~ l l 'The energy of a bocfy mqy be defined as the capacity it has of doing work, and is measured "l?J the quantity of work which it can do. The kinetic ener­ gy of a bocfy is the energy which it has in virtue of being in motion . .. '' -J. Clerk Maxwell

ENERGEIA STAFF If there is one truly encouraging factor to Charles Darwin's evo­ lutionary theory, it is the concept of "vigor." Vigorous animals sur­ vive, and pass on a high level of this trait to their offspring. Darwin never defines it, but I would like to believe that vigor has nothing to · do with ambitious intentions or rippling muscles, and everything to Editor: Peter Heyneman do with efficacy, or work. A creature certainly must be judged by the Junior Editor: l(athleen I<.:.elley effect it has in the world, and this judgment should take into account only the consequences of its striving for the betterment of its species. Jill Delston Assistant Editors: In other words, natural selection doesn't care for potential energy. The Sandeep Shekhar Das beings that have vigor, act; if it is unused, it does not exist. Editorial Board: Anderson Tallent Perhaps there is also a sort of natural selection among the "Being Matthew Albanese of Fictions" that Eva Brann speaks of in her essay, (beginning on Matthew Gates page 7). There certainly was an unnatural selection here at the maga­ zine, when the staff and I picked a winner of the first annual Thorpe­ Artwork Editor: Caroline Picard Andrews Prize for First Year Student Writing. There were many quite Publishing Advisor: Andrew Ranson promising entries, and the decision was difficult, but the work we chose, Marshall Derks's poem "Song of Summer," (page 25) displayed Layout and Design: Paul Detchemendy a kind of vigor evident in writing that is not simply strong, but casu­ ally effective. Readers, like us Energeia editors, are constantly singling out characters, writers, books, even individual lines, not on the basis of some vague potentiality or secret power, but for the intellectual and emotional movement created in us by these vigorous fictions. For there must always be progression in thought as well as in life's devel­ Thanks to: Chris Colby and the opment: a motion, if not towards a certain goal, then possibly just a St. John's College Print Shop cheerful, headstrong revolution of forms and beliefs, energized con­ tinuously by individual striving. Aesop, the great historian, once said, "Toils are the treasures of man." Treasure is equally toil, though, even if the bird hardly knows it is working as it sings out from the trees its vigorous tones.

-Peter Heyneman \'

0 n Faith and Perfection ...... 4 7 .Annual Essay Prize TABLE OF Kathleen Kelley

(untitled) ...... 62 Cara Lammey Harpokrate's Pilgrim ...... front cover Sean Ross Secret ...... 63 Jill Delston Oula...... 6 Caroline Picard Goat ...... 65 Cara Gormally The Being of Fictions ...... 7 Eva Brann Untitled ...... 66 Benjamin Truesdale 13 Colonial ...... · ...... 24 Marion Cook Egypt and the Cult of Heracles: Mythology and the Marvelous in Herodotus' Histories ...... 67 Song of Summer ...... 25 ~-\nnual Essay Honorable Mention Marshall Derks Bryan Thorpe

Untitled ...... 26 Untitled ...... 112 Lucas Ford Elizabeth Wagner

The Present is Pregnant with the Future ...... 27 Beatrice...... back cover Annual Essay Prize .Ann-Therese Gardner Rachel Seay

Arte Poetica ...... 44 Jorge Luis Borges translated by Isaac Smith CON T EN TS S e!f-portrait ...... 46 Kathryn Bush \

ENERGEL-\

The Being of Fictions 1 by Eva Brann

In casting around for a subject that might be of interest to many of you and yet not utterly familiar to everybody, I thought that an inquiry into which philosophy, literature, logic, psychology, ordinary experience, and cognitive science enter in about equal parts might fill the bill. The Being of Fictions seemed to be such a subject. The philo­ sophical version of the issue would be: What is the ontological status of fictions? What kind and degree of being do fictions have? The lit­ erary question would be: How does a fictional text convey the nature of its creature? What literary devices distinguish fictions from lies? The logical version would be: What is the logical quality of the exis­ tence operator that a fiction commands? Are statements about non­ existent beings somehow true or simply false? In psychology one might ask: What is the mental framework proper to the reception of fictions? Is a special psychological vulnerability involved? In ordinary experience the question is: Whence comes the power of the unreal? Is it to be accepted or discounted in ordinary life? And in cognitive science the most clearly defined problem was: Can one show experi­ mentally that there are mental images? Could the visual imagination, Ou/a Caroline Picard as a faculty for making canvasless and paintless pictures visible to none but the imaginer, be made to reveal its products to empirical sci­ ence? All the questions I have mentioned are, as a matter of course, about cognition and its theories-what is there of interest to us that isn't? But only the last is about cognitive science as an experimental

7 6 ENERGEIA BRANN

study. Let me explain first why I put the question in the past, as a emanating from them. Amateurs of the imagination are pretty good superseded problem, so to speak, and then why it once mattered to at unformulated atmosphere, but it takes a master to coagulate the fig­ me and still does matter to the being of fictions. ures: Like many of us who spend a very lively part of our lives immersed in fiction I live somewhat split-mindedly, schizophrenically. ... as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen On the one hand I readily give in to the seduction particularly of nov­ Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothing els, not so much in the mental frame of suspended disbelief (which .A local habitation and a name. implies an initial vigilant skepticism) as in an unguarded readiness to be taken over, to believe. But of course I emerge form the realm of At any rate, Shakespeare intimates that poetry begins with internal reading, and the question is: ''Where have I been?", and the frame of visions, and so, I'm persuaded, does most prose fiction. And it takes mind is: "I believe; help thou my unbelief." Put more prosaically, a a cognitive constitution able to re-envision the shapes to become a lover of fiction is likely to be driven to reflection about its status. For reader of the scripture that comes from the poet's pen-which, put me, at least, such an inquiry has two aspects. There is a world to be technically, means that mental imagery is a sine qua non, an absolute penetrated, the world of the imagination as a natural amateur's realm necessity for reading fiction. of fiction-what goes on inside all of us (or at least most of us, since Let me give you a magnificent example of this necessity, the most it seems to be true that there are some people, significantly enough, spectacular one I know, though I can think of scores of other good often people of very high logical purity and sensitive moral con­ ones. It is from the Iliad. Having been insulted by the commander-in­ sciousness, whose imaginative inner realm is very narrow). And then, chief, Achilles has withdrawn from the battle before Troy. Now, driv­ emerging from and distinct from this relatively inchoate space of fic­ en by the rout of the Greeks to fatal half-measures, he has dressed his tion in general, there are the well-formed specific fictions of the pro- bosom friend Patroclos in his own well-known armor, in the wrong­ fidents, the poets and the novelists. It is their products that particular­ headed hope that the mere appearance of a figure looking like him­ ly induce reflection on the controll~d exploitation of the imagination, self-recall that Greek armor covers the whole man, face included­ · on the artificial modifications that lead to public fictions, and above will scare off the Trojans. Of course, Patroclos, who has been told to all, on the warranties and certifications of existence with which fic- fight only defensively, loses control and charges ahead. Hector the tion writers strive to supply their individual figures. . Trojan kills him and strips off Achilles' armor, as is the custom. He In looking for light on this question, I immersed myself a decade proudly puts it on himself, and Zeus makes it fit. Achilles, in a blaz­ ago in the literature of what was then the current research in cogni­ ing fury and with new armor, rejoins the battle. On the next day the tive science, the work on mental imagery. Before saying something face-off between himself and Hector on which Achilles is intent brief about its history, its results, and its decline, let me tell you why comes off. (It is, incidentally, the Homeric fighter's mode to become it seemed pertinent at all. It seemed to me that writers of fiction, epic a promachus, a forefighter, who emerges from the background battle to poets and novelists, evidently could not help but be guided by the stand out in a duel, somewhat as the scenic imagination bodies forth world we inhabit into a dual configuration: background and fore­ figures.) Hector takes to his heels and runs three times around Troy, ground, scene-settings and beings moving through them, backdrops chased but not caught by the man whose chief epithet is "swift-foot­ and the shapes appearing against them, atmospheres and the figures ed." They run as in a dream; Hector cannot get away and Achilles can-

8 9 ENERGEIA BRANN not catch up. They stop to catch their breath and to think. Athena, .by Barry Mazur who is in the audience tonight.) Stephen K.osslyn, who is always there when people are thinking for their lives, brings then of Harvard, took up and expanded these experiments in mental about a confrontation. Achilles and Hector face each other. And now scannings and their latency times. I think the subject has since fallen the mindful readers, those who see the moment, will feel the hair of into abeyance. I have not kept up with the research, but I do see why their heads stand on end, for what is it that Achilles faces? His last it couldn't go much further. To say why this is so, let me give the glimpse of Patroclos as he had sent him to his death in hi~ _own briefest background of the fate of mental imagery. armor but also himself as he was before his several fatal dec1s1ons. The behaviorists who dominated psychology earlier in the last This i~ the apparition he will now transfix with his spear. Of this century and philosophers of a positivist empirical cast of mind had implied climactic vision Homer says not a word, though it has been been simply denying that we have such imagery: For the behaviorist nearly three thousand lines since the last mention of that fatal armor. psychologists it was a brute dislike of introspection that set them So, to come out of the poem, the ability to have mental imagery against so invisible and behaviorally elusive an item. For the philoso­ is of the essence in reading narrative, and to know something about phers the issues were, it seems to me, deeper and more perplexing. I its nature must be, I thought, helpful to understanding what a fiction, think that Wittgenstein asked the most unsettling and seemingly that is, a figure of fiction, might be. unanswerable questions, from which most later investigations derived, Now just at that time in the late 1980's when I was reading and the deepest of them, in his own words, is this: ''What makes an around, very encouraging research on mental imagery was being done image of him an image of him?" In other words, is there a certifiable in cognitive science. The method peculiar to cognitive science was to correspondence between an image, especially a mental image, and its force out into the empirical open, by cleverly designed experiments, original, wherever located? aspects of cognition that had so far had to rely on introspection to In testable terms and for mental images, that question yielded this appear, or being unconscious, had not been available at all. The latter problem: Does the cognitive process of generating a mental image case was of most interest, since the science had as one of its assump­ give evidence of being analogous to seeing a real figure in real space? tions that cognition has more to it than shows up in consciousness. And, of course, if that question had a persuasively positive answer And that in turn was connected with an even deeper assumption, that then the prior question, "Do we have mental imagery to begin with?", the mind is an epiphenomenon of the brain and that the unconscious would be answered. K.osslyn's school of research does seem to have phases of what ends up as a conscious cognition could be ultimately shown that mental images behaved in many ways like spatial figures­ externalized as a neurophysiological event. you could scan them, zoom in on them, rotate them. Mental imagery seemed to be a particularly rewarding small baili­ Now, here are two interesting circumstances. One is that it all did­ wick within the cognitive psychology part of cognitive science. Roger n't do much good. Proofs were produced which showed that the issue Shepard had been first to devise a way to test one aspect of mental was formally undecidable, that every effect accounted for in quasi­ images: Subjects were shown two complicated shapes composed of spatial terms could also, if ·somewhat more laboriously, be explained cubes in different positions. The question to them was whether they in verbal or digital terms. To be sure, the quasi-spatial account was were the same. The point was to determine from the time subjects more immediate. Moreover it jibed with what everyone believes any­ took to answer whether something like a mental rotation was going how: that we have a mind's eye, so that to the question, "How do you on. The tests were convincingly positive. (I was put onto this research know you are imagining him?", the answer is: "It's him all over; it looks

10 11 \

BRANN EN ERGEL-\ dissonant fact will dominate Telemachus's visit, but Homer, again, lili:e him." To be sure, scientists tend to have a low opinion of what says nothing out loud. they call folk-psychology, as do certain estheticians who claim not to Nonetheless, philosophers continued to be strong defenders of know what ~'looks lili:e" might mean. But in the end what you know the notion that imagery is illusionary and words are real, for a variety introspectively you know unfalsifiably-that is, after all, why intro­ of interesting reasons, chief among which was a desire for univocity spection is the bugbear of cognitive science and a last resort of phi­ and explicitness. I think that those contemporary literary theorists losophy. But these undecidibility proofs discouraged, I imagine, fur­ who believe that meaning is entirely intra-textual, that books have no ther research-they and a certain recalcitrance in the problem itself. outside reference, that mimesis is not involved in fiction, cannot help If mind science was ultimately brain science, then to take seriously the but belong to the same school of mental iconoclasts, though for dif­ notion that mental imagery was space-lili:e would be to show that ferent, one might say, more frolicsome, reasons. some imaging brain activity was somehow really space-lili:e, which did­ These mental imagery studies may later have run into a dead end n't seem to be in the cards. But if there was some irreducible distinc­ tion between spatial views and brain processes, then the epiphenom­ for the researchers, but they were very profitable for me then. They made me ask what it might mean to believe in the reality of mental enona had some independence and ifltrospection was the lili:ely access images in general. This was not the specific question I ultimately cared to it-not to mention the fact that the possibility of effective intro­ spection is assumed anyhow in every such subject-response experi- about, which was rather the ontological or existential status of the beings of fiction. But the cognitive researchers helped in thinking ment. And now the second curious thing. While many cognitive psy- generally about what it means to have something in mind, before the chologists, methodological quandaries notwithstanding, had persuad­ mental eye, at all. They drew attention to the essential spatiality of ed themselves that we do see images internally, the philosophers, images, to the character of closed configurations upon a quasi-spatial especially the ones committed to scientific method, went right on background, to the nature of mental movement and to the genesis of rejecting this form of cognition. Why, incidentally, would one even mental formations. But even the most ingenious detailing of the cog­ call it a form of cognition? One question the investigators in fact asked nitive conditions of their possibility could not tell me whence the is whether one can learn from one's mental imagery. They decided images came, what they meant, or whether these beings had real stand­ that there could be that in the imagination which the thinking mind had ing as existences. yet to know. I think that my Homeric example is proof positive, since, I have produced on purpose a clause that displays three terms ·as I mentioned, the verbal text says not a word at the event, so that in which are often used randomly as synonyms, but which I want to dis­ the absence of visualization, the reader is apt to miss the great tinguish: being, reality, existence. I have a certain warrant for these dis­ moment. Homer is, incidentally, the most reader-participant poet I tinctions in the philosophical tradition, but I'll omit this background know, precisely because he relies on the reader not only to see more and hope you'll go along anyhow. than he describes but to infer more than he states. For example, when Being means, from way back, whatever stable presence and intelli­ Odysseus' son comes to the palace of Helen and Menelaus, he hears gible nature anything has. It is the object of ontology, the study of wedding music; it is Helen's daughter who is getting married, and Being, of which Aristotle says that it is what we search for of old, and now and forever. Being can be ideal or immattered. before long Helen will surely be a grandmother. The pathos of this

13 12 ENERGEIA BRANN

Reality, from Latin res, means thinghood, and has come to signify . grazing in the valleys of Montana with the wild horses or whisper him what obdurately confronts the senses, particularly the material as into gentleness. Moreover it's probably the case that horses that are opposed to the ideal grasp; reality is what is palpable. real horses cannot, physiologically speaking, have wings, so Pegasus is Existence is being here and now; it is presence as time- and space­ not merely factual nonexistent-he's also impossible. affected; it is the being of facts, by which I mean objects that come What is the matter here, in Russell's view, is to be located in the to us as nodes of knowledge enmeshed in the fundamental modes of sloppiness of ordinary speech that uses Pegasus as a proper name and the world before us, in space and in time. Hence reality and existence thoughtlessly assumes that names have real references. Note, inciden­ are indeed pretty much exchangeable. Most of what is here and now, tally, that this low opinion of what we all say in ordinary life is an early or there and then, is also, or at least was once or will sometime be, pal­ parallel to the cognitive scientist's distrust of folk-psychology, what pable. we all believe about our minds in our time off. We shouldn't talk this The cognitive scientists may be said to have concerned themselves way, Russell thinks, and I quote: with the existence of images, for they were teasing out their temporal and spatial features. But literary fiction is delivered primarily in words, The sense of reality is vital in logic and whoever juggles with it and although someone without mental imagery-and ever since by pretending that Hamlet has another kind of reality is doing a disservice to thought. ~-\. robust sense of reality is very necessary Galton made the earliest mental imagery experiments in the 1880's, it in framing a correct analysis of propositions about unicorns, has been known that there are individual differences, that there are golden mountains, round squares and other such pseudo-objects. people who either don't have it or are somehow prevented from being aware of it-will miss a lot, still words can cortvey plot and character What we should do is not so much utter as symbolize, so as to get very densely. So the question of fictional existence can be raised, and at the proposition in all its logical purity. And that involves following in fact was first raised, in the verbal realm-and this will not surprise the unnatural but clean reconceiving of a sentence like "Pegasus is you-by logicians and logically-minded philosophers. The issue was winged'': launched by Russell and his-by him highly respected-antagonist 1. Get rid of the name Pegasus which gives the false impression Alexius Meinong at the turn of the century just gone by, and it has that some being is named thereby. been periodically revived since then without any definite conclusion. 2. Then rethink the predicate "has wings" or "is winged" as a sort I hope you will agree with me that while a good problem in mathe­ of function on a variable, F(x) or W(p) in this case. The predi­ matics and science is one that has a hope of resolution, a worthwhile cate is now no longer a property inherent in the subject, as is pursuit in human wisdom is one that has given us good cause for sweetness in honey, but an operation assigning to a variable-it despair. might be a unique one-a qualitative value, as here wingedness Here is how the problem, with which philosophers had so far only happens to be assigned to, or function over a unique-valued toyed, presented itself to Russell for serious solution: Suppose a variable, p. teacher of Greek mythology asserts before a class as follows: 3. Regard this x or p not as a thing rich in descriptive features but "Pegasus is winged." What is he talking about? What is being referred as a kind of nondescript prop to which functions can be to? The sentence seems true, but it is not about anything in existence; applied. Oddly enough, the theory of propositions that I am it denotes nothing; it has no real reference. You can't find Pegasus

14 15 ENERGEIA BRANN

describing is called "The Theory of Descriptions," but it should Helen. They have powers of arousal, physical and mental, not the be called "The Theory of Nondescript Beings." made-to-order goads of private day-dreams but the objective attrac­ 4. Now determine whether there is in fact an x in the domain of tion of autonomous beings. They are self-moving, like living things this function and express this finding in terms of a so-called with a will, and poets record rather than invent their deeds; I cite the existence operator, the well-known reversed E. same beings in evidence. They have an inner logic and their own 5. In this case, if you have empirical evidence -that there is one spontaneity of action, and they surprise us-here's the wonder-by unique Pegasus, a fact among facts, you may read: There exists doing exactly what they must. As models they instigate action in us, as a p that is a winged horse and is the only winged horse and it is Achilles incited Alexander to conquer the world. In sum, they have a assigned to the domain of winged things. good many of the indices of actuality, and so the mere fact of nonex­ istence should not make all speech about fiction simply false, if And now it gets interesting: What if you have teason to think that speech is to preserve its full human function. no such creature ever lived through time or occupied space? What if Now Russell had a worthy opponent in his severe proscription of the one and only Pegasus or the scattered tribe of unicorns were, you all nonexistence as unspeakable. This was Alexius Meinong, a some­ are convinced, never a part of nature? !hen you will put a symbol of what older contemporary who wrote in Austria. He came to the con­ negation in front of the existence-quantified prepositional function clusion that there must be, as I have just intimated, other ways of and read: "It is ~ot the case that there exists an x that is ... "and so on. being besides existence here and now. In working out these ways he Here is the spectacularly deflating result of one of the most success­ produced what Quine, a Russellian in this matter, called "a slum of ful logical theories of the last century: Allpropositions about nonexistent possibilities," "a breeding ground for disorderly elements," such as i objects are now simp!J false. The assertion "Pegasus is winged" is not "offends the aesthetic sense of us who have a taste for desert land­ oddly and inexplicably but ineluctably somehow true; it's just false. scapes." Now those of us who have plenty of occasion to visit desert The robust sense of reality requires that Pegasus and Hamlet have no landscapes (as I do because my college has a campus in New Mexico) sort of reality. know that the desert is in fact a veritable breeding ground for a wild But this is simply intolerable to anyone who loves and lives with profusion of gods and ghosts, but let that be. The Meinongian slum fiction. Let me try to say how that point can be made. For Russell the contains at the least some very colorful additions to the gallery of lin­ status of things is exhaustively divided between existence and nonex­ guistically possible if existentially impossible beings, beings which it istence, reality and unreality. But I have up my sleeve yet another term may be unwise to ignore if the human world is to flourish. which the dictionary once again insouciantly conflates with existence If the specific cognitive object of the cognitive scientists I have and reality. That word is actuality, and traditionally it means Being inso­ mentioned was the mental image and that of the logicians the nega­ far as it has potency. Pegasus, unicorns, and Hamlet all have actuality. tive existence-quantified proposition, the philosopher to be here con­ The Russellian world is a world of existence, but there may be more sidered, Meinong, begins with the cognitive object in general, with modes of Being than are dreamed of in this philosophy. Here is how, intentionality. Intentionality is a word used by its proponents to signi­ in my experience, fictional beings are potently actual: They have more fy the essence of cognitive consciousness, that is to say, all con­ staying power than we do and are much longer-lived; in fact they sciousness simply. To be conscious is to intend something, though not endure fresh and present through millennia, like Achilles, Hector, and primarily in a purposive sense. It is always to be thinking a thought, to

