On Fate

Jul. 17th, 2025 08:31 pm
sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

After the grievous death of his daughter, it next happened to Menkaure that an oracle was sent to him from the city of Bouto, declaring that he had but six years to live and must die in the seventh. The king deemed this unjust, and sent back to the oracle a message of reproach, blaming the god: why must he die so soon who was pious, whereas his father and his uncle had lived long, who shut up the temples, and regarded not the gods, and destroyed men? But a second utterance from the place of divination declared to him that his good deeds were the very cause of shortening his life; for he had done what was contrary to fate; Egypt should have been afflicted for an hundred and fifty years, whereof the two kings before him had been aware, but not Menkaure. Hearing this, he knew that his doom was fixed.

(Herodotos, Histories II §133, as translated by A. D. Godley with minor edits by yours truly.)


Assuming Herodotos's story is trustworthy, this is a fantastic theological argument for something; I'm just not sure what...

Smintheus

Jul. 16th, 2025 03:43 pm
sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

So I'm presently reading Herodotos through for fun, having only read bits and pieces from him before. Today I came across this:

Ἀπάγονται δὲ οἱ αἰέλουροι ἀποθανόντες ἐς ἱρὰς στέγας, ἔνθα θάπτονται ταριχευθέντες, ἐν Βουβάστι πόλι [...]. τὰς δὲ μυγαλᾶς καὶ τοὺς ἴρηκας ἀπάγουσι ἐς Βουτοῦν πόλιν, τὰς δὲ ἴβις ἐς Ἑρμέω πόλιν.

Dead cats are taken away into sacred buildings, where they are embalmed and buried, in the city of Bubastis [...]. Field mice and falcons are taken away to Buto, ibises to the city of Hermes.

(Herodotos, Histories II §67, as translated by A. D. Godley with minor edits by yours truly.)

This struck me, since Bubastis (hence the cat) was the holy place of Bastet (Artemis/Hekate), while Buto (hence the mouse and falcon) was the holy place of Horos (Apollon), being his birthplace. Now, we're very familiar with cats, but the Greeks weren't; they kept weasels to hunt mice, and while we tell silly stories about cats and mice, they told the same sorts of stories about weasels and mice. Here's a dopey example I ran across back when I was studying Teiresias:

[...] δειπνῆσαι ἐν τοῖς Θέτιδος καὶ Πηλέως γάμοις. ἔνθα ἐρίσαι περὶ κάλλους τήν τε Ἀφροδίτην καὶ τὰς Χάριτας, αἷς ὀνόματα Πασιθέη Καλὴ καὶ Εὐφροσύνη. τὸν δὲ δικάσαντα κρῖναι καλὴν τὴν Καλὴν, ἣν καὶ γῆμαι τὸν Ἥφαιστον, ὅθεν τὴν μὲν Ἀφροδίτην χολωθεῖσαν μεταβαλεῖν αὐτὸν εἰν γυναῖκα χερνῆτιν γραῖαν, τὴν δὲ Καλὴν χάριτας αὐτῇ ἀγαθὰς νεῖμαι καὶ εἰς Κρήτην ἀπαγαγεῖν, ἔνθα ἐρασθῆναι αὐτῆς Ἄραχνον, καὶ μιγέντα αὐχεῖν τῇ Ἀφροδίτῃ μιγῆναι. ἐφ' ᾧ τὴν δαίμονα ὀργισθεῖσαν τὸν μὲν Ἄραχνον μεταβαλεῖν εἰς γαλῆν, Τειρεσίαν δὲ εἰς μῦν, ὅθεν καὶ ὀλίγα φησὶν ἐσθίει ὡς ἐκ γραός, καὶ μαντικός ἐστι διὰ τῶν Τειρεσίαν. ὅτι δὲ μαντικόν τι καὶ ὁ μῦς δηλοῦσιν ὅ τε χειμών, οὗ σημεῖον ἐν καιρῷ οἱ τῶν μυῶν τρισμοὶ, καὶ αἱ ἐκ τῶν οἰκιῶν φυγαὶ, ἃς διαδιδράσκουσιν ὅτε κινδυνεύοιεν καταπεσεῖν.

