A Companion to Archaic Greece

Kurt A. Raaflaub, Hans van Wees, Kurt A. Raaflaub, Hans van Wees

• Editorial: Wiley-Blackwell
• Año: 2012
• ISBN:
  9781118556658
• Edición: 1
• Categoría: Storia
• Categoría: Storia dell'antica Grecia

A systematic survey of archaic Greek society and culture which introduces the reader to a wide range of new approaches to the period.

• The first comprehensive and accessible survey of developments in the study of archaic Greece
• Places Greek society of c.750-480 BCE in its chronological and geographical context
• Gives equal emphasis to established topics such as tyranny and political reform and newer subjects like gender and ethnicity
• Combines accounts of historical developments with regional surveys of archaeological evidence and in-depth treatments of selected themes
• Explores the impact of Eastern and other non-Greek cultures in the development of Greece
• Uses archaeological and literary evidence to reconstruct broad patterns of social and cultural development

PART I

Introduction

CHAPTER ONE

The Historiography of Archaic Greece

John K. Davies

The Trap of Terminology

“Modern convention sets the start of the Archaic period in 776 BC, the year when the Games were said to have been officially founded at Olympia in Elis.”¹ So it does: but the convention hides a contradiction. Normal practice, as encapsulated by the Oxford English Dictionary, uses “archaic” for whatever is “marked by the characteristics of an earlier period; old-fashioned, primitive, antiquated” – but what the reader will find in this book is the story of an exceptional, energetic, effervescent culture which developed and expanded with extraordinary speed and innovative assurance, in ways which it would be absurd to describe as “old-fashioned” or “antiquated.” Nor is “archaic” the only metaphor in play, for “primitive Greece,” “early Greece” and “medieval Greece” have all been in use among historians at various times to denote the period covered by this book, while “Dark Age Greece” has come to be the conventional label for the period between the collapse of the Mycenaean kingdoms and the Greeks’ re-adoption of literacy by the mid-eighth century.

Such labels have three characteristics in common. First, they gaze backwards, whether from our own modern vantage-point or from that of the higher culture or greater sophistication which we attribute to “Classical Greece” (itself a dangerous label). Thereby they seriously hinder our attempts to re-create the experiences of the men and women who lived through these centuries: such people did not – could not – think of themselves as “primitive,” “early,” or “archaic.” Second, they all imply comparison, whether with medieval Europe or with post-Roman “Dark Age” Britain or with other chronologically distant civilizations. The comparison with medieval Europe has been especially influential, the Greek city-states being seen as politically and economically very similar to the Hansa states, the Swiss cantons, and the Italian communes:² but all such comparisons are shortcuts, which mislead more than they help. Third, they reflect decisions about periodization. Of course, all historians have to decide where to start and stop, but it is all too easy to inherit a decision without identifying and testing the criteria which underlie it. Specifically with this volume: just as 776 is a dangerously fragile peg on which to hang the recognition of a new period, so too the Graeco-Persian Wars of 499–479 might not nowadays be taken as marking the break between “Archaic” and “Classical” if Herodotus’ text had not survived.³

The traps set by terminology do not end there. “Archaic” itself may have started off in art history, since the OED’s first citation, of 1846, comes from a book on the Elgin Marbles.⁴ “Archaeology” in the sense of “ancient history” is much older, the first citation being of 1607, but the semantic shift towards its present-day meaning was also an early nineteenth-century affair (the two relevant pages of the OED are most instructive for intellectual history). But in fact Greece, like all Mediterranean countries, has a long and intricate human “pre-history,” which stretches back at least to ca. 40,000 BC and includes major sites of the Neolithic period as well as the Mycenaean age (1600–1100) with its wealth, its palaces, and its Linear B writing in Greek. As is clear from myths and allusions in historical sources, the Greek peoples of the “Archaic” period knew perfectly well that they lived in a landscape long moulded by previous inhabitants, with whose legacy they came to terms in various ways. Nor, as contact by sea with the rest of the Eastern Mediterranean gathered pace again after ca. 900, could they avoid awareness that out there, “beyond the noble Ocean” (Hesiod, Theog. 215), lay cultures and societies which could look, and in many ways were, vastly richer and older than their own: Egypt especially made a great impression. That is not to deny that there had been significant disruption throughout the Eastern Mediterranean between ca. 1200 and ca. 1000, or that late Mycenaean Greece in particular had experienced some sort of systems failure, generating depopulation, political and cultural discontinuity, and the felt need to create a new order of society. The currently lively debate about the nature, degree, and duration of that discontinuity is not the direct concern of this book,⁵ but the reader should bear continually in mind the tension between the new starts which post-Mycenaean societies had perforce been making and the antiquity of the human landscapes which formed their backdrop. Indeed, a neglected short book (Ure 1921) and a now classic volume of papers (Hägg 1983b), surveying what it calls “The Greek Renaissance of the eighth century BC,” use a much more fitting metaphor than “Archaic,” though it too evokes perilous comparisons. Though they are not inserted hereafter, “archaic” should always be read with mental quotation marks.