16 17 BRANN ENERGEIA be mentally active about an object. All thinking is aboutness, all about­ Though I admire Meinong's courageous intention to take on ness encompasses an object, and-here's the crux-no object of strange inquiries and by his meticulous distinctions to give the digni­ thought can be just nothing, a pseudo-being. Meinong begins by ty of being acknowledged problems to elusive objects, it is not alto­ observing closely the varieties of consciousness, and in this observa­ gether easy to say what has been settled. To be beyond Being is, to be tional mode he is a proto-phenomenologist, a precursor of the phe­ sure, more than to be beneath it, to be the nonexistent value of a con­ nomenological school to whom the careful introspective description sequently false proposition. But it is not much more. For Beyond­ of intentional consciousness is a primary task. But the axiom that no being is a weasel term. It appears to grant fictions the ontological sta­ object of consciousness can be flatly nothing-that is not descriptive tus of a determinate relations to Being while it takes away the actual­ but prescriptive, and it is undeniably metaphysics, to be precise, ontol­ ity and autonomy that make being a being worthwhile. ogy. Meinong's own deliberately paradoxical for~ulation was: "There Meinong's kind of inquiry soon went into eclipse; people wanted are objects of which it is true that there are no such objects." Now to results that were more spare and more punchy. Russellian minimalism say that a nonexistent object exists is rank self-contradiction, while to won most of the last century. But then, since these cognitive ques­ say that a nonbeing is, is merely paradoxical-because the statement tions are unquenchable, in the latter part of the last century there can be made into sense by proper qualification. So the ensuing task came a revival. was to distinguish as accurately and subtly as possible the types of In particular there was an attempt in 1980 by Terence Parsons of intentional objects found in human consciousness. Of these there the University of California, Irvine, to bring Meinongian notions into were broadly speaking three, and they make, I think, immediate sense. Russell-territory-to reinterpret Meinong's Beyond-beings as nonex­ There are the perfectly palpable spatio temporal existences as we istent objects, and to devise a theory which would be in content receive them through the senses. Set these aside. Thete remains a pair inconsistent with Russell's Theory of Description-for recall that of types to which Meinong applies a clever principle: the principle of Russell denied to nonexistent objects the ability to enter into true the independence of "Being-thus" or "Being-so" from Being. In the propositions-and would yet be symbolic and so, formal. traditional way of thinking this principle is phrased as the independ­ Parsons takes from Meinong the idea of a nuclear property, mean­ ence of whatness from thatness; in common language, it is the ing all those predicates that make up the Being-so of an intended thought that there might be quite determinate and interesting natures object. Now every existent object is conceived by Parsons as being that just don't and can't occur in the spatiotemporal world. Among complete!J describable by a unique set of nuclear properties. List them. these beings are the ideal objects of mathematics, which have, This list exhausts all the objects that have proper existence, the kind Meinong thinks, being quite independent of cognition, yet no exis­ of factual being that Russell and Quine find respectable. This exis­ tence. And then there is an infinite reahn, Quine's overpopulated slum tence itself is not one of the nuclear properties the objects in the list of quasi-beings, that is indifferent to, and outside of, both factual have, but it is what Parsons calls an extranuclear property. It belongs to existence and the independent subsistence of ideal mathematical every member of the list by definition-this is the list of factually beings. These quasi-beings have articulable definite properties, both existent objects-but it is not a part of its description, of its Being­ essential and accidental, but no genuine being at all. Among them the so. airy nothings of fiction find their habitation and their name. Meinong Let me repeat that this list embodies one very important criterion gives them the status of what he calls Aussersein, Beyond-being. of existence: Each object is complete!J described by its properties. It is

18 19 ENERGEIA BRANN a crucial characteristic of anything that factually exists that it has no so-called indeterminacy principle of quantum physics. If you ask indeterminacy about it: !ny sensible question you ask of it, it will yourself whether you are usually in a completely determined state, the respond to, it will inform you about. If you ask any horse, "Do you answer is apt to be no as well. So most real individuals are highly pasture in Montana?", it will say yes or no, as the case may be, and if underdetermined, in principle or in fact. But it is the opposed case, you ask it, '~re you winged?", it will say no. the case of nuclear existence, which includes beings of fiction, that is Now go on to make up more sets of nuclear properties that aren't really interesting. Parsons supposes that, as real existences are deter­ in the list so far. Do it by dreaming up, in an orderly sequence, new minate, so nuclear or purely descriptive existences are constitutional­ combinations of nuclear properties or even properties never met with ly indeterminate. If you ask Pegasus where he grazes and whether he in this world. This list will be a lot longer, inexhaustible in fact. It will is winged, he might answer: On the Acropolis of Corinth, and yes, he be a respectably defined list of nonexistent objects. But Parsons puts has wings. But if you ask him about the musculature of those wings this in a clever way: All these new objects that don't exist empirically he is silent, and there's no one who can tell and no way to determine don't have extranuclear existence, but they do have nuclear existence. what's inside that figure. That is a way of saying that their existence is part of their description; Now on the face of it, Parsons seems to be right. Books of fic­ it is ascribed to them as a property by the list maker. If this reminds tion do not contain indefinitely long lists exhausting the properties of some of you of ·Anselm's famous argument for the existence of God, their fictional entities. They leave their characters highly incomplete. which crudely put, says that God's existence is included in his essence, And yet, can't we answer far more questions about such beings than you will be on the right track-Parsons makes the same connection. the explicit information would seem to warrant? And I don't mean Fictions have existence as part of their Being-so. just logical inferences of this boring type: If we meet Natasha Rostov, What makes Parsons' treatment attractive to logicians is that it can that apotheosis of girlhood, at the end of War and Peace in a married be almost completely formalized; what I like is the cunning solution state, we may infer that the Russia of 1820 had an institution of mar­ he introduces, that of nuclear existence, existence not by fact but by riage. What I do mean is that I could confidently fill in a check list of description. But I like it more for its clarity than as a satisfying answer, the features, say, of Natasha's Bezuhov's looks: I know in a general since attributed existence just doesn't account for the actuality of fic­ way what any dowdy, fussy mother, self-neglectfully and fanatically tional being. Reduced to its rockbottom significance, to attach absorbed in her family, looks like, and also what she is like: how over "nuclear" existence to a fiction is merely to reiterate that it is a fiction, the fundamentally contented continua of her life there play descants a made-up being with a pretense of existence included in its make-up. of nagging complaininess and joyful resolutions. And I know, more Moreover, Parsons had worked with an assumption which seems particularly, what transformations the looks of that unique Natasha of to me to be false, though it is a great help in thinking about fictions. the flashing black eyes, the slim figure and the impetuous disposition He assumes first that all individual objects in real existence can be list­ have undergone to make her much less charming to the world and ed-let that unlikely possibility pass-. -and then he assumes that every much more indispensable to her intimates. Some of it Tolstoy tells atomic existence is completely determined, that I can list all its prop­ and the rest I make out by looking within. So at the least I can carry erties. Now we know that real nature is, on the contrary, rife with on a perfectly judicious conversation about it with my friends. No, it indeterminacies. For example, if you ask a particle to give you both its is surely not the case that fictions are ineradicably incomplete, at least position and its momentum at any instant, it can't do it-this is the not if they fall into friendly hands-which means that the grounding

20 21 EN ERGEL-\ distinction between existent and nonexistent objects either fails to do Notes: fictions justice or becomes too shaky for the clarity that was to be the 1. Delivered at the Seminar on Cognitive Theory and the Arts, Harvard bonus of the formal approach. Hwnanities Center, November 1, 2000. Where to go next, then, when all the cognitive approaches have 2. I am thinking not only of the reference poets have traditionally made to divine been proved unsatisfactory through the very illumination they inspiration, but of something much more specific: the remarkable similarity that the offered? The scannable quasi-space of mental imagery, the falsehood being of angels, as set out by medieval theologians, has to the being of fiction~. of existentially quantified propositions, the Beyond-being of inten­ ..Angels have life but do not age; they begin as creations but have no end; they do not change, being each an intelligible species and yet are capable of crucial choices; tional objects, the nuclear existence included among the properties of to express their natures they assume bodies, which are, however, incorruptibly incomplete objects-all these help a lot in making more precise our incorporeal; they do not live in passing time, yet they are compatible with its pas­ reflections about the being of fictions. But the more accurately they sage. They live instead in the aevum, a temporal mode between eternity and time, the define the problem, the more acutely they fail to save the phenomena temporality of Paradise. in their actuality. If cognitive science, symbolic logic, phenomenolog­ A short reflection will show that these features are exactly those of fictional beings, which also live without aging, which are made but not unmade, which are ical ontology, and finally the melding ~f these latter two do not give both once-and-for-all representations of their species and unique, autonomous satisfaction, not to speak of the many other philosophical and literary individuals, which have visualizable but incorruptibly immaterial bodies, which live inquiries that are~ in my experience, less focused or less original, where alongside us but not in passing time. They too have the aeviternity of an Edenic to look next, besides of course, within? Well, there is one discipline space parallel to our world but are exempt from the secular rule that the aspect of 2 pain should not give pleasure. left, and it offers strange and wonderful solutions-theology • I will The question is now raised: Does this comparative account say to us that fictions leave for our discussion the possibility that the being of fictions is a are angels or that angels are fictions? If the latter, the theologians (above all, matter for divine rather than secular science. One thing is certain: If Thomas Aquinas in the Summa, Q. 10, 50 ff) had an insight into the being of fic­ it were so, if the being of fictions were properly a theological issue, tions which was at once quite devoid of intention at the time and unmatched in there would ensue at least one unsettling consequence: The explana­ depth thereafter. tion which might be, to speak fancifully, most satisfactory to the fic­ tional beings themselves might well be the one least acceptable to us who struggle not to be caught in the confusion between a wish and a warrant for belief.

22 23 MARSf-L-\LL DERKS ENERGEIA

Song of Summer

Through this window's sagging glass, (Atlas with his might couldn't hold the years) pigtails wave at broken cars in the high grass, colored crayon yellow in the lazy heat. We skimmed time off the day, a few minutes alone on the hills we found anatomy. In eyes we found blue lattice works greater then the sky's tumult that left us breathless and wet under porches with their sudden love.

The crowds we parted; a silk serpent, Flicking a forked tongue. In our indulgence we carried no pity nor coins for the ragged people.

Our day was the burning sun when the cold moon rose and dream time enveloped our minds I saw a tree of glass and a river of amethyst shattered by the hammer of Vesuvius. Through its banks ran rust iron blood, burning the verdant plains and slowing till it sank 13 Colonial the ballast that kept us afloat. Marion Cook

25 24 ENERGEIA

The Past is Pregnant with the Future by Rachel Seay

In 1695, Leibniz published a short essay entitled "A New System of the Nature and Communication of Substances, and of the Union of the Soul and Boqy." This work presents a brief but compact statement of Leibniz's philosophy, which culminates in the presentation of a new definition of motion, or "action with respect to substance itself." He admits, "These considerations, however metaphysical they may seem, have yet another marvelous use in physics, in order to establish the laws of motion, as our Dynamics will be able to show"(p.145). His essay "Specimen Dynamicum", or~ "A Specimen of Dynamics: Toward Uncovering and Reducing to Their Causes Astonishing Laws of Nature 7 Concerning the Forces of Bodies andTheir Actions on One Another ', was also published in 1695. Thus Leibniz presents simultaneously a New Science of Dynamics and a New System of Nature. The end of the latter bidding us look to the former clearly illustrates Leibniz's intention that these two essays be considered together. In what follows, I will treat first of the Leibnizean correction of force by the "new science", and then of the corresponding correction of substance by the "new system". I will conclude with a discussion of what Leibniz's corrections accom­ plish. At the beginning of "Specimen Dynamicum", Leibniz claims that Untitled his new notion of matter, substance1 and motion "takes both the Lucas Ford truth and the doctrines of the ancients into consideration." He con­ tinues with the following claim:

26 27 SEAY ENERGEIA

now we shall make intelligible the teachings of the Peripatetics many more, have plagued philosophy since its beginnings. For behind concerning form or entelechies .. .we think that it is necessary not s~ch speculation lie the fundamental concerns of philosophy: ques­ to destroy this philosophy accepted for so many centuries, but to tions about the nature of matter, time, existence, and nature itself. explain it and augment it with new truths ... For if you just omit Leibniz presents a new treatment of motion and a redefinition of the harsher things they say against others, there is usually much body, both in terms of force. The second shift occurs manners of that is good and true in the writings of the distinguished ancients in and moderns ... many things others have done please me in a ~ xplanation .. T~~ 'proper use' of cause and effect must be taught in way ... Perhaps this is because, by thinking about many things, I light of Le1bmz s account of the laws of motion and the cause of have learned not to despise anything. (p.118-9) those laws. Although I present these shifts separately, they are inter­ dependent; they occur simultaneously and are at work in both of Leibniz proposes a new system and a new science, which together elu­ Leibniz's essays. I see these shifts as different manifestations of the cidate a way of thinking about the world that attempts to overcome same new way of experiencing and thinking about the world as will the fissure between ancient and modern philosophy. Prudence must be discussed later. Meanwhile, I will continue to treat them so:riewhat be exercised in applying such labels as "the ancients" and "the mod­ separately only in an attempt to proceed in an orderly fashion. erns"; there are in fact historically prior philosophers, who hold what may be recognized as modern philosophies, and likewise modern Part 1: Descartes' Mistake and the Art of Measurement philosophers, who maintain characteristically ancient philosophies. The opening of "Specimen Dynamicum" is presumably referring For our purposes here, let it suffice to caricature the difference in the to the New System when it recalls that "Elsewhere we urged that in cor­ following way: Let us understand ancient philosophy as the contem­ poreal things there is something over and above extension in fact plation of being and treatment of Nature as a whole; let us under­ something prior to extension, namely, that force of nature ~planted stand modern philosophy as the analysis of becoming and the ques­ everywhere by the Creator." He continues, "This force does not con­ tioning of material nature. For Leibniz, the unification of these ways sist in a simple faculty ... but is further endowed with conatus or of thinking consists in showing the insufficiency of mechanical expla­ nisus ... ~therm~re, there is nothing real in motion but a momentary nations alone, and the necessity for metaphysical notions in physics. somethmg which must consist in a force striving toward In the end, is Leibniz's proclaimed unification of the ancients and the change"(p.116). This argues directly against the Cartesian accounts of moderns successful? Of what does this reconciliation consist, and at substance and motion. what expense is it achieved? Leibniz focuses primarily on the views of In Chapter 6 of Le Monde, Descartes declares in his 'description Aristotle and Descartes, who hold drastically different conceptions of of a new world' "that the quantity of the matter I have described does motion, matter, body, substance and nature in general. He claims to not differ from its substance ... I conceive of its extension, or the reconcile these differences through the notion of force. property it has of occupying space, not as an accident, but as its true Leibniz's philosophy consists of two main shifts, a shift in his form and its essence." In the following chapter of the same treatise, understanding of body and motion and a shift in methods of expla­ Descartes informs his reader that he conceives of motion as nothing nation. Again, the first shift occurs in the redefinition of bodies and other than that "by which bodies pass from one place to another and how they act and interact. Arguments about motion, whether it is real, successively occupy all the spaces in between." what it is, where it resides, whether and how it begins and ceases, and

28 29 ENERGEIA SEAY What does Leibniz hold to be Descartes's mistake? By conceiving same time"(p.123). Leibniz's correction consists in maintaining that of substance as merely material extension, Descartes conceived of a force is absolutely real, while motion is merely relative. Hence, when body in motion only as mass with speed, and therefore only consid­ observing a body in motion, he considers its speed to be not a real ers quantity of motion when he calculates it as directly proportional characteristic, but a mode. What is this distinction between reality and to speed. He did not understand force in the same way as Leibniz, modality? because he could not conceive of speed with direction (velocity) as a One of the measures of reality is the ability to cause or carry out reality possessed by the body. For while speed is something imparted works. Leibniz suggests this when he claims that space, time and to and hence can be measured in the body alone, direction implies a motion "are true or real, not per se, but only to the extent that they relationship between the body and externals, which by definition is involve either the divine attributes (immensity, eternity, the ability to not something contained in the body. Therefore he calculated quanti­ carry out works), or the force in created substances"(p.130). ty of motion as the product of the amount of body (mass) and the According to Leibniz, the simplest means of measuring force is to speed imparted to the body, and incorrectly asserted that this was measure the effect produced. Speed is a modality in the sense that it always conserved. is imparted to the body for a certain time, but says nothing essential The majority of "Specimen Dynamicum" is devoted to distin­ about the body itself or its ability to produce an effect. The effect guishing Cartesian quantity of motion from Leibnizean force. Leibniz produced varies directly not as the speed, but as velocity squared. claims that force, not quantity of motion, is conserved in collision, by Hence velocity squared is a reality, whereas speed is a modality. illustrating the absurdities that arise from calculating force as the Confusion ensues because velocity squared is unimaginable; a body product merely of mass and speed. One absurdity that results is per­ has a certain speed, whereas velocity squared has no existence within petual mechanical motion, which describes the ability of a body to the body whose motion it is supposedly measuring. But this concept endlessly do work without expending c::nergy. This no-cost labor is intelligible, so long as one agrees to think purely mathematically and results from having gained as much force as was started with, which stop insisting upon direct correlation with the observable world. is impossible given Leibniz's law of motion that an effect is equal in When trying to measure a body's motion, much diffi~ulty lies in power to its cause (p.125). Calculating force using the Cartesian equa­ discovering what to measure, and how. How is it possible to measure tion also results in the absurdity that a body at rest could not in any something about the body that is not found in it? Leibniz claims that way be moved from its place by another smaller body, which is con­ "the true art of measuring ... consists in arriving, at last, at something trary to our experience of the world. Leibniz claims that Descartes's homogeneous, that is, at an exact and complete repetition not only of mistake derives from his purely mathematical definitions of substance modes, but also of realities"(p.128). It may be helpful here to look and motion, causing him to mistakenly assign reality to motion, rather carefully at the language Leibniz uses in explaining his notions of cona­ than force. "Descartes correctly distinguished [speed] from direc­ tus, impetus and quantity of motion. tion ... But he did not calculate the least change properly, first chang­ ing the direction alone, then the [speed] alone, whereas the change the quantity of a motion, which exists in time, of course, arises must be determined by both at the same time. But how this could be from the sum over time of the impetuses (equal or unequal) existing in the mobile thing, multiplied by the corresponding escaped him; since he focused on modes, rather than things, things so times ...we can distinguish the present or instantaneous element heterogeneous seemed incapable of being compared or treated at the of motion from that same motion extended through a period of

