as in the case of well-considered human activity, every-
thing that bears upon the object or purpose in view, from the first step to the
last, is done on account of that object ; and there appears between object and
action (leading up to it) perfect harmony. Therefore we are entitled to draw
the conclusion that wherever this harmony appears — that is, wherever, as a
matter of fact, everything is so arranged or takes place so that it serves a
corresponding purpose or object — then it is the object that rules. As a matter
of fact we find the adaptation of things to corresponding objects everywhere
in nature. Therefore we may conclude that nature works for the sake of an
object.
(c) From the intelligence manifested by animals. — A third proof presents
itself to our philosopher in the work performed by many animals — e.g. by
spiders and ants. In his History of Animals, again, Aristotle brings forward
many examples of the kind, e.g. the prudence of stags and the art shown by
swallows in constructing their nests ; the time chosen for the yearly sleep, the
migration of birds, and so on.
All in Aristotle's eyes is directed by a higher power towards a certain telos
or object, and that object is — the good.
((7) The Good at once the Source of Order and the Commander
of the Universe. — in the Metaphysics, Aristotle, as we have said, develops
this doctrine. After his inquiry into the nature of God, he proceeds thus :
" We must now examine in which way the nature of the universe (the great
' whole ') includes the good and the best — whether this is something apart,
and existing by and for itself — or whether it is the imminent order in the
universe — or both, as in an army. For," he says, "the good is, in one sense,
in the order of the army, and, in another sense, in the commander ; and much
more," he adds, " in the latter, for the commander is not dependent on the
order, but the order on him. All things," he concludes, " are ordered thus."
God is therefore in every shaping, moulding, developing form ; in one sense.
Himself the Order of the Universe ; whilst in another sense He stands apart,
in a line by Himself, the Commander and Orderer of all things.
What would Aristotle have thought of those theories of our own day which
account for the present ^beautiful order of things by supposing that each
individual germ (or idea) has developed and struggled upwards without any
commander or orderer, directed solely by the struggle for existence ? Surely,
if Aristotle were among us now, he would point out and strongly maintain that
the individual struggle for existence has been subordinated throughout to the
purposes of the Great Commander — even the good of the whole, the march of
humanity towards Himself. For, in the passage from which we have just
quoted the exact meaning of the concluding sentence is: not merely "All
things are ordered in this way," but " All things are ordered together
CONCLUSION 687
{syntetaktai), arranged, organised, drawn up in line of battle, in this way."
"All things are ordered together in this way, but," he adds, "all things are
not ordered alike— fishes, birds, and plants — and they are not ordered so that
one has nothing to do with the other. The reverse is the case, for all has been
organised (s?/7iifejfa/i'/az = repeated) in relation to one consideration ( = the good)."
And then he proceeds with a very beautiful example of the principle of
noblesse oblige. " Just," he says, "as in a household, it is the free members
who are least of all allowed to act as chance may move them, but are directed
how to proceed in all or most things, while slaves and domestic animals do
little towards the common weal, but, for the most part, only what comes to
hand : so in this way, the nature of each thing works as its principle of
action" — a passage on which Bender's comment is: "In the order of the
universe, the highest parts, the heavenly bodies, have, in accordance with their
rank and importance, the strictest rules and laws. With those parts of the
universe which are of minor importance, chance and self-will have freer play."
But, whether of greater or minor importance, everything great or small, is
organised, ordered together, moving towards that great central point — the
good of the whole.
Such is Aristotle's notion of the constitution of the universe. The words
with which this great twelfth book of the Metaphysics concludes are very
striking : "True Being (God) does not will a bad constitution" — and by a bad
constitution he is referring to the reign of many principles striving to obtain
their ends after their own sweet will, and he quotes with approval the words
of Homer : —
" The rule of many is not good. Let there be one ruler ! " — even God, the
good — the best and noblest !
CONCLUSION
By the Editor.
The religion of the ancient Greeks was not a " positive " but a traditional
religion. It was not the creation of a great religious innovator " deliberately
departing from the traditions of the past ; " it was itself the accumulation of
beliefs and usages " which cannot be traced to the influence of individual minds,
but formed part of the inheritance from the past." With the usages — ritual,
sacrifice, and votive offerings — the author of The Makers of Hellas has not been
concerned. With creed or dogma the author could not be concerned, for creed
and dogma were alike unknown to the ancient Greeks. What has been done
is that the beliefs or the speculations of various individual thinkers have been
set before the reader. But it is important to recognise clearly and fully that
such individual speculations or beliefs were no part of the religion or the
religious duties of which the performance was required, and, if necessary,
enforced by the State. Many of those speculations, as we clearly see now,
could ultimately find no satisfactory logical basis save in monotheism. In some
cases that conclusion must have been fairly apparent to the authors of those
speculations and the holders of those beliefs. But in all cases a spirit of
" accommodation " prompted the use of language which saved the speculations
of the author from coming into avowed collision with the polytheism of the com-
munity. Creed and dogma were, indeed, unknown. But however amorphous,
in their default, may have been the belief of Hellas, on one point at least it
was clear, viz. that there were gods many. By that article of belief polytheism
had to stand or fall.
It was that article of belief which made a religious reform of polytheism an
688 CONCLUSION
impossibility, an Unding^ a contradiction in terms. A monotheistic religion
may suffer corruption and degradation ; and reform is possible because, when
the abuses are overthrown, the original article of belief in the one and only
God is left standing, and is more plain and more potent than before. Reform,
in religion as in politics, aims at the destruction of abuses. Reform is in one
sense the truest conservatism, for if it seeks to tear down the ivy, its object is
to save the tree which the ivy would strangle. But reform is also progress and
development : if it reverts to the original principles of the body politic or of
the religious community, it also restates them with a deeper comprehension
and a fuller expression of their import than was possible before. The deeper
comprehension of the religious principle amongst Greek thinkers led, as has
been shown by the author of The Makers of Hellas, to a fuller expression of
the fact, whether wholly or partially apprehended, that " amid all varieties of
religious opinion, the goal of religious aspiration is One." ^ Religious reform
led not to the reinstatement but to the destruction of the polytheism of ancient
Greece. Of the two phases of ref5rm — destruction followed by reconstruction
— the former alone was accomplished by the makers of Hellas. The opinion of
the few did not become the conscious aspiration of the many until Christianity
invades Greece.
Whatever may have been the original religious belief of the Hebrews,
whether they were or were not monotheist from the beginning, it is historic
fact that the polytheism of ancient Greece is not the seed whence the mono-
theism of Christianity sprang. Polytheism in this instance did not develop or
evolve into monotheism. Its walls crumbled from their own weight and
because of their own unsubstantial foundations, and an invading monotheism
entered into possession. So far this instance lends no weight to the idea that
all men from the beginning were polytheist or polydaemonist or animistic, and
that polytheism in the orderly course of evolution naturally bears the flower
and the seed of monotheism. In this instance the destruction of polytheism
was the condition precedent to the reception of monotheism from without. We
may probably venture to go further, and to assert that it is a plain contradiction
in terms to maintain that a polytheistic community as such ever becomes a
monotheistic community. The polytheistic community as such, as a body of
individuals worshipping a plurality of gods, must cease to exist absolutely ; its
purport and object, its rites and beliefs must be given up by its members,
before they can become monotheist ; and when its members have given up their
polytheism, they are no longer the same men — they have been reborn — and
their community is a new thing. In fine, a polytheist community does not and
cannot evolve into a monotheistic community : the polytheism and the com-
munity, which exists simply for the enforcement of polytheism, must both
perish before monotheism and a monotheist community can take their place.
The reformation of a monotheistic people is always aided by the fact that
the reformer can appeal to the tradition of the community, to its traditional
belief, however obscured and perverted, in the one God. But in the case of a
polytheistic community there is no such tradition to appeal to. The appeal is
to the aspiration of the individual after the one God ; and the method of the
appeal consists in bringing to the light and to self-consciousness the fact that
such is the aspiration of the individual soul. The individual soul is called in
effect to bear witness against the tradition of the polytheist community. It is
precisely this fact that was either not realised or else was not faced by those
individual thinkers in Greece who were consciou&ly or vaguely monotheist in
their aspiration. Religious reform was and is possible only if it converts or
1 The Hihhert Journal, vol. i. No. 1, p. 3.
CONCLUSION 689
transforms the community. A reform which aims at substituting monotheism
for polytheism cannot be said even to have begun so long as a modus vivendi
between the two is sought or tolerated. So far as the dramatists of ancient
Greece are concerned, we can hardly say that a modus vivendi was sought : those of
their religious aspirations which logically postulated a belief in monotheism were
probably too vaguely apprehended to require any " accommodation " to enable
them to dwell in the minds in which polytheism had a traditional footing.
With the philosophers of ancient Greece the case was different; belief in
polytheism had ceased altogether, and "accommodation" was required not to
find room in their hearts for a new belief by the side of the old, but to find
language which would to some extent express their belief, and would not bring
them into unnecessary collision with the State religion. Yet collision with the
traditional polytheism was essential, if the latter was to be overthrown ; and
if collision was studiously avoided, the inference is inevitable that religious
reform, conversion of the community, was for some reason not aimed at. It
was not aimed at, because the philosopher despaired of converting the com-
munity ; " and therefore seeing that he would be of no use to the State or to his
friends, and reflecting that he would have to throw away his life without doing
any good either to himself or others, he holds his peace and goes his own way "
{Rep. 496). It is the philosopher, not the martyr, who reflects; and it is the
martyr, not the philosopher, whose blood is the seed of the Church. The
philosopher " is like one who, in the storm of dust and sleet which the driving
wind hurries along, retires under the shelter of a wall ; and seeing the rest of
mankind full of wickedness, he is content, if only he can live his own life and
be pure from evil and unrighteousness, and depart in peace and goodwill, with
bright hopes " {ibid.). The philosopher who, seeing the rest of mankind full of
wickedness, is content to leave them to their fate, is not likely to benefit the
community to which he belongs. Nor was any Greek community converted
from polytheism to monotheism by Greek philosophy. The Greeks who were
converted abandoned the polytheistic community in which they were born and
to which they belonged, and joined the Christian community.
The attitude of Plato is one of scarcely veiled hostility to the community :
his philosopher stands apart from the community ; that is, " the rest of man-
kind, full of wickedness." If his philosopher became a king with despotic
power, or if a despot adopted his philosophy, then his philosophic dream might
become a reality and his views would be imposed upon the State. But in
default of a philosophic despot, there is no escape from wickedness for man-
kind. The possibility that men, whether slave or free, might welcome and
freely adopt a new communion, a fresh form of community, did not impose
itself upon Plato. The philosophy which he offered was not one for the slave,
the bondsman, or the ordinary citizen. They might be ruled by a despot
possessed of its principles : they could not themselves partake in his philo-
sophy. They might be made, by one possessed of the necessary tyrannical
power, to act in conformity with principles enforced by him, but those principles
would be external to them and imposed upon them from without. The
binding force of those philosophic principles in the case of the ordinary, non-
philosophic man would be external compulsion, not internal conviction. From
this point of view, therefore, the conversion of the ordinary man is a thing
impossible. On philosophic principles, polytheism may stand condemned, but
the ordinary man is incapable of philosophy. If, therefore, the ordinary man
is to abandon polytheism, he must be compelled so to do by the external force
of a benevolent despot who accepts and enforces the Platonic philosophy.
If these were the only conditions on which polytheism could be abandoned,
2 X
690 CONCLUSION
the Greeks would at the present day be polytheists awaiting the coming of a
philosopher with the necessary power or of a despot inspired by the Platonic
philosophy. If polytheism is now abandoned, it is because the soul of the
individual, slave or free, was and is the court in which polytheism can be tried
and cast. Plato in effect denied the possibility of trying the case in any such
court : the slave simply was incompetent to any such proceeding. At the
present day, as was intimated in the Introduction to this book, there is a
tendency to maintain that the power of such a court does not extend beyond
itself, that religion is and must be a purely individual matter : the external,
physical, material world, we do all share in, and its laws we may all be aware
of, and we all are subject to. But religion is a consciousness which individuals
have — a movement of the individual soul. That is an undoubted fact. The
point at which a difference of opinion may arise here occurs. We may decline
to proceed beyond this point, as Mr. William James and M. Sabatier, in the
passages already quoted (p. xxiii), appear to do. Or we may go further. The
situation is exactly parallel to that which arises in metaphysics when the
question is put, whether the individual is justified in travelling beyond his
own sensations. In metaphysics the individualist declines to go further : he
has sensations and he knows that he has ; but he has no such knowledge of
the existence of other people, and he sees nothing to compel or to warrant
him in believing that there is any external world which he apprehends by
means of his sensations. There is according to him no external world of which
he is a member and in which he moves and lives and has his being. The same
line of argument which thus proves, or seeks to prove, that there is no external
world, results in denying that there is any spiritual world. If we start with
the proposition that religion is a consciousness which the individual has, and
if we refuse to proceed beyond that proposition, we deny the reality and the
possibility of any spiritual world in exactly the same way as the individualist
philosopher denies the reality of the external world and of any other minds
than his own. In metaphysics this position has never been able to maintain
itself for any length of time. The same line of argument which rejects the
existence of the object, the physical world, and asserts that the individual's
knowledge is limited to his own sensations, ultimately leads, if logically
followed, to a denial of the existence of the subject: the dissecting knife
which severs sensation from its object cuts sensation equally free from a
subject. If sensation requires no object, it implies no subject. When the
world and man are alike reduced to sensations which are sensations of nothing
and belong to nobody, philosophic scepticism usually supervenes. We may
safely argue in this case from the analogy of metaphysics to religion, and
conclude that if religion is nothing but the movement or the consciousness of
the individual soul, the spiritual world will follow the fate of the physical
world : both alike will be deprived — by the same fallacious argument — of
objective reality ; and the soul, in the religiovis sense of the word, will be
denied to exist, on the same grounds as in metaphysics the subject is got
rid of.