[Teiresias] dined at the wedding of Thetis and Peleus. A beauty contest between Aphrodite and the Graces, named Pasithea ["the goddess of all," wife of Sleep, hence refreshment], Kale ["beauty"], and Euphrosune ["happiness"], was held there. He was made judge and judged Kale the most beautiful, and she married Hephaistos, which so galled Aphrodite that she turned Teiresias into an old spinster, but Kale made her very beautiful and brought her to Crete, where Arakhnos ["spider"] fell in love with her and, having had sex with her, bragged that he lain with Aphrodite herself. This so infuriated the goddess that she turned Arakhnos into a weasel and Teiresias into a mouse, which is why they say a mouse eats so little (because it is an old woman) and why they say it can tell the future (because it is Teiresias). That it can tell the future is clear because its squeakings are a timely sign of a storm, and that it flees a house in danger of collapse.

(Eustathios of Thessolonike on the Odyssey 1665.48 ff., following Sostratos, Teiresias, as very hastily translated by yours truly—please consider it a mere paraphrase.)

Both of these—the association of Horos with mice and the association of the hero Teiresias with a mouse—of course calls to mind how Khruses, the high priest of Apollon, calls to Apollon Smintheus ("Apollon of the Mouse") to visit a plague upon the Akhaians at the beginning of the Iliad:

κλῦθί μευ ἀργυρότοξ’, ὃς Χρύσην ἀμφιβέβηκας
Κίλλάν τε ζαθέην Τενέδοιό τε ἶφι ἀνάσσεις,
Σμινθεῦ εἴ ποτέ τοι χαρίεντ’ ἐπὶ νηὸν ἔρεψα,
ἢ εἰ δή ποτέ τοι κατὰ πίονα μηρί’ ἔκηα
ταύρων ἠδ’ αἰγῶν, τὸ δέ μοι κρήηνον ἐέλδωρ:
τίσειαν Δαναοὶ ἐμὰ δάκρυα σοῖσι βέλεσσιν.

O Smintheus! sprung from fair Latona's line,
Thou guardian Power of Cilla the divine,
Thou source of light! whom Tenedos adores,
And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa's shores;
If e'er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane,
Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain;
God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ,
Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy.

(Homer, Iliad I 37–42, as translated by Alexander Pope.)

Evidently the ancients thought this very strange and spent a lot of ink trying to make sense of it. One example, concerning not only Apollon and mice but also weasels, runs like this:

Αἰγύπτιοι μὲν οὖν σέβοντές τε καὶ ἐκθεοῦντες γένη ζῴων διάφορα γέλωτα ὀφλισκάνουσι παρά γε τοῖς πολλοῖς: Θηβαῖοι δὲ σέβουσιν Ἕλληνες ὄντες ὡς ἀκούω γαλῆν, καὶ λέγουσί γε Ἡρακλέους αὐτὴν γενέσθαι τροφόν, ἢ τροφὸν μὲν οὐδαμῶς, καθημένης δὲ ἐπ᾽ ὠδῖσι τῆς Ἀλκμήνης καὶ τεκεῖν οὐ δυναμένης, τὴν δὲ παραδραμεῖν καὶ τοὺς τῶν ὠδίνων λῦσαι δεσμούς, καὶ προελθεῖν τὸν Ἡρακλέα καὶ ἕρπειν ἤδη.

καὶ οἱ τὴν Ἁμαξιτὸν τῆς Τρωάδος κατοικοῦντες μῦν σέβουσιν: ἔνθεν τοι καὶ τὸν Ἀπόλλω τὸν παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς τιμώμενον Σμίνθιον καλοῦσί φασιν. ἔτι γὰρ καὶ τοὺς Αἰολέας καὶ τοὺς Τρῶας τὸν μῦν προσαγορεύειν σμίνθον, ὥσπερ οὖν καὶ Αἰσχύλος ἐν τῷ Σισύφῳ ἀλλ᾽ ἀρουραῖός τίς ἐστι σμίνθος ὧδ᾽ ὑπερφυής. καὶ τρέφονται μὲν ἐν τῷ Σμινθείῳ μύες τιθασοὶ δημοσίας τροφὰς λαμβάνοντες, ὑπὸ δὲ τῷ βωμῷ φωλεύουσι λευκοί, καὶ παρὰ τῷ τρίποδι τοῦ Ἀπόλλωνος ἕστηκε μῦς.

