As I begin writing this, I've just finished reading Book Three of Herodotus' The Histories as the next step in the OGB reading curriculum. Herodotus of Halicarnassus lived in the fifth century BC and is commonly known as the father of history, his Histories being the oldest known surviving historical account of the Western world. This work recounts the history of interactions between the Hellenes (Greeks) and the surrounding peoples, especially the Persian Empire, from distant mythological times up through the Persian invasions of Hellas. The account begins with the preamble:

Herodotus of Halicarnassus here presents his research so that human events do not fade with time. May the great and wonderful deeds—some brought forth by the Hellenes, others by the barbarians—not go unsung; as well as the causes that led them to make war on each other.

— Herodotus, The Histories Proem

Ever since reading Homer's Iliad, I've had a sense that there lives deep within every human being a desire to live on in the memory of others long after our mortal lives have ended. In the Iliad this is reflected in Achilles' choice to stay and die young and gloriously at Troy when he could have chosen to return home and live out a long, comfortable life and die an old man in obscurity. Over 3,000 years later we're still reading Achilles' story, so it's safe to say he achieved what he wanted. In the opening of The Histories, Herodotus takes on a different role, not as the one being remembered, but as the one ensuring that the deeds of others are remembered. As a byproduct of his efforts, Herodotus himself gets to be remembered far beyond his physical lifetime as well.

By reading and discussing Herodotus' account, we ourselves get to participate in Herodotus' mission. There is no story without an audience to hear it, and we are the audience now. Herodotus had a noble goal of ensuring that great deeds were recorded, but it is us, the audience, who must choose to read and engage with the story and ensure that his mission is fulfilled.

What Exactly Is This Book, Anyway?

Despite the title, The Histories definitely straddles a line between history and mythology. I use the word "mythology" deliberately and in the highest possible sense as a type of story that tries to go beyond literal events in the physical world and tell us something about the world, or about humanity, more generally. Herodotus often tells us outright in his account that he is simply repeating rumors he has been told by others while on his travels throughout the known world. Many of these accounts have a highly fantastical flavor to them, like tales of Egyptian flying serpents, or of ants in India the size of small dogs that build gold-dust-infused anthills and attack people who try to collect the gold dust. Herodotus frequently expresses his own skepticism as to the truth of many of these rumors.

These wild stories are one thing, but it's probably even more important that the very geography of Herodotus' known world is structured in a mythological fashion. Hellas itself forms the center of the world for Herodotus and is the location of the most civilized and familiar people and customs. Heading further out towards the margins of the world one encounters Egypt and Persia, the other two major civilizations of the day, which are still fairly civilized but whose religious and societal customs are increasingly strange to the Hellenes. Even further out towards the margins one begins to encounter the true barbarians such as the Scythians to the north of the Black Sea, nomadic horse archer types whose name conjures up images of medieval Mongol hordes sweeping down upon peaceful Chinese villages. The Scythians live in a cruel, harsh climate and their culture reflects their environment: depending on the specific tribe, they practice human sacrifice of captured enemies, deal out beheadings for seemingly minor offenses, and consider it dishonorable for a man to go a full year without killing an enemy in battle.

As with other mythological structures of the world, the true monsters lie far out on the margins, beyond even the Scythians and people like them. Herodotus speaks of even more wild cultures to the north of the Scythians: barely-human nomads who have sex in public like animals and practice cannibalism, and in some cases may even be sorcerers or werewolves, literally blurring the line between human and animal. On another edge of the world, a Persian sea voyage past the Pillars of Herakles (Strait of Gibraltar) and into the Atlantic once brought back news of jungle pygmies somewhere along the west coast of Africa. On Egypt's southern border lie the Ethiopians, and beyond them the long-lived Ethiopians along the unexplored southern reaches of the Nile who are apparently borderline godlike, being the tallest and most handsome of all men who live absurdly long lives and regard the Egyptians as a normal human might regard a dog.

The point is that the world from the Hellenic point of view is structured in such a way that Hellas itself represents civilization, the known, the safe, and the familiar; while the edges of the known world represent chaos, the unknown, the dangerous, and the wild. There is a fairly smooth gradient of familiarity between the center and the margin.

On top of this structure of the world, Herodotus builds anecdotes about the structure and nature of human life. For example, he tells us about Polykrates, a ruler of the Hellenic island of Samos, who keeps enjoying ridiculously good fortune for so long that Amasis, the current king of Egypt, breaks off an alliance with him because he doesn't think it possible that one man could continue avoiding even minor setbacks for that long. Amasis thinks Polykrates' downfall is inevitable because the structure of a man's life is such that he experiences a mixed bag of fortune both good and bad, and Polykrates is far overdue for the bad half of his fortune. Amasis is proved correct when Polykrates is deceived by Oroites, the Persian governor of Sardis, and lured to Susa before being brutally killed. The account is full of tragic anecdotes like this where a man enjoys success, gets too cocky or commits some egregious affront to the gods, and then meets his untimely demise. This often comes along with stories of premonitory dreams, omens, prophecies, and other signs from the gods, many of which one might question how Herodotus could possibly have heard of in order to write them down.