30 31 ENERGEIA SEAY

time ... just as the numerical value of motion extending through to material mass a certain superior and, so to speak, formal prin­ time derives from an infinite number of impetuses, so, in turn, ciple. \V'1nether we call this principle form or entelechy or force impetus itself (even though it is something momentary) arises does not matter, as long as we remember that it can only be from an infinite number of increments successively impressed explained through the notion of forces. (p.125) on a given mo bile thing. (p.120) His notion of "material mass" as containing this 'metaphysical some­ This language is that of the Calculus. A differential equation enab~es thing' constitutes the new notion of body. This is presented as a solu­ one to calculate the instantaneous action at any point along a contln­ tion to the problems that arise in trying to explain both what occurs uous curve hence a derivative is the measure of action at a point. An when a body undergoes a collision, and how a body goes from rest to integral is die summation of an infinite number of increments th~t motion. Leibniz argues for continuity of motion, which implies the are different in kind from what their summation is understood ulti­ argument for continuity of matter. Let us first examine continuity mately to be. Points are no longer considered as mere locations on a with respect to motion, and we will discuss afterwards continuity with line, but rather as entities containing information about the nature of respect to matter itself. the curve, "mathematical points are the p9ints of view from which [sub­ Leibniz proposes that "repercussion or reflexion arises from elas­ stances] express the universe" (p.142). This renders points no~ flat ?r tic force alone, that is, from resistance due to internal motion"(p.123). dead, but as little·pockets filled with the contracted curve, or like coils Thus the body contains a motion whose striving results in the resist­ about to burst and unfold into the curve. Thus, in measuring motion, ance of external forces and causes the body to rebound after a colli­ we may be required to separate in thought the motion into compo­ sion. But if the body always contains this internal motion, we must nents that are understood by reason, even when not obvious to sense. reevaluate our notion of rest. For Leibniz, rest differs from motion Leibniz urges us away from thinking physically or tangibly, ~nd not in kind but in degree: "It is also in agreement with the law of con­ towards thinking with a kind of metaphysical or mathematical tinuity, or the law excluding a leap in changing, that the case of rest can abstractness. Doing so makes accessible essential notions that would be considered as a special case of motion, indeed, the case of vanish­ otherwise not be intelligible. ing or minimal motion"(p.133). Again, this is the language of the Calculus. To understand his conception of rest requires thinking Part 2: Atom} Mistake and the Art of Resistance mathematically. Rest as described here is the ultimate case or limit of What results from applying this suggested new way of thinking to motion. Speaking in more mechanical terms, rest is the state in which the notions of matter and body? In trying to devise systematic laws of this internal force is in equilibrium with some equal and opposite motion, Leibniz realized the following: external force. Leibnizean body contains substance by definition; bodies, when thought of as containing enlivened forces, are never because we cannot derive all truths concerning corporeal things passive. For Leibniz, this constant internal activity constitutes sub­ from logical and geometrical axioms alone . .. and because we must appeal to other axioms pertaining to cause and effect, stance: "not only is it the case the everything that acts is an individual action and passion, in terms of which we can explain the order substance, but also that every individual substance acts without inter­ of things, we must admit something metaphysical, something ruption, including even body itself, in which one never finds absolute perceptible by the mind alone over and above that which is pure­ rest"(p.160). Thus, when observing the world we must remind our­ ly mathematical and subject to the imagination, and we must add selves that rest, or apparent inactivity or lifelessness, in fact results

32 33 SEAY ENERGEIA from a constant struggle between contrary forces, and everything we created things disappear into mere modifications of the one divine see is filled with continuous motion. substance" (p.165). As for the continuity of matter, Leibniz holds that there are no Both Lucretius's atomism and Spinoza's single-substance theory fundamental building blocks, for "atoms of matter are contrary to rea­ claim that there is nothing more to body than extended mass, though son"(p.142). Matter itself is infinitely divisible. However, divis~on without accounting for how a mass of matter is identified as one. implies multiplicity, which requires a notion of unity. Thus, denymg From where is the notion of unity derived? As with Descartes, they the atomic hypothesis also requires a redefinition of substance. understand body as "merely geometrical", or as merely passive extended matter. Thus anything a body does must result from its it is impossible to find the principles of true unity in matter being acted upon externally. Newton's first law is the pinnacle of this alone, or in what is only passive, since everything in it is only a notion: "Every body perseveres in its state of being at rest or of mov­ collection or aggregation of parts to infinity. , .Therefore, in ing uniformly straight forward, except insofar as it is compelled to order to fmd these real entities I was forced to have recourse to a formal atom . .. Hence, it was necessary to restore, and, as it change its state by forces impressed" (Principia). This system renders were to rehabilitate the substantial forms which are in such dis­ matter and substance free from spontaneity, leaving in body neither repu~e today, but in a way that w~uld render them intelligi­ soul nor mind nor principle of motion or cause. The world, then, is ble ... their nature consists in force .. ..Aristotle calls them first filled with things that are, in a word, dead. entelechies;. I call them, perhaps more intelligibly, primitive By contrast, Leibniz understands and experiences the world as forces, which contain not only act or the completion of possibil- being full of life, energy, and motion: "because of the infinite divisi­ ity, but also an original activity. (p.139) bility of the continuum, there are always parts asleep in the abyss of Continuity of matter seems to argue directly against those ~oderns things, yet to be roused and yet to be advanced ... Thus, progress who he claims "have carried reform too far, among other things, by never comes to an end"(p.155). The notion of matter as dead or confusing na~al things with artificial things, because they h~ve merely passive is particularly problematic when it comes to distin­ lacked sufficiently grand ideas of the majesty of nature. They think guishing substances or beings, especially between non-living and liv­ that the difference between natural machines and ours is only the dif­ ing beings, and furthermore between non-rational and rational beings. ference between great and small"(p.142). Such thinkers seem to sacri­ Pushed to its logical conclusion, substantial homogeneity seems to fice continuity of matter for the sake of homogeneity of substance. produce inevitable difficulties. Take the following example: One Take, for example, Lucretius and Spinoza. Though historically prior morning Fred walks into his living room and sees his favorite polka­ to Spinoza, Lucretius upholds a modern perspective insofar as he dotted vase perched, as usual, on the mantel piece and his wonder-dog believes that the nature of things consists in atoms. In his world all Fido sitting urgently by the backdoor. That evening Fred walks into substances are composed of atoms, and thus can be understood by his living room and sees the vase on the table and Fido curled up on resolving them into these impenetrable and indestructible particles. the couch. Without thinking, Fred asks only, "Who moved the vase?" Spinoza maintains a characteristically ancient philosophy ~s~far ~s it Fred astutely does not ask, "Who moved the dog?" The former ques­ considers substance as one, reminiscent of Parmenides. Le1bruz claims tion implies the assumption that the cause of the vase's movement is that in the world of Spinoza, God is "the very nature of things, while external to the vase, while the absurdity of the latter suggests an instinctual understanding that the dog's motion derives from a princi-

35 34 ENERGEIA SEAY pal within the dog. Our ability to instantaneously judge the absurdity same problem. When hypothesizing about how the body works, insti­ of the question ''Who moved the dog?" seems akin to Fred's ability tuting divisions of matter leaves to be explained at each level how that instinctively to discern some fundamental difference between the part functions, and what causes it to function. For let the body's mat­ sources of the objects' motions. ~e observe this difference on yet ter be divided, whether at the level of arm, muscle, blood, cell or another level, between Fido and Fred, but we will not pursue this atom. Each of these may be divided ad infinitum, and at every level is here.) Both suggest that there really is a difference in kind between the found activity which cannot be sufficiently explained without substance of the vase and that of Fido. Yet there persists a problem recourse to metaphysical explanations; the need for these principles of that prohibits simply accepting that there is a difference of kind. motion appear on all levels of division. Materialists, or moderns as I Leibniz's solution maintains that there is substance in all matter. If the have characterized them here, believe that material division will yield vase, Fido and Fred are all substances, as masses of matter, how do understanding through the discovery of the fundamental building­ we distinguish between them as different kinds of beings? block whose nature will shed hght on everything else. This is coun­ Perhaps this can be clarified by Leibniz's argument for a differ­ tered by the Leibnizean notion of the continuity of matter, which ence in kind between natural and artificial creations, which becomes a requires that unity be derived from the notion of substance which in ' slightly different approach to the argument for material continuity and turn obliges recourse to metaphysics. substantial unities: Here he is disagreeing once again with the mod­ erns who, by confusing natural things with artificial things, claim that Part 3: The New System - Reconciliation through Resurrection there is no substantial difference between natural and artificial Let us now adopt an all-encompassing perspective and ask the fol­ machines (and hence find themselves having to ask also "Who moved lowing: What exactly is Leibniz's "system"? This notion and word the dog?"). He admits the equivalency of hypotheses, "although the derives from the Greek "

36 37 SEAY ENERGEL\ efficient causes, and through the kingdom of wisdom, that is, through final work, but we must not let this sully the integrity of the scientific method, or diminish the abilities of physics and mechanics. The causes'' (p.126). Leibniz goes on, realms of. efficien.t and sufficient causes, or the realms of physics and we acknowledge that all corporeal phenomena can be derived ~~taphys1cs, are like opposite sides of the same coin - each is implic­ from efficient and mechanical causes, but we understand that ~t ill ~e o~er but we can never behold them simultaneously. This coin these very mechanical laws as a whole are derived from higher ill Le1bruz's "new system", which argues for a correspondenc~ reasons ... For that first and most general efficient cause should not enter into the treatment of particulars, except insofar as we between (1) force, the domain of physics and the realm of efficient contemplate the ends which divine wisdom has in thus ordering cause~, all within the. so-called kingdom of power; (2) entelechy, the things, so that we might lose no opportunity for singing his prais- domaill of metaphysics and the realm of sufficient causes, all within es and for singing the most beautiful hymns. (p.126) the so-called kingdom of wisdom; and (3) the two kingdoms. Leibniz argues that all adherents in these correspondences, as well as the cor­ Though the laws governing the realm of efficient causes point to the respondences themselves, are necessary for explaining the workings realm of sufficient causes, in accounting for the cause of a particular of the observable world, and are linked through his notion of force. effect, we must stay within the realm of the effect. For example, ~lso united under the umbrella of the new Leibnizean system are observing my hand picking up a pencil, we must investigate how this prev10usly opposed philosophies. Something metaphysical has been happens completely within the realm of efficient causes, that is, my a~ded to the notion of matter, and a metaphysical backdrop has been fingers pinch because a muscle contracts because a nerve transmits a given for explanations of cause and effect. Leibniz claims that these signal because a synapse fires in the brain because this cell moves, etc. are in fact the same thing, for he claims that the nature of substantial We learn many useful things by being able to investigate causes in this forms consists in force. In the two ~ large passages about entelechies manner. cited a~ove, th~ end of the first, which is taken from Specimen Leibniz wants to ensure that modern scientific investigation can Dynamicum, claims ''Whether we call this principle form or entelechy continue unimpeded by the reintroduction of forms. Thus, we are or fo~ce does not matter, as long as we remember that it can only be . prohibited from jumping discontinuously to sufficient causes. If we explaille~ through ~e notion of forces". However the second pas­ want to investigate the physical phenomena, we cannot say that my sage, which appears ill the New System, claims that rather than call­ hand picks up the pencil because I wanted it, or because God moved in~ ~em "first entelechies", he prefers to call them "primitive forces", me so. "But in solving problems, it is not sufficient to make use of the cla~g that this renders them more intelligible. What first appears to general cause and to invoke what is called a Deus ex machina. For when be a discrepancy between the two passages is resolved by the refer­ one does that without giving any other explanation derived from the ence each makes to the notion of force as that which renders intelli­ order of secondary causes, it is, properly speaking, having recourse to gible the metaphysical notion, regardless of its name. miracle"(p.143). Though these may be the sufficient causes and as Hence Leibniz's reconciliation occurs in the claim that the notion such shed light on the how or wi?J, they are not sufficient explanations of force necessary in physics is in fact what Aristotle meant by ent­ of what happens, and inhibit an understanding of the particulars. It elechy. Aristotle writes, must simply be acknowledged that no amount of inquiry in the realm of efficient causes will ever sufficiently explain how and why things

39 38 SEAY ENERGEL-\

We describe one class of existing things as substance [oumav] of as many thinkers as possible in order to advance, but without cor­ in three ways: (1) matter, which in itself is not an individual thing; rupting th~ original ideas by interpreting them through the lenses of (2) shape or form [Et8oc;], in virtue of which individuality is our own allns. directl;; attributed, and (3) a compound of the two. Matter is potentiality [8uvaµtc;], while form is realization or actuality Part 4: Conclusion [EV'tEAEXEta]. (De .Anima, Il.1). Ultimately, why is Leibniz's new notion of force needed? His res­ This is intimately related to Aristotle's definition of motion: urrection of substantial forms, or what he claims to be Aristotelian entelechy, seems on the one hand merely a logical necessity, for, as he Tl 'to'\) 8uvaµ£t ovto<; EV'tEAEXEta, Tl 'tolO'U'tOV, KtVT]O't<; E

41 40 ENERGEL-\

adopting a particular system of thought affects one's experience of Notes: the world. Most importantly, this affects how one relates to other beings. The implications of the system by which one understands the i. 1-\ll page numbers refer to the Hackett edition of Leibniz's Philosophical Essqys, nature of things are shown to be, after all, ethical. And in fact, this is translated by 1-\riew and Garber. the primary concern of Leibniz's New System of Nature. Here he " 1: "sub~tance",,is used throughout as synonymous with ouma, meaning also bemg, existence. addresses the problem of how to account for the union of body and 2. ~ited in as being from &plies, !V IX, 112-3, from Descartes Dictionary by John soul, which must be explained carefully in order to avoid determinism Moms. and salvage free will. Though not addressed in my paper here, these concerns are the context for Leibniz's more scientific corrections on which I have focused. I think that while Lucretius saw the possibility of using science to banish fear of death, the new science proposed by Leibniz seems, at I least in part, a means of augmenting piety. For in this system, his notions of matter and substance, laws of motion, and the construc­ tion of the system·itself, refer ultimately to the power and wisdom of I God. Leibniz's principle of sufficient reason may be understood as promoting piety in science, ''And I advise those who have any feelings of piety and even feelings of true philosophy to keep away from the I phrases of certain would-be freethinkers who say that we see because it happens that we have eyes and not that eyes were made for see­ ing" (p. 53). Inquiring about the world around us is a manner of giving I attention to the details of things, and in so doing ''Anyone who sees · the admirable structure of animals will find himself forced to recog­ I nize the wisdom of the author of things"(p.53). In this system, inso­ far as it helps us distinguish or clarify our understanding of ourselves and the world in which we live, science serves as a means to seeing the I goodness and perfection of the world existing exactly as it is, and tes­ tifying to the power and glory of God. The result: a satisfaction that arises from a profound experience of the mystery and delight of exis­ I tence. I

42 43 ENERGEIA ISAAC SMITH

Arte poetica Art of Poetry de Jorge Luis Borges To see the river made of time and water, Mirar el rio hecho de tiempo y agua remembering that time is another river, y recordar que el tiempo es otro rio, to know that we get lost, as does the river, saber que nos perdemos como el rio and that our faces pass away like water, y que los rostros pasan como el agua. to sense that waking is another dream Sentir que la vigilia es otro sueno that dreams about not dreaming, and that death que suena no sonar y que la muerte so dreaded by our flesh is that same death que teme nuestra carne es esa muerte that goes on each night, and is called a dream, de cada noche, que llama sueno. to see inside both day and year a symbol Ver en el dia o en el ano un simbolo of all the days of man and of his years,

0 de los dias del hombre y de SUS anos, to remake all the insults of the years convertir el ultraje de los anos into a song, into a sound and symbol, en una musica, un rumor y un simbolo, to see dreaming in death, and in the sunset ver en la muerte el sueno, en el ocaso a golden sadness: such is poetry un triste oro, tal es la poesfa which is both poor and deathless. Poetry que es inmortal y pobre. La poesfa restores itself just like the dawn and sunset. vuelve como la aurora y el ocaso. There are times in the evenings when a face A veces en las tardes una cara looks at us from behind a looking glass; nos mira desde el fondo de un espejo; all art must be just like that looking. glass, el arte debe ser como ese espejo revealing to us all our own true face. que nos revela nuestra propia cara. They say Ulysses, weary from strange wonders, Cuentan que Ulises, harto de prodigios, wept out of love at seeing his Ithaca, llor6 de amor al divisar su Itaca humble and green. Art is that Ithaca verde y humilde. El arte es esa Itaca that is forever green, and not strange wonders. de verde eternidad, no de prodigios. And it is also like the endless river Tambifo es como el rio interminable of change and rest; a mirror for the same que pasa y queda y es crystal de un mismo inconstant Heraclitus, both the same Hedclito inconstante, que es el mismo and yet another, like the endless river. y es otro, como el rio interminable.

44 45 ENERGEIA

On Faith and Perfection by I

Faith is a slippery word. We understand, even if we cannot quite sketch its edges, what it is to believe-as opposed to know-that some­ thing is true, but this act of belief is accompanied by uncertainty, a distinction that separates it from an act of faith. Faith, as Saint Thomas says in the Summa Theo!ogica, is "a mean between science and opinion" (II-II, q.1, a.2). It relates to science through its certainty, and through its capabilities for exploration based in firm first principles. It relates to opinion through its lack of intellectual knowledge of its object, and through its being a voluntary act. This is all well and good, but when one begins to consider faith's status as the perfection of the intellect, it seems at least a little odd that it should have anything to do with the will and uncertainty. That is, Saint Thomas's description of faith as the assent of the intellect as commanded by the will does not Self-portrait seem to be an inaccurate description, merely one that begs for explo­ Kathryn Bush ration. Before the description can be fully understood, and before the necessity of faith in its particular formulation can be understood, it seems important to examine the way in which the soul usually works, the way in which the intellect and will generally interact. It would per­ haps be easiest to begin to examine Saint Thomas's definition of faith in analogy to more secular experience, to proceed from the better known to the less well known. What Saint Thomas describes as faith is a movement, a movement straddling the gap between separate powers of the soul. This is of

46 47 ENERGEL-\ K ELLEY

course not the only movement of the soul that cannot be traced to ner, and cannot choose without either knowledge or recourse to mere one power in particular. Though the object of the intellect is the true oplllion. and that of the will is the good, the two powers often overlap in Yet this seems to be the type of situation where the intellect action. Yet it seems important to notice that in normal acts of belief, should not defer to the will, where the real truth of the matter is too where belief is synonymous with opinion, the will and the intellect important to be decided under a different formality. The case here have an overlap which is merely practical. In these acts the intellect is seems to be one of essential overlap. The intellect knows enough to faced with two objects that seem equally true. This equality puts the see the importance of its taking an opinion, and this knowledge pre­ intellect in a bit of a spot, as it only recognizes things under the for­ vents the intellect from simply leaving the choice up to the will, from mality of the true. If it cannot obtain more information on either letting the will take over. Faith requires stronger action on the part of option, if it cannot find a way to place the truth of one object above the will, a linking of faculties rather than a switch between them. that of the other, then the intellect can either remain neutral or it can In the case of deliberate opinion, the will makes a decision as to choose one. Neutrality seems preferable, but if the intellect cannot what will be believed until proven otherwise, a provisional decision. remain neutral, if it is for some reason necessary that it choose, it This is not the case here. Besides having greater gravity than the situ­ picks the better of the two, since "more true" is not an option in this ations that usually use the will as arbiter, this case has a permanence way of deciding. But to change from truer to better is to change the attributed to the decision of the will, and an effect of the will upon formality under which the decision is made, and thus to change the the intellect. That is, the will convinces the intellect not only of the faculty making the decision. The supposed impossibility of discerning good of what it has decided upon, but of the truth of it. The first a difference in truth between the two objects forces the decision to point of conviction is one with which the intellect cannot have much become a voluntary one. The intellect defers to the will, and the will, argument-it recognizes the true, not the good-but the second is examining the situation under the formality of the good, makes the decidedly odd. Why, if there is truth here, can it not be revealed to the decision. intellect instead of being secondhand truth revealed through the This seems at first glance to be the case in the situation of medium of the will? Why must the will receive grace and .then some­ · faith-either there is this God, or there is not this God. This is an how convince and command the intellect? important thing to determine-we would naturally want to be well­ It is difficult even to talk about what moves the will to action how ' informed if we were forced to make the decision a voluntary one. It the will recognizes its own object and end. Admittedly, it must have ttirns out, however, that we are limited by our very potential in how some way of choosing between goods, or it would not be a much we can know here, for reasons to be examined later. For the power-that is, it would not be capable of being directed to diverse time being, let it suffice to say that God is too great and infinite and ends. Yet it is still difficult to use, in reference to the will, any of the actual for us to see Him-unless we have already believed, without words we would use for the intellect's approach to its respective end. vision, that He is great and infinite and actual. A choice must be made, There is something extremely uncomfortable about saying "The will yet the weight of the decision makes one want to remain neutral intel­ sees that x is good," or "The will understands that x is better than y." lectually until all of the facts are in-an infinite neutrality, for all the We do not feel that the will does not, in some way, recognize its end, facts will never be in. Still, the intellect works in this methodical man- we merely feel that there is something too undeliberated- too wil­ ful-in the process for these thoughtful, rational words to be applied.