μυθολόγημα δὲ ὑπὲρ τῆσδε τῆς θρησκείας καὶ ἐκεῖνο προσακήκοα. τῶν Αἰολέων καὶ τῶν Τρώων τὰ λήια πολλὰς μυῶν μυριάδας ἐπελθούσας ἄωρα ὑποκείρειν καὶ ἀτελῆ τὰ θέρη τοῖς σπείρασιν ἀποφαίνειν. οὐκοῦν τὸν ἐν Δελφοῖς θεὸν πυνθανομένων εἰπεῖν ὅτι δεῖ θύειν Ἀπόλλωνι Σμινθεῖ, τοὺς δὲ πεισθέντας ἀπαλλαγῆναι τῆς ἐκ τῶν μυῶν ἐπιβουλῆς καὶ τὸν πυρὸν αὐτοῖς ἐς τὸν νενομισμένον ἄμητον ἀφικνεῖσθαι.

ἐπιλέγουσι δὲ ἄρα τούτοις καὶ ἐκεῖνα. ἐς ἀποικίαν Κρητῶν οἱ σταλέντες οἴκοθεν ἔκ τινος τύχης καταλαβούσης αὐτοὺς ἐδεήθησαν τοῦ Πυθίου φῆναί τινα αὐτοῖς χῶρον ἀγαθὸν καὶ ἐς τὸν συνοικισμὸν λυσιτελῆ. ἐκπίπτει δὴ λόγιον, ἔνθα ἂν αὐτοῖς οἱ γηγενεῖς πολεμήσωσιν, ἐνταῦθα καταμεῖναι καὶ ἀναστῆσαι πόλιν. οὐκοῦν ἥκουσι μὲν ἐς τὴν Ἁμαξιτὸν τήνδε καὶ στρατοπεδεύουσιν ὥστε ἀναπαύσασθαι, μυῶν δὲ ἄφατόν τι πλῆθος ἐφερπύσαν τά τε ὄχανα αὐτοῖς τῶν ἀσπίδων διέτραγε καὶ τὰς τῶν τόξων νευρὰς διέφαγεν: οἳ δὲ ἄρα συνέβαλον τούτους ἐκείνους εἶναι τοὺς γηγενεῖς, καὶ μέντοι καὶ ἐς ἀπορίαν ἥκοντες τῶν ἀμυντηρίων τόνδε τὸν χῶρον οἰκίζουσι, καὶ Ἀπόλλωνος ἱδρύονται νεὼν Σμινθίου.

ἡ μὲν οὖν τῶν μυῶν μνήμη προήγαγεν ἡμᾶς ἐς θεολογίαν τινά, χείρους δὲ αὑτῶν οὐ γεγόναμεν καὶ τοιαῦτα προσακούσαντες.

People make fun of the Egyptians for regarding different kinds of animals as gods and worshipping them, but I hear that the Thebaians, despite being Hellenes, worship a weasel, since they say that it was the nurse of Herakles himself when he was born, or if it wasn't his nurse, that when Alkmene was in labor and wasn't able to give birth, it ran by and the bind on her labor was released, and Herakles was born and began to crawl right away.

And those who live in Hamaxitos in the Troad worship a mouse, and they say that for that reason they call Apollon, who they worship, by the name "Smintheus," because even today the Aioleans and the Troadians call the mouse sminthos, just like Aiskulos in his Sisyphus:

But what's so special about a field mouse?

And in the Smintheon they keep tame mice by a tax on the people's food, and white ones live in a hole under the altar, and a mouse stands beside the tripod of Apollon.

And those same people tell me a further story, that many myriads of mice came upon the yet unripe field crops of the Aioleans and the Troadians and cut them from beneath, causing the summer harvest to fail early. Accordingly they asked the god at Delphi and he answered that they must sacrifice to Apollon Smintheus, and they obeyed and were delivered from the treachery of the mice and their wheat attained a normal harvest.

And they also tell me another story on that topic, that a group of Cretans who had met with some bad luck were dispatched to found a colony and asked the Puthia to show them some good place where it would be advantageous to resettle, and the oracle answered that they should stop and raise a city where the "earth-born" attack them. So they came to where Hamaxitos now is and camped to rest for the night, but an uncountable multitude of mice snuck up and, scattering everywhere, ate their shield straps and bowstrings. They made the connection between these mice and the "earth-born," and anyway, now being without a means of protecting themselves [on the road], built a city and a temple to Apollon Smintheus.

Well, the mention of mice led us into some theology, but perhaps we are none the worse for hearing such stories.

(Aelian on the Nature of Animals XII v; following Strabo, Geography XIII i §48; in turn following Kallinos; as very hastily translated by yours truly—please consider it a mere paraphrase.)