The modern historiography of Archaic Greece⁶ is the product of three distinct styles. They emerged at different dates, and remained separate for the best part of a century, but since around 1980 have experienced a complex and very uncomfortable process of convergence. They are, first, the long-established approach of the ancient historians, based primarily on the historical, geographical, and antiquarian traditions of the later Greeks themselves with some admixture from “literary” texts such as the epic and lyric poets; second, the style adopted by cultural historians, who came to be concerned above all with how institutions, habits, cult and mythology could be “read,” both as reflections of a social order and as representations of the ways in which contemporaries interpreted their world and thereby made sense of it; and third, the approach taken by archaeologists, who until the 1970s were concerned mainly with establishing relative and absolute chronologies for the various genres of artifacts which came within their purview, but also, and derivatively, with establishing the history of the occupation of specific sites such as the major sanctuaries (Delos, Delphi, Olympia, etc.), since these had been the object of the earliest professional attention. Each style has had a very different trajectory. Once their development has been traced in outline, the processes of convergence since 1980 can be traced in slightly more detail.

The Large-scale Narratives

The first “current” to formalize itself was that adopted by the text-based ancient historians, for whom the multi-volume single-authored narrative survey was adopted right from the start as the preferred format.⁷ Within that format, and once the writing of what we now term “ancient history” became established as an art-form in the eighteenth century, the Greek archaic period naturally required inclusion. That task at once presented the problems of separating myth from reality and of weaving tiny fragmentary narratives into a coherent whole. Both problems were, and remain, ferociously intractable. Adequately to tackle the former required either formulating usable criteria for isolating possible historical cores in the material of epic, myth, legend, and folktale, or developing techniques to detect symbolic “meaning.” Some progress has been made in “reading” myths symbolically, much less in re-historicizing them, not least because awareness that stories are preserved because they have a purpose (so the purpose is what matters, not the content) has combined with a far more detailed understanding of how the verbal transmission of narratives can transform (or distort) the material.⁸ True, the temptation to take the Trojan War as history is perennial, but the only respectable course has proved to be the drastic one taken by George Grote in 1846, in excluding mythic material from the historical domain altogether. That decision drove him to begin his historical treatment in 776 and thereby to set the convention with which this chapter began.

However, the second problem remained, viz. that of combining fragmentary narratives. Whereas, say, the history of Roman Italy or of each of the post-medieval European powers can be presented as a narrative with a single thread (albeit at the serious cost of marginalizing the histories of subordinated areas), not even Classical (i.e. post-480) Greece allows its history to be presented thus, for at a minimum Sparta, Athens, Thebes, Syracuse, Asia Minor, and Macedonia each need focused attention. Pre-Classical Greece is even more polycentric: each island, each micro-state, each sanctuary presents a certain number of pieces of information – but they turn out to be pieces from a huge number of different jigsaws. Either, then, the historian presents a set of simultaneous micro-narratives, at the cost of obscuring links and similarities, or s/he groups them in various ways, at the cost of occluding differences, or s/he identifies recurrent themes and patterns of behavior, at the cost of losing the thread of processes which unfold and intersect through time.