The plain fact is that the physical world is not my exclusive world, and
that I am not cut off from communion with other individuals. Neither is the
spiritual world, into which a man may enter, his own creation, nor is it more
the work of his own fancy than the physical world. A man may draw wrong
inferences as to the external world from his sensations, and may expect or
believe, in consequence, what does not come to pass ; but further experience
teaches, or may teach him, where and why his inference was wrong. A man
may also draw wrong inferences from his experience as to the spiritual world ;
CONCLUSION 691
and he may learn from his own further experience where and why those
inferences were wrong. But it is much more often the case, in regard to both,
that he learns from the experience of others. In both, the child is largely
taught what to expect by his elders : he may be taught to avoid fire without
going through the personal experience of being burnt. In both, his elders
themselves may profit by the wider or the deeper experience and knowledge of
others. In both, the greatest revelations have been granted to, and the greatest
revolutions have been effected by, some master-mind who has opened out some
region hitherto unknown and unexplored. In either case, if the discovery or
the revelation becomes accepted, it is because others, following the discoverer,
find for themselves and by their own experience that what he said is true.
But in such cases our own experience is not the sole basis for the truth of
that which we find to be true, though it may be the firm foundation of our
personal conviction. The simple fact that we were led by the experience of
others from mistaken views to a truer apprehension is itself sufficient evidence
for him who has gone through the process that his individual experience is not
the final court of appeal, and that he may yet learn more, as he has learnt
something, by submitting further to the guidance already vouchsafed to him.
This attitude of mind is faith. This guidance is precisely what was wanting
in Greece, as the reader of The Makers of Hellas will have seen. The
higher religious aspirations of the Greeks were essentially individual ; they
constitute a typical example of individual religion and of its comparative and
necessary infertility.
INDEX
Ablaut, 87
Aboulia, word, 387
Aboutes, word, 97
Acarnania, 68
Acarnanians, 132
Achaean age, 189 et seq.
Achseans, 130, 141 ; wanderings of the, 142
et seq., 199, 200; the period of their pre-
dominance, 189 et seq.; their decline, 194,
199, 200 ; fate of the, 249
Achelous, river, 10, 56, 57, 60
Achelous, river-god, typifies the Achelous
river, q.v.
Achilleid, the, 109, IIO, 145
Achilles, hero, ancestry of, 142, 340 ; per-
sonality of, 142, 143 ; his libation to Zeus,
246 ; shame felt by, 285 ; repentance of,
292 ; the wrath of, as the argument of the
Iliad, 297 et seq. ; character of, 300 et seq.,
388 et seq., 484, 485'!
Acis, 236
Acorns as food, 29, 30, 3 1 ^7
Acrisius, King, 158
Acro-corinthus, 4; rock of, 137, 138; view
from, 138, 199
Acropolis of Athens, its olive trees, 34, 150,
151 ; buildings of, 210
Acropolis of Corinth, 139
Acropolis of Mycenae, 165
Actseus, 154
Actuality, word, 646
Aditi, 220, 222
Adityas, 220, 222
Adonis, 189, 237
Adrasteia, law of, 575
Adrastus, King, 452 et seq , 476, 477, 495
^acus, King, 142, 227
^depsus, sulphur springs of ,'47, 48, 51
^gean Sea, 14
^geus, 154, 155
vEgialeia, 50
/Egimius, King, 196
.^gina, city, 137
yEgina, island, 149
^gisthus, 477 et seq.
^nianes, 130
^Eolian migrations, 194 et seq.
.^olic dialects, 109 et seq.
^Eolis, district, 193
^Eolus, 236
JEon, word, 357
^sa, 248, 249
-^schylus, sketch of his life, character, ideals,
views, and dramas, 360-382
^ther, word, 449
^thra, 461, 462, 476
^tolia, climate of, 20
y^tolians, 132, 204
Agamemnon, 159, 167, 366; his follies, 288,
297, 300 et seq., 367, 375 et seq., 469, 470,
472, 473, 483, 484
Agamemnon, outline of the drama by ^schy-
lus, 375 et seq.
Agas, word, 222
Agathon, word, 106
Aglaurus, 154, 434
Aglossoi, 84
Agni, god, 216
Agnus, place-name, 90
Agnus castus, 38
Agon, word, 345
Agora of Athens, 209, 2IO
Agriculture, the beginnings of, 32, 33 ; of the
Graeco- Aryans, 129 ; of the Athenians, 152,
153 ; of the ancient Egyptians, 175, 176
Ahura Mazda, 221
Aias, word, 390
Aideisthai, word, 483, 487
Aidestheis, word, 483
Aidoios, word, 281
Aidomenos, word, 481
Aidos, word, 95, 284 et seq., 456, 481-487
Air, realm of, 218; as a prime element, 335,
647 ; its place in the world-order as depicted
by Plato, 549 et seq.; as the substance of
the soul, 653
Aischron, word, 475, 483
Aischyne, word, 481, 482
Aischynomai, word, 481, 482, 486
Aisthesis, word, 644, 660
Ajax as depicted by Sophocles, 388 et seq.
Ajax, outline of the drama of, by Sophocles,"
388-390
Akanthologos, 92
Akritomythos, 92
Alabaster, vase of, found in pit-graves at
Mycenae, 170; carvings in, on the walls of
Tiryns, 173, 184
Alcmseon, 60
Alcmseonidae, family, 201
Alder, 30
Aletes the Rover, 199
Alexander of Macedon, 534 et seq.
Alexander the Great, 133
Algge ornamentation, 185
Alitaino, word, 287, 289
Almonds, 36
Aloe, 38
692
INDEX
693
Alpheius, river, 10, 55, 89
Alphesiboiai, word, 97, 270
Amathus, city, 180
Amber beads in pit-graves at Mycenae, 168,
184
Ambracia, 153
Amethyst intaglios in pit-graves at Mycenae,
168
Amhas, word, 222
Amphiaraus, 379, 380, 453
Amphictyon, 154
Amphictyony, 324
Amphictyony, the Calaureian, 137
Amphikomos, word, 97
Amphitrite, 236
Analuo, word, 100
Ananke, word, 302, 557
Anapeirasthai, word, 525
Anaurus, river, 135
Anaxagoras of Clazomense, 334, 558, 648, 649,
655
Auaxandrides, King, 513, 514
Anaximander of Miletus, 334, 335
Anaximenes of Miletus, 334, 335
Ancestor worship, 231
Andromache, 468, 469, 494
Andros, the revolt of the men of, 27
Anemolia, word, 92
Anemone, word, 92
Anemones, 237
Anemotrephes, word, 98
Anima, word, 293
Animal worship, 235
Animals, Plato on, 546
Anode, word, 119
Anomia, word, 96, 346
Anosteos, word, 92
Anthemourgos, 92
Anthropino, word, 107
Anthropomorphism, 234 et seq.
Anthropos, significance of the word, 84, 572
Antigone, 404 et seq.
Antilochus, generosity of, 290, 353
Antiparexagein, word, 1 15
Apate, word, 366
Aphrodite, worship of, 36, 37, 138, 183, 445
et seq.; emblem of, 231 ; representative of
dawn at sea, 236 ; nature and character of,
255 et seq., 455 ; contest for beauty prize,
444
Apia, meaning of, 31, 157
Aploos, word, 348
Apollo, worship of, 17, 36; birth of, 47;
appellation of Smintheus, 125 ; and of
Agyieus, 181 ; cult of, at Delphi, 195, 196,
320; emblems of, 231; representative of
the sun, 236, 434 ; nature and character of,
255 et seq., 321 et seq.; oracles of, 320 et
seq. ; Pindar's idea of, 340 et seq. ; Euri-
pides's treatment of, 435 et seq.
Apophthegms, iio
Apples, 31
Arachnium, 89
Arachthus, river, 89
Arbutus, 31
Arcadia, district of, 6 ; access to the sea by,
13 ; climate, 20, 24; scenery of, 70
Arcadian-Cyprian dialect, 109
Arcadians, their character, 19 ; origin, 123
Architecture, the Doric, 63 ; Greek, yj et seq.;
Babylonian, 176
Archons, status of, 331
Areion, 57
Areiopagus, 150
Areiopagus of Athens, 21 1
Ares, 236, 254 et seq.
Arete, the typical wife, 271, 272
Arete, word, 283, 284, 344
Argives, origin of, 123, 157
Argo, ship, 134, 135, 140
Argolis, 6 ; climate, 20, 24
Argonauts, 134, 140
Argonauts, story of the, Pindar's version of.
343
Argos, city, origin of, 157, 158
Argos, district, 6, 129, 156, 157, 198
Argos, plain of, formation of, 156, 157
Ariadne, 237
Aristocracy of Greece, 330 ; as viewed by
Plato, 625 et seq.
Aristodemus, Prince, 196, 198
Aristodicus, 516
Aristophanes, unfairness of, towards Euripides,
431
Aristos, word, 379
Aristotle, analysis of his works and sketch of
his ideas, 639-691
Arkesilaus, King, 329, 351
Arnseans. See Boeotians
Arne, town, 193, 194
Art, Aristotle on, 640 et seq.
Artemis, goddess, cult of, 229 ; representative
of the moon, 236 ; character of, 256, 446,
455, 456, 457
Artisans, Plato's opinion of, 628
Arts practised by the Ancient Egyptians, 175,
176 ; the gift of Prometheus, 372 ; origin
of, according to Herodotus, 500
Aryans, prehistoric movements of, I, lO ;
branches of, 123 ; language of, 125 ; time
measurements and numerals of, 127
Ascra, place, 310
Ash, utility of, to the Greeks, 30 ; represented
by the nymph Melia, 157
Asia Minor, former union of, with Greece, 43 ;
physical features of, 177, 178 ; colonisation
of, 205 et seq. ; climate of, 205, 206 ; as a
centre of influence over the Greeks, 309 et
seq.
Asopus, river, 144
Asopus, valley, 7
Aspidapobles, word, 102
Aspirate in Greek, 87
Aspronisi, origin of, 46
Ass, 125
Astarte, worship of, at Corinth, 138 ; myths
of, 144; cult of, 180, 183, 189
Asteria, 236
Astronomy, Babylonian, 177
Asura, word, 220, 221
6^4
INDEX
Asuryam, word, 220
Asw, word, 220
Aswa, word, 220
Atasthalia, word, 287, 289
Ate, goddess, 288
Ate, word, 287, 386
Athamas, King, 136
Atheism, charge of, against Euripides contro-
verted, 448 et seq. ; as also that against
Herodotus, 502 et seq.
Athena, as a worker, 22 ; the giver of olive-
trees, 34 ; worship of, 48 ; the mistress of
arts, 135 ; representative of wisdom, 139,
362, 377 et esq.; of agriculture, 154 ; cult
of, at Athens, 210 ; in Attica, 228 ; em-
blems and chattels of, 231, 234 ; represen-
tative of air, 235 ; grandeur and character
of, 254 et seq., 305 ; representative of jus-
tice, "m et seq. ; as protectress of Odysseus
against Ajax, 389 ; contest for beauty prize,
444
Athena Itonia, city, foundation of, 194
Athenians, their energy, 25 ; origin of, 1 23 ;
influence of surroundings on their develop-
ment and culture, 1 52 et seq. ; their noble
resistance against Persians, 344, 382 ; re-
form amongst the, 522 et seq. ; patriotism
and religious convictions of the, 528 et seq. ;
their supremacy, 540
Athens, city, restrictions on strangers in, 17 ;
view at, 66 ; a member of the Calaureian
Amphictyony, 137 ; site, air, and climate
of, 151, 152; Paul's visit to, 20S et seq.;
Stoa Basileus, 209 ; Stoa of Zeus Eleuthe-
rius, the Stoa Poecile, and other public
buildings, 209 ; statues in, 209 ; the Acro-
polis and its buildings, 210
Athens, plain of, its commanding position,
150
Athens, view at, 66
Athrein, word, 116
Athyroglottos, 92
Atmosphere, clearness of, in Greece, 66
Atoms, 560, 561, 647 ; (first particles), 653
Atreus, 159
Atride. See Pelopidce
Attic dialect, 109, iii, 112, 113
Attica, climate of, 24 ; soil of, 25 ; immigra-
tion of lonians and others into, 201
Attica, 6 ; its climate, 20, 26, 27 ; its early
occupants, Pelasgi, lonians, 150
Attys, cult of, 189
Axenos, name, 135, 206
Azoras, city, 195
Baal Moloch, worship of, at Corinth, 138 ;
by the Phoenicians, 180, 183, 189 ; image
of, 234
Babylon, civilisation of, 176, 177
Bacchus. See Dionysus
Bacillus, word, 119
Balance of Fate, symbolic meaning of, 249,
250
Banausos, word, 104
Barathra, 54
Barbaroi, 85
Barberries, 31
Barley, 33, 163
Basileus, word, 272
Basilis, town, 198
Bassse, plane-tree at, 37
Battus, King, 141
Bear, Great, 236
Bear, Little, 236
Bears, 39, 129
Beauty, 64-81, 104, 105, 106, 547 et seq., 680
et seq.