48 49 K ELLEY ENERGEIA The will wants what it wants, and it is usually a prodigious act of intel­ There is a spectrum of epiphany, with differences of both speed lect, one few (if any) of us can pull off completely, to figure out the of insight and mental structure. Plain insight seems to be at the mun­ whats and whys of that desire. Very little subtlety is attributed to the dane end of the scale, inspirationally speaking. This would be the sort will, but perhaps one could say more comfortably that the will sens­ of run of the mill connection drawn in attempting to understand a es, that it smells the good and then turns blindly to it. How, though, mathematical proof, when one suddenly understands why a step can would it discern between goods if it could not in some way "recog­ be there, why it fits into the flow of the proof. The intellect is active­ nize" variations in its object? The will seems to have more of a feel­ ly seeking, directed towards finding the very answer that it finds. The ing of its end than a seeing of it, something less hard-edged than the whole process is not very awe-inspiring-it seems as if the intellect sensing of the intellect but no less certain-witness the near impossi­ merely looked into a dusty corner of its rooms to refind a tidbit of bility of trying to talk someone out of their perception that a certain knowledge it had never entirely forgotten. We are not surprised by thing is a good worth pursuing. this process, although we are often pleased by it. Nonetheless, the strength of the will's own perception of a good After this, somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, is sought does not mean that this conviction is convertible. The smell of an inspiration. This is the sort of inspiration we find when we are active­ object is not very convincing to a power that usually deals with recog­ ly reading a book and, all of a sudden, some nuance of meaning leaps nition, discernment, separations, etc. These methods are part of the out at us, some deeper understanding of book and world. The mind mode of the intellect, and refer to truth rather than to good. It seems is as active here as it is in plain insight, but less directedly so. It expects difficult at best to translate a feeling of the good into a certainty of to find something, anything at all, but does not know what, or where, the truth. So why then does Saint Thomas want to say that the will or really even how. When the mind does discover what it has vaguely must move the intellect when the will seems like such a blind, grop­ sought, it feels as though it has found, on its own, something new, ing power? Even in other parts of the Summa Theologica he speaks of something to be distinguished from the relics of understanding it the will as having "no inclination to anything except in so far as it is stumbled upon in plain insight. apprehended by the intellect" (I-II, q.4, a.7). Why, in faith, do their This "on its own," though, must be distinguished from. the far-off roles reverse? Perhaps this has something to do with the shape of end of the spectrum, the exotic and rare domain of assisted inspira­ faith and grace, their nature as mental movements? tion, or what is sometimes called poetic or (though Saint Thomas The comparison between faith and an act of choice has already might disagree) divine inspiration. Here the activity of the mind dif­ been drawn, but faith and grace together are comparable to other fers, here the intellect is not actively seeking, for few minds have the mental movements. The closest things we have to this combination, gall to expect this kind of inspiration every time they desire it. In a things also closer to us (at least to those of us who have not experi­ way, the mind is always active towards these epiphanies, but in a more enced the act of faith firsthand) and thus more easily examined, are passive, actively open and hoping sort of way. When the Muses final­ those mental activities which we refer to as inspirations or epiphanies. ly speak, an infusion seems to come from without to open our minds It would perhaps be fruitful to examine how the mind seems to work wider. The important part of this phenomenon is our lack of partic­ in these more familiar examples before returning to the nature of this ipation-epiphanies happen to us. We are surprised, awed, and grateful at their appearance, but never know where to find them again. They move to faith.

51 50 ENERGEIA K ELLEY

find us when we have, almost accidentally, gotten our minds into that . known (but infinitely knowable). The nature of God makes it imper­ soft receptive state. ative that ,knowledge of Him be approached in a certain way-not Yet, though they indicate aspects of it, none of these indicates because of a divine fiat, but because God's very essence makes it nec­ exactly what goes on in the movement to faith. Faith certainly has that essary that only certain modes of approach will be able to reach him. element of unexpected understanding to it, but faith does not exact­ Appropriately enough to the human intellect-whose proper mode ly map onto inspiration, and this for two reasons. The first difference "is to know the truth by composition and division"-but inappropri.­ is in the relation of the object of each act to the mind seeking it. In ately with respect to God-who "is altogether simple"-this look at inspiration, the object is either hidden or not yet in the intellect's lum­ God begins aspectually, with what can be known about God by the ber room, but in faith the object stands in the open, as clearly lit as unassisted intellect (II-II, q.1 , a.2; I, q.3, a.7). In the Summa Theologica, possible, waiting to be understood. In faith, the surprise comes not Part One, Question Two, Article Three, Saint Thomas puts forward from the sudden appearance of the object but from the believer's sud­ five separate logical arguments to prove the existence of God. All are den realization that the object is not only present but is a truth to be valuable to an understanding of God and His workings in the world, believed without reservation. The second difference stems from the but the most valuable to logically knowing more about God's essence subcontracting out to the will-all other cases of inspiration, though is the first argument-the most manifest argument, as Saint Thomas they share a flooding in of light analogous to the flood of divine light says. in faith, are illuminations of the intellect solely. In faith, the light illu­ This first argument is a synopsis of Aristotle's argument for the minates the will, which reflects this understanding over to the intel- prime mover, with the existence of God taken to be its implication. lect. We see that motion exists in the world, and that motion is put into But, again, why the will? It seems boring and sloppy to say that effect, put from potentiality into actuality, by a mover. That is, motion the choice involved in faith (versus the deepening of understanding in requires both mover and moved, a chain of causality in which the inspiration) is the reason that the will must become involved. It is bor­ cause of one motion may be the effect of a previous one. Now, either ing because it is a shallow summation of faith to say that the will this causality can go on to infinity or it can be finite. It turns out that · involves itself in order to help the intellect choose. Even if it were not there is a large problem with having the chain be infinite-motion boring, it is sloppy because, as was said earlier, it is unusual for the becomes impossible. The problem is as follows. If each link in the intellect to defer to the will in a matter with this much gravity, and chain is a mover and a moved at once, motion can never get started. strange and uncomfortable to speak of the will convincing the intel­ Each successive link requires one before where the mover is the thing lect of the truth of a thing. Belief and faith are in many ways pecu­ moved, and no matter how far back in causal time the chain is allowed liar, but it is of course not enough to leave it at that. Why must faith to stretch, it will always require one more link, one more mover, to set be a voluntary act as opposed to a real case of divine inspiration? motion into actuality. Since the chain is supposed infinite, motion will Why, when "the ultimate beatitude of man consists in the use of his never actually begin. The conclusion of this reductio ad absurdum is highest function, which is the operation of the intellect," must the will that since motion does exist, the infinite chain cannot. Therefore, assist the intellect's operation (I, q.12, a.1)? there must be a beginning to it, a mover that moves other things with­ · It seems-in a reversal of the order used for earlier inquiries-that out being moved itself. The necessary prime mover that can be these questions are best addressed from the direction of the less well

52 53 ENERGEIA KELLEY

deduced from this argument is God in one of His many (from the . as actuality to potentiality" (I, q.3, a.4). But there is no potentiality in human intellect's point of view) aspects. God; therefore His essence cannot be distinct from His being. But once this argument is admitted as true, and logically traced Also, "everything is knowable only inasmuch as it is actually" (I, forward, many other things turn out to be necessarily true of God. If q.5, a.2). But God is completely actual, which means He is complete­ God is the prime mover, and one accepts all of Aristotle's argument, ly knowable. And, going back to human powers, the faculty that then God is an unmoved mover. Movement, however, is "the reduc­ knows is the intellect. The object of this knowing, however, can be tion of something from potentiality to actuality. But nothing can be referred to under either the title of what is knowable or the title of reduced from potentiality to actuality, except by something in a state what is true. The two seem to be used interchangeably, as "the known of actuality" (I, q.2, a.3). By his very state as mover, God must have is the perfection of the knower"-the knower being, again, the intel­ actuality naturally in Him, and, as He is unmoved, it follows that He lect-and "the true is itself the good of the intellect, since it is its per­ cannot have any potential in Him either, as any actualization of that fection" (I, q.12, a.1; II-II, q.4, a.5). Therefore, it does not seem to be potential would in some way move God. Thus, God is entirely actual much of a stretch to say that because God is completely knowable, he and always has been. is also completely true. He thus fulfills the need for a form of forms, And still more follows from this. The complete actuality of God a measure of the true itself, as brought up in another of Saint means that he is not a body, does not have matter. If God were to Thomas's arguments for believing that a God exists. have matter, even if it were matter that never changed, He would still Furthermore, what has been deduced so far can be used to prove be somewhat contaminated by potential, as matter admits of the pos­ the perfection of God. Saint Thomas says that "perfection of a thing sibility of change (by division, for example). is threefold: first, according to the constitution of its own being; sec­ This in turn proves something about the being of God. Now, in ondly, in respect of any accidents being added as necessary for its per­ created beings, being is distinct from essence. That is, a man is called fect operation; thirdly, perfection consists in the attaining to some­ a man because his essence fits into the definition of man. However, thing else as the end" (I, q.6, a.3). In God, the constitution is the same his being as a particular man is differentiated fr<;>m the more general as the being, there are no accidents added on, and the end ,of God has ·man essence by things accidental to his essence as a man-whiteness been reached so firmly by His compiete and eternal actuality that it or tallness, for example. In substances such as God, however, which hardly makes sense to even speak of God as having an end. God's are not individuated by particular matter, there is no distinction essence is equivalent to the height of perfection. But "it is in so far as between being and essence. That is, in a substance that is only form, it is perfect that everything is called good," so it can also be said that with no matter to make it an individual instance of an essence, to have God is the height of goodness (I. q.4). being differ from essence would be to talk of two different forms, not And one final thing before we move on from the limning of a distinction in one form. Further proof of this equivalence is that God's aspects. In a way, the past few pages have been entirely inap­ "being is the actuality of every form or nature" (I, q.3, a.3). But the propriate, for ''God is altogether simple and in no way composite" (I, essence of a thing includes its end, as the end of man is included in q.3, a.7). God is being and essence combined, form without matter, the definition of man. In a particular man, though, that end exists as and thus admits of no differentiation. All else is differentiated under a potential separate from the thus-far actualized being of the man. So, His genus, but within God all these aspects mean the same thing. To "being must be compared to essence, if the latter is distinct from it, say the Good itself is to say all the other facets of God listed above,

54 55 ENERGEIA K ELLEY for the logic can be followed from any starting point and still reach However, a triangle in no way indicates the meaning of a circle. the same conclusion. We neglect the fact that the connections between these understand­ But now the problem with simply flooding the intellect with light ings, because of God's simplicity, must go through other understand­ begins itself to come into the light. While the separate things proved ings of God and not just straight to each other. Our polygonal under­ above make sense, they make sense separately. We can conceive of standing, no matter how many sides and vertices it may gain, will God containing all of these essences, so long as He does it and keeps never be able to trace the curve of what it would really be to under­ them separate within Himself. The idea that good is convertible with stand God. Our intellect's knowledge is discrete in comparison to being is convertible with truth is not an uncomfortable one, but the God's infinite truth, and our straight line connections make the wrong idea that they are all the same thing if we could only see them cor­ thing actual to our intellect. We try, with our not-so-powerful intellect, rectly is a little harder to accept. to connect God through geometry when what we really need is cal­ Why is it not enough to understand these various points of God culus, a difficult and beautiful equation that will describe exactly the and then, at the end of the understanding, to add the footnote that curve of God's being. these things are essentially one thing? It is insufficient because a But perhaps it is not so hard to understand, or at least to see, the point-by-point understanding of God lacks the simplicity of its con­ equality of some of those things said to be synonymous in God. The clusion, a simplicity necessary to the entire understanding. These true and the good, at least, seem to admit of more overlap than the aspects map onto each other. They cannot be properly understood discussion thus far has indicated. Of course one could say that the individually because they are not individual things. They are not even only truth worth talking about is propositional or circumstantial truth, composite parts that are not fully understood unless one keeps the and that all other things considered as possible truths are really mushy whole in mind. They are one whole, which we imperfectly see as versions of these hard, logical ones. Perhaps this is correct, but it facets of the great whole of God. The facets are all one facet, if we seems like a small, limited truth. Propositional truth does not seem to could only see them clearly. Each aspect, understood fully, is a syn­ be the only kind of truth our minds are capable of recognizing. We onym for all the others. admit of a hierarchy of truths. This hierarchy is not defined only by That is, all this simplicity makes God rather complex to our different levels of truth, but also by importance and gravity of the understanding. God seems to be a sort of great circle, with every truths considered. I can say that I am not wearing shoes as I type this point exactly the same in its importance. The points are unimportant; sentence, but I can also say that the true is the object of the intellect. it is the line that gives the form of the shape. Yet our complex intel­ Both are true, but the first is, I think, recognizably banal. lects, so fond of division, cannot see this circle for the unbroken sim­ These hierarchies and the unity of God begin to sketch the need ple whole that it is. We see that God is good, and hold on to that for the will to assist and command the intellect in the movement to point. We notice that God is completely actual, and connect that point faith. If there is a difference between knowing one is not wearing to the one of His being good. Then we notice that God is the form shoes and knowing what the intellect seeks, and if that difference is of forms and connect that point to the other two. We could almost not one of truth, then the difference might be one of worth. The sec­ fool ourselves into thinking that we're beginning to get a handle on ond knowing has good intermingled with its truth. This mingling, this thing, because a whole has been made of our points of under­ however, is not something that the intellect can recognize on its own, standing. as the object of the intellect is the truth. If, however, the intellect puts

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a bit of trust in what it can learn from the will, it becomes more able . be perfect before the intellect, which is perfected by faith, can be con­ to notice which truths are good and which truths are lacking in worth. sidered perfect (II-II, q.4, a.2). The ability of the mind-as combination of will and intellect-to dis­ This is where the reciprocity really comes into play. As, without cern truths which are more than propositional and goods which are the addition of grace, the will is inclined by the intellect, the intellect, more that practical seems to indicate a perfection of both parts. with this precedent and its fresh understanding, is now in a position Or one could consider it as the perfection of one part. If the to complete the circle and perfect the will. And this is exactly what it mind begins to recognize the true and the good at once, as one object, does. It inclines the will to charity, which perfects the will and faith at then it seems to have begun to coalesce into one power, a superior once-which, as faith perfects the intellect, perfects the intellect as power. If both will and intellect are considered and trusted, their well. In a funny way, each power of the soul has perfected itself, and combination would have an object of a more universal formality, and they are now linked together through the symbiotic nature of their a deeper understanding of what both can perceive. perfections. But this coalescence is what one finds in faith. Both powers mutu­ This condensation of the soul is, as has been said, necessary so ally turn and are turned to their objects, which, in their essence, are that the intellect might come to understand God in His simplicity. the same thing. The process begins with grace coming into the will, However, it is also necessary to the intellect's forming any sort of true not simply because it must begin somewhere, but because of the dif­ image of God. Every aspect contained in God's simplicity makes this ference in state of the will and the intellect. The intellect is imperfect change of soul necessary, as "the thing known is in the knower before faith, as it has only its natural light to reach a supernatural end. according to the mode of the knower" and "the mode proper to the The will, however, is not only imperfect but is corrupted. Before human intellect is to know the truth by composition and division" (II­ grace its perception of its object is even murkier than that of the II, q.1, a.2). Now, in most situations the intellect is just fine acting in intellect, for the will, "unless it be cured by God's grace, follows its this manner-hardly anyone is going to complain that we understand private good, because of the corruption of nature" (I-II, q.109, a.3). rocks through our mode instead of theirs, although perhaps more of With the infusion of grace, however, the will begins its overlap with a complaint might be lodged against our understanding of art. · the intellect. It is perhaps helpful to faith if the will and intellect have Generally, however, it is not a problem that our mode of knowing already begun to recognize the meshing of the good and the true, if does not match the thing known. they have already begun to act as a unified, albeit poorly cemented, With God, though, this mismatch is a problem which makes power. Nonetheless, God's grace is enough to give the will the ability knowing Him impossible without the intellect shifting its mode to to turn the intellect to its proper object. match His. It is almost intuitive that God, in being so much higher Again, this process needs to be mutual, because of its object and than our mode of doing anything, might require some movement on because of the form of faith. The grace coming into the will does not our part, that He might not deign to stoop to our mode. To put it that perfect the will-there would be no merit in that-but only raises it up way, however, is to put too much pride and emotion upon God-the to a natural state, out of corruption. It must be raised still higher in situation is merely that it is impossible to know God without being order to reach its supernatural end. But, as faith is an act of two changed to be more like God, either from inward or outside influence. power, and "for the perfection of an act proceeding from two active The problem with knowing God without a change in mode is this: principles each of these principles must be perfect," the will needs to "the divine essence is uncircumscribed, and contains in itself super-

58 59 ENERGEIA KELLEY eminently whatever can be signified or understood by a created intel­ . also follows from this: man alone of all things has this possibility of lect," and this: "to see the essence of God there is required some like­ the separation of soul from body. Creatures higher than him never ness in the visual power" (I, q.12, a.2). But "the intellect in act is the had bodies, things lower never had the potential required to forget actual intelligible,'' therefore any knowledge of God involves what is theirs. In man alone, then, can perfection of the soul be talked about intelligible about God being in the intellect (I, q.12, a.2). However, in different terms from perfection of the body (though that corrupt­ God's intelligibility is inseparable from the rest of Him, and the rest ed flesh should probably never be entirely out of mind in the consid-. of Him includes His status as the form by which all other forms are eration). Considered as merely soul, then, man seems to have little known. That is, as God is the form of forms, the intellect cannot get that is accidental. Before faith is considered, the will could perhaps be a hold on Him by abstracting Him into a higher formality, but must seen as accidental, but the unification of the soul, the refinement of know Him through His own form, which means that when the intel­ the formality under which it considers its object, shows that in per­ lect knows God, God Himself is in the intellect. fection the soul has both these powers as its essence and not as acci­ This need for God to be in the intellect increases the aforemen­ dents. As to the third part of the definition, God of course surpass­ tioned reciprocity in the soul. The more grace in the will, the more the es man in perfection, being an end instead of directed to one, but as intellect cleaves to belief, for "when a man has a will to believe, he ends go, few are more perfect than tending toward the good and the loves the truth he believes, he thinks out and takes to heart any rea­ true recognized as itself. sons he can find in support thereof" (I-II, q.2, a.10). But the more the Saint Thomas says in the Summa Theologica that "likeness of crea­ intellect clings to the truth, the more it inclines the will to charity; and tures to God is not affirmed because of agreement in form according the more the will is inclined to charity, the more merit; and the more to the same formality of genus or species, but only according to anal­ merit, the more light of God in the soul, which increases everything ogy" (I, q.4, a.3). However, the presence of divinity in the human else again. It seems a sort of constant movement toward perfection, intellect, the transformation of intellect into the divinity which is its with individual actions of the parts of the soul barely distinguishable object, means that the analogy between man and God, as man is per­ in the increasing smoothness of their interlocking. fected, becomes strengthened, until man's soul is worthy of being So it becomes more and more appropriate that, as man's end is called "in likeness". That is, all the oddities and complexities in faith supernatural, this intricate movement of faith is his way of reaching turn out to be a way of simplifying, and become the desired balanced perfection. Going back to the threefold definition of perfection, it equation, the calculus for God-and, in one final loop, the equation for becomes apparent how high the actuality man is reaching really is. our understanding does double duty as our perfection, bringing the Under the first part of the definition, man's approach to perfection believer to a point where he can be called, without straining the anal­ brings him closer to a point where essence and being are synonymous. ogy, made in the image of God. The more one knows God, the more one's soul is made up of unified essence and being-the intellect in act becomes its object, which in this case is essence indistinct from being. Under the second part of the definition, once man has become perfect enough to deserve eternal life, he no longer needs to be spoken of as having accidents to his being. This partially follows from the first part of the definition, but

60 61 ENERGEIA

Secret by Jill Delston

"I have a secret to show you," she whispered, and ran up the stairs skipping every other step. I kind-of wondered if she even brushed her hair in the morning; it could hardly keep up with her, and the red ribbons which flailed about struggled to contain it. I followed close behind her, giggling in nervous excitement. Her secrets were always juicy. We ran into her room, not bothering to close the door behind us. It was a cozy area and privacy stuck to the walls, but she shushed me anyway. We both knew the room held secrets well-we whispered for effect. I sat cross-legged on the center of the soft Oriental rug, while she searched for something in the back corner. For some reason, the rug, which fits so well with winter, now seemed airy and breezy enough to be comfy for summer. What a wonderful place, I thought. The idea always popped into my mind when I sat cross-legged on the center of the Oriental rug. All her stuff was so neat-like some secret i world. And I felt like a part of it. I wondered if she thought her room was as enchanting as I did, or if she was used to it. "My mom won't let me feed the pigeons,'' I said while I waited for I her to find the secret. She was still rustling things in the corner. I knew it always took her a while to prepare her secrets, so I tried to get myself in that mood-you know, patience. ·1 ''Why not?" she asked as she emerged from the corner with a crinkled brown paper bag. photograph l?J "She says they're dirty." Now she sat in front of me, as concerned as Cara Lammey l I was about the pigeons, and we both seemed to forget abo t the secret." "But they're not feeding you, so what does it matter if they're dirty?"