But Aelien apparently misses the crucial point that Herakles's weasel was a human originally, and was transformed into a weasel by Hera as punishment for supporting Alkmene. Here is Antoninus Liberalis's account of the story:

Προίτου θυγάτηρ ἐν Θήβαις ἐγένετο Γαλινθιάς. αὕτη παρθένος ἦν συμπαίκτρια καὶ ἑταιρὶς Ἀλκμήνης τῆς Ἠλεκτρύωνος. ἐπεὶ δὲ Ἀλκμήνην ὁ τόκος ἤπειγε τοῦ Ἡρακλέους, Μοῖραι καὶ Εἰλείθυια πρὸς χάριν τῆς Ἥρας κατεῖχον ἐν ταῖς ὠδῖσι τὴν Ἀλκμήνην. καὶ αὗται μὲν ἐκαθέζοντο κρατοῦσαι τὰς ἑαυτῶν χεῖρας· Γαλινθιὰς δὲ δείσασα, μὴ Ἀλκμήνην ἐχστήσωσι βαρυνομένην οἱ πόνοι, δραμοῦσα παρά τε τὰς Μοίρας καὶ τὴν Εἰλείθυιαν ἐξήγγειλεν, ὅτι Διὸς βουλῆ γέγονε τῇ Ἀλκμήνῃ παῖς χόρος· αἱ δὲ ἐκείνων τιμαὶ καταλέλυνται. Πρὸς δὴ τοῦτ' ἔκπληξις ἔλαβε τὰς μοίρας καὶ ἀνῆκαν εὐθὺς τὰς χεῖρας. Ἀλκμήνην δὲ κατέλιπον εὐθὺς αἱ ὠδῖνες· καὶ ἐγένετο Ἡρακλῆς. αἱ δὴ Μοῖραι πένθος ἐποιήσαντο καὶ τῆς Φαλινθιάδος ἀφείλοντο τὴν κορείαν, ὅτι θνητὴ τοὺς θεοὺς ἐξηπάτησε, καὶ αὐτὴν ἐπόησαν δολερὰν γαλῆν καὶ δίαιταν ἔδωκαν ἐν τῷ μυχῷ καὶ ἄμορφον ἀπέδειξαν τὴν εὐνήν· θορίσκεται μὲν γὰρ διὰ τῶν ὠτῶν, τίκτει δ' ἀναφέρουσα τὸ κυούμενον ἐκ το τραχήλου. ταύτην Ἑκάτη πρὸς τῆν μεταβολὴν τῆς ὄψεως ᾤχτειρε καὶ ἀπέδειξεν ἱερὰν αὐτῆς διάκονον· Ἡρακλῆς δ' ἐπεὶ ἠυξήθη, τἠν χάριν ἐμνημόνευσε καὶ αὐτῆς ἐπόησεν ἀφίδρυμα παρὰ τὸν οἶκον καὶ ἱερὰ προσήνεγκε. ταῦτα νῦν ἔτι τὰ ἱερὰ Θηβαῖοι φυλάττουσι καὶ πρὸ Ἡρακλέους ἑορῇ θύουσι Φαλινθιάδι πρώτῃ.

At Thebes Proetus had a daughter Galinthias. This maiden was playmate and companion of Alcmene, daughter of Electryon. As the birth throes for Heracles were pressing on Alcmene, the Fates and Eileithyia, as a favour to Hera, kept Alcmene in continuous birth pangs. They remained seated, each keeping their arms crossed. Galinthias, fearing that the pains of her labour would drive Alcmene mad, ran to the Fates and Eileithyia and announced that by desire of Zeus a boy had been born to Alcmene and that their prerogatives had been abolished. At all this, consternation of course overcame the Fates and they immediately let go their arms. Alcmene's pangs ceased at once and Heracles was born. The Fates were aggrieved at this and took away the womanly parts of Galinthias since, being but a mortal, she had deceived the gods. They turned her into a deceitful weasel, making her live in crannies and gave her a grotesque way of mating. She is mounted through the ears and gives birth by bringing forth her young through the throat. Hecate felt sorry for this transformation of her appearance and appointed her a sacred servant to herself. Heracles, when he grew up, remembered the favour she had done for him and made an image of her to set by his house and offered her sacrifices. The Thebans even now maintain these rites and, before the festival of Heracles, sacrifice to Galinthias first.

(Antoninos Liberalis, Metamorphoses XXIX, as translated by Francis Celoria.)

The mention of Hekate here is very interesting, and this leads me to my own conclusion concerning Apollon Smintheus, which ties into a theory I expressed before.