Bee-hive dwellings, 126
Beech, red, 30
Beggars, rights of, to hospitality, as indicated
by Homer, 281
Being, nature of, according to Plato, 562 ;
same as power, 562
Bellerophon, hero, 1 39 ; representative of the
sun, 236
Bellerophon, name, 139
Beni Hassan, paintings on tombs at, 176
Bias of Priene, 332
Blackberries, 31
Black Sea, date of union of the, with the
Mediterranean, 43
Blepein, word, 116
Blood, life-giving powers of, 294 ; Plato on,
546, 558 ; as the substance of the soul, 653
Blood-guilt. See Murder
Boars, 39, 129
Body, Homeric views as to the, 293 et seq. ;
Plato on the, 548 tt seq. ; subjection of, to
soul, 551 et seq. ; Socrates on the, as a hind-
rance to the soul, 592 et seq. ; Aristotle on
the, 650 et seq.
Bcebeis, lake, 49
Boeotia, district of, 6 ; States of, 7 ; climate of,
20, 22, 24, 26 ; soil of, 26 ; marble of, 41 ;
divisions of, 144
Boeotian league, 7
Bceotians, character of, 26; in Thessaly, 130;
settlements of, 190; wanderings of, 194
et seq.
Boghaz Keui, city, 178
Bon, word, 97
Boreas, the north wind, 14, 236
Boulesthai, word, 267
Bouleumata, word, 415
Boulutonde, word, 97
Bous, word, 97
Brachylogia, no
Brahma, 223
Brahmanism, 223
Brain, Plato on the, 558
Brass ornaments at Mycena3, 166, 167, 184
Briges, 178
Britons, savage state of, 186, 187
Bronze ornaments at Mycense, 166
Bronze weapons in pit-graves at Mycenas, 169,
170 ; coloured pictures in metals on daggers,
170
Brother, word, 127
Bulls, 527
Bunarhaschi, 193
INDEX
695
Buphagos river, 89
Bura, destruction of, 50
Burial, a right due to the dead, as indicated
by Homer, 283
Burning, a right due to the dead, as indicated
by Homer, 283
Butterfly ornaments in pit-graves at Mycenae,
168
Cabbages, 39
Cactus, 38
Cadmeia, citadel of Thebes, 144 et seq.
Cadmeians, 144-148, 194 ; the despicable
behaviour of the Thebans in the Persian
invasion, 344
Cadmus, 144
Cadmus, the Coan, 520
Caesar, 132
Calaureia, island, 149, 150
Calchas, the seer, 263
Callias, generosity of, 515
Calliste, island, 203
Cambunian range, 4
Cameirus, city, 202
Canoes, 126
Car, eponym, 182
Caria, citadel of Megaris, 182
Carians, 179; influence of, on Greek civilisa-
tion, 182, 186
Cassandra, 167
Cat, 125
Caucones, tribe, 120
Cause, relation of effect to, 557, 559, 560;
Aristotle on those who seek for the, 640
et seq. ; Aristotle's definition of, 645 ; his
inquiry into the causes of soul phenomena,
651 et seq. ; his chain of causes terminating
in God, 683 et seq.
Cave and its Shadows, Plato's story of the,
587-590
Caverns of Greece, 60, 61
Cecrops, 153, 154, 434
Ceiling, carved marble, in the Treasury of
Minyas, 174, 184
Celts, origin of, 123
Censeum, 51
Cenchreae, port, 138
Ceos, red chalk of, 41
Cephissian lake, 53
Cephissus, river, 53, 54, 144, 150
Ceraunia, 89
Cerberus, 48
Chalcis, town, copper at, 41 ; a fetter of
Greece, 138
Chance, 648
Change, 646, 647
Chaos, nature of, 559
Character, the Greek, ig et seq. ; formation of,
62 et seq. ; the future life dependent solely
on, 609 et seq.
Charcoal burners, destruction of forests by,
43
Charis, word, 108
Charites, 238
Charybdis, 237
Cheese, 39; found in Thera, 163
Cheilon of Lacedaemoniu, 332
Cheiron, hero, 135, 143, 374
Cheironax, word, 103, 104
Cheiro-technes, word, 104, 640
Cherries, 31
Chestnut, 29, 30
Childhood of the world, phrase, 239
Children, Plato on the treatment of, 636
Chimaera, 139
Chios, city, 202
Chios, island, 201
Chlorophyll, word, 119
Chcenix, word, 337
Choris oikountes, 113
Chrao, word, 319
Chresmoi, word, 319
Chrysanthemum, word, 92
Chryse, submergence of, 52
Chrysogonos, 91
Cicada, chirping of the, 65
Cimolus, island, 47; obsidian of, 162
Cipellino, 41
Cithseron, 89
Cithseron-Parnes range, 4
Citizen, status of, as given by JSschylus, 381
et seq.; kinds of, 479 ; equal rights of, 488
Citizenship, duties of, xxviii
Citron, 38
Classes versus masses, as indicated in Homer,
276 ; by Euripides, 479, 489 et seq.
Clay, white, 41
Clazomense, city, 203
Cleisthenes, legislation of, 331
Cleobulus of Lindus, 332
Cleomenes, King, 510, 511, 513, 514, 515
Climate of Greece, 20 et seq. ; influence of, on
racial characters, 21, 22, 23, 197 ; the climate
of Athens, 23, 24 ; influence of destruction
of forests on the, 43
Clothing of Greeks, 31 ; of Graeco- Aryans,
127, 161
Clytemnestra, 159, 167, 305, 375 et seq.;
432-433 ; 440, 464, 465. 469. 4841 485
Cnidus, city, 202
Cnossos, 180
Cobon, 510
Codrus, 201
Colonisation by the Hellenes, 17, 18, 205
Colophon, city, 202 ; the Clarian Oracle near,
320
Communism, Plato on, 634 et seq.
Communities, regulating power of, xx et seq.
Compassion, ideal of, as indicated by Euripides,
491-496
Conscience personified by Zeus, 289 ; the
Homeric idea of, 291 ; the pangs of, re-
presented by the Furies, 377 ; as felt by
Orestes, 441 ; by the Greeks for the murder
of Talthybius, 512; by the Cymseans, 517
Copais, lake, 53, 54, 144; draining of, 137
Copper, 41, 124, 161, 180, 185
Copper tools found in Thera, 163
Copreus, 474
Cora- Persephone, 237, 595
696
INDEX
Corinna, poetess, 354
Corinth, 6 ; soil of, 25 ; destruction of, by
earthquakes, 51; ports of, 138; its successive
occupants. 138, 139; the sagas of, i^getseq.;
taken by Dorians, 199
Corinthian Gulf, 138
Corinthians, energy of, 25
Coroebus, the first winner in the Olympic
games, 328
Corycian cave, 6 1
Cos, city, 202
Cow, 125
Craft, word, loi, 278, 372
Cranaus, 154
Crates, engineer, 137
Creator, Plato's sketch of God as, 544-561
Cremation amongst the Aryans, 124; amongst
early Greeks, 182, 183
Cresphontes, Prince, 196, 198
Crete, Phoenicians in, 1 80
Creusa, fate of, 434 et seq.
Cribrum, word, 99
Critias, on the soul, 653
Croesus, answer of the Delphic Oracle to, 325 ;
Herodotus on the fate of, 504, 505, 509
Custom, xxvi et seq.
Cuttlefish ornamentation, 185
Cybele, 181, 182, 183, 189
Cyclades, islands, 201
Cyclopes, 46, 158, 160, 182
CymseanSjConsultationof the Oracle by the, 516
Cyme, city, 200
"Cypria," the, 143
Cyprus, colonised by Phoenicians, 180
Cypselus, 504
Cypselus, King, 198
Cyrene, founded by Battus, 141
Cyrne, town, 310
Cythera, Phoenicians in, 180
Cythereia, 180
Dactyls, 160
Dsedala, worJ, 102
Dasdalos, 102
Daimon, word, 225
Danaans, 157
Danae, 158
Danaides, myth of, explained, 58, 59, 157
Danaus, 157, 158
Daphne, 36
Daphnus, place-name, 90
Daughter, word, 127
Days, creation of, 551
Dead, right of the, to burial or burning, as
indicated by Homer, 283 ; by Pindar, 356 ;
by Sophocles, 413 et seq.; Euripides, 475,
476, 477, 495, 496; Herodotus, 517; Plato
on, 635
Death, idea, as indicated by Homer, 292, 293,
294; the result of sin, according to ^schylus,
364; the relation of God to, 555 et seq.;
Plato on, 590 et seq.; on the relation of life
and, 595 et seq.
Decorative art, objects of, in Thera, 163 ; at
Mycenae, 166, 167
Deine, fountain, 55, 56, 58
Deisidaimon, word, 211, 212
Deinos, word, 381
Dejaneira, myth of Heracles and, 51, 52, 56;
as dealt with by Sophocles, 390-393
Delos, rise of, 47
Delphi, site of, 79, 195, 196; Oracle at, 196,
265, 320; functions of its priests, 323; the
oracles given to Lycurgus, 323, 324 ; influ-
ence of the oracle, 324 et seq.; the meeting
place of the Amphictyony, 324 ; wealth of,
324, 325 ; nature of the oracles, 325 et seq.;
510, 514, 515, 528, 532
Demaratus, King, 510, 51 1, 514, 523
Demas, word, 293
D emeter , 33, 57; cult of, 156, 228, 229;
^^representative of the earth, 237 ; return of
Cora to, as symbolic of life after death, 596
Demetrias, town, 138
Demi'urgus, word, 103, 104, 547
Democracy of Greece, 330, 331 ; antagonism
to the Pythagoreans, 337 ; as indicated by
Euripides, 487 et seq.; Herodotus, 518 et
seq. ; Plato's distrust of, 625 et seq.
Democritus of Abdera, on words, 84 ; a philo-
sopher, 334, 648, 653
Demophon, King, 474, 475
Demos. See Democracy
Dependence, sense of, amongst the Greeks,
226 et seq.
Derkesthai, word, 1 16
Design in nature, Aristotle on, 685 et seq.
Desires, Plato on the, 569 et seq. ; Aristotle
on the, 677 et seq.
Desmo- bacteria, word, II9
Deucalion, flood of, 142
Deus, word, 220
Deva, word, 220
Devas, 220
Dexioteron, word, 500
Dharma, word, 224
Dia, word, 220
Dialects, Greek, 109 et seq.
Dianoia, word, 671
Diaphragm, Plato on the, in man, 571
Dice, game, inventors of, 160
Dietekmeranto, word, 317
Diestathmesato, word, 450
Dieus, word, 554
Die was, word, 220
Digamma in Greek, 87, 88, 554
Dikaiosyne, word, 521
Dike, word, 223, 268, 283
Diogenes, of Apollonia, 653
Diomedes, 255
Dionysius, 524, 525
Dionysus cult, 35, 210, 445 et seq., 503; re-
presentative of autumn fertility, 237 ;
nature of, 255
Dios, word, 554
Dioscuri, birthplace of, 140 ; twilight, 235
Diploos, word, 348
Dirce, spring, 145
Discernment essential to the ideal ruler, 613
et seq.
INDEX
697
Discipline as manifested in Homer, 274 et seq. ;
by .^schylus, 361 ; by Plato, 584, 585, 609
Dodecapolis, 7, 203
Dodona, places named, 128, 132, 133, 224,
265
Dodona, the oracle at, 320
Dodongeans, 132
Dog, 125
Dokeuein, word, 116
Doliche, city, 195
Doloi, word, 278
Doom, word, 95
Dorians, 130; at Corinth, 139; migration of,
195 et seq.; influence of climate on, 196,
Doric architecture, 63
Doric dialects, 109, ill
Dorieus, 513, 514
Doris, 6 ; climate, 20 ; origin of name, 195
Double-axe symbol, 178, 182
Dove ornaments in pit-graves at My cense, 169,
183
Doxa, word, 380 ^
Drakonto-mallos, 91
Draughts, game, invention of, 160 ; amongst
ancient Egyptians, 175
Dreams, auguries from, 262
Drepanon, a cape, 89
Dryads, 237
Dryopis, district, 195
Dr^'s, meaning of term, 29
Dwelling-places of Grseco - Aryans, 126; in
Therasia and Thera, 163
Dyaus, god, 217 e^ seq.
Dyaus, word, 2iy et seq.
Dyaus-pit4, word, 127, 220
Dyatis-pita, epithet, 128, 181
Dyavaprithivi, 220, 221
Dyeus, word, 217
Dynamo, word, 119
Dysboulia, word, 387, 414
Eagles, 39 ; emblem of Zeus, 230 ; auguries
from, 260 et seq.
Earth, realm of, 218 ; representatives of, 237 ;
its place in the world-order as depicted by
Plato, 549 et seq. ; as an element, 647. See
also Demeter, Gcea
Earthquakes, effect of, on the contour of
Greece, 43, 48 et seq. ; punishment of Spar-
tans by, 6:^ ; Herodotus on, 503
Echinades, islands, 60
Education, Plato on, 584
Effect, relation of cause and, 557, 559, 560
Egypt, civilisation of, 175, 176 ; its influence
on that of Greece, I'j'j et seq.
Eidenai, word, 267
Eidolon, word, 294, 295, 356
Eidos, word, 656
Eikon, word, 213
Eillomene, word, 552
Eirene, word, 346
Elders, honour due to, as exemplified by
Homer, 270
Eleatic School and its teachings, 338, 339
Electra, 236, 440 et seq., 447 et seq., 482, 494
Electra, drama by Sophocles, 394 ; drama by
Euripides, 440, 477 et seq.
Electrode, word, 119
Elements, 560, 561, 646, 647
Eleusinian war, 153, 154; mysteries, 595,
596
Eleusis, cult of Demeter at, 156
Elian dialect, 109
Elias, Mt., 228
Elisha, isles of, 148
Elm, 30
Embalmed human bodies in pit-graves at My-
cenae, 171, 182, 183
Emotions, Plato on the, 568 et seq.