Three multi-volume classics each provide an illustrative example of one of these expedients, while their chronological order of publication also reveals how academic preoccupations and styles of presentation changed over the decades between the 1840s and the First World War. As is conventional, I begin with George Grote (1794–1871), for though his History, appearing in twelve volumes in 1846–56,⁹ was very far from being the first full-dress History of Greece, both its quality, as a careful account soberly based on the critical evaluation of sources, and its tone, reflecting both moral earnestness and a sympathy for democracy and the Athenian Empire, were recognized as setting a wholly new standard of scholarship in the subject, thereby giving it widespread authority and influence for the next fifty years.¹⁰ In organizing his material, his sense that “the history of Greece, prior to 560 BC, [is] little better than a series of parallel but isolated threads, each attached to a separate city”¹¹ led him to begin his Part II with three ethno-geographical chapters, and then to devote one or more chapters to each of the main Greek-speaking polities or regions. He breaks off only for two chapters on the Panhellenic festivals and lyric poetry before narrating sixth-century Athenian affairs in detail, the growth of the Persian empire as far as the Battle of Marathon, the Ionian Enlightenment and the impact of Pythagoras on the Greeks of south Italy, the Persian wars, the Sicilian tyrannies, the growth of Athens’ Aegean empire, and so on – noticeably marking no sharp break between “archaic” and “classical” in the way which has become customary. Grote’s History can still be read with pleasure, for his style is eminently readable, weaving summaries of the primary evidence into an exposition which always flows attractively while offering the reader a measured interpretative reading. Of course, especially for the archaic period it reflected the clustering of the information available in the literary sources, for Grote was writing just before the discoveries of inscriptions and papyri – first a trickle, then a flood – began to make any serious impact and before the challenge of incorporating archaeological evidence became inescapable. Yet it also reflected how choices could still be made, e.g. by concentrating on peoples rather than on personalities, by giving attention to Greece’s eastern Mediterranean neighbors, by offering regional surveys, and most notably by offering a far more sympathetic reading of radical or populist politics and politicians than his predecessors had done.

By the 1880s and 1890s, however, a younger generation of historians in Germany was developing very different readings of pre-480 Greece. They were influenced in part by their experiences of nation-formation and authoritarian leadership, in part by new evidence from inscriptions and excavations, and in part by the emergence of newer academic agendas in world history and economic history.¹² Of the innumerable scholarly creations of this golden generation two in particular need attention here. The first, the Griechische Geschichte of Georg Busolt (1850–1920), first appearing in two volumes in 1885 and 1888 but best used through the four published volumes of the second edition (1893–1904), was seen at once as the authoritative treatment of the period,¹³ offering a very different balance. The archaeological work of Schliemann and others allowed him to start with a 120-page section on the Mycenaean period, followed by an even longer section on the emergence and expansion of the historical world of the Greek states (I 127–509). Especially interesting is the third section of volume I, with chapters on Lykourgos and the Spartan constitution, the Messenian Wars and Pheidon of Argos, tyranny in the Isthmos states, and the Delphian Amphiktyony and the Peloponnesian League, for behind the preoccupation with state-formation and the crystallization of power-groups in this section it is hard not to detect a reflection of the Bismarckian power-politics which Busolt admired. Geographically, the focus has narrowed, to concentrate above all on the better-documented polities of Peloponnese and the Saronic Gulf with their colonial offshoots, at the expense of Northern Greece or the eastern Aegean. Stylistically, too, the contrast with Grote is marked, for, to put it kindly, narrative was not Busolt’s forte. Instead, the focus above all is on constitutional antiquities, documented in close-packed footnotes which usually cover at least half the page. The result is a meticulously systematic and all-embracing but sadly static and stodgy presentation, which traces the growth and expansion of Greek presence and culture with all the grace of a sledge-hammer, while its unfinished state and the total absence of an index make it a penance to consult. These are matters of much regret, for Busolt did not just encapsulate the scholarship of his time but advanced it with critical shrewdness, encyclopaedic knowledge of the sources, and a real if hidden interpretative agenda which even now would deserve a measured assessment.

What it received, instead, was a fierce rejoinder from his slightly younger rival K. J. Beloch (1854–1929).¹⁴ As with Busolt, his Griechische Geschichte is best viewed not via its first edition of 1893–1904 but via its second, of 1912–27, for that allows the work as a whole, and especially the volume dealing with archaic Greece (I², in two parts, 1912 and 1913), to serve as the apogee of the comprehensive monograph. Plan, style, and tone are all a world away from Busolt. Putting essays on specific problems and details into a separate volume (I² 2) allowed Beloch to minimize footnotes and to paint a vivid picture of flow and development. His chapter headings alone give the gist clearly: Personality in history, Transmitted information, The Aegean coastlands, The beginnings of the Greek people, The Minoan–Mycenaean period, Expansion across the Aegean, Myth and religion, Heroic poetry, The age of cavalry, Sea-power, The transformation of economic life, The transformation of cultural life, The growth of larger polities, Tyranny, The foundation of the Pe...