Now, one the one hand, Apollon and Hekate have a sort of connection: Hekate means "from afar," and is the feminine form of a common epithet of Apollon (e.g. as a marksman); on the other hand, the two couldn't be more opposite: Apollon is the lord of light, while Hekate is the lady of darkness; Apollon is heavenly, while Hekate is chthonic; Apollon is associated with unity (indeed, the Neopythagoreans derived his name from ἁ-πολλόν "not many"), while Hekate is associated with multiplicity (always appearing triform). From a Neoplatonistic view, one gets the sense of Apollon guiding upwards and Hekate dragging downwards.

I think all these stories give us another angle on the same thing: Apollon is the god of mice, Hekate the goddess of weasels, and weasels eat mice. Since Apollon is the god of the mysteries, we might consider mice as his initiates; similarly, since Hekate is the goddess of magic, we might consider weasels to be magicians. Thus from these symbols it is very little wonder that most of the philosophers warned their students away from magic so vociferously: at that early stage, fired with enthusiasm for things spiritual, they could very easily be consumed by it and drawn to use spiritual means for material ends. As Lucius found out in the Golden Ass, of course, this leads nowhere.

On the other hand, Homer tells us that Apollon is also the god of falcons, which isn't a surprise to anyone who's been following my Horos series:

ὣς ἄρα οἱ εἰπόντι ἐπέπτατο δεξιὸς ὄρνις,
κίρκος, Ἀπόλλωνος ταχὺς ἄγγελος: ἐν δὲ πόδεσσι
τίλλε πέλειαν ἔχων, κατὰ δὲ πτερὰ χεῦεν ἔραζε
μεσσηγὺς νηός τε καὶ αὐτοῦ Τηλεμάχοιο.

As he was saying so a bird flew towards him on the right,
a falcon, the swift messenger of Apollon; and with its feet
it plucked a pigeon it was holding, and feathers fell to the ground
between Telemakhos and his ship.

(Homer, Odyssey XV 525–8, as translated by yours truly.)

If the association of mice with initiates and weasels with magicians is correct, then falcons are surely heroes: those who have mastered the mysteries and soar on the wings so given.

I should also note, of course, that falcons eat weasels.

sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

I've been studying the Egyptian mysteries of Isis, Osiris, and Horos; I have no idea where they came from, though it seems noteworthy that they are illustrated in the stars, focusing on the heliacal rising and setting of various constellations along the galactic plane. Many of the other mysteries we know about—Innana/Ishtar and Dumuzid, Astarte and Baal, Aphrodite and Adonis, the Eleusinian mysteries, the Dionusian mysteries, the Apolline mysteries, the house of Oikles and some other parts of the Thebaian myth (like Oidipous), the house of Tantalos, the house of Danaus, Atalante, and (I think, though I have not studied it carefully yet) the Argonautica—all seem to derive from these Egyptian mysteries, as they share the same structure and tell the same story.

While I haven't dug very deeply into them, there seem to also have been the Mesopotamian mysteries of Gilgamesh and Enkidu; I also have no idea where they came from, though it seems noteworthy that they are also illustrated in the stars, focusing (as far as I can tell) on the movement of the planets along the constellations of the ecliptic plane. Some others of the mysteries, most notably Herakles, seem to derive from these Mesopotamian mysteries, as they share the same structure and tell the same story.

It's interesting to me that we see a lot of crossover and interaction between these two mysteries: for example, Gilgamesh spurning Ishtar (noting that Taurus, the Bull of Heaven, marks the intersection of the ecliptic and galactic planes just as it marks the intersection of the two myths), Herakles besieging Thebai, Jason taking Herakles on his voyage, etc. I have no idea if these indicate two parts of one greater story, or if they indicate the priority of one set of mysteries over the other, or if they simply show conflict between the different mystery schools.

I suppose that the mysteries are simply a mystery.

Occasionally, at long intervals, we see that an individual takes up the mysteries and sets out to retell them in their own way. "Homer" gave us perhaps the classic version of them in the Odyssey. Virgil retold an explicitly civic Roman version of them in the Aeneid. Apuleius retold an explicitly Platonist version of them in Cupid and Psyche. I haven't yet read it myself, but I'm told that Dante has retold a Christian-Neoplatonist version of them in the Divine Comedy. Within their various contexts, these are praiseworthy works, worthy of respect and ripe for contemplation.