Empedocles of Agrigentum, 334, 649
Empeiria, word, 10 1
Emulation recommended by Hesiod as an in-
citement to work, 317, 318
Endymion, 236
Energeia, word, 646, 656, 671
Energy, word, 646
Energy, Aristotle on, 646, 656, 671, 672, 679
et seq.
Energy, conservation of, 596
Entelecheia, word, 655 et seq.
Enthusiasm of Christianity, 108
Enthusiasmos, word, 106, 107
Eos, dawn, 235
Epagoge, word, 644
Epeirotes, 132
Epeirus, 132, 133
Epesbolos, 92
Ephesus, city, 202
Ephyra, word, 89, 138
Ephyra, city, 138 ; name changed to Corinth,
139
Epidaurus, city, 137, 149, 182
Epidaurus, state, 6
Epidosis, word, 93
Episteme, word, 056
Equality of rights and duties among citizens,
487-491, 519, 520; in the moral world,
568 et seq. ; of all men before Christ Jesus,
631
Erasinus, river, 55, 89
Erechtheium, temple, 153
Erechtheus, 153, 154, 434
Eretria, town, 141
Erichthonius, 153, 154, 434
Erineos, place-name, 90
Erineos (plant), 35
Erinyes, 236, 377, 509
Erinys, 229 ; the personification of conscience,
291
Eris, word, 362
Erymantheau boar, myth explained, 56
Erymanthus, river, 56
Erythrse, city, 202
Essence, word, 646
Essences, Aristotle on, 678 et seq.
Eteocles, 404 et seq. ; 489 et seq.
Eteon, word, 223, 277
Eternal, Plato's preference for the study of
what is, 545 et seq.
698
INDEX
Etesian winds, 15
Ethismos, word, 644
Ethos, word, 348
Etna, 44, 45
Euandreia, word, 478
Euarmostia, word, 103
Eubcea, marble of, 41 ; conformation of, in
unison with that of the mainland, 51 ;
rendering of, 51, 52
Euboulia, word, 387
Eucharis, word, 108
Euethes, word, II3
Eugeneia, word, 478
Eumgeus, Phoenician source of his trouble,
187 ; position of, as a slave, 282 ; conscience
as exhibited by, 291
Eumolpus, 153, 154
Eunomia, word, 341, 346, 347, 380
Euopis, place-name, 90
Euoras, place-name, 90
Eupsychia, word, 478
Euripides, sketch of his life, works and ideals,
43«>-497
Euripus, 51
Europa, 180
Eurotas, river, 59, 89
Eurycleia, position of, as slave, 282, 283
Eurydike, 237
Eurystheus, 159, 461, 474
Eurytanes, 132
Euthynos, word, 368
Euxeinos, name, 135, 206
Evolution, on the theory of, xi et seq. ; law
of, 213
Experience as a basis for religion, xxvii
et seq.
Experience, Aristotle on, 639 et seq.
Experimenters, the Hellenes as, 2, 3
Experiments, meaning of the term, 3, 62 ;
Hellas as a land of, 3, et seq., 62
Extracts, fair and unfair methods of dealing
with, 431, 432
Fagus, meaning of term, 29
Faith as the motive influence of the Greeks,
525 g^ seq.
Fallow deer, 39
Family, Aryan idea of, 127 ; Sophocles's ideal
of family love, 42S, 429 ; Plato on family
life, 634, 635
Fas, word, 224
Fate, Zeus's supremacy over, 248-250 ; the
Homeric doctrine as to individual, 299 et
seq. ; the Sophoclean doctrine, 386 et seq.,
395 et seq. , 505 ; Herodotus on the doctrine
of, 504, 505 ; Plato on the destiny of man,
575 et seq.
Father, word, 127, 220, 244, 245
Fenchu, 179 et seq.
Festivals, rise of the great Greek, 327-329
Fetish worship, 231
Fibulae, absence of, in pit-graves at Mycejise,
172
Fidelity, typified by Styx. See Styx
'Figs, 32, 33, 35
Fire, worship of, 45 ; its place in the world-
order as depicted by Plato, 549 et seq. ; as
an element, 647 ; as the substance of the
soul, 653
Firs, utility of, to the Greeks, 28, 29
Fish, no general or special Aryan names for,
II
Flax, 31
Flight of birds, auguries from, 260 et seq.
Flutes found at Mycenae, 163
Food of Greeks, ^i et seq.
Force, origin of, 335
Forces, correlation of, 596
Foreigners, status of, as indicated by Homer,
279
Forests in Greece, 28 et seq., 67 et seq. ; effects
of destruction of, 43 ; of Thessaly, 129
Free will, 233
Freedom rights confined to the native States,
16 ; the Hellenic passion for, 19, 525 et seq.
Friendship, obligations of, as indicated by
Homer, 276, 279 ; by Pindar, 355, 356
Future life, the ideal of a, as indicated by
Homer, 292-295 ; Pindar, 356-359 ; Mb-
chylus, 360 et seq. ; by Antigone in Sopho-
cles, 424 et seq. ; Plato, 568 et seq., 590, 591
G^A, 183, 228, 237
Gaest, meaning of term, 16
Gall-nuts, 30
Games, the great festival, of Greece, 328 ;
their importance, 328, 329 ; religious feeling
permeating the earlier, 329, 330
Gargarus, 243, 245
Gelon, tyrant, 520, 521, 522
Generosity, of Menelaus, 290 ; Sophocles's
ideal of, 428
Gentleness, essential to the ideal ruler, 613 ef
seq.
Geraneia, 4
Giants, battle of Zeus with the, 45 et seq.
Glass beads found at Tiryns, 162, 183
Glass blowing by ancient Egyptians, 175
Glaucus, representative of the sea, 237, 601
Glaucus, the Spartan story of, 322, 323
Glory attainable by means of the nation at
games, 329 ; by the good, 357 ; Euripides
on the ideal of, 480, 481 ; Herodotus on the
Hellenic passion for, 531
Glossalgia, 92
Gnome, word, 331
Goats, 39 ; forest growth restricted by, 43 ;
possessed by Aryans, 125
God, seeking after, by the Greeks, 64, 212
et seq., 227, 233; by man, 214; the Greek
idea of, 215 ; the Vedic idea of, 216 et seq.;
early Greek names for, 225 ; fatherhood of,
246 et seq. ; the nature of, as shadowed
forth by Homer, 306 et seq. ; Hesiod's idea
of, 313; Pythagorsean injunction to follow,
335 et seq. ; views of Xenophanes as to the
nature of, 338, 339 ; Pindar's idea of, 340-
343, 345, 350 et seq. ; ^schylus's idea of, 361
et seq. ; Sophocles's idea of, 383 et seq. ;
Antigone's devotion to, 413 et seq. ; Euri-
INDEX
699
pides's idea of, 432-454 ; Herodotus's idea
of, 502-509, 512, 527 et seq.; Plato, 541-
571 ; Aristotle on the knowledge of, 642 et
seq.; on the nature of, 645, 650, 673, 678
et seq. ; the central attractive power of love,
680 et seq.
Gods, the representatives of Nature's powers,
244, 245 ; of Olympus, 254-258 ; their
nature, 254 et seq. ; reverence due to, as
exemplified by Homer, 269 ; the genealogy
of the, as given in Hesiod's Theogony,
310, 311; Pindar's views as to the, 342,
343, 351 et seq.; ^schylus's ;conception of
the, 361 et seq.; Euripides's views as to
the, 433 etlseq.; and the reverence due to
them, 461 ; Herodotus on the, 500 et seq. ;
Plato on the, 541 et seq.
Gold, 41, 185 ; emblematic of proved worth,
344
Gold cups found in pit-graves atMycense, 170
Gold ornaments of pit-graves at Mycenae,
168, 169, 182 ; of grave of Midas, 182
Gold utensils found in Thera, 163
Good, Plato on what is, 547 et seq. ; God is
the idea of the, 566 ; Aristotle on the
doctrine of the, 649 et seq. ; 679 et seq.
Good faith, idea, as developed in Hesiod,
317
Gooseberries, 31
Gorgo, 514, 515
Gortyna, 180
Gothic, verbal forms in, 115
Grseco-Aryans. See Hellenes
Graikoi, word, 130; the name, 132
Grammar book, the earliest, 114
Granite, use of, in sculpture, 40
Grasshopper symbol, 123 ; in pit-graves at
Mycense, 168
Grasshoppers. See Cicada
Greece. See Hellas
Greeks. See Hellenes ,
Griffin ornaments in pit-graves at Mycense,
169
Grimm's law, 85, 86
Grotto, cape, 90
Guest-friend, 16; status of, as indicated by
Homer, 279, 280 ; by ^schylus, 366 et seq. ;
by Euripides, 471-473
Gulas, place, 136
Habitations. See Dwelling-places
Hades, 237, 244, 255
Heemon, 419 e^ seq.
Hails, word, 104
Halicarnassus, city, 202
Hamadryads, 237
Hamartanei, word, 341
Hamartano, word, 287, 289
Hands, Plato on the, in man, 571 et seq.
Harmonia, goddess, 103, 144
Harmonia, word, 102, 103
Harmony, the same as order, its place in the
world -order according to Plato, 548 et seq.;
the relation of, to the lyre, 602 ; soul not to
be compared to a, 605, 606, 654, 655
Harpies, 236
Head, Plato on the, in man, 570 et seq.
Heart, functions attributed to the, by Homer,
293. 294
Hearth, sacredness of the, 280, 281
Heaven, word, 218
Heaven, realm of, 218 et seq.
Hebrew language, 117
Hebrews, their position and task in the world-
plan, 12
Hecatseus, the historian, 498
Hecate, 235
Hector, the type of moral worth, 298, 300 ;
fate and character of, 302-305
Hedna, word, 270
Hekabe, 444, 471 et seq.; on glory, 481 ; shame
of, 482 ; her dread of slavery, 493
Helen, fate of, as viewed by Homer, 299 et
seq.; ^schylus, 368 et seq.; Euripides, 442
et seq., 465, 482
Heliades, 237
Helice, destruction of, 50, 62, 63
Helicon, 59, 89
Helios, god, 138, 236
Helisson, 59
Hellanios, as an epithet of Zeus, 324
Hellas, as a land of experiment, 3 et seq.;
mountainous character of, 5, 6 ; union pre-
vented by the rivalry of states, 7 ; favour-
able position for intercourse by sea, 14, 18 ;
climate of, 20 et seq.; soil of, 24 et seq.;
metals of, 41 ; present state of, due to
neglect, 42, 43 ; formerly connected with
Asia Minor, 43 ; beauty of, 64 et seq.; its
significance, 80, 81 ; site of the oldest, 132,
142; oldest monuments of Greece, 160 et
seq.; influence of Egyptian and Babylonian
civilisation on Greece, lyj et seq.; Phrygian
influence, 181, 182; influence of Lycia,
Lydia, 182 ; of Carians, 182, 183 ; of
Phoenicians, 183 et seq.; of eastern nations
generally, 186 ; the Iliad as the Homeric
tradition of, 190, 191
Hellen, 142, 207
Hellenes, prehistoric movements of, I, 2 ;
their unique position and task in the world-
plan, 2, 13 ; diversified clans of, 5,6; the
mission of the, favoured by their individu-
ality, 8, 9 ; public opinion and patriotism
amongst the, 9 ; their position as navigators,
II-13; their dislike for neighbours in early
times, 16 ; the freedom of a citizen confined
to his own state, 16; colonisation by the,
176^ seq. ; development of their character,
19; fine physical and intellectual develop-
ment of the, 21 ; energy of, 22, 23, 42 ;
clothing of, 31 ; food of, 31, 32 ; formation
of the character of, 62, 64 ; dialects of, 109
et seq.; wide diffusion, adaptability, and
value of Greek language and ideas, 113, I20 ;
the Hellenic people, 121-207; the early
development of the, 121-123 ; the Graeco-
Aryans, 123-128; their entry into Greece,
123, 124; their progress in arts and indus-
tries, 126 et seq.; the name "Greeks," 129,
700
INDEX
130, 132 ; in Thessaly, 130 ; the name, 130,
207; entry into Epeirus, 132; the begin-
ning of the Hellenic nation, 142 ; religion,
language, and intellectuality not derived
from Phoenicians, 187 et seq.; the struggle
to throw off foreign influences, 190 et seq.;
the great migration of Greek race, 200-207 >
sketch of religion amongst the, 208-241 ;
the seeking after God by the Greeks, 306
et seq.; first mention of the Hellenic name,
324 ; national festivals and games open to
all, 328 ; importance of these in promoting
national unity, 328, 329
Hellenia, an epithet of Athena, 324
Hellespont, 12
Helli, 131, 132, 142
Hellopia, place, 132
Helos, fortress, 200
Helots, the third Messenian vi^ar by, 50;
Acheeans enslaved by Dorians, 199, 200
Henotheism, 216 et seq.
Hephsestos (lightning) as a worker, 22, 45,
238, 255
Hera as a worker, 22, 45 ; her testing of
Jason, 135 ; her contest for Argos, 156,
157; emblem of, 231 ; as representative of
air, 235 ; as wife of Zeus, 250, 25 1 ; grandeur
and character of, 254 et seq., 437, 438 ;
contest for the beauty prize, 444
Heracleids, return of the, 159, 196, 474
Heracleitus of Ephesus, 334, 653
Heracles, connection of, with springs, 48 ;
rending of Eubcea represented in the myth
of, 51, 52; the labours of, 56, 57 ; ancestry
of, 158, 159 ; paralleled with Melkarth,
180, 183 ; services rendered by, 196 ; repre-
sentative of the sun, 236; as depicted by
Sophocles, 390 et seq. ; by Euripides, 437,
438, 459. 475, 481
Heraclitus, on words, 84
Herseum, beehive tombs at, 174
Heralds, privilege of, for protection, 51 1
Hercules, See Heracles
Heredity, Pindar's belief in the doctrine of,
340 ; as also j3Eschylus's, 363, 375
Hermes, breeze, 236
Hermes, god, nature and character of, 254
et seq.
