Herodotus

Cicero called him the father of history, Plutarch the father of lies. But to me he's more like an affable uncle who's been around and knows what's up and what's gone down. If I could pour a libation out with any Ancient Greek, Herodotus would be the guy. "So," I'd say, hefting the krater in the direction of his goblet, "is it really true that there are Indians who kill no living creature at all? And that their semen is black like that of the Ethiopians?" And H would smile broadly under his show more resplendent beard and say "I did not see this for myself; this is only what I have heard reported — make of it what you will". And then we'd talk and talk and he'd change the subject by saying things like "so much for the snakes and how the Arabians obtain their frankincense..." and he'd relate how there are three kinds of mice in Libya, and how Peisistratos was brought down by wifely buttsex, and how the Greeks got their alphabet from the Phoenicians... And some of it would be true stories, and some would just be stories, but it wouldn't matter because he wouldn't pretend to be dealing in immutable verities, because nothing unquestionable is very interesting.

And his talk would be full of his favourite words, "amazing", "incredible", "marvel", "astonishment", because those are the words that come closest to capturing the amazing, incredible, marvelous, astonishing heterodoxy of his world and ours. I love the assiduous recording of which rivers the Persian army completely drinks dry (or more pertinently, which ones it doesn't). Was it really 1.7 million men plus several million more camp followers? Of course it bloody wasn't, but that's not the point; the point is, it was an absolute unit of a fighting force. The exaggerations are part of the story. But the father of lies is no fool. I'm an atheist, so I'll never get, like Croesus did, VIP status at Delphi ("priority in oracular consultation and exemption from fees, along with front-row places at their festivals") — but I get the impression from passages like this that my unbelief wouldn't set me entirely apart from old polytheistic H:

...at last the Magi, by offering sacrificial victims and singing incantations to the wind in addition to performing sacrifices to Thetis and the Nereids, brought about an end to the storm on the fourth day — or perhaps it abated of its own accord.

Add the ironic "perhaps" to that list of useful words.

Herodotus's theme is inexorable Fate and how we try and make sense of it — or at least not lose our goddamn minds at how unfair it is — through stories. History for him is very properly a story, instructive and compelling in the way that only stories can be. Truth isn't just subjective, it's peripheral to his project. Of course he's Hellenocentric — what else could a Greek (albeit one from the periphery of the Greek project) be? But the stories he tells us, about how people of all nations tell themselves and each other stories to bring order to their chaotic world, are universal. What goes around in Herodotus always comes around; his Greek mind, like his understanding of rivers and continents, is balanced, symmetrical. Comeuppance might take generations, but up it'll inevitably come. In the speeches, and in particular in the arguments of the Persians Otanes, Megabyzos, and Darius for democracy, oligarchy, and monarchy/tyranny respectively, we get a foretaste of the exquisitely balanced rhetoric of Thucydides. H has his ear to ground still being trampled today. There are also moments of great immediacy, like when we're told about the oars getting tangled in corpses and wreckage at Aphetai, and epic shit like when the Greeks summon Boreas to wreck the Persian fleet, and the fire beacons being lit, and the general large-scale summoning of allies in a Lord of the Rings fashion.

But it's Herodotus the ethnographer who'll always have my ear. Whether he's telling us about the Arabian sheep with trolleys for their massive tails, or Neurian lycanthropy, or the women of the Gindanes and their ankle bracelets ("they put on one of these for every man with whom they have had intercourse, and the woman who wears the most is considered to be the best"), or how the Scythians are "awed and elated by the vapor" of hemp seeds and their women love mud baths, his curiosity and delight in the "the drunkenness of things being various", as MacNeice put it, is what I come to books for. The Persian practice of considering everything once drunk and once sober before deciding has served me well, as has the remark of Artabanos that dreams, contrary to what everyone else in the book thinks, rather than being god-given visions, "tend to be what one is thinking about during the day". The Egyptian Amasis coins for us the phrase "tightly strung". We get an ancient account of the live-burial of children to consecrate a bridge, a rite reported in Medieval times in Andric's "The Bridge Over the Drina". We get 700 Thespians going into battle, and of course ample Lesbians too. And we get it all in the maximalist, thoroughly Herodotean Landmark edition, which gives uncle H the amazing, incredible, marvelous, astonishing widescreen presentation he deserves. show less