My daughter and I recently finished reading Michael Ende's The Neverending Story, which follows in the same tradition, telling an explicitly Western-occult-revival version of the mysteries. I don't know who Ende studied under, but he certainly mastered at least the Lesser Mysteries, as he has missed nothing and provides worthy commentary and color on each point. One could do far worse than spending a year meditating one's way through it.

It's also, of course, an engaging narrative: my daughter—who, of course, has not studied the mysteries at all—loved it. If you haven't read it (and especially if you've seen the film, which is to the book as lead is to gold), I highly recommend it. It's worthy of your time.

sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

Κασσάνδρα. ὀτοτοτοῖ πόποι δᾶ. Ὦπολλον Ὦπολλον. [...] Ἄπολλον Ἄπολλον ἀγυιᾶτ᾽, ἀπόλλων ἐμός. ἀπώλεσας γὰρ οὐ μόλις τὸ δεύτερον.

Kassandra. [incoherent screaming] O Ruin! O Ruin... [sobbing] Ruin, Guiding Ruin, my ruining! Twice now you have utterly ruined me... [sobbing]

(Aiskhulos, Agamemnon 1072-82.)


I'm not much of a theater person, but Aiskhulos's Kassandra is harrowing. I've checked something like five translations and, while I'm no expert, nobody seems to translate her well. And honestly I just don't think she can translate well: she's incoherent, rambling, and everything she says seems to have a double or triple meaning. Here, Aiskhulos explicitly connects Ἄπολλον "Apollon" (the god) with the virtually identical ἀπόλλων "destroying utterly" (the action), referring to how Apollon despoils the material world in favor of the spiritual (cf. Horos beheading Isis; Perseus from πέρσευς "pillager [of cities];" etc.) as he has also despoiled Kassandra. Ἄπολλον ἀγυιᾶτα "Apollon of the Roads" refers how Apollon guides initiates on the upward ways but also how he has guided Kassandra to her undoing. One gets the impression of a failed initiate, who saw but was unable to digest what she had seen and was broken by it.

By the Hellenistic era, Apollo was a joyful singer of songs; but to Homer, Apollon was a harsh warrior. I wonder if his golden lyre was only for his heroes; his golden arrows were for everyone else...

sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

Δαναός. ἁγνόν τ᾽ Ἀπόλλω, φυγάδ᾽ ἀπ᾽ οὐρανοῦ θεόν.
Χορός. εἰδὼς ἂν αἶσαν τήνδε συγγνοίη βροτοῖς.
Δαναός. συγγνοῖτο δῆτα καὶ παρασταίη πρόφρων.

Danaos. Pray also to holy Apollo, a god exiled from heaven.
Daughters. Knowing our lot, he may well pity us mortals.
Danaos. May he indeed pity us and so be kindly disposed to us.

(Aiskhulos, The Suppliants 214–6, as translated—hopefully not too badly!—by yours truly. "Danaos" means "ancient," by the way, a fitting name for the Perseus myth's equivalent of Atum.)

sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

I've a few transcriptions for you all, today: Æschylus's Oresteia trilogy, concerning the fall and redemption of the house of Atreus. Apparently Æschylus was put on trial for revealing the mysteries in his plays; I can see why, though it's veiled enough that one would have to already be familiar with the mysteries to be sure. (I suppose that's why he was acquitted.)

You can find the PDFs as follows:

These are all transcribed from the Loeb Classics edition, which is a little stodgy but easier to read than others I've come across. As always, these are in the public domain.

The Poets

Jan. 2nd, 2025 02:52 pm
sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

Simonides, when asked which was the greater, Homer or Hesiod, said, "Hesiod was born of the Muses, but Homer was born of the Graces."

(Vatican Collection of Greek Sayings.)


In the same way, Hesiod extols the virtues of the hard-working, but Homer extols the virtues of the rich.

sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

And while I'm blathering about Homer, if you're interested in reading him, my favorite translation for pleasure reading is W. H. D. Rouse's: The Story of Achilles and The Story of Odysseus. (The latter was even suitable for reading to my then-seven-year-old daughter so long as I explained things as I went along.) Those are hard to find in hardcopy, but don't let that stop you: even if all you can get locally is Samuel Butler's translation, it's stodgy but it's fine (for example, I have a really nice leather-bound, gilt-edged edition from Barnes and Noble, which I got while traveling for maybe $20 and is pretty hard to complain about).

Alexander Pope's Iliad is exquisite but I can't read heroic verse for more than a couple pages before my eyes bleed.