In the midst of all this, Herodotus also tells us about historical events in the physical world, such as who is invading and conquering whom and why they decided to do so, which men are kings of which cities and regions, and information on the cultures and customs of far-flung nations like Egypt, Scythia, and Babylonia. The main narrative focuses on the Persian Empire and its interactions with the Hellenes, first tracing the roots of the empire in the Lydian, Median, and Assyrian cultures of the Near East and culminating with the Persian Wars. This narrative also takes on mythological significance as part of a larger cultural clash between East and West, as a continuation of the Homeric Trojan War, and as a portrayal of the cycle of an empire from its birth, through its height of flourishing, and ultimately to its corruption and death.

So what Herodotus gives us is something far beyond a mere accounting of historical events, and even beyond an investigation of the causes of and relationships between historical events, although he certainly gives us that as well. I'm sure someone smarter than me has come up with a name for this kind of thing, but in my head I've been calling it "mythtory". Pronounced like Mike Tyson is trying to tell you the genre of a Sherlock Holmes story.

The Joy of Reading Herodotus

Herodotus looms large over the OGB seminars that haven't read him yet as the couple of months where you have an absurdly large amount of reading to do. This isn't wrong; we tackle the 722 pages of the Landmark Herodotus edition in just two months, with 490 of those pages in the first month alone. There's so much reading that for the first time in the program we are recommended to skim or skip parts of it just for the sake of getting it all done in the time allotted.

Despite the volume of reading, I've been thoroughly enjoying the time I've spent with Herodotus. In fact, I don't think any Great Book I've read so far matches The Histories in the department of simple, pure fun. When I began this article I had just finished Book Three, but it's been a few days since then and I'm now a fair ways into Book Four. If you're familiar with Herodotus, you'll know that at this point the main narrative has barely even gotten started yet and I'm already over 300 pages in. We've heard about the forming of the Persian Empire by Cyrus and his son Cambyses, how Darius took back the empire from the Magi after Cambyses' death, and about the very preliminary seeds of war between Darius and the Hellenes, but that's about it for the main narrative. It seems that every time Herodotus mentions a new people or location, he goes off on a long digression about the culture, history, geography, and/or customs of that people or location. At the end of Book One Cambyses prepares to invade and conquer Egypt after the death of Cyrus, but we don't actually hear about the war until Book Three because Book Two is almost entirely dedicated to the culture and history of Egypt.

Some people might find this kind of thing annoying, and I suppose it is a little annoying to pause the narrative on such a cliffhanger as the beginning of an invasion only to dedicate 86 pages to the history and culture of the nation being invaded before actually getting back to the invasion. Despite the minor annoyance though, I can't help but appreciate the thoroughness of it all. Herodotus tries to tell us absolutely everything he has learned about the people of the entire known world, using the Greco-Persian conflict as his backdrop. To me, the frequent lengthy digressions just add flavor and richness to the main narrative, like the author of a novel deeply delving into the backstories of each major character before telling you what happens to all of them. I find this stuff so enjoyable that I haven't skimmed or skipped any of it so far, despite having to work around the schedule of a new full-time job started a couple of weeks ago. I can't wait to see how it all comes together in the later books, and I'll probably add an addendum to this article once I've finished the whole thing.

Other Great Books might be arguably deeper, more philosophical, or more significant, but I also don't think you can discount the pure enjoyment factor of Herodotus. And despite what I just said in the last sentence, I wouldn't discount the significance of Herodotus either. Being the father of history is nothing to sneeze at.

Addendum

I've now finished reading The Histories, and as promised, here are a few closing thoughts upon completion, posted May 10 2021.

Herodotus' Storytelling: An Example

One of the most famous episodes in Western history is told in Herodotus' Book Seven. I am of course referring to the epic last stand of the 300 Spartans at Thermopylae against the invading Persian hordes under Xerxes. We've all seen the movie 300 at this point, but it turns out it was actually 300 Spartans and a bunch of other Hellene allies (not just Arcadians like in the movie) defending the pass, totaling to about 5200 hoplites in all. Once the Persians discover the path around the Hellene flank and it becomes clear they are about to be surrounded, Leonidas sends the allies away except for the Thespian and Theban contingents, so even then the Spartans are not completely on their own. In any case though, the Hellenes who are there certainly end up surrounded and badly outnumbered, even considering that Herodotus inflates the Persian numbers to incredible and unbelievable proportions.