62 63 ENERGEIA CARA GORMALLY "I know, I know;' I said shaking my head. "I can't imagine why it matters." We spent a moment trying to figure out the mystery, and then remembered the secret. "Okay," she said placing the paper bag carefully between us. She was holding back a smile and looking as if she would burst. I was get­ ting excited all over again. "Look over there. What do you see?'' She pointed to a wall in her room." "A wall!" ''Yes! D'you know what I see? I see a painting!" I thought about it. "Now look over there. What do you see?" "Umm, I see lots of pillows." She practically jumped up. "I see a bed!" "Well I see a bed, too." ''Yeah, but that wasn't the first thing you saw." ''You're right. That's really weird." Now she opened up the bag slowly. She took out a small knife and then reached into the bag again, and this time took out a lemon. She held it in the palm of her hand like a jewel for a minute, and then flattened the paper bag and put th~ lemon on top. She took the knife and reverently cut it in half. The smell immediately washed over me, and I was thankful it was summer. The juice trickled out and made puddles in the crinkles of the brown paper bag before soaking in. She handed me half of the lemon. "What do you smell?" "I smell summer. What do you smell?" "My sister taught me this word in Spanish- fresca. Hace fresca. It means it's cool outside, like crisp and refreshing. It smells like fresca." She paused to make sure I understood. '~ll right! One, two, three." We both took a lick off the top of our half. Sourness swelled up in my mouth and we both scrunched our noses and smacked our lips and shrieked and giggled. She had the exact same reaction at the exact same time. And when we recovered she looked at me eagerly, with her eyes wide and her curly eyelashes blinking at me. I let myself fall back­ wards, with my hands behind my head, taking it in. "I get it." I smiled, and then sat up and stared at her. Goat Cara Gormally

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Egypt and the Cult of Heracles: Mythology and the Marvelous in Herodotus' Histories by Bryan Thorpe

Herodotus' Histories blend together the mythical and the histori­ cal, the seemingly spurious with the clearly factual, in a single work. 1 The consequence of such blending is that Herodotus appears to have one foot stuck in a mythical-poetic past, and consequently his Histories lack the credibility of systematic, that is, scientific history. The corre­ late criticism is that Herodotus is not a great poet; the Histories lack the aesthetic of epic poetry and so the corresponding emotional power. By blending myth and history, Herodotus appears to have forsaken the dignity and power of either. And yet, at the same time, he is clear­ ly purposeful and thoughtful about his task, however much this task resists interpretation. The Histories taken in their entirety provoke the reader to ask, what is Herodotus doing? Just what are the Histories about? How do the large ethnographical sections of the Histories belong to the story of the Persian war? And how can Herodotus' Untitled Benjamin Truesdale peculiar mode of storytelling be understood as the proper vehicle for such disparate contents? In short, with regard to both subject and style, Herodotus defies easy categorization; and in the worse light, cast by the precepts of modern historiography, Herodotus appears naive. To untangle these questions, in order ultimately to posit a ration­ ale behind the Histories, this essay examines what is perhaps the most perplexing part of the Histories, namely Book II. Book II appears to be a lengthy aside, an oddly large and thorough digression about

66 67 ENERGEIA THORPE

Egypt and the Egyptian people; the seeming misplacement of Book the oldest." (2.2) Why should Book II open with this story, with the II calls into question the coherence of the Histories as a whole. By 342nd king of Egypt inquiring into the origins of the Egyptians? At sorting out and analyzing several confrontations that occur in Book II first blush, the subject of Psammetichus' research, beginnings, nicely between mythological storytelling and historical storytelling-these marks off what is in fact the beginning of Herodotus' research into conflicts are one of its major themes-Herodotus' own storytelling Egypt. This is true-Herodotus begins with a story about begin­ ethic is triangulated; we see how Herodotus understands history and nings-but only as a matter of fact. The story of Psammetichus' myth and the conditions under which he is willing to employ them. In research has importance beyond the results it produces, and both, turn, Herodotus' storytelling ethic suggests a new understanding research and results, require a better understanding of Psammetichus about the plan of the Histories: Herodotus is concerned with wisdom, before their strategic placement at the beginning of Book II gains its with deeply understanding the divine, humans, and the world they full significance. For the moment, then, the opening story of Book II share between them. In the end, the relevance of Book II is shown to will be put aside in order to discuss Psammetichus himself. After con­ lie beyond its being merely an integral component to the stories of sidering Psammetichus' story, and the pivotal role he plays in Cyrus and Cambyses, whose reigns bracket it; likewise, Herodotus is Egyptian history, the opening story will then be presented as inten­ shown to be purposely involved with myth and myth-making. Taken tionally and thematically prefiguring the contents of Book II. The on their own terms, the Histories form a unified whole, and Book II opening story serves to orient the reader. becomes, for the careful reader, a manual for engaging Herodotean Psammetichus became king over Egypt twice. His first reign as thought, wherein myth and history are mutually informing features of king was as one of twelve in an unprecedented, cooperative power­ the human domain and equal aids to wisdom. sharing arrangement. His second reign came about according to a The first section of this paper provides a brief structural prophecy: "It was prophesied to them at the beginning, when they ini­ overview of Book II. The second section examines the differences tiated the [twelve] kingships, that the one of them who poured liba­ between the Egyptian storytelling ethic and that of the Greeks. tions in the temple of Hephaestus from a bronze vessel should be Conflicting stories revolving around 1) Heracles and 2) the oracle at king of all Egypt." (2.14 7) The transition from being one of twelve Dodona yield an initial understanding of these ethics, which is then kings to being the sole, prophesied king came about by accident: worked out in greater detail. The third section makes use of the pre­ They were sacrificing in the temple of Hephaestus . .. and they vious, preparatory considerations to examine the storytelling conflicts were about to pour the libation. The high priest brought them present in the story of Helen. In the fourth and final section, out golden vessels, with which they were used to pour the liba­ Herodotus' stance towards both history and myth is considered. tions, but he missed his count and brought out only eleven for the kings, who were twelve. Psammetichus had no vessel and Structural Overmew of Book II took off his helmet, which was bronze, and held it out and After the introductory mention of Cambyses (which is something poured the libation with it. (2.151) of a place marker until Cambyses' story is taken up again in Book III), Though the eleven agreed that Psammetichus hadn't intentionally ful­ Book II opens with a remarkable story about king Psammetichus and filled the prophecy, they banished him (chased him) to the marshes, his research into the antiquity of the Egyptians: "and from these marches he was never to issue forth." (2.151) "Psammetichus ... wanted to know truly which [of the nations] were

68 69 THORPE ENERGEIA

Note that when the twelve began their reign, they "made mar­ . pirates wearing bronze armor, Ionians and Carians. Foreigners. riages between their families and held their rule under a sworn agree­ Greeks. Psammetichus promised them, among other things, land, in ment that forbade destroying one another, but rather all should be exchange for their aid in deposing the eleven. The pirates agreed and staunch friends." (2.147) To this end they built a memorial of them­ became mercenaries. Psammetichus deposed the eleven and began his selves a monument to their unity. They made a labyrinth with twelve second kingship. The intermeshing chambers of the labyrinth proved roofed courts (one for each king), but, as befits a labyrinth, o~y one to be less symbolically important than the single corner exit. exit (reflecting the prophecy that only one of them should ulttmately The Ionians and the Carians stayed on in Egypt in the lands that be king). Herodotus, who saw the labyrinth, writes: Psammetichus had promised them. Their influence on the Egyptians was considerable. First, Psammetichus "turned over to them Egyptian The passages through the rooms and winding goings-in and out children, to learn the Greek language." (2.154) The interpreters that through the courts in their extreme complication, ca~sed us Herodotus uses throughout his trip in Egypt are all descended from countless marvelings as we went through, from the court into the these original children. Second, these original mercenaries had access rooms and from the rooms into the pillared corridors, and then to Psammetichus' ear and every king's ear after him. The last king that from ~hese corridors into other rooms again, and from the rooms into other courts afterwards. (2.148) Herodotus mentions had the mercenaries resettled near him as his personal guard against his fellow countrymen-and it is this same king, Three thousand ~terlocking chambers form the labyrinth, half above Amasis, who is noted for his love of the Greeks. The arrival of the ground and half under; the interconnected.courts. and room~ and cor­ Greeks initiated Egypt's rapid conversion from an isolated nation, and ridors all symbolize the bonds of loyalty, fnendship, and family shared something of a relic, to a nation with international alliances and a per­ by the twelve. (To get a sense of how unique ~e rei~ of the .twelve manent, non-Egyptian minority population. The Greeks in bronze was, contrast the complex integrity of the labyrinth with t~e singular introduced an enduring impurity into Egypt-and the golden age of focus of the traditional king's monument, the pyramid.) When kings ended. Psammetichus was betrayed by the eleven and forced to flee, those Psammetichus' second reign as king marks off the end of a major bonds were broken. division in Book II, and the beginning of another. The political his­ Of course, from here Psammetichus regains the throne and puts tory of Egypt prior to the arrival of the Greek mercenaries is down the traitorous eleven-but how he does so is critical to the orga­ recounted for Herodotus by the Egyptian priests at Memphis (and nizational structure of Book II. From the marshes, Psammetichus perhaps partially affirmed by the priest in Thebes and Heliopolis). sent to the oracle of Leto and, presumably (Herodotus is unclear (See 2.3.) Herodotus is entirely at their mercy, that is, he has no here), asked him how he should, or if he should, go about taking recourse to non-Egyptian accounts to corroborate the priest's stories revenge on the eleven. The oracle's response was ~hat he would hav~ (histories). However, for the political history of Egypt beginning with revenge "in the shape of men of . b~onze emergmg fron_i the, s~a. and following Psammetichus, Herodotus has access to Egypt's Greek (2.152) The theme of bronze here 1s linportant. Psa~etichu.s liba­ population, which Psammetichus' rise to power introduced-though, tion from a helmet of bronze is an indignity to the ritual sacrifice to as will be seen, Greek versions of stories are often problematic. The Hephaestus, where golden vessels were the norm. This impurity fore­ political history prior to Psammetichus (the first three hundred and shadows the oracle's meaning: The men of bronze turn out to be forty one kings) Herodotus sets off with the following disclaimer:

71 70 ENERGEIA THORPE

From this on, it is the account of the Egyptians that I will tell you tions: Land & River, and Customs. In every division, Herodotus' own as I heard them, though there will be, as a supplement to them, voice is to be found among the findings-this "vill become important what I have seen myself. (2. 99) later. In addition to being a determining factor in the structure of Book Immediately following this disclaimer, Herodotus relays the Egyptian II, and the precipitating agent in the eventual transform ation of priest's account of Min, their first king. Herodotus then selectively Egypt's political outlook, Psammetichus is also a notable king in his relays accounts of the next three hundred and forty one kings (skip­ own right. Herodotus appraises Psammetichus as the "most fortunate ping nearly all of them except those leading up to Psammetichus). He king of Egypt, more than all who had gone before." (2.161) (This is then pauses to issue a new disclaimer before introducing perhaps misleading if we allow that Solon's words in Book I (1.32) Psammetichus, the 342nd king: expresses something of Herodotus' own opinion; to be the most for­ So far, it is what the Egyptians themselves say that I have tunate king is not the same as being the most blessed king, implying declared; now there remains to record what other men and the that Psammetichus' life might not have ended well, though he was Egyptians say in agreement as ha~g happened in this country. fortunate in other matters.) Of the fifty-four years that Psammetichus There will be additional support to the narrative from what I saw was king, twenty-nine of those he spent laying siege on the Syrian city myself. (2.14 7) of Azotus. Herodotus writes: "Of all the cities I know of Azotus Herodotus elaborates on this disclaimer shortly after issuing it: endured the longest time under siege." (2.157) Psammeti~hus was tenacious to his purpose, and this trait comes out in the stories sur­ It is because these [mercenaries] were settled in Egypt, and we rounding him. Greeks were able to have contact with them, that we have such The opening story of Book II was postponed so that it could be exact knowledge of all that happened in Egypt, beginning from given proper context. Now that Psammetichus' political story has the time of King Psammetichus. (2.154) been outlined, his researches into the antiquity of the Egyptian peo­ For Herodotus, Psammetichus' reign inaugurates both the beginning ple can be better understood. Herodotus writes: "The Egyptians, of the modern Egyptian kingships, and the beginning of inter­ before Psammetichus became their king, thought that they were the sourced Egyptian history (of Egyptian history as agreed upon oldest of mankind. But Psammetichus, when he became king, want­ between peoples different in kind). The structure of Book II reflects ed to know truly which were the oldest." (2.2) After making unsuc­ this. Book II has three major divisions: non-historical findings (2.2- cessful inquiries, Psammetichus devised an experiment to have chil­ 98), single-sourced historical findings (2.99-146), inter-sourced histor­ dren tell unprompted what orderly asking could not uncover. Briefly, ical findings (2.147-182). The first .division is the largest and encom­ this is the premise of Psammetichus' experiment: Children raised in a passes a little more than half of Book II, taking up the first ninety­ linguistic vacuum will eventually speak of their own will, and their lan­ eight paragraphs. The second division is the next largest with forty­ guage, unadulterated, will be the language of the first people. From seven paragraphs. The third division is the smallest with only thirty­ meaningless noises to meaningful speech, the children will ultimately six paragraphs. Within these divisions smaller topical sections can be reveal the proto-language, and by inference, the original people. observed. For example, the first division breaks down into two sec- Psammetichus is motivated to conduct this experiment because he has reason to doubt the Egyptian belief in Egyptian antiquity,

72 73 ENERGEIA THORPE though three hundred and forty one kings before him, lasting "eleven clear later in this essay). There would be no reason at all to question thousand three hundred and forty years" (2.142), did not. He doubts Egyptian antiquity but for the presence of the Greeks, another peo­ because the arrival of the Greeks on his coattails is the arrival of ple with another language and another story to tell. Greek things and Greek stories and the Greek language: "The Greeks Perhaps when Psammetichus observed, per his orders, Egyptian were the first people of foreign speech to be settled in Egypt." (2.154) children learning Greek, his curiosity took flame and he saw an No king prior to Psammetichus had been aided to power through for­ opportunity to get beneath language customs to reveal something eign hands, hands which subsequently immigrated. Nor had Greeks, ancient and true; maybe witnessing the plasticity of language acquisi­ prior to Psammetichus, lived among the Egyptians, side by side, as tion in children who already spoke a language suggested the protocol people ef Egypt. Herodotus records that the Egyptian priests, after for the experiment in question. Whatever occasioned the experiment, they've slaughtered a sacrificial bull to Epaphus, take its head and "call this much is certain: it is an attempt at controlled science. down many imprecations on it." (2.39) Then, if there are Greek Psammetichus' experiment attempts to remove the element of story­ traders in the marketplace, they give the head to them to sell. The telling; it eliminates the need to inquire about and listen to stories, his­ Greeks and the Egyptians live symbiotically, though at the same time torical or otherwise, whose authenticity may be questionable or at in distinct worlds; what is evil for one is a commodity for the other. odds with other stories. The mediating storyteller is neutralized and A similar situation can be found between the crocodile and the sand- the proto-language is allowed to speak for itself; it tells its own story. piper: Recall that Psammetichus' life was spared by the eleven because he poured the libation out of his bronze helmet without guile: "They The sandpiper has come to peace with the crocodile, for the found, on examination, that he had done what he did without any crocodile owes him much. For when the crocodile comes out of forethought." (2.151) Psammetichus wasn't killed because he hadn't the water . . . the sandpiper crawls into its mouth and gulps down the leeches. This is of great benefit to the crocodile, who likes it thought; he hadn't intended to do anything. Psammetichus' experiment and does the sandpiper no hurt. (2.68) with the children recreates that situation. As Psammetichus passively acted without intending, and so revealed himself to the eleven as the The cursed head of the sacrificial bull is given to the Greeks who future king, likewise the children are to talk without telling, and so make use of it; and the kings following Psammetichus make use of reveal to Psammetichus the language of the primeval people. the Greeks to uphold their reign. Though the Greeks are clearly Herodotus heard of the experiment and its results from the minorities, albeit well entrenched minorities, they nonetheless have priests of Hephaestus in Memphis. The Greeks also tell Herodotus a stories and customs of their own. Who came first, the sandpiper or version of the story. Herodotus considers the Greek story foolish and the crocodile?-it depends on who's telling the story, even though one the Egyptian story worthy of investigating-he asks the priests in is clearly more powerful. With the introduction of the Greeks, inquiry, Thebes and the priests in Heliopolis about it. (2.3) In the Egyptian in the form of historical research-history being the forte of the story, the shepherd who watches over the children is vigilante in his Egyptians-becomes untenable as a means of unearthing archaic duties. When the children speak for the first time, he reports nothing, knowledge, knowledge of seminal events and of first actions. Ancient but waits for them to speak again, to be certain that their speaking is Greek history as the Greeks tell it contradicts much of ancient not gibberish: ''As he came constantly and gave careful heed to the Egyptian history as the Egyptians tell it (the irony of this will become matter, this word was constantly with them." Once convinced that the

74 75 EN ERGEL-\ THORPE children are in fact speaking, the shepherd reports to Psammetichus. .concern for essence, the spirit of a thing. The Egyptian version pres­ Psammetichus has the children brought before him and confirms the ents just faqs. The Greek version, assuming it to be an exaggeration, fact for himself. The shepherd paid careful attention and told what he highlights the dramatic element of Psammetichus' experiment, the heard to Psammetichus, who confirmed the shepherd's words him­ forcefulness of his charge that "no one coming face to face with the self. Let me belabor this: The children repeatedly said bekos, the shep­ children should utter a word." For the Greeks, the facts of the story herd repeatedly heard bekos, the shepherd spoke bekos to are less important than capturing its spirit-this is a provisional assess­ Psammetichus, and then Psammetichus heard bekos for himself. The ment. version of the story that the priests tell Herodotus places a premium The opening story of Book II, in one sense, is about beginnings on accurate transmission and redundancy against error. and origins-but this misses the point. If Herodotus was primarily In the Greek version of the story, "Psammetichus had the interested in beginnings then he would have opened Book II with the tongues of certain women cut out and made the children live with story of Min, the first Egyptian king. Instead, chronology takes a these women." The Greek version has an air of tragic irony to it. Here back-seat to what-people-say, storytelling, and the differences in how are some of the images that plausibly follow from the Greek version: stories are told. Herodotus opens Book II with the 342nd king of silent women who used to speak wait on children coming into speech; Egypt because Psammetichus is emblematic for his own project: the women ache to speak but can only waggle their tongue-stumps insight into humanity as exhibited through the medium of humanity. while the children go about babbling incoherently; the first words of Psammetichus tries to get at something natural and primary about the children mock the women, who must then, unable to speak their humans, and assumes that, in doing so, he will have uncovered the news to the king, emphatically gesticulate their news, like so many nature of the first people; on his view, children possess knowledge of arm-flailing newborns; the women endure each other's silent compa­ the ancients that can be experimentally retrieved. Psammetichus ny, each a mirror of the other, all the while listening attentively, lest wants to expose human nature, to uncover its core by isolating it from the children "clasp their knees and reach out their hands, and call out stories. So does Herodotus-but with a diametrically opposed method. bekos"; when the children beg with their naturally inborn speech, the Herodotus works with and through human coverings, stories, and all women answer them with mute stares, their purpose now expired. of their diverse modes of telling, and ·makes them yield insight into The Greek version of the story doesn't just introduce the possibility human nature. A careful study of the contents of Book II will show of error by eliminating the Egyptian redundancy, but almost ensures that every section, no matter how seemingly irrelevant, shares a com­ that subsequent versions of the same story will become increasingly mon theme with every other section: the voice of the storyteller distorted; because the Greek version is tragic in nature (portending telling his story-Herodotus' own voice often rises to the surface of tragedy), it calls out for a tragic ending. For example, why shouldn't these tellings. The complications of multiple stories told in the open­ Bekos become the vocative form of mama, making the first word the ing story, and Herodotus' thoughtful presentation of them, prefigures children speak one of loss ("He took two newborn children of just the rest of Book II; Herodotus is the locus point that holds these sto­ ordin ary peop1 e. . . ")~ . ries together, and the axis along which they can be profitably sighted. The Egyptian version of the story expresses something about the The rest of this essay is a detailed examination of Herodotus' Egyptians; something like a concern for precision. The Greek version treatment of three different stories (to be exact, his treatment of the of the story expresses something about the Greeks, something like a conflicting versions of these three stories) in Book II. Once these sto-