I finally tackled this “I really ought to read this one of these days” doorstopper of a book and found myself thoroughly entertained. One reason for this experience is the edition I read. Instead of the worthy nineteenth-century Rawlinson translation that has sat on my shelf for years and that I occasionally dipped into, I sprang for the recent translation by Robin Waterfield. I’ve heard that Herodotus’s Greek is reasonably straightforward, especially in contrast to the more formal show more Thucydides, so I found the tone of Waterfield’s translation appropriately colloquial.
For instance, Rawlinson renders the words of a gloomy Persian on the eve of the decisive battle of Plataea: “Verily ’tis the sorest of all human ills, to abound in knowledge and yet have no power over action” (9.16). Undeniably eloquent, but compare Waterfield’s rendering: “There’s no more terrible pain a man can endure than to see clearly and be able to do nothing.” It’s clear that both translations are correct (and a check of the Greek confirmed it). Still, given the length of the book (nearly 600 pages apart from the excellent introduction by Carolyn Dewald and a judicious amount of notes), I felt that a modern translation would serve me better.
Compared to modern history-writing, Herodotus has little interest in population density, economic factors, or technological advances as causes of conflict and determinants of outcomes. Instead, it is a tale of heroes, fate, and retribution. Most conflicts have very personal causes, and the result often has to do with righting an ancient wrong. Although Herodotus’s sympathies are with the Greeks, especially the Athenians, he is even-handed, admiring courage and integrity and censuring cowardice and treachery wherever it appears.
Herodotus declares at the outset that his aim is to explore the causes of the conflict between Greece and Persia, and the book culminates in his stirring account of the doomed attempt of Xerxes to subjugate the Greeks. Yet, he takes many detours along the way. It seems as if he set out to include in his book everything he could find out about the known world. Book Two, for instance, is a detailed and lively account of Egypt, a land which even then could boast an ancient history. Some readers may grow impatient with Herodotus’s reluctance to pass up any excuse to work in a diverting anecdote. Still, if you’re willing to follow him down these sidelines, you may find yourself enjoying them. Herodotus simply knows how to tell a story.
Ah, yes, you might say. A story-teller is surely not the same as a historian. How much of this is reliable? If you take into account the fact that Herodotus was inventing the genre of long-form narrative as he went along, I think it can be argued that, in the course of these “inquiries” (the meaning of “histories” back then), Herodotus lays the groundwork for later critical evaluation of sources. He employs an arsenal of phrases to reflect his judgment -- ranging from trusting to skeptical -- about the tales he includes.
Herodotus traveled widely with an insatiable curiosity and reflected both on what he heard and what he saw first-hand. Many of his conclusions remain valid, two-and-a-half millennia later, For instance, his conviction that no nation stays on top forever, and that the turning point often comes through overreach. show less

I think what I enjoyed most was the honesty. Herodotus was trying to write about the known world and the people in it. He reported stuff that he didn’t always personally believe, but he was up front about it and would admit, “Yeah, I’m not so sure, but this is what they say in Myconos,” or wherever. And he did TRY to get reliable sources. Which isn’t to say he didn’t sometimes get his leg pulled – there is not, in fact, a tribe of people in the Sahara who don’t have heads. show more But again, “that’s what the Libyans told me…” It made the book feel like a friend telling you a story as opposed to someone trying to lecture at you.

I really really really (REALLY) liked that he didn’t have an agenda. By which I mean his unbiased coverage: He was Greek, and Greece had just had a bunch of wars with the Persian Empire (ever see “300?” He writes about it). So for him, as a Greek, to say anything nice about the Persian people or anything they do—and he does when it’s deserved—is pretty unheard of in his time. Or, let’s be honest, ours. He tells the story WITHOUT inflicting his personal value judgments on it.

It being the ancient world, women are generally ignored, but there are a few notable ladies he writes about for being wise or clever or what have you (plus there’s Amazons!). Also, the science of geography being the massive joke it was back then, he had NO idea how big Africa really was, and the British Isles were an unproved rumor as far as he was concerned. However, I have to say it was REALLY nice to read a book written before 19-sumpty-some that ISN’T racist. He’ll helpfully inform his European audience that yes, people in Egypt and Ethiopia tend to be a bit dark compared to us, etc. etc., but there are no implicit or explicit judgments associated with skin tone. Maybe because the various Greek city-states were so busy fighting *each other* all the time, meaning that the person most likely to kill you looked like you. As a matter of fact, he can’t say enough nice things about Egypt, and he thought Ethiopians were “the tallest, most handsome and longest lived of all men.”

The book has so many great passages here and there that I actually took to marking their place in the margin – in pencil, of course, but for me to write in my books at all is saying something. show less

In the world's first history textbook (so to speak), Herodotus chronicles the wars between Persia and Greece - and so much more. As new historical figure or locales are introduced into the narrative, he frequently pauses to detail that person or place's history even when it has little bearing on the main event. The sum is a fascinating amalgam of fact and fiction: enough facts to provide an outline of the Greco-Persian Wars and the environs in which they took place, together with the people show more who carried it out; and enough fiction to add an aura of mythology to the undertakings, providing a challenge in prose to Homer's poetry.

Inevitably the question arises of what to believe, so you'll want a good edition with footnotes or endnotes to help you parse it all. Herodotus' absurd description of a hippopotamus alone is enough to throw everything else into question, and that's just one of many examples. Whether he travelled as widely as his narrative implies, or saw with his own eyes as much as he claims, are open questions. There's also no telling how reliable his other sources were - something he gamely questions, but never enough to prevent him from sharing a good story. Expect some entertainment with your history.

It's much easier reading than I'd assumed going in, and translator Aubrey de Selincourt's 1954 effort probably deserves the credit for making this such a compelling read. Even if you don't believe a word of what Herotodus says (although archeology has been able to back up quite a bit), the 'Father of History' still put together a great epic. For all that his effort is slandered, dating all the way back to ancient times, at least he gave it a shot and - most telling - none of his contemporaries ever tried to top him. show less