The remaining defenders of the pass make a heroic stand, but in the end are overwhelmed and defeated. The lone surviving Spartan is a man named Aristodemos, who sits out the battle because he is recovering from illness behind the lines when the Spartans are surrounded. Aristodemos suffers such great shame back in Sparta for having failed to die along with his comrades that he fights with suicidal bravery at the later battle of Plataea, succeeding in getting himself killed and regaining his honor. The Spartans fight to the last man, but some of the Thespians and Thebans survive by either surrendering or going over to the Persian side. This is the story we're all familiar with, but there is another plotline going on at the same time that I think really illustrates Herodotus' knack for telling a good story.

Long before the last stand at Thermopylae, a Spartan king named Demaratos is deposed by his political rivals and flees into exile at the court of Xerxes in Susa. When Xerxes invades Hellas in 480 BC, Demaratos accompanies his army as a military advisor and consistently warns Xerxes not to underestimate the Hellenes in general, and the Spartans in particular. Demaratos is present at Xerxes' side at Thermopylae, and gives him a famous warning before the battle. Prior to the attack, Xerxes laughs when he hears about the Spartans (also known as Lacedaemonians) bathing themselves and grooming their long hair, not knowing that this is the Spartans' ritual for preparing their bodies for death. Herodotus tells us:

Xerxes listened but could not understand: that the Lacedaemonians were really preparing to kill or be killed, to fight as much as was in their power, seemed to him to be the height of folly, the action of fools. So he sent for Demaratos son of Ariston, who was in the camp, and when Demaratos arrived, Xerxes questioned him about everything he had been told, trying to understand the meaning behind what the Lacedaemonians were doing. Demaratos answered, "You heard what I said about these men before, when we were just setting out against Hellas, and you made me a laughingstock when you heard my view of how these matters would turn out. But it is my greatest goal to tell the truth in your presence, so hear me now once again. These men have come to fight us for control of the road, and that is really what they are preparing to do. For it is their tradition that they groom their hair whenever they are about to put their lives in danger. Now know this: if you subjugate these men and those who have remained behind in Sparta, there is no other race of human beings that will be left to raise their hands against you. For you are now attacking the most noble kingdom of all the Hellenes, and the best of men." What Demaratos said seemed quite incredible to Xerxes, and he asked for the second time how they could possibly intend to fight his whole army, since there were so few of them. Demaratos replied, "Sire, if things do not turn out just as I claim they will, treat me like a liar." But even by saying this he did not convince Xerxes.

— Herodotus, The Histories 7.209

Demaratos is a complicated character in Herodotus' account. We do hear of the details of his deposition from the Spartan throne and subsequent flight to Persia, but as with all accounts of political machinations, this is complicated and it is not entirely clear to me who was in the right in all of it. I suppose I tend to think Demaratos' exile was at least somewhat unjust, given that his rival Kleomenes bribes the Delphic oracle in his efforts to depose him. For most of the time between the beginning of his exile and the Battle of Thermopylae, Demaratos is presented in The Histories as a somewhat reluctant traitor to Hellas; he provides good advice to Xerxes in his efforts to enslave the Hellenes, but clearly holds great respect for the Hellenes as well, especially the Spartans.

Then after the account of the defeat at Thermopylae, Herodotus gives us a better twist than anything from the filmography of M. Night Shyamalan:

I shall now go back to a detail of my account that I left unexplained before. The Lacedaemonians had been the first to learn that the King would lead an expedition against Hellas, and so had sent to consult the oracle at Delphi, to which they received the response I quoted a little earlier. But the way in which they received this news is quite extraordinary. When Demaratos son of Ariston was in exile among the Medes, I do not believe—and here reason is my ally—that he had goodwill toward the Lacedaemonians, though one may conjecture whether he acted out of benevolence or out of spiteful satisfaction. For when Xerxes resolved to lead an expedition against Hellas, Demaratos was in Susa, and upon learning Xerxes' plans, immediately wanted to communicate this information to the Lacedaemonians. There was a risk that he would be caught, so there was no other way he could inform them except by the following scheme. Taking a double writing tablet, he scraped off the wax and inscribed the plan of the King onto the wood of the tablet. After doing this, he melted some wax back over what he had written, so that the tablet would be apparently blank and thus cause no trouble from the guards as it was conveyed to its destination. When it arrived at Lacedaemon, the Lacedaemonians could not understand what it meant until, according to what I have heard, Gorgo the daughter of Kleomenes and wife of Leonidas deduced the answer herself. She ordered them to scrape off the wax, and said that they would then discover a message written on the wood. When they followed her advice, they did discover the message and, after reading it, dispatched the news to the rest of the Hellenes. That, then, is how this is said to have happened.

— Herodotus, The Histories 7.239

So directly after the defeat at Thermopylae Herodotus tells us that Demaratos, the exiled and disgraced Spartan king who has been aiding the enemy this whole time, had pulled off an epic spy move and sent a secret message of advance warning tipping off all of Hellas to Xerxes' invasion plans. Not only that, but also that the message was interpreted by none other than the daughter of the very man responsible for Demaratos' exile.