76 77 ENERGEL\ THORPE ries are examined, I'll conclude by addressing the two major questions ~-\.nd because I wanted to find out something clear in the matter, brought up in the introduction. as far as I was able, I sailed to Tyre in Phoenicia ... I talked with the priests of Heracles there and asked them how long it was since the shrine was established. But I found that they too dis­ Heracles and the Oracle at Dodona agreed with the Greeks .. . These researches of mine indicate Herodotus notes that the Greeks and the Egyptians construct dif­ quite clearly that Heracles is an ancient god. (2.44) ferent family trees of the gods. Among the Greeks, Pan is thought to be one of the youngest of the gods, among the Egyptians, one of the So now Herodotus has established that a) the Egyptians did not get oldest-to cite one difference between them. (2.145) Herodotus Heracles from the Greeks, and that b) Heracles is in fact an ancient believes that, for the most part, the Greeks took their gods from the god that precedes the Greek hero by the same name. And yet, despite Egyptians. (2.50) His belief is informed by demonstrations. The these conclusions, Herodotus doesn't decry the Greek Heracles as a Egyptians give demonstrations ("most of these things they showed complete sham. He writes: me by clear proof") (2.4), and Herodotus provides some of his own. For example, Herodotus claims that it was the "Greeks who got the I think that, among the Greeks, their procedure is most correct who have established and cultivated two cults of Heracles; to one name Heracles from the Egyptians or who put the name of Heracles they sacrifice as a god and by title Olympian, and to the other upon the son of Amphityron." (2.43) His chief proof is that the they offer worship as a hero. (2.44) Greek hero's (Heracles') parents "stemmed distantly" from Egypt, implying that the name of Heracles was appropriated from Egyptian Then, clarifying his position on Heracles the hero and establishing his ancestors. conservative view on the matter, Herodotus debunks a Greek myth to His second proof that the Greeks got the name Heracles from the the effect that Heracles had come to Egypt and slaughtered tens of Egyptians works by disproving the reverse case (that the Egyptians thousands of Egyptians after allowing himself to be almost sacrificed got the name from the Greeks). (2.43) Herodotus argues that, had the to Zeus. Heracles "took himself to his valor and slaughtered them Egyptians taken their gods from the Greeks, including Heracles, they all," concludes the Greek myth. (2.45) First, Herodotus points out, would have taken Poseidon among them. Herodotus' reasoning for how could the Egyptians have sacrificed a human being when, with this is elegant: Cultural transmission between the two nations pre­ few exceptions they don't even sacrifice beasts? Second, even putting sumes a degree of nautical sophistication on the part of at least one aside the religious code of the Egyptians, the story is implausible; it of them. Herodotus posits the case wherein both countries are sea­ goes against nature for one man to be able to kill so many men. faring and implies that, because of this, a god whose powers Herodotus then puts Heracles aside, but not before acknowledging embraced the sea would be foremost among the gods acquired by the the divine context in which Heracles has become an issue: "That is Egyptians. And yet among the Egyptian gods, Poseidon has no what I have to say about the matter; as I do so, may the gods and place-though Heracles is considered one of the Twelve (the second heroes view me kindly!" (2.45) tier of the ancient gods, older than all but the Eight). QED: The In order to examine Herodotus' thoughts on Heracles in detail, it Egyptians did not get the name from the Greeks. But Herodotus adds is necessary to spell out his argument carefully, in stepwise motion. to this another argument: Amphityron did have a son. Nowhere does Herodotus deny that Amphityron's son was a hero. Amphityron himself was a son of

78 79 ENERGEL-\ THORPE someone, and if his lineage were traced out it would show The Greeks have heroes and the Egyptians don't. The Greeks Amphityron's ancestors to be Egyptians. Amphityron's ancestors transfigure gods into men, while the Egyptians insist that since the passed along the story of Heracles and the other Egyptian gods to beginning of man (coinciding with the reign of Min) there "had never their progeny, who in tu±n did the same. The story of Heracles been a god in man-shape; nor moreover, neither beforetime nor moved; it was handled and conveyed; one person spoke it to the next. thereafter, among the rest of those who became kings of Egypt, had At some point Amphityron's ancestors drifted to or settled in land any such thing happened." (2.142) For the Egyptians, the gods occupied by the Greeks. They became Greek with time, and the story reigned over Egypt before man did. There was no chronological over­ they told of Heracles became Greek with them. The name of lap between divine rule and human rule and likewise between the Heracles crossed the Mediterranean and found a limited home in divine spirit and the human spirit. This strict separation reveals some­ Greek lands in the family of Amphityron. As Amphityron's son thing of the Egyptian storytelling ethic. How the Egyptians tell sto­ gained a reputation for his great deeds, so too he gained a name; the ries and what they tell stories about are related. The Egyptians tell a son's actions became worthy of the name of the household's god, and story that says, in effect, man is the same as he always was, and the the story of Heracles, having traveled ~o far, took on new life in the earth is the same as it always was: "[Since the rule of man], they said, form of a man. Heracles the hero became the incarnation of his there were four times when the sun rose out his wonted places ... and, namesake. say the priests, nothing became different among the Egyptians, for all There was a son. There was a god. The son became a hero, the these disturbances, neither products of the earth nor products of the god became a man. There was a family that moved from one land to river, nor yet in respect of diseases or death." (2.142) The Egyptians another land. These are the original events, now covered over. Their tell a story of human sameness or stability, and they tell this story coverings are Egyptian and Greek stories that have changed over time from one man to the next, in the same way: and increasingly diverged from each other. The family was an Egyptian family who told a story about an Egyptian god. The son was The Egyptians claim that they know these matters absolutely the son of Greek who transfigured his ancestors' Egyptian story and because they are continually making their calculations and con­ tinually writing down the number of the years. (2.145)2 in doing so made it Greek. What was Egyptian became distinctly Greek-but always there was the son who was heroic and the family The self-reinforcing feedback between how a story is told and what is which moved across the Mediterranean before his birth. Herodotus told makes the Egyptians ideal historians. And Herodotus appreciates affirms the dual worship of Heracles as god and hero because he this: understands that the life of the story reflects those things which are important to those who tell it. Heracles the god was important to the Of the Egyptians themselves, those of them who live around the Egyptians. His story moved to Greek lands, became Greek, and cov­ sown part of the country are great in cultivating the memory of mankind ;:i.nd are far the greatest record-keepers of any people ers now a hero, and not a god. Heroes are important to Greeks. with whom I have been in contact. (2 .77) Heracles, the son, is a hero, though his personality (his particular traits) was "put upon" him, borrowed from Heracles, the god. Both The Egyptians who cultivate the Nile area cultivate the memory of god and hero deserve proper attention, regardless of their shared his­ mankind. (I haven't forgotten Heracles. For the moment I want to tory. consider the relationship between the Egyptians and their land in

80 81 THORPE ENERGElA greater detail.) Herodotus writes: "I believe ... that the Egyptians have . Egyptians, through the clear dry air, observe the constant stars; from been [existed] ever since the race of man was and that, as the land these stars, the priests told Herodotus, they derived their calendar. grew in extent, tnany of them stayed where they were, but many too (2.4) Herodotus thinks the Egyptian calendar is better than that of the spread over the new land." (2.15) The land was given to the Egyptians Greeks, because it synchronizes itself with the cycle of seasons. For "as an addition and as a gift of the river." The river is of course the the Egyptians, the gods, nature, and time are interdependent phe­ Nile and its gift is silt. The generosity of the Nile is such that if you nomena, and the constancy of one is the constancy of the other. It's_ approach the Egyptian seacoast, "within one day's run from land, and true: at one time the gods ruled and themselves underwent change. you drop a sounding line, you will bring up mud, though you are in For example, the Eight became Twelve (Osiris and Isis being the two eleven fathom's depth." (2.5) This mud is the alluvial silt carried into greatest of any of these), and the Twelve had children. (2.145) Then, the Egyptian sea by the Nile. The generosity of the Nile spills into the when man's rule began, the gods froze, never to change again, except Egyptian sea; the Nile is magnanimous. Its gift accretes over time and symbolically; the Twelve became symbolized by the twelve months of slowly extends the borders of the Egyptian seacoast, spreading its the year. Again: The gods lived and changed while they lived, deposed "deposit of earth ... from the Plinthinete Gulf to the Serbonian one another and multiplied in their time; then they became the static Marsh." Herodotus reckons the length of the seacoast to be "sixty overseers of the dominion of man, once man began his rule. The schoeni,'' adding that "those who have plenty measure by Twelve, when their term expired, gained astrological significance; now schoeni ... which is the Egyptian measure." (2.6) The Egyptians spread they signify the stars, nature, time, and man's connection to all three out with the gift of the river, and have always been, like the river itself, as their witness and subject. The minor variations in the annual rise of "since the race of man." The Nile was original, like those who tended the Nile and the other minutiae of agricultural life become historical its shores; regarding the whole Nile setting (river, sun, wind), facts associated with the cycling constellations-nothing happens in Herodotus writes: "Let these things, then, be as they are and as they Egypt that is not a variation within a cycle that is itself constant. were at the beginning." (2.28) The Egyptians and the Nile flowed out The cosmology of the Egyptians is a logos of preservation. of the Ethiopian heights, increasingly gaining their distinction with When the Egyptians heard that "rain falls over the land of Greece and time. The Egyptians became Egyptian and the Nile left in its wake that the earth was not wetted by rivers, ·as their own was, they said that Egypt and, splitting three ways at Cercasorus, the Delta. Herodotus one day the Greeks would be deceived in their great hope and would cites the oracle of Ammon: "Egypt is all the land that the Nile waters all miserably die of hunger." The hope of the Greeks is that they must in its course and they are Egyptians who drink from the water of the look forward to rain. They must anticipate rain with anxiety in their hearts: ''You have no water save from Zeus,'' said the Egyptians to Nile." (2.18) In winter, the sun follows a more southerly route through upper Herodotus. (2.13) God might not send rain raining. The Nile on the Libya and the Nile runs normal. In Summer, the sun stays closer to other hand is constant, and so the Egyptians don't share this particu­ the equator and the Nile floods. The sun and the Nile, Osiris and Isis, lar Greek anxiety. The Nile will flood again just as the stars rise, just the only gods that all Egyptians worship, pass through phases, but as the gods remain themselves. The Egyptians are preserved by their always the same phases. Annually, Osiris is reborn and the Nile waters gods who are themselves ever preserved against change. When an flood the plains. H erodotus notes that the climate in Egypt is virtual­ Egyptian is born, the astrological significance of that day determines ly constant; there's little rainfall, and the air is always dry. The "what events he will encounter and how he will die and what manner 83 82 THORPE ENERGEL-\ of man he will be." (2.82) Egyptians are born into a running st?ry of . Nile evolves its inability to flood unseen; Heracles can become a hero preservation and made to synchronize like everything else. !hett sto­ on distant shores because the injunction to preserve cannot itself be ries are unchanging because they are unchanging; the Egyp~ans make preserved against change. Stories deposit their own kind of silt. great historians because they live to preser~e and ~oor~atel~ to Returning to Heracles now in greater detail: The myth that mummify human experience-and mummification entails evisceration; Herodotus debunks, that Heracles the hero went to Egypt and slew much is left out in order to preserve, as will be seen. Herodotus says mass numbers of Egyptians, is profoundly ironic. In it, the Greeks that the Egyptians were the first to tell the story of mete~psychos~s, unwittingly give an account of their storytelling ethic and its entailed so that even in death the Egyptians see themselves as cycling, and m problems. Heracles the hero goes to Egypt. (Little does he know that this is the true land of his birth, from whence came his original form.) this cycling, as preserved: The Egyptians begin first rites to sacrifice him to Zeus. (Meaning that . .. that the soul of man is immortal and that, when the body dies, Heracles doesn't recognize his Egyptian ancestors, nor they him in his the soul creeps into some other living thing then coming to bir~; human guise.) Heracles takes to his valor and slaughters the and when it has gone through all things, of land and sea and air, Egyptians. (With tragic irony, Heracles kills those who gave birth to it creeps again into a human ·body at its birth. The cycle for the soul is, they say, three thousand years. (2.123) him, and in doing so gains for himself more glory.) The Greeks make Heracles out to be superhuman-not a god, but something more than Herodotus agree~ with the Egyptians that the Greeks must wait .on a mere man. Heracles can do what normal men can't do; that is, cahn­ Zeus for rain, but points out that if the Nile remains constant, domg ly play false with exotic savages and then take their lives in retribution what it has always done, then they, the Egyptians, "must suffe~ · · ·the for their presumption of power or authority. The psychological mean­ lot of the Greeks." (2.14) Slowly over time the plains surrou~ding the ing of the story (the ascendancy of the Greek spirit in face of the Nile get higher and higher, further silting up each year with "~very unknown) is factually true: the Greeks appropriated and transformed flood. The change is slow but sure. Eventually, says Herodotus, 1f no the Egyptian gods. rain falls in their land at all, and if the river cannot rise high enough What does this say about the Greek storytelling ethic? For to flood their fields ... what will be left for the Egyptians but starva­ Herodotus it means that the Greeks tell foolish stories. The Greeks tion?" The constancy of the Nile, its preserving agency, i~ s~lf~defe~t­ take the content of the Egyptian stories, but leave behind the mode ing; it floods and leaves behind a residue that gradually dimirushe~ 1:s of their telling-and so engender the possibility of their evolution and power to flood. The Egyptians will ultimately ch~ke on the N~e s poeticization. The Greeks appropriate and transform, and this power, gift-this is tragedy on a geological scale. The sa~e 1s true ?f stones: or rather this impulse, finds its way into the stories themselves. Greek The taboo against theo-morphizing, of making gods ~to man, stories contain elements of transformation, of the natural crossing implicit in the Egyptian cult of preservation, slowly lost its power into the unnatural (or the other way around), of man bending nature with each retelling of the story of Heracles. The changes that accu­ to his will, of man simply controlling nature. For instance, Heracles mulated in the Egyptian landscape are evidenced in ~etrosp~ct the hero appears to be on his way to death but then takes control of only-one can't see it happen-and, again, the same is true ~th stones. the situation and, with god-like power, vanquishes the enemy. What the Greeks suffer in their hope for rain, the Egyptians endure Heracles becomes himself (his disguise was that of a mere man, which is in their ignorance; but Herodotus knows they suffer the same lot. The then cast off) and thus transforms a story of human ritual (the static)

85 84 EN ERG EL\ THORPE into human prowess (effective agency). Again, how stories are told priests telling this story are themselves priests of Theban Zeus-their and what they say go hand in hand. Of course, this is a broad gener­ temple now was her temple then. alization and many complicated permutations exist between the limit­ Herodotus also interviewed the Greek priestesses at Dod th li · · h · ona, e ing poles of truth/history/ preservation and beauty/myth/ transfor­ Evmg ~ en~ors of the oracular tradition as it was passed on by the mation-if I can grossly characterize them as such. In their incipient gyptian priestess, and asked them what they "had to say" on the stages, the stories the Greeks appropriate need not suffer much matter: change: [Ilhey said [a] black dove that flew from Thebes in Egypt [to But it was Melainpus who instituted the phallic procession to Dodona]. ... settled upon an oak tree and wi·th a human voice· pro- Dionysus, and it was from him that the Greeks learned to do claimed that there should be there, in that place, an oracle of what they do. It is my opinion that Melampus was a clever man Zeus; they themselves then gasped that this proclamation to who had formed for himself an art of divination, and, having them was a divine thing, and because of it they made the place learned from Egypt, he introduced much that was new to the of the oracle. (2.55) Greeks, including the ritual of Dionysus-and he made very little change in it. (2.49) !he Egyptian story and the Greek story agree on this much: the rmpetus for '.'the place of the oracle" was an Egyptian voice. But given enough time, the poetic impulse will take root. Consider the ~aking In the Egyptian the priestess arrives and sets up a temple of story of the oracle at Dodona, "the most ancient oracular place of all ~ers1on prophecy, recreating the environment of her former Egyptian life. In among the Greeks." (2.52) The Egyptians tell a story to the effect that Greek a dove lands upon an oak tree and from this tree, the first oracle at Dodona was a priestess from Egyptian Thebes who ~ e vers~on its proper envuonment, speaks, in a human voice, a proclamation had been carried off by Phoenicians and sold to the Greeks. This from the gods. The .tells the Greeks to make the place of the woman was the first to set up a place of prophecy among the Greeks. d~v~ the dove llltiates symbolically, the Greeks are to effect Herodotus comments: ~ra cle. ~hat m practice; just as the dove spoke from a tree in a voice not its own \V'hen I asked [the priests telling the story] from what source they so the Greeks are to establish a home for the oracle from whence sh~ spoke with such exact knowledge, they said that there had been can prophesy. a great search by their own people after [this] woman, but [she] A~ter rel~ying both accounts, Herodotus, agreeing with the could never be found, but that afterwards they had learned about Egypti.an vers~on, hypothesizes that the Greek version of the story [her] what they now told me. (2.54) came mto existence through a sequence of transformations. (See The account the Egyptians give Herodotus comes from their own 2. 55-59 for most of what follows.) The Egyptian priestess, "being a inquiry and conforms to their model of storytelling. The loss of the slave ~ere ... set up a shrine-~ ~onor of Zeus, under an oak that grew priestess of Theban Zeus is for them a historical fact. The Egyptians there. Then, because she llltially spoke in a barbarian tongue the preserved her story through the generations with notable precision. D o.donaeans who heard her called her a dove: she seemed to talk like They made inquiry, found out her story, and recorded it against loss; a bud. Then, "efter a time, [the Dodonaeans] said, 'The bird spoke with they have an affinity with H erodotus as historians. And note that the ~ human voice,' as soon as the woman talked comprehensibly." [my italics] By this account, the Greeks took on the slave woman's spiritu-