If I need a very precise translation (if I'm trying to understand the Greek line-by-line, say), I've been very impressed with Andrew Lang's Iliad and Odyssey every time I've looked things up in them (but I haven't read them cover to cover).

My daughter liked the Odyssey so much that she begged me to read her the Iliad, but even with an easy translation (and my skipping over large sections), it was too much for her. She enjoyed Rosemary Sutcliffe's retelling for children, Black Ships Before Troy, though.

sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

One of my goals after getting away from my tech job was to push myself to read more, and I've been managing a pace of about a book a week since April. In particular, I finished reading the Anabasis earlier today: it's a fascinating adventure story, of how a mercenary force, stranded hundreds of miles behind enemy lines, manages to bring itself safely home.

Here's a little synopsis of each of its seven books:

  1. Prince Cyrus of Persia secretly gathers a large army, including ten thousand Greek mercenaries, to assassinate his brother, King Artaxerxes. They march on Babylon, but Cyrus is killed in battle.

  2. The Greek mercenaries are stranded deep in enemy territory. They sign a truce with a Persian viceroy who guarantees their safe return. He betrays them and assassinates most of the Greek captains.

  3. Xenophon urges the surviving Greek captains and lieutenants to action. He is elected captain of a unit. At his recommendation, the ten thousand destroy all nonessential equipment and march north with all haste. The Persians pursue and the Greeks suffer for it, but eventually make it to high ground and relative safety.

  4. The Greeks decide to go over the mountains to the Black Sea, hoping that the Persians would not pursue through Kurdistan and Armenia. They did not, but the natives and harsh conditions prove worse and there are many casualties. Nonetheless, the Greeks scrape through and reach the Black Sea at Trapezous.

  5. The Greeks fail to secure transport and provisions for a sea voyage and so march west, trading military services for guidance and safe passage through foreign territories, eventually reaching Sinope, from which they finally secure transport.

  6. The Greek army sails to Heraclea. There, they suffer from internal disunity, diplomatic failures, disastrous skirmishes, and a lack of provisions, but they eventually stabilize and march as far as Chrysopolis.

  7. The Greeks cross the Bosphorus into Byzantium, but the army has no money to buy needed provisions and so the city's governor fears that it will use force in desperation. He uses deceit to lure the army out of the city and closes it. Desperate, Xenophon trades the army's services to a local barbarian king for provisions and pay. When the term of service comes to an end, pay is withheld, but Xenophon manages to secure it with difficulty. Sparta begins a campaign against Persia and the recruits the army, but since Xenophon is not a formal member of the army, he finally returns home.

The whole thing is harrowing, and it seems a miracle that the Greeks managed to secure adequate provisions as they went: often they were a day away from being without food, and nobody—not even the Greek cities!—showed them hospitality.

One of the surprising things was that Xenophon, who was instrumental in saving eight thousand lives, wasn't even supposed to be there! He wasn't an officer or even a soldier (though, like all Athenians, he had a few years of mandatory service under his belt, so he wasn't green), he just happened to come along for fun and adventure as a friend of one of the captains, Proxenus. He ended up in charge by taking action when nobody else would, being of upstanding character, never asking others for something he wouldn't do himself, and by learning from his mistakes.

I'm also reading The Art of not Being Governed by James Scott, who suggests that barbarians aren't primitives—rather, they're peoples who specifically and actively reject statehood, and tend to mountains and violence as a deliberate reaction to state-making. Xenophon's account underscores that: as powerful as the Persian Empire is, the Greeks make a mockery of them even when greatly outnumbered—but the Kurds tear the Greeks to shreds: losing something like a tenth of their fighting force in weeks.

Amusingly, Socrates makes a cameo appearance! When Proxenus invited Xenophon to go with him, Xenophon had a bad feeling about it and asked Socrates what to do. Socrates advised Xenophon to ask the oracle of Delphi, but Xenophon botches his question and asks how best to travel (not whether to travel). Oops! When Xenophon tells Socrates about it, Socrates says, "Welp, you can't just ignore what Apollo told you to do, so I guess you're in for it now!" Xenophon certainly got more than he bargained for, but got through it none the worse for wear—in fact, he became famous!—so I guess the Oracle was right!