The greatest thing about this to me is that Herodotus chooses this particular point in his narrative to tell us this information. This point in the narrative comes just after the first battle fought on Hellene soil, and Herodotus has been telling us about Xerxes' decision to invade, the composition of his army and navy, and his preparations and march from Susa to Thermopylae, for the entirety of Book Seven (over a hundred pages in the Landmark edition). In a simple, straightforward retelling of historical events, it would have made more sense to tell us about Demaratos' secret message a hundred pages ago when Xerxes first decided to invade Hellas, which would have been around the same time Demaratos actually sent the message. But in his love for dramatic flair, Herodotus saves it for one of the darkest points in his narrative for the Hellenes: just after a hopeless defeat, when there is nothing standing between Xerxes' massive army and the destruction of all Hellas north of the Isthmus of Corinth. It's little details like this that make me love Herodotus and his storytelling style.

What We Lose

In the original part of this article, I called Herodotus' genre "mythtory", the term I made up for a fusion of mythology and history. It turns out there's already a term for this, mytho-history, which I have to admit is easier to pronounce, but I'm still going to stick with my term because I like it and I made it up.

Anyway, like any other modern American man interested in ancient history, I'm familiar with Dan Carlin and his Hardcore History podcast. Carlin happens to have done a long series on the Persian Empire a few years ago called Kings of Kings, in which he covers much of the same history as Herodotus and uses Herodotus as one of his main sources. I listened to this series way back in my pre-OGB days, and was fascinated as I usually am with Hardcore History. As I read Herodotus though, I found myself slightly regretting that I had already listened to the Hardcore History series, because I couldn't help but keep comparing Herodotus in my head to what I had already heard from Carlin. I don't mean for the following to be a critique or criticism of Carlin's work, but simply an observation about the difference in mindset between an ancient storyteller and a modern one, both of whom are excellent in their own right.

Kings of Kings is much closer to a simple retelling of historical events than The Histories. When Dan Carlin uses Herodotus as a source, he tells us about what Herodotus says and also frequently offers his own commentary on Herodotus' writing. He incorporates plenty of other sources besides Herodotus, including modern historians and archaeologists, and generally tries to tease out factual historical events as much as possible from the variety of sources he uses. He expresses justifiable skepticism at certain aspects of Herodotus' account, such as the numbers he gives for the sizes of armies, or some of the more salacious anecdotes from the political intrigues in the courts of the Persian kings.

Carlin's purpose is markedly different from Herodotus' purpose. As discussed above, I don't think Herodotus is in the mindset of giving a simple, straightforward account of historical events; he is trying to tell us something deeper about humanity on a mythological level. I don't have any data about this, but I think modern people tend to be more favorably disposed to Carlin's methods than to those of Herodotus. We're post-Enlightenment people and we like to think of ourselves as scientifically-minded. We want to know the facts of what happened. We think mythological-sounding aspects of an account like The Histories make it less trustworthy, and that may be true with regards to historical facts.

I'm a modern post-Enlightenment person too, and I have these biases in my head just like a lot of people. It's easy for me to try to nitpick every few pages of The Histories and think, "How could Herodotus possibly have known about that conversation between Cambyses and one of his advisors?" or "The moral of this anecdote is just a little bit too on point for it to have actually happened that way," or "Egyptian flying serpents? Are you kidding me?" But there's another level of meaning beyond "just the facts" that Herodotus gives us. The fortunes of empires and of human lives rise and fall, and Fate can be a fickle mistress. You shouldn't count any mortal man as happy or successful until you can see the totality of his life after he has died. All human beings have limitations, even the greatest and most powerful of kings. Autocratic kings may make better state policy decisions than the people of democratic states (oof, that's a controversial one in America, eh?).

These are the kinds of messages Herodotus gives us to ponder. Pondering the truth (or possibly lack thereof) of statements like these is probably a more important task than figuring out exactly how many soldiers were in Xerxes' army, or whether or not a particular conversation between Croesus of Lydia and Cyrus the Great actually happened the way Herodotus relates it. I'm not saying there's no value in Dan Carlin's more modern, scientific, and fact-oriented approach to history; I just think we lose something when we get caught up in "just the facts" to the point where we stop pondering the greater mythological significance of an account like The Histories. We moderns seem to mostly work on the assumption that the scientific and fact-oriented approach is inherently better or more useful than a more mythological approach, and I find myself questioning that assumption more and more every time I read another piece of ancient mythological literature.

Perhaps the Enlightenment was more of a tradeoff than we'd like to think, rather than just a purely unambiguous Good for all of humanity. But that's a topic for a whole series of books that I'm not yet qualified to tackle.