86 87 THORPE ENERGEL\ al practice, while at the same time transforming her Egyptian appear­ . ers of poetic sediment and must be retrieved, but at a heavy price. Its ance and language into an animal form, a black dove. The appropria­ credibility diminishes with every stratum; what Herodotus exhumes tion of her custom parallels the transformation of the story told from the Greek story in his analysis bears the stain of myth, of hav­ about her: She set up a shrine and spoke in gibberish (she talks like a ing been crafted. The benefit of the Greek transformation is that it dove); she learned to speak the language of the Greeks (the dove spoke unknowingly preserves and highlights an important truth: The oracu­ our language); the Greeks learned and kept her practice for their own (a lar tradition at Dodona was established by a force totally outside of do ve founded the oracle at Dodona). For the Egyptians, the intermediary Greek comprehension. From a historical perspective, the Greek story step, where the priestess exists in a poetic-historic haze, is anathema seems to le~ve out everything, retaining only the barest mention of to their preservation ethic. Removed from this ethic, the priestess of Egypt, while the Egyptians story is a stilted, taciturn affair that begs Thebes is doubly transgressed: On the one hand she is transformed more questions than it answers. Only Herodotus is in the position to into something like a defective, anonymous ibis ("[the ibis] is won­ coalesce both stories into a plausible story. derfully black all over . . . "), one of the most sacred birds in Egypt. On Heracles becomes a hero; the priestess becomes a dove-these are the other hand she is made to cominit blasphemy by speaking through particular cases. It will be useful to consider the Greek gods in gener­ an animal, which is the prerogative of the gods. (2.76) The Greek al, and from this try to say something about Greek transformations in Dodonaeans took over an Egyptian practice, and at the same time general. The Greeks make the unchanging and historical change and almost erased its origins-the dove is yet from Egypt. so become mythical. The historical is written down and given con­ The same original event became for the Egyptians and Greeks crete form; the mythical is passed along, sometimes intentionally historic and mythic respectively. Here is what they have in common: altered in the telling, sometimes altered through unintentional varia­ As the Egyptians agree among themselves that it happened in such tion. The historical is set against change while the mythical evolves, and such a way, so too the Greeks agree among themselves that it hap­ sometimes in rapid, punctuated bursts. Herodotus believes that "all pened in such and such a way. The priestesses that Herodotus inter­ men know equally about the gods" (2.3), which doesn't mean that all viewed and the "other people of Dodona ... . concerned with the men know the names of the gods or their offices. The Pelasgians, shrine" all tell the same story: their shrine was established by divine from wh.om the Greeks learned the names of the gods, initially called proclamation via a black dove from Egyptian Thebes. The Theban the gods "gods," without further specificity. (2.52) They worshipped priests agree amongst themselves and the Dodona priestesses agree the original gods in their unparticularized form. Then the Pelasgians among themselves, but neither party agrees with the other-and nei­ learned the particular names of the gods from the Egyptians (names ther party has the full story. If historically important events result here can refer to either title or personality or both. The important from tensions between people and nations-let us posit this-then his­ point is that the names they learned from the Egyptians were of a lim- 3 tory will always consist of competing stories told in competing man­ ited nature compared to their subsequent transformations). When ners. The priestess of Dodona is the subject of two separate stories, the Pelasgians settled in Greek territory they became Greek, and the both of which fail to account for the whole truth, and both of which Greeks took the names of the gods from the Pelasgians-again, just leave out as much as they say. The Egyptian story glosses over the the names. As for the relationships between the gods, their family details of how a slave became the first oracle of Greece, but instead organization, their chronology and coming-into-being, and, further, simply asserts it as fact. The Greek story has been buried under lay- 89 88 THORPE ENERGEIA

"their honors, their arts, [and] their shapes," these were given to the Greek religious culture appears to have been transformatively gods later by the great theogonizers, Homer and Hesiod. (2.53) There founded, on a massive scale. As for the Egyptians, they appear to have was a people and there were gods-original events. The Pelasgians set­ always had their gods and to have preserved them well, along with the tled among the Athenians and "came to be regarded as Greeks." bulk of their original Egyptian culture. Recall that there was always a (2.51) The Greeks absorbed the Pelasgians and the names of their people and there was always a river: the Egyptians and the Nile. gods; and then poets, in a burst of mythopoiesis, transformed the Herodotus never speaks of the Egyptians gaining their gods or trans­ gods into distinctly Greek personalities having special names, histo­ forming them. Rather, for the Egyptians, there were gods. The ries, and functions. The transformations of Heracles and the Theban Egyptians knew the gods and knew their names. Egypt grew and the priestess are representative instances of a large-scale phenomenon. Egyptians filled it. As the landscape of Egypt changed gradually with The Greeks didn't invent the gods from whole-cloth, but gave time, so too did the Egyptians: "For by no means [do] all Egyptians shape to what was original and true. The Pelasgians worshipped gods worship the same gods alike ... " (2.42) In Mendes they sacrifice sheep, in their original form; their gods embodied the archaic forces that but not goats. The Thebans sacrifice goats but neither sheep nor rams "disposed everything in order and arranged all." Herodotus claims (with the exception of one ram a year) because of a "custom [that] that the etymology of theoi reflects this. The gods of the Pelasgians has been established among them." The Egyptians who live above disposed all and so were called the-disposing-ones. These people marsh country differ from those living in the marshes-but not by "made all their sacrifices with invocations to gods ... but put no spe­ much. Those in the marshes "have much the same customs as the cial title or name on any of them; for they had not yet heard of any rest ... but with respect to cheap food they have made certain innova­ such." The Pelasgians made ritualized (ordered) sacrifices to the tions." (2.92) Over time, internally, the Egyptians part company over forces which ordered their world. There was nothing to be written minor differences. New customs come into being; new stories are down and nothing to be told. 'The forces of the world were self-evi­ told. Yet these are minor changes, anomalies in an otherwise homog­ dent and had as yet no names; the rituals mimicked in the particular enous culture preserved in stone, papyrus lists, patriarchies, kings, what the gods did universally, that is, purposing, disposing, setting­ fixed classes, religious scruples, and a kind of cultural xenophobia: forth. The Pelasgians and the theoi lived in an immediate relationship. "The Egyptians avoid following Greek customs and, to speak in gen­ Then, "[a]fter a great while," the Pelasgians heard the names of their eral, the customs of any people other than their own." (2.91) It is this unnamed gods from the Egyptians. The Egyptian names fit the integrity of culture that allows Herodotus to comment: "I believe that Pelasgian gods because the gods existed initially, originally for all peo­ all of Egypt is this country which is lived in by the Egyptians." (2.17) ple; these were not new gods but names for existing, though perhaps The landscape changed a little-but only a little. The Egyptians still generic, gods. Names and gods. aligned; the Pelasgians gained a degree sing the funeral chant that honored the death of their first king's son; of sophistication. ''After a time," the Pelasgians asked the oracle at it was their first and only song. Dodona if they should "take on the n~mes that came from the bar­ Finally, we can put the Greek people and the Egyptian people side barians." (2.52) The Dodonaean oracle-whose practice was entirely by side. The Egyptians are resistant to change, but not immune. The Egyptian of course-affirmed the use of the Egyptian names. The Greeks, on the other hand, seem especially adaptive and self-invent­ black dove from Thebes affirmed her flock. ing, working from barbarian material (mostly Egyptian, with some exceptions) to forge their own cosmology and world-view. Without

90 91 THORPE ENERGEL\ giving a thoroughgoing cause-and-effect account, Herodotus paints a speculate that the name Proteus triggered a conversation, with picture of an ancient world of equally human humans, separated by ~ erodotus eager to sort out the differences between the Egyptian's geography, but otherwise very similar in their ways and worship. From king a~d the Greek god of the same name, "[t]he Ancient of the 5 this original stock (I can only guess at its distribution) the various Salt ... unmortal Proteus of Egypt." However it came about in the national characters unfolded; Greeks became increasingly Greek, and midst o~ the li~t of kin?s, ~erodotus learns that Homer's stor; has an the Egyptians became increasingly Egyptian-but not at the same rate. alterna~ve telling, a historical telling in his opinion. In a nutshell, As the gods became more specific for the Greeks, the theogony of a c ~ording ~o the Egyptian priests, Helen was never taken to Troy. The the Egyptians remained, for the most part, immutable. This initial dif­ priests begm Helen's story with her arrival in Egypt: ference between the two cultures-a tendency to change vs. a tenden­ ..Alexander carried off Helen from Sparta and set sail for his own cy to stasis-signifies deeper spiritual differences. between them, dif­ c~untry; wh~n he got into the .Aegean, wrecking winds forced ferences whose origins Herodotus does not indicate; he never says h~ out_of his course into the Egyptian sea; and after that, as the why the Greeks are prone to myth-making, or why the Egyptians are winds did not let up, he came to Egypt and, in Egypt, to what is prone to preservation, but only notes. that they are and have been so now called the Canobic Mouth of the Nile and to the Saltpans. (2.113) for a long time. The Greek gods, the theoi, that became more (by acquiring names) became again more (by acquiring stories); once The Canobic Mouth is the large, west-most mouth of the Nile's five named they became mythogonized by the poets. Names are the han­ mouths. The Ionians used the Canobic leg of the Nile to define the dles for story-handlers, the access point by which the plain is made fil­ ~ e lta, meaning that everything west of this leg they considered to be igree. It was a poetic spirit that gave the Greek gods their office. It was L~bya. Though Herodo.tus technically disagrees with the Ionians (and a preserving spirit which gave the Egyptian gods their fixed thrones. with good reason), thett description has some truth to it; Alexander The two spirits met and recoiled over Helen, who was an original landed in Egypt and had he gone much farther, he would have been event for both. in another country. This is important for two reasons. The first is that The next section of this essay examines the story of Helen in H ero~otus uses this information as evidence to implicate Homer in a depth, focusing on the differences between the Egyptian priests' ver­ mythic cover-up. Herodotus calls our attention to a scene in the Iliad sion of her story and Homer's version, as told in the Iliad and the just prior to Hekabe's failed, elaborate supplication to Athena: Oc!Jssry. These differences are discussed in light of the material just presented. Helen's story is a premiere example of Egyptian preserva­ But Hekabe went down to the low chamber tion and Greek transformation. The conclusion follows. fragrant with cedar, where her robes were kept, embroidered work by women of Sidonia ..Alexandros had brought, that time he sailed The Story of Helen and ravished Helen, princess, pearl of kings. (289-92) 6 Herodotus doesn't say how he knew to ask the priests about Helen-he just does: "When I asked of the priests, they told me that Regarding these verses, Herodotus writes:

what had happened to Helen was this ... "-1 Proteus' name comes up in the course of the Egyptian priests' presentation of kings, following immediately on king Pheros, who followed on king Sesostris. We can 93 92 EN ERGEL-\ THORPE

... 1t 1s plain that Homer knew of .Alexander's wandering to . ~hat Hekabe offered to Athena, Helen was making for herself-a tex­ Egypt; for Syria is the neighboring country to Egypt, and the tile produced by skill. Hekabe's train of suppliants mirrors Helen's Phoenicians, to whom Sidon belongs, live in Syria. (2.16) I household women. Unwittingly, Helen competes with Athena. She The coincidence is too great for Herodotus. The Egyptians claim that brings into her immediate world, with her own techne, what is laid on Alexander was forced to land in Egypt, right next to Syria, before I Athena's knees, Hekabe's treasure from afar. As long as we're out on returning to Troy. Homer claims ("if we are to speak on the testimo­ a limb, we might as well conjecture that the robe's connection to Paris' ny of epic poets") that Alexander had stopped in Syria before return­ abduction of Helen suggests that Helen rejected the robe for herself. ing to Troy. Why would Homer insert this detail if he didn't already A the~a can only be insulted at a cast-off gift-offering, a discarded have in mind the Egyptian version of the story?-so runs Herodotus' covenng unfit for Helen's real beauty and which Helen could make of reasoning. If Homer didn't know the Egyptian version of the original her own powers .... The main point here is that the Sidonian women story, then why would he bother making up a trip to Sidon, causing can be read as ornamentation to the ornamental robe, and less incul­ Alexander to cross the full length of the Mediterranean? Herodotus' pating than Herodotus makes it out to be. point is that Sidon is too conspicuous ·a location to be accidental and The second reason for noting Alexander's landing place is the that it gives away Homer's transformation. To be fair, Homer's version parallel it has with Menelaus' trip to Egypt in the Ocfyssey. In the has more to it than this. Herodotus himself, in this instance, is guilty Egyptian story, winds force Alexander to land on shores just inside of leaving out much: ~e Can~bic mouth. In the Homeric story, winds force Menelaus (this will be. discussed shortly) to the same mouth: Pharos lies just off the Hekabe lifted out her loveliest robe, Canob1c, at the westward edge of the Egyptian seacoast. Menelaus most ample, most luxurious in brocade, lands while the Nile is flooded, and, by inference (the winds blow and glittering like starlight under all. This offering she carried to .Athena inland wh~n the Nile is flooded), so does Alexander. In either story, with a long line of women in train. Helen arnves in Egypt against her captain's (captor's) will, at the . .. Theano with grace took up the robe ~er cy of u~favorable winds. Helen was destined for Egypt and des­ to place it on fair-haired .A.. thena's knees .. . tmed for this particular part of Egypt, no matter who tells the story. These were Theano's prayers, her vain prayers. Once Alexander made it to shore, his servants learned of a cer­ Pallas .Athena turned away her head. (Book VI, 320) tain law pertaining to the shrine of Heracles (this shrine being right With this added context, other readings of the robe are possible. The on the ~hore): "If a. servant takes refuge in (that shrine] ... and has put souvenir of Paris' "rape and robbery" of Helen, was rejected. (1.3) upon himself certain sacred brand-marks, thereby surrendering him­ The Sidonian women's alien craftsmanship is meant to give the robe self to ~e god'. no one may lay a hand on him." In other words, by an exotic aura, and hence great value. Precisely for this reason, it calls ~ansfet~mg theu bondage to the god Heracles, servants can seek jus­ attention to itself: The robe is a beautiful shell, but not a living beau­ tice against unjust masters. Alexander's servants "wished to injure ty like Helen. Hekabe offered up the artificial, external, soulless robe him" and so accused him to the priests of Heracles and local precinct while, "during (this] supplication at the shrine," Helen sat "among her warden; they told the "whole story of Helen and the wrong done to household women ... directing needlecraft and splendid weaving." Menelaus." The warden then sent message to king Proteus, who in

94 95 ENERGElA THORPE turn had Alexander arrested and brought to Memphis, along with The resemblance between Proteus and Herodotus is a limited Helen, the stolen property and the suppliants (Alexander's men). I one. Herodotus looks beyond mere factual evidence in the Iliad to als o Once in Memphis, Proteus interrogated Alexander. He asked him consider the story itself, gauging whether or not Helen's residence in "who he was and where he sailed from." Alexander smoothly obliged Ilium makes good storytelling sense (fhe equivalent gesture from him. Then Proteus asked him "where he got Helen from." To this Proteus would have been to consider Alexander's story on the basis Alexander faltered and the "suppliant servants" (no longer his ser­ of how much it insulted his intelligence.) Is Homer's version of the vants) "bore witness against him." Proteus then judged against story reasonably plausible, or is its audience forced to suspend knowl­ Alexander on three related charges: a) doing the unholiest, coming at edge of human nature? Herodotus again calls the Greek storytelling one's host's wife; b) empassioning one's host's wife to steal away; c) ethic into account. As he chastised the Greeks for thoughtlessness plundering one's host. Proteus refrains from having Alexander killed regarding Heracles' mass slaughter of the Egyptians, so does he go because he himself is now in the position of being a host; Alexander after the great poet. He reasons thus: Had the Trojans had Helen, they is a stranger in a foreign land, set there against his will, and therefore would have given her back to the Greeks, unwilling to risk "their own a guest. Ironically, Alexander is spared. death-his guest-crime's proper bodies, children, and city so that Alexander should lie with Helen." due-because of the guest privileges he now enjoys. The protocol of Priam was a reasonable king, and would have eventually done the rea­ hospitality that he violated now protects him. sonable thing, even if sentiment ran initially otherwise. Further, if Herodotus and Proteus share a similar skepticism over Priam would have perished, the throne would have fallen to Hektor, Alexander's story. Proteus doesn't buy Alexander's story as Alexander who would "certainly not have suited to comply with his erring broth­ tells it, and Herodotus doesn't buy Alexander's story as Homer tells it. er." In short, whole kingdoms of men are willing to die for kinfolk, Let us carry this analogy further: Homer falters in his story, leaving but not without just cause-and Helen does not constitute a just cause. behind evidence (the above mentioned quote from the Iliad, among Menelaus' twofold story-Homeric and Egyptian tellings-is more others) of his deceit; his own text witnesses against him. Herodotus complicated than Alexander's. For one thing, both the Egyptians and thinks that "Homer knew the tale [told by the Egyptians]; but inas­ Homer agree that Menelaus came to Egypt. (fo be clear, Alexander's much as it was not suitable for epic poetry as the other, he used the visit to Egypt is told explicitly only by the Egyptians, though latter and consciously abandoned the one told here." The Egyptians Herodotus attempts to corroborate it with circumstantial evidence had Helen-so they say, and Herodotus agrees. Homer heard the and an intuitive understanding of good storytelling.) Menelaus' story Egyptian story and took it for his own. Homer willfully stole Helen is also complicated because the Homeric version and the Egyptian away from the Egyptians and plundered some of the details of the version are related in a way that resists interpretation. If Homer knew Egyptian story. Homer abandoned the truth and told a story and so the Egyptian version of Menelaus' story, his transformation of it violated the protocol of history-making-if we are to speak on the tes­ reveals little in the way of method. Alexander's story was transformed timony of historians. Proteus judged against Alexander and returned in the simplest of ways: it was untold. Why didn't Menelaus' story suf­ Helen and the stolen property to Menelaus. Herodotus judges against fer the same fate? Why have Menelaus travel to Egypt at all? Surely his the historical truth of Homer's story and returns Helen and the sur­ opulent home and splendid furnishings could have come from other rounding details to the Egyptians: "No, the Trojans did not have Helen nations, as some of them, in fact, did? to give back."

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In the Egyptian version of Menelaus' story, the Greeks sacked ... \V'hat a wonder! (IV.270) Troy only to learn that the Trojans had been telling the truth all along: Menelaus overhearing this, without yet recogruzmg his guests, Proteus had Helen. Menelaus set out to get her. On arriving in responds: Memphis, Menelaus was "told the truth of what had happened, and received great hospitality and took back Helen, quite unhurt, and all .. . as for men, it may well be that few his own possessions as well." So far so good. But then, "Menelaus have more than I. How painfully I wandered proved an unjust man to the Egyptians": before I brought it home! Seven years at sea, Kypros, Phoinikia, Egypt, and still farther For when he was eager to sail home, contrary winds held him among the sun-burnt races. there; and to deal with this, he did something very wicked: he I saw the men of Sidon and Arabia took two children of the natives and sacrificed them. \'\!hen his and Libya, too. . . (IV 90) deed was discovered, he was hated and pursued as he fled with his ships to Libya. \'\!here he went from there the Egyptians can- A brief review of events leading up to this scene (above) is in order:7 not say. (2.119) As Nestor tells the story, "God scattered the Akhaians ... seeing they would not think straight nor behave, or some would not." After the Presumably, the truth that Menelaus heard was that Proteus had acted Greeks had sacked and plundered Troy, the very next morning on his behalf, partially righting the wrong done to him by Alexander. Agamemnon and Menelaus called an assembly. The soldiers, still For this Menelaus was in Proteus' debt; add to this debt the hospital­ "soaked with wine," turned out to hear their commanders. Menelaus ity showed to Menelaus in Memphis, not to mention the care shown urged a speedy departure; Agamemnon urged a respite to sacrifice a to Helen over the years. Proteus had been the host par excellence. hekatomb to Athena, "to pacify [her] rage." The army itself was divid­ Menelaus' wickedness lie in the fact that he had utterly destroyed Troy ed. Half of the army stayed behind with Agamemnon as their com­ over the "impious deeds" done to him by a guest, only to commit an mander, the other half took to the sea. The seafaring half itself short­ injustice while a guest himself. If impious deeds and unjust acts can ly split up, with Odysseus and his men returning back to Agamemnon. roughly be compared, then Menelaus' actions were hypocritical. Those who didn't return to Agamemnon kept on. Of these, the major Menelaus is perhaps less guilty than Alexander only in as much as he captains, Nestor and Diomedes and Menelaus all met up at Lesbos didn't affront "his very host," but his host's subjects-but perhaps where they "mulled over the long sea route" before them. After more guilty in light of the ruins of Troy. choosing a route, Menelaus went as. far as Sunion Point with Nestor, Homer's version of Menelaus' trip to Egypt takes place in Book but then Menelaus' steersman died, felled with "some unseen arrow IV of the Ocfyssey. In this same Book, Telemakhos meets Menelaus for from Apollo." Menelaus landed to give his stee.tsman an honorable the first time and discovers that Menelaus is a rich man. Looking funeral. After this incident, already bad enough, Menelaus' luck around at the interior of Menelaus' mansion, Telemakhos comments changed for the worse. Back on the sea, "Zeus sent a gloom over the to Nestor's son: ocean, and a howling gale came on .. . parting the ships." Half of Menelaus' ships were driven towards Krete. The other half were 1\fy dear friend, can you believe your eyes?­ the murmuring hall, how luminous it is pushed against the Gortyn coastline where a razorback reef destroyed with bronze, gold, amber, silver, and ivory! all but five ships, which then alone remained to Menelaus.