Hermione, city, 137, 182
Hermione, state, 6
Hermione, wife of Neoptolemus, 469
Herodotus, history of, read at the Olympic
festival, 328 ; sketch of the life, history,
and ideals of, 498-540 ; his spirit of truth-
fulness, 500 et seq.
Heroes, Pindar's views as to, 340 et seq.
Herse, 154, 434
Hesiod, his contempt for non-workers, 22 ;
life of, 310 ei seq.; sketch of his Theogony,
310 et seq.; of his Works and Days, 311
et seq.; state of society in his time compared
with that in Homer's, 312 ; maxims of, 316.
Hesiodus, name, 318
Hestia, word, 238, 280, 322, 513
Hestieeans, 130
Hesychia, word, 346
Hexapolis (Dorian), 202
Hieros, word, 224
High spirit, essential to the ideal ruler, 613
et seq.
Hindus, origin of, 123
Hippias, 519, 520
Hippios, 58
Hippo, physiologist, 653
Hippocrene, 139
Hippolytus, 446 et seq.; 463, 470, 471
Hissarlik, old monuments at, 161 et seq. ;
192, 193
History, nature of the early Greek, 121-123;
Herodotus, the father of, 498
Hittites, 178, 179
Holiness, idea of, not present in the Homeric
poems, 307
Home life as depicted by Homer, 271
Homer, his metaphors and similes, 75 ef seq. ;
his "words," 84; position of, in Greek
history, 121 ; impersonality of, 189, 190,
225, 295 et seq.; the Homeric age, 242-308 ;
unity of spirit in the Homeric poems, 242 ;
their powerful influence, 242 ; their ethical
unity, 295-306; comparison of the state of
society in the time of Hesiod and of Homer,
312; possible influence of, on Herodotus,
526, 527 ; Plato's antagonism to, 542 et seq.
Homoiosis, word, 213
Honey, 29
Honour due to parents as exemplified by
Homer, 270; by Pindar, 353, 354; by
Sophocles, 408; by Euripides, 461, 462;
Herodotus, 512, 513
Horan, word, 116
Horn of Amalthea, 57
Horse, 125, 129
Horticulture, 33
Hosia, word, 518
Hospitality under the protection of Zeus, 248,
279 ; observance of, as indicated by Homer,
27, 69 et seq. ; iEschylus, 368 et seq. ;
Euripides, 483; Herodotus, 5 1 1-5 1 5, 516
Hostis, meaning of term, 16
Hot springs of Thermopylae, Troezen, 44 ;
Melos, Methana, Thermopylae, ^depsus,
Hypata, 47
Hriddel, word, lOO
Human remains at Therasia, 163; at Mycenae,
168, 169, 171
Human sacrifices, 240, 241, 438, 494
Humanity amongst Greeks, 108 ; Plato on,
635, 636
Huts. See Dwelling-places
Hybris, word, 95, 287, 290, 342, 350, 351,
368, 629
Hygieia, 48, 1 19
Hygienic, word, 1 19
Hyle, word, 656
Hylica, lake, 144
Hyllus, 159, 391, 392
Hymettus, marble of, 40, 41
Hypata, springs of, 47, 48
Hyperbasia, word, 287, 289, 290
INDEX
701
Hyperion, sun, 235, 236, 256
Hypokeimenon, word, 646, 656
Hypsikomos, word, 97
Ialyssus, Phoenician graves at, 180
lalyssus, city, founded by Dorians, 202
lason, hero. See Jason
Ichthys, a cape, 89
Iconoclast, Euripides as an, 433 et seq.
Ida, mountain, 243
Idealism, Plato on, 561 et seq.
Ideas, their place in the world-order, 548 et
seq. ; Plato's doctrine of, 562 et seq. ; rela-
tion of images perceived by man to the true,
587-590 ; Aristotle on, 645, 657 et seq.
Idols at Mycense, 231
Idris, word, 92
Iliad, origin of, 109, 1 10, 143; language of,
III ; representative of the Achaean age, 189
et seq. ; its object and purpose, 297 et seq.
Ilissus, river, 150
Illyrians, movements of, 193
Image of God, xiv et seq.
Imagination, Aristotle on, 667 et seq.
Immortality, idea, as indicated by Homer,
293-295 ; Plato, 553 et seq., 573, 590 et seq. ;
Aristotle on, 673 et seq.
Immutability, Aristotle on, 679
Inachus, river, 59, 157
Incarnation, the idea of, as given by Pindar,
343
Individuality, law of, 551
Indra, 216, 220
Infinite, the, as the prime element, 335 ; its
relation to the universe, 559 et seq.
Ino. See Pasiphae
Inquiry, hater of, 604, 605
Intellectual powers. Homer's view of, 293,
294
Intelligence. See Mind
Introduction by the editor, ix-xxix
Intuitions, 599, 605
lo, heroine, 157 ; representative of the mean,
236
lolaus, 474
lolcus, city, 135
lou, 154 ; the story of, according to Euripides,
434-437 ; his idea as to the moon, 480
Ionian, name, 148, 524
lonians, their character, 19; absence of, from
Thessaly, 130; at Corinth, 139; their early
settlements and culture, 148-156; dis-
appearance of, from Boeotia, 194; migra-
tions of, 201, 202 ; influence of, on philo-
sophy, 334, 335 ; deterioration of the, 524,
Ionic dialects, 109 et seq.
lovis, word, 217
Iphigenia, 159, 376 et seq.; 438 et seq.; 484,
485, 486
Iphis, lament of, for his daughter, 463
Iris, rainbow, 236
Iron, 41, 185 ; absence of, in pit-graves at
MycenEB, 172
Irrigation, Egyptian, 176; Babylonian, 176
Ismene, 404 et seq.
Ismenus, spring, 145
Isocracy, 519
Isocratia, word, 522
Isthmian festival, 328
Ithome, mountain, worship of Zeus at, 230
Iton, city, 194
Ivory, emblematic of truth, 344
Ixion, 236
Janita, word, 220
Jason, hero, 135, 140; his sentiment as to
women, 404; his voyage in the Argo, 465
et seq. ; on glory, 480, 481
Javan, 148
Jealousy, Herodotus on the, of the Divine
Power, 505
Jesus Christ, examination of His qualifications
as an ideal ruler according to Plato's stan-
dard, 613 ei{ seq.
Jews. See Hebrews
Joannina, lake. See Pamhotis.
Jocaste, 396 et seq., 489 et seq.
Judas-thorn berries, 31
Judge, Plato on the qualifications required in
a, 620; Christ as, 621
Judgment, Plato on, 576, 609 et seq. ; Christ's
pictures of the la.st, 619
Junipers, 31
Jupiter, 181, 220
Justice, development of, xvii
Justice, idea, 223, 283 ; law of, 268 et seq. ;
the ethical motive of the Iliad, 296 et
seq. ; as carried out in the Odyssey, 305
et seq. ; as represented in Hesiod's Works
and Days, 313 et seq.; as set forth from
Delphi, 322, 323 ; identified by Pindar
with God, 341 et seq.; as also by -^schylup,
380, 381; by Sophocles, 384 et seq.; by
Plato, 562 et seq.; his lack of, towards
slaves, 630, 631
Kaimenis, 47
Kalli, prefix, 104
Kallipetalon, word, 92
Kallithyia, same as lo, q.v.
Kallos, word, 104
Kallyno, word, 104
Kalokagathos, word, 105, 351
Kalon, word, 105
Kanon, word, 102
Kanones, word, 102
Katabothra, 53-55
Kathere, word, 104
Kathode, word, 119
Kednon, word, 354
Kephalaria, 54, 55, 56
Kerata, 89
Kermes dye, 30
Kertomia, 92
Keto, 237
Kinesis, word, 646, 657
King, relation between, and subjects, as de-
picted in Homer, 272 et seq.
Kingdom of God, its supreme magnificence, 619
702
INDEX
Knowledge, Plato on, 566, 617, 618 ; Aristotle
on, 639 et seq., 669
Koine, 114
Kompos, 92
Koros, word, 350
Kosmos, word, 337
Kosmos, See World-Order
Kremnopoios, 92
Kreon, King, 387 et seq., 398 et seq., 515
Krixnnon, word, 99
Krinei, word, loi
Krino, word, 99, 1 00
Krisis, word, 100
Kriterion, word, lOO
Krites, word, 1 00, lOl
Kritikos, word, lOO
Kronin, dynasty of, 44
Kronion, name, 225
Kronos, 181, 183, 244
Kypris. See Aphrodite
Lacmon, mountain, 132
Laconia, climate of, 20; marble of, 41 ; allot-
ment of, 198
Laius, King, 396 et seq.
Lake-dwellings, 124
Lakes, appearance and disappearance of, 52
et seq.
Lallae, word, 98
Lalo-bary-para-melo-rhythmo-bates, 92
Lampon, character of, 347, 517, 518
Land, typified by Hera. See Hera
Land, elevation of, 46
Landscape painting, among the Greeks, 72, 73
Langada, Pass of, 69, 70, 132
Language, as developed by Greeks for scenery,
74 et seq. ; the first Greek experiment, 82-
120; the development and differentiation
effected by the Greeks, 82, 83 ; the Greek
appreciation of eloquence, 83, 84 ; Grimm's
law, 85, 86 ; reign of law in development of,
86 ; Greek dialects, 109 et seq.; superseded
by a common Greek, viz., the Attic, 112 et
seq.; wide diffusion of the Greek, 113, II4;
Greek, as an instrument of thought, 114 et
seq. ; synthetic and analytic, 115; New
Testament written in Greek, 117; the Ar-
yan, 125 et seq.; slow growth of, 223;
Sophocles as the representative of the
highest development of the Greek, 383 ;
Herodotus, the father of Greek prose, 498
Laphystiuni, explanation of the name, 48
Lapithfe, 130
Larissa, 129, 157, 158, 199
Larymnae, port, 137
Latin, verbal forms in, 115 ; poverty of, 116
Laurel, 36, 231, 327
Laurium, marble of, 41 ; silver at, 41
Law, idea, 223
Laws, the great unwritten, of the Homeric age,
266-276 ; as dealt with by Pindar, 353-
356 ; ^schylus, 366-369 ; the, of the uni-
verse, 553 et seq.; Plato's ten, 568
Lebadeia, city, 196
Lebedus, city, 202
Lechceum, port, 138
Leinomos, word, 94
Leion, word, 94
Leisure, national way of employing, 334
Leonidas, the hero, 514, 530, 531
Lernsean hydra, myth explained, 56, 58
Lesbos, island, 200
Leto, 159, 236
Letters, inventors of, 160; transmission of,
by Phoenicians to the Greeks, 186
Leucippus, 334, 648, 653
Leucothea, goddess, 140
Leussein, word, 1 16
Leutychides, 510
Libation Pourers, outline of the drama by
^schylus, 376 et seq.
Liberality as an attribute of the philosopher,
617 ; as displayed by Jesus Christ, 618 et
seq.
Lichas, 51, 52
Life, mystery of, 212 ; idea of, as indicated by
Homer, 293-294; iEschylus's views as to
the present and the future, 360 et seq. ;
Plato's laws of, 568 ; on the relation of
death to, 595 et seq. ; on the soul as the
bringer of life, 607 et seq. ; Aristotle on,
656 et seq.
Light, typified by Zeus. See Zeus
Light, realm of, 218 et seq.; creation and
purpose of, 552 ; Plato on, 566
Lighthouses, inventors of, 160
Lightning, typified by Hephaestus. See
Hephasstus ; as an emblem of Zeus, 230,
242
Lily, 38; the flower, emblematic of peace,
344
Limnodorieis, tribe, 197
Linden, 30
Lindus, city, 202
Linen, 31
Linos, song, 147
Lions, 39; the Myceneean sculptured, 165,
181
Lithuanians, origin of, 123
Living beings, creation of, 552 et seq.
Logos, meaning of, 84, lOi, 108
Lot, auguries by the, 264 et seq.
Lotus ornaments in pit-graves at Mycenae,
170, 183
Love, Plato on, 575 ; as manifested in Christ,
616 ; Aristotle on, 649, 680 et seq.
Lycaeus, mountain, worship of Zeus on, 230
Lycians, at Corinth, 139; influence of, on
Greek civilisation, 182
Lycone, 157
Lycosura, 7
Lycurgus, the Rhetra of, based on a Delphic
oracle, 323, 324 .
Lydian influences on Greek civilisation, 182
Lyre, found at My cense, 163
Macedonians, 133
Madness, Greek view of, 388, 510, 51 1
Mseander, river, 206
Maenalus, 89
INDEX
703
Magnesia, cities, 200
Magnetes, 130, 194, 200
Magnificence of Jesus Christ, 618, 619
Malea, cape, 14, 88, 183
Mama, word, 128
Man, evolution of, 212, 213; Greek idea of,
235 ; the relation of the universe to, 552;
Plato on the psychology of, 567-577 ; his
definition of, 580 ; his character as mortal
taken with him to the future life, 609
Manliness, idea, 283, 284 ; as indicated by
Homer, 284, 285; Hesiod, 318; by Pindar
under the term "the fine gold of proved
worth," 344-345 ; by Euripides as repre-
sented by the husband of Electra, 477-479,
494, 495 ; essential to the ideal ruler, 613
Marathon, influence of, 19
i Marble, 40 et seq. ; mode of production of, 44 ;
carved ceiling of, at the " Treasury of
Minyas," 174
Mardonius, 517, 518, 534 e« se?.