Also interesting is that Xenophon repeatedly describes prophetic dreams and omens. As he first sets out, an eagle cries out in a particular way and an augur divines for Xenophon from this that his path is difficult and would bring renoun but not wealth. He is induced to spur the Greeks to action by a dream in which Zeus leads him out of a burning building. In a seemingly hopeless situation where his army is trapped between the enemy and a deep river, he dreams that fetters which bind him fall open, and upon waking some of his men discover a safe ford. The army often only takes up, or drops, a course of action after the captains divine on it, and Xenophon frequently only seems to scrape through on the basis of divinatory advice.

Another thing I didn't expect was how all the different Greek nationalities all seem to come with stereotypes attached. Spartans, for example, are treated as courageous and morally upstanding, but also as grudge-bearing and perhaps less intelligent than most. Athenians are treated as clever but conniving (and Xenophon seems to surprise everyone with his openness and honesty). Arcadians and Achæans are treated as being of great physical strength and endurance, but also very quick to anger. I always thought Thrace was part of Greece, but here they're treated as barbarians! It was interesting to see all this, as they're all Greek to me—but to Xenophon and his army, it seems that the Greeks are completely different peoples united only by bonds of honor and language. It underscores, to me, just how radical Diogenes was being when he claimed to be "a citizen of the world."

Anyway, I found it a fun and interesting read and would recommend it if you're into military sorts of things.

sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

This evening, I happened across the story of Star Boy (Mercury), son of the Morning and Evening Stars (Venus), grandson of the Sun and Moon. It is a myth every bit as worthy of contemplation as those of the Mysteries. On this longest day of the year, I share it in gratitude, and I pray that our dazzling, mundane reflection of the Father of All take away your scars and make your heart new again, too.

sdi: Oil painting of the Heliconian Muse whispering inspiration to Hesiod. (Default)

My eldest daughter was born on a Wednesday, and she lives up to a Mercurial nature: she loves to read, and we go through many books every evening. (The library has a program called "1000 Books Before Kindergarten" and we go through that many in a couple months, easy.) Surely, though, I am not the only parent around here, and I thought it might be fun to pick out and share some of her favorites in case others are hunting around for good stories for their children.

And, because I'm a nerd, I figured I'd pick one for each planet.

The Sun: Iktomi Loses His Eyes, from Iktomi (series), Paul Goble

Everyone loves "trickster tales:" Anansi, Br'er Rabbit, Coyote, and the like. Iktomi is the Lakota variant of this character, whose ego and hubris are matched only by how he always seems to come out on top of all the trouble he gets himself into. My daughter loves the entire series, but says that "Iktomi Loses His Eyes" is her favorite: in it, Iktomi learns a magic spell which goes awry (of course).

The Moon: Burger Boy, Alan Durant

This is a tale of gluttony and metamorphosis, both lunar themes. My daughter cackles in glee at the wackiness of the fable, but I liked how the author didn't stoop to teach a cheap moral, but properly completed the story arc with a sophisticated one.

Mars: Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, from Aladdin (Great Fairy Tale Classics), Peter Holeinone

I found this collection of stories retold from the Arabian Nights at a thrift store, I think, and it was perhaps one of the best finds we've ever had: we've read it a dozen or more times. It has some very familiar stories, like Aladdin, and some less familiar ones, like the Parrot Shah or the Weeping Princess, but my daughter is as morbid as I am, and her favorite is Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Full of gods, spirits, and magic.

Mercury: The Boy of the Three Year Nap, Dianne Snyder

This is a mischief story and no mistake, where a player gets played at his own game. Notably for this blog, the story prominently features a genii loci as well (well, sort of).

Jupiter: Dear Mili, Wilhelm Karl Grimm

This is a story of prayer, beneficence, and guardian angels. I was very proud that as I read it to my daughter the first time, she correctly identified every single spiritual theme: one of those moments where one pauses to themselves and says, "Wow, she really has been listening!" (Until at least, she points at the book and says, "Keep reading, daddy.")

Venus: Chirri and Chirra, from Chirri and Chirra (series), Kaya Doi

Two little girls go and play in the forest with the animals. No grown ups, no morals, just fun. (I wish we had a forest cafe to go hang out at.)

Saturn: Farmer Boy, from The Little House on the Prarie (series), Laura Ingalls Wilder

My daughter is getting old enough now that we're starting to get into chapter books, but these are hit and miss. The single biggest hit has been Laura Ingalls Wilder's Little House series: we've read most of them and my daughter is simply fascinated by it all. I asked her which of the series has been her favorite, and she said Farmer Boy, and I think it's my favorite, too: while it purports to tell "a year in the life" of a farmer's child in the 1800's, it possesses a good, clear story arc, and the characters are all relatable and interesting.