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Because the Greeks would not think straight (or some would not), It is clear that, if Homer's version of Menelaus' story is a trans­ and were divided, so were they punished, through division. The orig­ formation of an Egyptian originfll, it is so brilliantly. By the time one inal division between Menelaus and Agamemnon recurs three more finishes reading Book IV, Menelaus' trip to Egypt makes perfect sto­ times, like a stone skipping over water until it finally sinks. Menelaus rytelling sense. His guilt over his brother's death back home and its ' takes half of the Greeks. This half is split with Odysseus' doubling connection to his wealth gained abroad, form a complete story- back. What remains is split again by a storm, with one section being thought. And the details of Menelaus' stay in Egypt are remarkably demolished on a reef. In the end, five ships are left under Menelaus' cohesive even from Herodotus' perspective, especially compared to command. Alexander's story. For example, Menelaus was stranded there for more After this, Menelaus and his men were "taken by wind and current than twenty days because the breeze coming off of the Nile shore to Egypt." Meanwhile, as Menelaus "made a fortune among those dis­ (behind him) was, in fact, not brisk, but "becalmed." This makes tant races," Agamemnon was killed by Aigisthos back in Mykenai. On sense. Towards the end of his story, Menelaus indicates that the Nile the very day that Agamemnon's son, Orestes, having avenged his was flooded; the Etesian winds (more on these later) blow strongly father, buried his traitorous mother and her "soft man" in a single from the northwest in the summer, and not "seaward." And when the tomb, Menelaus "made port with all the gold his ships could carry." Etesian winds aren't blowing, almost no wind blows. One of The juxtaposition of the two images is intentional; the fatherless Herodotus' pressing questions about the Nile is why "it is the only Orestes and the gold encumbered Menelaus set the tone for river that has no breeze blowing from it." His own theory is that "it Menelaus' dialogue with Telemakhos: is not natural for a breeze to come from exceedingly hot places." The Nile valley air is perpetually clear and calm and generally hot. But while I made a fortune on those travels Menelaus was tied down in Egypt waiting for the unnatural to a stranger killed my brother, in cold blood,- happen, for the placid Egyptian winds to become gusty. Here is tricked blind, caught in the web of his deadly queen. \""Vhat pleasure can I take, then, being lord another reason to praise Homer: Menelaus was stuck in Egypt by over these costly things? virtue of his own will because he had decided against offering prop­ er hekatombs to the gods following the razing of Troy. His original But as things are, nothing but grief is left me impiety, a matter of eagerness on his part, brings about retribution in for those companions. \""Vhile I sit at home kind: doldrums and waiting. sometimes hot tears come, and I revel in them, or stop before the surfeit makes me shiver. (IV 180) Herodotus doesn't debate the poetic genius of Homer's story, or decry it for its ostensible falsity. Instead, he adds to it a new chapter. And that brings us up to speed. The riches that Telemakhos observed According to Herodotus' straightforward reconstruction, the Trojans on his arrival in Menelaus' mansion only serve to remind Menelaus told the Greeks that they didn't have Helen and that she and the constantly of his losses, the stupid grounds upon which he and his stolen goods were in Egypt. The Greeks didn't believe them and so brother parted and the costs of that parting. The luminous halls are sacked Troy. Though this renders those parts of the Iliad containing an occasion for hot tears and bitter remembrances. On avowing his Helen totally mythical, as Herodotus sees it, the reconstructed story love for Odysseus and his sorrow over what must have become of retains what he considers its original moral: him, Menelaus weeps, and so do Helen, Telemakhos and Nestor's son.

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[T]he Divine was laying his plans that, as the Trojans perished in Throughout the entire history it is my underlying principle that it utter destruction, they might make this manifest to all the world: is v,;hat people severally have said to me, and what I have heard, that for great wrongdoings, great also are the punishments from that I must write down. (2.123) the gods. That is what I think, and that is what I am saying here. (2.120) The Histon'es contain all that Herodotus was told and all that he heard, but both came about, directly and indirectly, as responses to Herodotus' analysis of Helen's story brings to the foreground an Herodotus' inquiries. Herodotus' inquiring determines the general important element of his storytelling ethic: there is truth, but there is course of his discourse. Herodotus also determines what of such dis­ also wisdom. The truth regarding Helen's story is not as important as course finds its way into the Histories. Herodotus is the occasion for the wisdom it conveys, to those who will hear it. the Histon'es, their procuring agent and editor-which is just to say that Herodotus redacts self-consciously and purposely in microcosm what Conclusion nations (the Egyptians) collectively author over time in macrocosm, Herodotus' own storytelling ethic can now be triangulated. It is though with varying degrees of deliberation. The stories that get clear that, for Herodotus, the concept of story-agreement is a use­ passed along, finding their way. into common currency, achieving ful-but not absolute-means for discriminating between kinds of his­ some level of homogeneity in their telling-these Herodotus takes for torical evidence, and therefore guidelines for historical inclusion. That his primary material. From this material he works together a story of a story is agreed upon by one set of people (say the priests of Thebes) his own. If we were to treat his work as one of history, then we might does not make it historical truth, but might warrant its inclusion in the say that his threshold for inclusion was informed by a variety of his­ Histories. That a story told by one party is contradicted by another toriographical criteria. Among others: a story's relevance to the war story, equally corroborated, does not necessarily exclude either from between the Greeks and barbarians; a story's ability to provide con­ the Histon·es-nor does such a contradiction necessarily privilege one or text for other stories; a story's ability to support extra-historical argu­ the other as truthful. And certainly the composite stories that ments about, say, the nature of life in general. Herodotus wrings out of such contradictions (he acknowledges their But is Herodotus a historian? Nowhere in the Histories does speculative character) warrant inclusion in the Histories-but these sto­ Herodotus imply that historical writing is the techne of chronological­ ries too are neither fact nor fiction. Some stories and some specula­ ly arranging facts whose veracity is proven beyond doubt. His own tions not all make it into the Histories-of three hundred and forty one ' ' writing strives to preserve the nebulous stories surrounding and cov­ kings, only a handful are discussed because "none of the rest did any- ering over original events. Throughout Book II, Herodotus distin­ thing." (2.101) What governs the exceptions? Beyond their large scale guishes between what he thinks happened (there was a priestess; there arrangement according to evidential probity (agreement), we must was a hero) and what he is told about what he thinks happened. His further ask on what grounds are stories, ranging from the self-evident, discernment is evidenced in statements of belief and preference: "I first-person accounts of geographical facts to the inter-mythically myself believe [this] true"; "I believe those who say these things"; "I exhumed, selected for inclusion. Does Herodotus bring to his work a will tell you what I think myself"; "I have further evidence for my storytelling mode-and-filter complex similar to those employed by the judgment"; "For myself, I do not know". Herodotus is a voice him­ storians he interviews? One of his most open statements of rationale self among the voices he records. In writing himself into the Histories, is this:

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Herodotus becomes himself historical, a story worth recording: This matily dismissing the Greek theories (the first is disproved, the sec­ is what I, Herodotus, am sqying about this matter. His beliefs and prefer­ ond is unprovable, and the third is illogical), Herodotus writes: ences incorporate him into the story he unfolds, in contrast to a mode of history-presentation which relegates the story-teller to the back­ But if, having found fault with the opinions set forth, I must declare my own view in these matters, which are far from clear, I ground, creating the fac;ade of objectivity. In short, every criterion for will say why I think that the Nile floods in summertime. (2.24) inclusion in the Histories is Herodotus' criterion. Herodotus is uncon­ cerned about objectivity in this sense, about standing speechless on Because he brings forth his own story, Herodotus seemingly associ­ the outside of one's own storytelling. The Histories are just as much a ates himself with the other Greek theoreticians. But he differs from document about Herodotus of Halicarnassus as they are about the Greeks in important ways: his story is logical, open to investiga­ Amasis of Memphis and his other subjects. tion, and plausible. Herodotus proves himself to be uninvolved with It is an easy mistake to conclude from Book II that Herodotus cleverness; his story is properly theoretical. The Greeks tell foolish considers himself to be a historian in the manner of the Egyptian stories, foolish not for telling stories simply, but because they tell priests. The Egyptian world-view (~osmological preservation), the Greek stories, explaining the Nile's anomalous behavior because of its Egyptian manner of storytelling (permanent records), and the relation to Etesian winds, Ocean, and Libyan snows, respectively. Egyptian stories . themselves (histories) all share an intimate relation­ Herodotus' explanation fits perfectly with Egyptian sensibilities (had ship with each other, each reflecting a concern for sameness-stasis­ they wanted such a story), which is that "the sun [Osiris] is the cause preservation. Herodotus' own concerns somewhat overlap with those of these matters." (2.26) The Greek stories make the Nile subject to of the Egyptians. The Histories are meant to hold out against time, to external forces, alien forces unseen in Egypt proper: the Egyptians preserve. At the beginning of Book I, he writes: "I. .. am here setting know nothing of snow; the wind almost never blows; and Ocean is a forth my history, that time may not draw the color from what man has Greek myth "that Homer or one of the older poets ... introduced into brought forth ... " It is no accident then that Herodotus admires the his poetry." (2.23) Herodotus commits occasional acts of Greek-like Egyptians as historians and often agrees with them. Their spirits over­ storytelling, but with Egyptian interests. lap-but never coincide. Herodotus leans towards Egyptian accounts The obvious demonstration that Herodotus is not an Egyptian­ ("I say [on this matter] what the Egyptians themselves say") but with styled historian is that he considers the Egyptian histories inadequate. important reservations. Foremost among them is that Herodotus is The Greeks are needed to fill in Psammetichus' story, for instance. willing to make stories-thoughtful, theoretical stories. A good exam­ And yet neither is Herodotus a Greek myth-maker. The Greeks are ple of this is Herodotus' theory about the mysterious nature of the consummate myth-wielders. By allowing the anthropic element to Nile which attempts to explain why it is "the opposite of every other bleed across the adjacent realms of the divine and the natural, the river in the world." (2.19) Why does the Nile rise or recede in cycles Greeks bring to light the human realm. Heracles is a hero; I am a man. opposite those of other rivers? After persistent asking, Herodotus Further, by offering up a poeticized account of man, the Greeks finally concludes that the Egyptians don't know the answer and, reveal poetry as one of his activities. Herodotus calls this to our atten­ apparently, have nothing in the way of a theory to offer. Herodotus tion when he says, "The Greeks tell many stories that show no man­ has his own theory follow on those offered by "some of the Greeks ner of thought," and then proceeds to tell those very stories in all who want to be remarkable for their cleverness." (2.20) After sum-

104 105 ENERGEL\ THORPE their thoughtlessness. We learn through Herodotus what myth-mak­ . Greek myth-maker, nor a scientific historian with a mytho-historic ing is; Herodotus doesn't tell myths, but presents for us the Greeks, bent. He is something differynt from these, something more. who in their own voice, through narratological hyperbole, present Consider the rationale he gives for his sustained inquiry into Egypt: something of what it is to be human and, in so doing, a peculiar impulse to mythopoiesis. Herodotus tells a story that fully compasses I am going to be much longer in my story of Egypt. And this is because it has more wonders in it than any country in the world Greek storytelling; he puts the foolish Greeks to work. and more that are beyond description than anywhere else. That A more plausible, but still inadequate account of Herodotus is is why I will say may more about it. (2.35) that he mixes the two storytelling ethics together to yield a more accu­ rate history. The Egyptian cyclic/preservation model of storytelling Herodotus marvels at Egypt and the Egyptians. In a way, all of tends to generate history or stories that purport to be factual accounts Herodotus' work is sustained marveling, which, though following a of real, original events. On the other hand, the Greek appropria­ single thread of thought (Croesus, Cyrus, Cambyses, Darius, and tion/ transformation model tends to generate myths or stories that Xerxes), allows itself such stories as marveling is wont. And nowhere exhibit the world poetically, uncover.ing man's passions or motive is this more true than in Book II. Herodotus calls the labyrinth of the forces. What the Egyptian stories explicitly indicate of actions and twelve kings "a wonder past all words," and the pyramids "greater achievements ac~omplished, the Greek stories implicitly reveal in the than words can tell" -though the pyramids are not as great as the telling itself as possibilities of man's character, or, his impulse to poet­ labyrinth. The Lake of King Moeris is "an even greater marvel" than icize and imbue his spirit into the world. Historical Egyptian papyrus the labyrinth. (2.149) Herodotus marvels at monuments, but also cus­ lists and Mythological Greek oral poetry both work to show man's toms: "There are so many matter at which I marvel among the nature. We might conjecture that Herodotus weaves the two togeth­ Egyptians, but certainly one is whence they got the name of the Linus er-historic stories and mythic stories-because together, with the song. It is clear that they have sung it forever." (2.79) proper archeology, they can yield knowledge of original events. As the The thing which is marveled at is greater than words can tell or case with the oracle at Dodona shows, Herodo_tus is able to recon­ beyond description; and yet Herodotus describes all such marvelous struct a plausible account of an original event by letting the two com­ things in great detail, often in the greatest detail and with great pleas­ peting claims inform each other. By understanding, passing through, ure. Herodotus enjoys sharing the marvelous things; and "Egypt has and neutralizing the Greek storytelling ethic he is able to uncover a more wonders in it than any country in the world and more that are single truth which before lived in two separate stories. Such deft beyond description than anywhere else." Then he says, " That is wf?y I maneuvers disclose those nodes in our past from which stories will sqy more about it." [my italics] Egypt is the most unspeakable coun­ diverge, and it is these nodes which the scientifically minded histori­ try in the whole world, and that is why Herodotus speaks about it at an must take as his guide, lest he fall prey to them. such length. That which can't be captured by stories is the very sub­ But it is not Herodotus' intention to uncover the original, histor­ ject of Herodotus' story. That which is worthy of setting down and ical world underlying divergent stories in order to be a better histori­ putting forth in writing is immune to preservation. How can this be an-though original events are clearly among his many concerns. Only so? Consider the opening of the HistorieJ. a handful of arche-mythoi, in the manner of the oracle at Dodona, are presented. Herodotus is neither an Egyptian historian, nor a

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I, Herodotus of Halicarnassus, am here setting forth my history, Cities grow smaller, cities grow larger, and good fortune moves and that time may not draw the color from what man has brought abides in neither. Good fortune endures through time, though it cer­ into being, nor those great and wonderful deeds, manifested by both Greeks and barbarians, fail of their report, and, together tainly takes on different forms-so too pissing, dealing with one's facial with all this, the reason why they fought one another. (1.1) hair, and making food can take on different forms, or be done in dif­ ferent ways. The fact that Egyptian men grow out their beards when Herodotus sets forth a history about what man has brought into being they grieve is not important in itself, but it says something about grief and what the Greeks and barbarians in their war brought into being. and how men change their appearance in remembrance of the dead. The Greeks are men and the barbarians are men, and the Egyptians Herodotus records that when wealthy Egyptians eat in social gather­ are barbarians, and so also men. Herodotus sets out to tell about those ings, "there is a man who carries around the likeness of a dead man things brought into being, the great and the wonderful, the notable, in in a coffin." This man says to the guests: "Look upon him, drink and short, the marvelous. This is worth repeating, even telling redundant­ enjoy yourself; for even you shall be as such when you are dead." ly in the Egyptian manner: This person, I, Herodotus, tells a story about (2.78) The dead remind Egyptian men to take hold of their lives fully; man-things which defy telling and also. those Greek and barbarian but Egyptian men remember the dead by letting go of themselves, by things which defy telling. letting their beards grow unchecked. These thoughts are compound­ Let us separate the marvelous and the unspeakable. Here are ed in the act of mourning. Herodotus notes that an Egyptian man in some of the marvelous things of the Egyptians which defy telling: grief over a loved one is best consoled by looking upon the· loved Egyptian women piss standing up; Egyptian men shave close, except one's mummified body;gneve no more, but live,foryou shall be as me, remem­ when grieving when they let their beards grow long; Egyptians knead bered. In Egypt, the dead and the living speak to each other. And while dough with their feet. (2.36) How is the trivial also marvelous? The we do not, as readers, share in these particular customs, we see concept of marvelous or wondrous embraces much more than just through Herodotus how sorrow, memory and joy belong together. monuments and great deeds. Here is why shaving is marvelous: it The thoroughgoing integrity of Egyptian customs, so concretely dif­ points to something unspeakable. The marvelous things point to the ferent from our own, somehow belies our unspeakable, spiritual kin­ unspeakable,· the visible and manifest light up the hidden and true. Of course ship with them. This same kinship can be broached and better artic­ these particular things (pissing, etc.) are recorded in the list of con­ ulated by witnessing its expressions, the forms it takes in the traries, those things which the Egyptian people do contrary (or some­ world-attentiveness can inspire compassion. From investigating the times opposite) to most others. So are these perhaps marvelous only marvelous it is possible to become wise about the unspeakable. in a limited sense? On the contrary, they are as marvelous as the great Herodotus went to Egypt and saw and heard marvelous things, cities: through them realizing better the unspeakable. Myths, monuments, customs, histories, personal observations-all of these appear in Book I will go forward in my account, covering alike the small and II because they are marvelous, they all revelatory of unspeakable great cities of mankind. For of those that were great in earlier times most have now become small, and those that were great in things, aids to wisdom. The relevance of Book II is thus twofold. On my time were small in my time before. Since, then, I know that the one hand, Book II is a unity unto itself, a systematic exposition of man's good fortune never abides in the same place, I will make what is worthy of wondering over in Egypt and in Egyptian customs mention of both alike. (1.5) and history. Its presence in the Histories requires no further justifi.ca-

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ENERGEIA ti.on, except for those with a surfeit of wisdom already. On the other Notes: hand, Book II is a component in the rest of the Histories, one of sev­ 1. I am highly indebted to Seth Benardete's Herodotean Inquiries. Although I find eral in-depth investigations into barbarian peoples who are historical­ Bernadete's treatment of Book II inspiring, for the most part I disagree him, espe­ ly and culturally related. The central story line of the Histories (the cially concerning Book II's structure. Bernadette assumes the traditional four-part Persian war), brings together all of the barbarians, including the division in content, whereas I envision a three part division defined by kinds of evi­ Egyptians, and shows them doing great and wonderful deeds. dence: non-historical findings; single-sourced historical findings; inter-sourced his­ torical findings. See Benardete; Herodotean Inquiries; St. Augustine's Press 1999. Herodotus does not intend to chronicle the Persian war, where chronos 2. This quote recalls the opening story of Book II: '~-\s he came constantly and is the key idea. Rather, he exhibits people acting gloriously, ignobly, gave careful heed to the matter, this word was constantly with them." Both quotes vainly, or in any number of ways, but always marvelously, bringing emphasize continual, careful attentiveness. into being things worth recording. Book II is purposefully arranged, 3. See Green's interesting footnotes (p.153-5) on what Herodotus means by a both internally and with regard to the rest of the Histories; the Histories god's name: ''What he does mean is the complex of personality referred to broad­ ly as the god's name." are wisdom texts of the highest order; and, finally, I utter a truth 4. See 2.113 through 2.120 for Herodotus' discussion of Helen. which risks becoming meaningless ~ the light of its own glaring self­ 5. Homer; The Oqyssry, translated by Robert Fitgerald; Everyman's Library 1992; evidence: Herodotus is wise. note that all character spellings follow Fitzgerald, except "Menelaus," which follows Green's spelling as he presents it in the HistorieJ, lines 3 70-630 of Book IV of the Odyssey contain 1vfenelaus' story to Telemakhos. 6. Homer; The Iliad, also translated by Fitzgerald; Everyman's Library 1992; 289- 92 of Book VI 7. The following is a quick paraphrase of Nestor's story starting on Book III, line 140, of the Oqyssry.

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Energeia St. John's College