Marriage bond, sacredness of the, vindicated
by Sophocles, 390-393; Euripides, 465 et
seq.; Herodotus, 513-515; Plato, 634, 635
Marseilles, 206
Marsh mallows, 32
Marten, 125
Masks in the pit-graves at Mycenae, 169, 183,
185
Masses versus classes, the problem of, as
indicated by Homer, 276 ; Euripides, 489
et seq.
Materialism, Plato on, 558, 559, 561 et seq.
Mathematics, 337, 642
* Matter, origin of, 335 ; as viewed by Plato
under the term body, 549 et seq. ; relation
of God to, 555 et seq.; Aristotle on, 645
et seq. ; on relation of spirit to, 668 et seq. ;
his views as to, 685 et seq.
» Maxims, as given by Hesiod, 316, 317 ; by the
gnomic poets, 331, 332; by Theognis, 333,
334
Mead, 29
^ Mean, doctrine of the, as given by Pindar,
I 346, 347, 351 ; ^schylus, 378, 379, 381 ;
W Euripides, 479, 480, 491, 494, 495
Mechanics, Plato's opinion of, 628
Mecone, city. See Sicyon
Mecone, place-name, 90
Medea, 1 40
& Medeia, 465 et seq.
; Medicine, knowledge of, by the Greeks, I, 86
i Mediterranean, date of its union with the
Black Sea, 43
Megalopolis, 7
Megalopropeia, word, 618
Megaris, 199
Meilia, word, 270 -
Melaina, 229
Melanthus, King, 201
Melia, nymph, 157
Melicertes-Palaemon. See MelJcarth
Melkarth, 139, 144, 180, 183
Melos, island, white earth of, 41, 47 ; obsidian
of, 162
Melos, word, 103
Menelaus, generosity of, 290 ; as represented
by Euripides, 444, 469
Menidi, bee-hive tombs at, i66, 174
Mesotes, word, 99
Messenia, climate of, 20 ; soil, 26 ; plain of, 70 ;
allotment of, 198
Messenian war, the third, 50
Messenians, character of, 26
Messiah, prophecy of, by the Sibyl, 326
Metabole, word, 646
Metal work (inlaid), found in pit-graves at
My cense, 170, 183
Metals of Greece, 41, 42
Metaphysic, outline of Aristotle's, 639-650
Meteor, a, 132
Methana, 47, 67
Methodos, word, 93
Metra, word, 99
Metrion, word, 479
Metrios, word, 99
Metriotes, word, 99
Metron, word, 99, 102, 347
Metzovo, pass, 132
Microbacteria, word, 119
Midas, King, 178
Miletus, city, 202, 206 ; the Didymaean oracle
near, 320
Milk, 31
Mind, Plato on, 548 et seq. ; Aristotle on the
powers of the, 639 et seq. ; as the cause of
the world-order, 648 ; on the relation of, to
spirit, 668 et seq. ; on the dual, 670 et seq. ;
on God as, 681 et seq.
Minos, King, 155, 180
Minotaur, 139, 155, 180
Mint, 31
Minyse, 130, 133; the achievements and
wanderings of the, 1 34-141; decline of,
190; disappearance from Bceotia, 194; ap-
pearance of, in Laconia, 202, 203
Minyas, hero, 137
Misery caused by sin, according to ^schylus,
364 ; Sophocles, 386 et seq. ; Euripides, 460 ;
Plato, 577 et seq.
Mitra, god, 216
Moderation. See Mean
Moera, 248
Moloch. See Baal Moloch
Monarchy of Greece, 330, 331
Monoliths at Mycense, 166; at Tiryns, 172,
173
Monotheism, 688 et seq.
Months, creation of, 551
Moon, as the measurer of time, 127 ; repre-
sented by lo, 157 ; creation of, 551
Morality as indicated by Homer, 266 et seq.
Mortality, Plato on, 573
Mosychlos, 45
Mother, word, 127
Motion as developed in the world-order, 551
Motive power of peoples, 214
Mountain scenery of Greece, 65-67, "j^
Mountains, as sacred sites, 227, 243
Mourning, Plato on, 609, 612
704
INDEX
Mouse, 125
Movement, principle of, 647, 676 et seq.
Mule, 125
Murder, the Homeric idea of, 290 ; as viewed
by ^schylus, 369, 376 et seq.; Sophocles,
394 ; Euripides, 440 et seq.f 475 ; Herodotus,
517
Murex, 40, 185, 188
Muse, word, 98, 109
Museium, 150
Muses, 98 ; Thracian cult of, at Thespiae, 146,
147
Mush, word, 125
Music, 337 ; meaning of term, 348 ; soothing
influence of, 348
Mussel, 40
Mycense, city, foundation of, 158; early le-
gends of, 159, 160; description of, 164-167 ;
pit-graves of, 167-172; Egyptian influence
on culture of, 184 ; date of objects found at,
185 ; evidence against Greek origin of, 191,
192; decline of Mycenaean culture, 203 et
seq.
Myrmidons, 142
Myrrhinus, place-name, 90
Myrtle, 36, 37, 231
Mythology of Greece, xxii et seq. ; 78, 233 et
seq.
Mythos, word, 98
Myths, Pindar's mode of dealing with, 342,
343
Myus, city, 202
Narcissus, 237
National Freedom, fight for, 5
Natural law unperceived by Plato, 550, 557,
559, 560
Nature, Herodotus on forethought in, 503 ;
Plato's disregard for the study of, 545, 557,
558 ; Aristotle on, 644, 646
Nature powers, cult of, by Greeks, 221 et
seq. ; 232-241
Naupactus, town, 198
Nauplia, city, 137 ; and seaport, 160 ; rock-
hewn sepulchres at, 173
Nauplius, 160
Nausicaa as a worker, 22
Navigation, paucity of Aryan nautical terms,
II ; inventors of, 160
Necessity as the spur to Hellenic enterprise,
24 et seq. ; as the mother of religion, 229 ;
as the co-operator of mind, 557 et seq. ; as
the origin of motion and change, 648
Neighbour, significance of the term, 16
Neleus, 202
Nemea, 6
Nemean lion, myth explained, 56
Nemei, word, 341
Nemesis, goddess, 95
Nemesis, word, 94, 95, 96, 99, 509
Nemeter, word, 95
Nemo, word, 94
Nemomai, word, 94
Neoptolemus, 439 et seq., 468, 469
Nereus, 236
Nessonis, lake, 49
Nessus, 48, 390, 391
Nestor, 353
New Testament, Greek selected as the lan-
guage of the, 117, 118
Nightingale, 39
Nights, measurement of time by, 127 ; crea-
tion of, 551
Nile, river, 60
Niobe, story of, 181, 182
Nomeos, word, 96
Nomisma, word, 96
Nomizein, word, 96
Nomoi, word, 95
Nomos, word, 95, 96, 315, 347
Nous, word, 421, 670, 671
Number, 648
Numeration amongst Aryans, 127
Nutrition, Plato on, 546 ; Aristotle on, 658
Nymphs, 237
Oaks, use of, by the Greeks, 28 et seq.;
forest of, 195 ; as an emblem of Zeus, 230 ;
Euripides on, 470 et seq. ; Herodotus on,
Oath, sacredness of, as indicated by Homer,
276, et seq. ; by the Delphic oracle, 322 ; by
Pindar, 356 ; Sophocles, 393
Obsidian articles, 162 ; found in pit-graves of
Mycense, 169, 172
Ochre, 41
Odontophyes, 91
Odysseus, as a worker, 22 ; as an drator, 83 ;
qualities of, 105, 278, 279, 282, 285, 286,
345 ; the story of, 305 et seq. ; as depicted
by Sophocles, 388 et seq., 428
Odyssey, 190 ; the subject of the, 305 et seq.
(Edipus, King, 384 et seq. ; 394-412, 428
(Edipus at Colonus, outline of the drama, 404-
412
(Edipus the King, outline of the drama, 396-
404
(Eneus, 57
(Eta, 4, 51, 195
Ogyges, 154
Oil-presses in Thera, 163
Oiopolos, word, 343
Oleander, 38
Oligarchy, 518
Olives and olive trees, 32, 33, 34, 35, 67 ; the
gift of Athena, 154; cultivation of, in
Thera, 163 ; emblem of Athena, 231 ; the
prize wreath at the Olympic festival, 327
Olympiads, 328
Olympic festival, 327
Olympic games, 328
Olympieium at Athens, 210
Olympus, 4, 66, 88, 128, 130, 133, 243
Omens, 260 et seq., 451, 452
Onchestus, town, 137
Oneia, 4
Onions, 39
Ophite, 41
Opinion, Plato on, 575 ; Aristotle on, 643
Opizomenon, word, 352
INDEX
705
Oracles, revelation by, 265, 266 ; the rise of,
319-327; the Delphic, 323; and their
nature, 325-326 ; the Sibylline, 326, 327 ;
Euripides on, 452-454; Herodotus on, 514
et seq., 528, 532 et seq.
Oranges, 36
Orchomenus, the Minyae of, 136, 137 ; city of,
136, 137 ; bee-hive tombs at, 174; taken by
Boeotians, 194
Order, the law of, as indicated by Plato, 548
et seq. ; by Aristotle, 686, 687
Oreithyia, 236
Orestes, 159, 376 et seq., 394, 439 et seq., 478
Organon, word, 657
Orion, 236
Ornese, 7
Orpheus, 135
Ossa, 89, 134
Ostrich egg at Mycenae, 183
Othrys, 4, 89
Ouden legein, 1 13
Ouranos, word, 217
Ousia, word, 646, 656
Ox-head (double-axed) ornaments found in pit-
graves at Mycenae, 170, 182
Oxen, 125
Oxya, meaning of term, 29
Oxylus, 198
Pactyas, 516, 517
Pagasse, port, 135
Pagasaean gulf, 134, 135
Paintings in Thera, 163 ; on the walls of
Tiryns, 173 ; on the tomb of Ti, 175, 176
Palamedes, 160
Palamidi, 160
Palm, 35, 205
Palmosa, island, 205
Pambotis, lake, 53, 132
Pamisus, river, 10, 59> 89
Pamphylian dialect, 109
Pan, 237
Panathenaic festival, 153
Pandion, 154
Pandora, myth, 314
Pandrosus, 154, 434
Panhellenium, mountain, 228
Panionium, place, 202
Panomphaios, epithet, 262, 319
Paphos, 1 80
Paptanein, word, 1 16
Paradise as conceived by Pindar, 358, 359
Parents, honour due to, as exemplified by
Homer, 270; by Pindar, 353, 354; by
Euripides, 461, 462; by Herodotus, 512
et seq.
Pareoratse, tribe, 140
Paris, the sin of, 296 et seq., 300, 444, 465
Parmenides, 334
Parnassus, 66, 195
Paros, marble of, 40
Parrhasii, migration of the, 7
Parsley, 327, 328
Parthenon, 73
Particles in Greek language, 1 16
Pasiphae, worship of, at Thalamae, 140 ; as
Ino, representative of the sea, 237
Passions, as viewed by Homer, 293
Pathos mathos, learning by suffering, as
idealised by iSschylus, 365 ; Sophocles, 391
et seq., 405 ; ignored by Herodotus, 506
Patmos, island, 205
Patricians, position of, in Greece, 330, 331
Patriotism as viewed by ^schylus, 381, 382 ;
of the Athenians, 528 et seq. ; as an essen-
tial quality in a state ruler, 61$ et aeq.
Patroclus, fate of, 249, 302
Paul, testimony as to the religious earnestness
of the Greeks, 208 et seq.
Pausanias, 517, 518
Peace, Pindar's ideal of, 346, 348
Pears, 31
Pegasus, 139
Peiraeus, 151
Peirene, river, 89
Peirene, spring, 139
Peisistratidae, family, 201
Peisistratus, tyranny of, 331
Pelagus, place-name, 90, 91
Pelasgi, 129, 130, 150, 156, 157, 190, 194,
201, 232
Pelasgicum, 201
Peleus, god, 142
Pelion, mountain, 134, 135; view from, 136,
179 ; site of temple of Zeus Acraeos, 228
Pelopidae, family, power of the, igi et seq.
Peloponnesus, its mountainous character, 5,
6 ; favourable position for intercourse by
sea, 13 ; contour of, as affected by natural
agencies, 43 ; Dorian invasion of the, 159
Pelops, 159
Peneius, river, 4, 49, 89, 124, 128
Penelope, character of, 305 et seq.
Penestae, 194
Pentapolis (Dorian), 202
Pentelicus, marble of, 40
Pentheus, King, 148
People, rise of the Greek, 330-33 1 ; relation
of, to their rulers, as stated by Pindar, 355 ;
Plato not a teacher of the, 624 et seq. See
also Public Opinion
Pepaidoumenos, word, 1 01
Pephnus, 140
Perception, by the mind and by the senses,
Plato on, 565 ; Aristotle on, 644, 668 et seq.
Periander of Corinth, 332
Perikalles, word, 231
Periodonikes, 328
Perrhaebians, 130, 194, 195
Persephone, 57, 228, 237
Perses, 313
Perseus, hero, 158; representative of the sun,
236
Perseus, first king of Persia, 1 58
Persians, origin of, 123 ; graphic picture of
the host of, commanded by Xerxes, 526
et seq.
Personification amongst Greeks, 235 et seq.
Pessimism of Hesiod, 315
Petrreus, 50
2 Y
fo6
INDEX
Phasdra, 446 et seq., 455 et seq.
Phantasy, word, 667
Phegos, word, 29, 320
Pheidias, 234
Phelloe, place-name, 90
Pheme, word, 262 ; auguries from, 262, 263
Pheneus, lake of, its appearance and disap-
pearance, 52, 53
Pheneus, river, 55
Phereklos, 102
Phereoikos, word, 92
Pheretime, Queen, 510
Phigalia, cult of Demeter at, 229
Philanthropia, word, 107, 108, 372
Philanthropy amongst Greeks, 108 ; of Chris-
tianity, 108 ; Plato on, 635, 636
Philautos, word, 92
Philippus, 104, 105
Philoargyros, word, 92
Philodeipnos, word, 92
Philodikaios, word, 92
Philodikos, word, 92
Philoergos, word, 92
Philokalos, word, 92
Philokenos, word, 92
Philokerdes, word, 92
Philohtetes, drama, 393
Philolalos, word, 92
Philomachos, word, 92
Philomathes, word, 92
Philomousos, word, 92
Philopolis, word, 615
Philopsychos, word, 92
Philosopher, the ideal ruler must be a, accord-
ing to Plato, 612 ; Plato's definition of a,
616 et seq.; 636 et seq.
Philosophos, word, 92, 336
Philosophy, its relation to histories of religion,
X et seq.; rise of, 334-339; Plato's predi-
lection for, 545 ; small influence affected by
Plato's, 587, 689 ; Aristotle on, 642
Philotheos, word, 92
Philozoos, word, 92
Phlius, 7
Phlius, Sicyon, 6
Phocsea, city, 202
Phocian league, 7
Phoenicians as teachers to the Greeks, 15 ;
settlement of, at Corinth, 138; in Syria,
179; their wanderings, 179, 180; influence
of, on early Greek culture, 184 et seq.; but
not on religion, 187 et seq. ; their religion
and moral character, 187 et seq. ; expulsion
of, from Greece, 191, 204
Pholeoi, word, 126
Phorkys, 237
Phoroneus, King, 153, 157
Phoroneus, word, 157
Phren, word, 293
Phrenes, word, 293, 294, 420, 421
Phronein, word, 450
Phronema, word, 415
Phronesis, word, lOl
Phrygians, 178
Phthia, town, 142
Physician, Plato on the qualifications of a,
620; Christ as, 621
Physics, Aristotle on, 642
Physiology, Aristotle on, 651 et seq.
Physis, word, 646
Piety, Plato on, 564
Pig, possessed by Aryans, 125
Pillar, as an emblem, 231
Pindar, on words, 84, 85 ; sketch of his views,
.340-359
Pindus, city, 195
Pindus, mountain, 132, 195
Pindus, river, 195
Pines, utility of, to the Greeks, 28, 29, 32 ;
wreath of, as a prize, 328
Pioneers, the Hellenes as, 3
Pit-graves of Mycense, 167-172
Pita, word, 220
Pittacus of Mitylene, 332
Pitys, 237
Place-names in Greece, 88 et seq.
Plains formed by rivers, 59
Plane trees, 37, 38
Planets, creation of, 551
Plank, as an emblem, 231
Plants, Plato on, 546
Platanos, 37
Plato, influence of Pythagoras on, 338; out-
line of his views and teachings, 541-638 ;
his mistakes and deficiencies, 624 et seq.
Plebeians, position of, in Greece, 330, 331
Pleiades, 236
Plough of Grseco- Aryans, 126
Pnyx, 150, 210
Poetry, function of, 72
Pogon, harbour, 149, 150
Poine, word, 321
Poleites, word, 38 1
Political organisation of Aryans, 127
Polyaegus, 47
Polyboutes, word, 97
Polycrates, the exemplar of jealousy by the
gods, 507, 508, 509
Polydorus, 471, 472
Polymestor, his invocation against women,
464; his violation of the law of guest-
friendship, 471 et seq.
Polyneikes, 404 et seq. ; 489 et seq.
Polytheistic, religion of Greece, 687 et seq. ; it
could not develop into monotheism, 688
et seq.
Polyxena, 471, 472
Pomegranates, 32, 35
Pontos, as a name for the sea, ii, 12
Poplar, 30
Poros. See Calaureia
Porphyry, 41
Portents, 451, 452
Poseidon, worship of, 17 ; as a worker, 22, 49,
50; worship of, by the Minyse, 137; the
Greeks, 138,229; the lonians, 149; his con-
test for Argos, 156, 157; emblem of, 231;
representative of the sea, 236, 434 ; relation
to Zeus, 244 ; grandeur and character of,
254 et seq. ; Herodotus on, 503
INDEX
707
Potentiality, 646
Pottery at Hissarlik, 161 ; at Tiryns, i6r,
162 ; in Therasia and Thera, 163
Power, derivation of, from Zeus, 247 ; the
origin of all causes, 560 et seq.
Pozzolana, 162
Prasise, city, 137
Prayer, idea, 223
Presentiments, auguries from, 263
Presumption, the sin of, as pointed out by
Pindar, 342, 350 et seq. ; by ^schylus, 366
et seq., 380 ; Sophocles, 389 et seq., 400 et
seq. ; Herodotus, 539 et seq.
Priam, prayer of, to Zeus, 246
Priene, city, 202
Primal revelation, on the, xiv et seq.
Prime elements, 335
Principles, Aristotle on first, 643
Prinos, meaning of term, 29
Prisoners of war, status of, as indicated by
Homer, 281, 282
Probation, Plato on, 568 et seq.
Prodigies, auguries from, 261
Proetus, 158
Progress, law of, 213
Prokope, word, 93
Prokopto, word, 93
Prometheus Bound, outline of the tragedy of,
370 et seq.
Prometheus (the Fire Bringer), 45, 238, 246,
370 et seq.
Proodopoiein, word, 93
Prophecy, Apollo as the god of, 321
Propylsea of Athens, 210
Proteus, 236
Proto-element, 646, 647
Protoplasm, word, 119, 646
Proved worth. See Manliness
Providence, Herodotus on, 503, 504, 538 et seq.
Pselaphein, word, 306
Pselapheseian, word, 213-214
Psyche, word, 293, 294
Psychology, outline of Aristotle's views on,
6^2 et seq.
Ptah, image of, 234
Pteria, city, 178
Ptessein, word, 1 16
Public opinion, influence of, as indicated by
Homer, 273 ; by the Rhetra of Lycurgus,
323, 324 ; right of, claimed by Haemon, 420
et seq.
I*unishment, Plato on, 584 et seq., 61 1
Purification, Apollo as the agent of, 321 ; So-
crates on, 593 et seq. ; the necessity for, 609
Purity, Pythagoras's doctrine of, throughout
life, 336
Purpose of the Work, ix et seq.
Pyramids at Ghizeh, 175
Pythagoras of Samos, 334
Pythagoras, the sayings of, 335 ; personal
account of, 336, 337
Pythagoraeans and their teaching, 335 et seq.
Pythia, the medium of the Oracle at Delphi,
323, 5io> 532
Pythian festival, 327
Pythion, city, 195
Pytho, place, 266
Python, 265
Quince, 35, 36
Rain, the gift of Zeus, 243
Rainfall, effect of destruction of forests on, 43
Rajan, word, 220
Raspberries, 31
Reason. See Mind
Reckoning, inventors of, 1 60
Recollection, Plato's doctrine of, 576, 597 et
seq. ; Aristotle on above doctrine, 675 et seq.
Reeds, 30
Religion of Greece, on the evolution of the,
xix et seq. ; a traditional one, xxii ; based
on Nature observation, 78 ; religious con-
ceptions of Aryans, 127 ; not derived from
Phcenicians, 187 ; sketch of, 208-241 ; the
religious feeling permeating the earlier
national festivals and games of Greece, 329-
330 ; on the polytheistic, 687 et seq. ; the
individuality of the, 690, 691
Religion, positive, origin of, in pre - existing
systems, xxi et seq.
Repentance, as exemplified by Homer, 291,
292, 299, 300
Reproduction, Aristotle on, 658 et seq.
Resin collectors, destruction of forests by, 43
Respiration, Plato on, 546 ; Aristotle on, 653,
654
Resurrection, the argument for, 597
Retribution, Herodotus's belief in, 504, 509
et seq.
Revelation by the gods of Greece, 258-266 ;
of God among the Greeks, 307, 308
Reverence, the idea of, due to God, as exem-
plified by Homer, 269, 284 et seq. ; Hesiod,
315, 316; Pindar, 353; ^schylus, 366- •
368, 388 et seq. ; Euripides, 461 ; Hero-
dotus, 512, 527 et seq.
Rhamnus, place-name, 90
Rhea, cult of, 181, 183 ; representative of the
earth, 237
Rheo, word, 98
Rheometer, word, 119
Rheoscope, word, 1 19
Rhinos, word, 97
Rhodes, rise of, 47 ; Phoenician colonisation
of, 180 ; Dorian colonisation of, 202
Rhythm, word, 98
Riddle, word, 100
Rig- Veda, the oldest book of religion amongst
the Aryans, 215 c< seq. ; the idea of sin in,
222
Rimmon, 35
Rituals, xxii et seq.
Rivers, drying up of, 58 ; typified by horses
or wild animals, as bull, lion, &c., 58
Road, old, by Mycense, 165
Rock crystal, sceptres of gold and, at Mycense,
169, 185
Romans, origin of, 123
Rose, 38
7o8
INDEX
Rosso antico, 41
Royal road, 178
Ruler, Plato on the ideal, 612-624
Rulers, relation of, to the people, according
to Pindar, 355 ; according to Haemon in
Sophocles, 420 et seq.
Rumour, auguries from, 262
Rushes, 30
Ruskin on English for scientific terms, 119
Sacrifice, idea of, amongst Greeks, xxiv ;
amongst Indian Aryans, 222, 223
Salamis, battle of, 532 et seq.
Salt, unknown to the Aryans, 1 1
Saraos, city, 202
Samos, island, 201
Sanscrit, verbal forms in, 115
Santorin, modern name of Thera. See Thera
Saqquara, Egyptian graves at, 175
Sardonyx intaglios in pit-graves at Mycenae, 168
Saronic Gulf, 138, 149
Satyam, 223
Satyrs, 237
Scale ornaments in pit-graves at Mycenae, 169
Sceptres, of gold and rock-crystal, found in
pit-graves at Mycenae, 169, 185
Schliemann, Dr. H., tribute to, 160, 161 ; his
works, 161 et seq., 192, 193
Science, development of, dependent on leisure,
334 ; Aristotle on, 640 et seq.
Scientific terms, Greek versus English, 118
Scole, word, 334
Sculpture pre-eminently the art of the Greeks,
73 et seq. ; as practised by ancient Egyp-
tians, 175-176; Babylonian, 176
Scylla, 237
Sea, the, as a protection and path for the
Greeks, 4, 5, lO et seq., 17 et seq.; names
for, 10, II, 12; the Grecian, 65 ; represen-
tatives of the, 236
Sea, typified by Poseidon. See Poseidon
Seers, prophecies by, 263 et seq. ; Euripides
on, 451, 452
Selemnus, 59
Selene, 236
Self-interest in the patriot, and in its highest
development as love, 616
Self-motion as an accompaniment of immor-
tality, 608
Self-preservation, instinct of, amongst Greeks,
229
Self-sacrifice as illustrated by Polydeukes in
Pindar, 342, 343 ; by Antigone in dramas
by Sophocles, 404-427 ; Euripides, 496,
497; Herodotus, 511, 512, 530, 531 ; by
everyday workers, 628
Self-will as the criterion of guilt, 387
Selinus, place-name, 90
Selli. See Helli
Semantoras, word, 274
Semites, prehistoric monuments of, I
Sense, relation of the images of, to ideas, 565
et seq. ; as shown in Plato's allegory of the
Cave and its shadows, 587-590 ; Aristotle
on the value of, 639 et seq., 660 et seq.
Sepias, cape, 134, 185
Sepulchres, rock-hewn, at Nauplia, 173; in
Sparta, 173, 174
Serpentine, 41
Seven wise men of Greece, the, 331-332
Shame as a motive amongst Greeks, indications
of, by Homer, 284, 285 ; by Euripides, 481,
482
Sheep, 39, 125
Sibyl, prophecy of the Messiah by the, 326
Sick, Plato on the treatment of the, 636
Sicyon, 7, 90, 149
Sidon, 179
Sight, Plato on, 566; Aristotle on, 661 et seq.
Signs, auguries from, 262, 263
Silver, 41
Silver cup found in pit-graves at Mycenae,
170, 183
Sin, as viewed by the Veda, 222 ; idea of,
amongst the Greeks, 240; as indicated by
Homer, 286-292 ; Pindar, 349-353 ; ^schy-
lus, 363-365, 375 et seq.; Sophocles, 386-
388, 390-393 ; Euripides, 442 et seq., 454 et
seq.; Herodotus, 511 ; Plato, 577 et seq.
Sincerity. See Truth
Siphnus, gold at, 41
Sirens, 237
Sirius, star, 228, 236
Sister, word, 127
Sisyphus, story of, 139, 160; representative
of the sun, 236
Skeptesthai, word, 116
Skopiazein, word, 116
Skope, word, 116
Slavery, 16 ; amongst Greeks, 63, 108, 279,
520
Slaves, status of, as indicated by Homer, 281
et seq. ; at Delphi, 324 ; Euripides on, 492,
493 ; Plato on, 629 et seq.
Slavs, origin of, 123
Smalt, use of, in the walls of Tiryns, 173, 184
Smyrna, city, 202
Socrates, on words, 84 ; influence of Pytha-
goras on, 338 ; the friend of Euripides, 439 ;
on oracles, 452 ; on God as the creator of
the universe, 547 et seq. ; relation of the
real to the platonic, 557, 564; last hours
and death of, 591 et seq.; his attitude
towards death, 591 et seq.
Soil, the, of Greece, 24 et seq.
Soil products of Greece, 28 et seq.
Solon, legislation of, 331, 332; one of the
seven wise men of Greece, 332, 333, 334 ;
on human happiness, 504, 506
Solutions, Plato on, 546
Soma, word, 293
Sooth, word, 223
Sophia, Aristotle's definition of the word, 640,
641
Sophocles, sketch of the life, character, ideals,
and dramas of, 383-429
Sosicles, 519
Soul, idea, as indicated by Homer, 293 et seq. ;
Plato, 548 et seq. ; supremacy of, over body,
551 ; Plato's story of the, and her wings, 573-
INDEX
709
577 ; value of, versus unrighteous gains, 580
et seq. ; Socrates on the body as a hindrance
to the, 592 et seq. ; as an independent entity,
596 ; its indestructibility, 606 et seq. ; and
immortality, 608 et seq. ; Aristotle on the,
651 et seq. ; his definition of the, 655 et seq.
Souls, doctrine of the transmigration of, 336,
595> 596 ; purification of, 336 ; Pindar's
notice of the transmigration of, 357
Sound waves, Plato on, 546
Space, Plato on, 560
Spartans, consecration of, 17 ; their attack on
Messenia, 26; character of, no, in, 204,
527 et seq.
Species, Aristotle on, 659
Spercheus, river, 89
Sperthies, 527
Sphferobacteria, word, 1 19
Spherical form, its place in creation as the
most comprehensive of forms, 549 et seq.
Sphingium, hill, 146
Sphinx, 139, 146, 397
Sphinx ornaments in pit-graves at Mycense, 169
Spindle wheels in Thera, 163
Spirit, idea, as indicated by Homer, 294 ;
Plato, 562 et seq. ; Aristotle, 648 et seq.
Spirobacteria, word, 1 19
Sponge, 40
Spoudaios, word, 102
Springs of fresh water, submarine, 55, 56
Squills, 32
Stars, nature of, 335 ; creation of, 552
State, public rights of individuals in the, as
indicated by Homer, 279
Stathme, word, 102
Stoics, influence of Pythagoras on, 338
Stone axes, used by Grseco- Aryans, 126, 161 ;
tools found in Thera, 163
Stones as emblems, 231
Stranger, right of the, to hospitality, as in-
dicated by Homer, 281 ; by Pindar, 356
Strife, Aristotle on, 649
Struggle for existence as the cause of evolu-
tion, 686, 687
Stymphalian birds, myth explained, 56
Stymphalus, lake, 55, 56, 63
Stymphalus, river, 55
Styx, 61
Subjects, relation between king and, as de-
picted in Homer, 272 et seq.
Sufferings, the purpose of, as announced by
-^schylus, 365, 373, et seq., 387 ; Euripides,
443
Suicide, Socrates on, 591 et seq.
Sulphur springs of ^depsus, Hypata, 47
Sun, representative^ of the, 235, 236, 393 ;
purification by, 321 ; creation of, 551
Sungnome, word, 495
Sunshine at Athens, 23, 24, 1 51, 152
Suppliants, status of the, as indicated by
Homer, 280, 281 ; by Pindar, 356; ^schy-
lus, 369 ; Sophocles, 405 et seq. ; Euripides,
473, 474; Herodotus, 515, 516
Swallow, 39
Symmetreo, word, 99
Symmetria, word, 99
Symmetron, word, 381
Symmetry, 566
Sympathy, Plato on, 634 et seq.
Synonyms in Greek, 116; of the verb "to
see," 116, 117
Sythas, river, 89
TiENARiuM, marble of, 41, 88; oracle at, 140
Taenarium, place-name, 183, 185
Talthybius, 511
Tammuz, 189
Tantalus, 236
Taste, Aristotle on, 662
Taygetus, mountain, 63, 65, 66, 140
Teachers, Aristotle on, 640
Technaomai, word, loi
Techne, word, loi, 103
Teiresias, the seer, 263, 399 et seq.
Tekton, word, loi, 102, 103
Telchines, 160
Telegraph, word, 119
Telephone, word, 119
Telos, word, 645, 646, 684
Teraenus, prince, 196, 198
Tempe, gorge of, 4, 49, 124
Temperance as an attribute of the philosopher,
617
Temples of Greece, 78, 79
Temptation in morals and in science, xviii
Teos, city, 202
Tetrapolis, 7
Teutons, origin of, 123
Thalamse, oracle at, 1 40
Thales of Miletus, 332, 334, 335
Thank offerings, xxiv et seq.
Thasos, gold at, 41, 185
Thaumacia, place-name, 90
Theasthai, word, 116
Thebans. See Cadmeians
Thebes, 7 ; earthquakes at, 51 ; early history
of, 144 et seq. ; taken by Boeotians, 194
Theion, word, 502, 512
Themis, word, 223
Themistes of Zeus, 240
Themistes, word, 95
Themistocles and the battle of Salamis, 533
et seq.
Theognis of Megara, 332, 333 ; maxims of,
333. 334
Theogony, outline of Hesiod's, 310-31 1
Theology, Aristotle on, 642
Theorein, word, 117, 212, 656, 671
Theorise, word, 327
Theoroi, word, 117, 327
Theos, word, 225 ; Pindar's use of it, 341 ;
^schylus's use of it, 363
Thera, island, 46, 47, 141, 162, 203
Theras, 203
Therasia, island, prehistoric remains of, 34,
162 et seq. ; origin of, 46
Thermopylae, 4 ; hot springs at, 44, 47, 48, 51 ;
the glorious struggle at, 530 et seq.
Theseus, 139, 154, 155, 408 et seq.; 428,450,
452-456, 462, 476, 477, 479, 495
yio
INDEX
Thesmoi, word, 95 .
Thesphaton, word, 297, 298
Thessalians, invasion of Greece by, 193-194
Thessaly, district of, 6 ; climate, 20 ; soil, 26
Thetis, goddess, 143, 185, 236, 237
Thorax, Plato on the, in man, 571 et seq.
Thought, Socrates on the organ of, 558 ; Aris-
totle on, 644, 652, 671, 681
Thoughts of God, 565, 681 et seq.
Thracians, 133 ; the early settlements and
culture of the, 146-148 ; disappearance of,
from Bceotia, 194
Thunder, an emblem of power, 242, 243 ;
auguries from, 261
Thyme, 31
Thymoetas, King, 201
Thymos, word, 293, 294
Thyrides, a cape, 89, 90
Ti, grave of, at Saqquara, 175, 176
Timceus, outline of Plato's, 545 et seq.
Timseus on God as the Creator of the universe,
547 et seq.
Time measurements of Grseco- Aryans, 127 ;
of Babylonians, 176, 186; Plato on the
creation of, 551 et seq.
Tin, 124
Tiryns, fortified city, 158, 161 ; pottery found
at, 161, 162 ; fortifications at, 172 et seq. ;
evidence against its Greek origin, 191, 192
Tisamenus, King, 196, 198, 199
Tisis, word, 509
Titans, struggle of, with Zeus, 44
Titaresius, river, 128
Tithonus, twilight, 235
Tithorea, city, 196
Tiu, word, 217
Tiva, word, 220
Tombs, bee-hive shaped, of Mycente, 166 et
seq.; at Menidi, 166; and at other places
in Greece, 174; supposed Phrygian origin
of, 181
Tortoise, 40
Touch, Aristotle on, 662
Trachinean Women, outline of the drama of
the, by Sophocles, 390-393
Trade, Plato on, 627 et seq.
Transitory, Plato's attitude towards subjects
that are, 545 et seq.
Trapezus, 7, 9
Treasury of Atreus, 166
Tree culture, 33
Trident, as an emblem, 231
Triphylia, district, 140
Tripolis, 7, 195
Triton, 236, 237
Troad, district, 200
Troezen, 6, 202 ; hot springs of, 44 ; panorama
at, 67, 149 ; relationship of, with Athens,
155
Troy, siege of, historic basis for, 192 et seq.
Truce of the god, 328
Truth, idea, 223 ; regard for, as indicated by
Homer, 278 ; Pindar's ideal of, 345 ; that
of ^schylus, 379 et seq. ; Antigone's stand
for, 417 et seq.; Sophocles's ideal of, 427,
428 ; Plato on, 566 ; attitude of the seeker
after, 605 ; a philosopher necessarily has a
love of, 616, 617
Typhon (Smoke and Vapour), struggle of, with
Zeus, 44
Typhrestus, 89
Tyrannies of Greece, 330, 331, 518
Tyre, 179
Ulysses, name, 278
Universe, Plato on the, 548 et seq.; its living
nature, 549 et seq.
Unrighteousness, effects of, according to Plato,
580 et seq.
Uranus, dynasty of, 44, 181, 183 ; represen-
tative of the heavens, 236
Varuna, god, 216 et seq.
Veda. See Rig- Veda
Vegetation, typified by Persephone. See
Persephone
Veneti, invasion by, 193
Venus. See Aphrodite
Verbs, wealth of forms in Greek, 115, 116
Verde antique, 41
Vesuvius, 44
Vine, 33, 35
Virtue, Plato on, 564
Virtus, word, 283
Vishnu, 220
Volcanic action in its relation to the contour
of Greece, 43, 44 ; as represented in myths,
44-46
Volcanic action. See also Typhon
Volo, bee-hive tombs at, 174
Vostitza, plane-tree of, 37
Vowel change, 87
Vows, XXV et seq.
Vritra, 220
Vritrahan, epithet, 220
Vultures, 40
Walls of Mycen^, 165 ; of Tiryns, 172 et
seq. ; supposed Phrygian influence indicated
by, 181 ; Phoenician origin of, 184, 186
Walnuts, 36
Watchfulness, as an essential feature in the
ideal ruler of a state, 615 ei seq.
Water (or Waves), typified by Areion and
Hippios. See Areion, Hippies
Water as the prime element, 335, 647 ; its
place in the world-order according to Plato,
549 et seq. ; as the substance of the soul,
653
Weasel, 125
Weaving, Babylonian, 176
Weights and measures, inventors of, 160;
Babylonian, 176, 186
Wheat, 33
Wife, position of, as indicated by Homer,
270 et seq.
Wild cattle, 129
Will, as manifested by Zeus, 247 ; mode of
revelation of Zeus's will, 260 etseq. ; jJEschy-
lus's conception of the active thought of
INDEX
711
Zeus, 361 et seq. ; in its relation to the
guilt of sin, 387; as manifested by God,
553 et seq. ; Plato on, as the cause of ac-
tions, 558 et seq.
Willow, 30
Wine, 34
Wisdom, Plato on, 562 et seq. ; Aristotle on,
640 et seq.
Wisdom, typified by Zeus. See Zeus
Witenagefnot, 273
Wolf's Jaws, 124
Wolves, 39, 129
Woman, status of, in Homer, 271, 272; as
indicated by Pindar, 354, 355 ; the ideal, as
idealised by Sophocles in Antigone, 404-
427 ; by Euripides, 462 et seq. ; by Hero-
dotus, 513-515 ; by Plato, 570, 631 et seq.
Words, significance of, 84, 85 ; early forma-
tion of roots of, 86 ; inflection of, 86, 87 ;
vowel gradation in, 87 ; contraction of
Greek, 87 ; necessity of new, for new ideas,
88 et seq. ; word -building by Homer, 91 ;
by Euripides, 91 ; as symbols of ideas, 93
et seq. ; wealth of verbal forms in Greek,
"5
Work, necessity of, for Hellenic development,
42, 43, 56, 206 ; recommended as a panacea
for troubles by Hesiod, 317 ; the occupation
of Greek leisure, 334 ; Plato on, 627 et seq.
WorJcs and Days by Hesiod, sketch of, 311-
319
World-order, idea, 223 ; Plato on, 545 et seq.,
609
Wretch, word, 381
Xanthus, the Boeotian, 201
Xenia, 16
Xenophanes of Colophon, 334, 338 ; his views
as to the nature of God, 338, 339
Xenos, meaning of term, 16, 279
Xerxes, his presumption and fate as sketched
by -^schylus, 366 et seq., 380; by Hero-
dotus, 508, 509, 539; magnanimity of, 511 ;
his outrage on the dead, 517, 532; his in-
quiries as to the Spartan spirit, 523 ; his
mighty host as described by Herodotus, 526,
527 ; Greek resistance to, at Thermopylae,
530 et seq,
Xoanon, image, 244
Years, creation of, 55 1
Zena, word, 554
Zeno, 334
Zephyrus, 236
Zeus, word, 217, 220, 554
Zeus (Light and Wisdom) as Zeus Xenios, 17,
279 et seq. ; dynasty of, as Light and Wis-
dom, 44 et seq. ; his struggles in becoming
supreme ruler, 44 et seq. ; temple of, as
Akraios, 135; Phrygian origin of, 181 ; as
Zeus Stratios, 182; genealogy of, 183; cult
of, at Athens, 210; as Supreme Being, 217,
554 et seq. ; cult of, at Dodona, 224 et seq. ;
no temples or images connected with early
worship of, 230; emblems of, 230, 231;
statue of. 234 ; as representative of air,
235 ; supremacy of, 242-253 ; supreme over
Nature, 242-245 ; supreme in the moral
world, 245-253 ; character of, 250-253 ; the
avenger of suppliants, 282, 283, 474, 475 ;'
the counsel of, as the subject of the Iliad,
296 et seq. ; the character of, as given in
Hesiod's Theogony, 311; and in his Works
and Days, 3136^ seq. ; Pindar's idea of, 340
et seq.; -^schylus's idea of, 361 et seq. ; re-
bellion of Prometheus against, 370 et seq. ;
Sophocles's idea of, 384 et seq. ; Herodo-
tus's idea of, 512
Zoster, a cape 89
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