last fifty or sixty years dealing with Greek life, art and
literature that I have met with. This is a very large statement
to make, and, of course, I do not mean that such flagrant
instances as those above referred to are the rule. But to me
there seems always to be _some_ bias which tends to exaggerate
or falsify the facts to _some_ extent. We can trace this
tendency back more than eighteen hundred years to Plutarch.
(_On the Malice of Herodotus_). He, as Mr. Livingstone[55]
says, “took the view that the Greeks of the great age
could do no wrong, and rates the historian for ‘needlessly
describing evil actions.’” And it is largely in this way that
the enthusiast works—by _omitting facts_. I should think few
readers unfamiliar with the classics will have known all the
facts already put before them in these notes—because such
facts, although known to all classical scholars, are kept in
the background as much as possible. Again the tendency is to
judge the Greeks by their greatest men—to imagine every Greek
to have been a Plato!
I might add greatly to what I have already said about the
Greeks, but I must confine myself to a few matters, repeating
nothing that has been said in previous notes. The Greeks had
very little regard for truthfulness. An _oath_ was a matter of
religion and was supposed to be binding upon them, but it was
excusable to twist out of it. They also saw nothing immoral in
theft. Hermes was the god of thieves, and “the wily Odysseus”
was a favourite hero of the Greeks. Autolycus, the grandfather
of Odysseus, was taught by Hermes himself to surpass all
men in stealing and perjury. (_Od._ XIX, 395.) Hence it was
thought quite a proper thing to make war for the purpose of
robbing neighbours of territory or property. I need quote only
the truly “German” opinions of _Socrates_ and _Aristotle_
placed by Mr. Zimmern at the head of his chapter on Warfare
in _The Greek Commonwealth_. “But, Socrates, it is possible
to procure wealth for the State from our foreign enemies.”
“Yes, certainly you may, if you are the stronger power” (Xen.
_Mem._, III, 6, 7). “War is strictly a means of acquisition,
to be employed against wild animals and against inferior races
of men who, though intended by nature to be in subjection to
us, are unwilling to submit[!], for war of such a kind is just
by nature” (Aristotle, _Politics_, 1256). On considering that
such sentiments are expressed by their greatest philosophers,
we are not surprised to find that _the history of the Greeks is
one of lies, perfidy, and cruelty_.[56] It further illustrates
their unsympathetic pagan character when we find the Greek
mother mourning for her dead son because he will not “feed
her old age,” and Socrates valuing friendship because friends
were useful.[57] When the enthusiast is confronted with the
debased Greek religion he tells us, or leads us to think, that
the people did not believe in their dissolute gods. As regards
this I cannot do better than quote the terse statement of Mr.
Livingstone. After pointing out that there were some advanced
thinkers among the Greeks who were more or less sceptics
(and that there were also some small sects who are said to
have had higher _moral_ beliefs than their countrymen[58])
he says, “We are concerned with the state religion, which
Athenians learnt to reverence as children, which permeated
the national literature, which crowned the high places of the
city with its temples, which consecrated peace and war and
everything solemn and ceremonial in civil life, which by its
intimate connection with these things acquired that support
of instinctive sentiment which is stronger than any moral or
intellectual sanction.”[59] Something may be added to this.
Why was the Greek so greatly concerned about his tomb and his
burial rites? The main reason why he burdened himself with a
wife and household was that a son should be left to see to
those rites and look after his tomb. He did not see his wife
before marriage, and, however beautiful he found her to be,
the uneducated girl would be no companion for him; and her
beauty would soon fade in the unwholesome confined life she
led. Her office was fulfilled when she had borne him sons—and
he looked for his pleasures elsewhere. Surely this one fact
alone proves that the Greeks had a very real belief in their
religion. Again why do we find that only Socrates and a few
other thinkers appear to have been charged with impiety? Mr.
Livingstone, curiously enough, argues from this that there was
greater freedom of thought among the Greeks. Surely the simple
and natural explanation is far preferable, namely, that there
were _no other pronounced sceptics_ than those few advanced
thinkers. Imagine the danger of declaring anything against the
gods which would throw in doubt the divinity of the patron
goddess Athena![60] It is often argued that the intelligent
Greeks could no more have believed the monstrous stories
of their gods, than we believe some of the Old Testament
stories of Jehovah. But the position is entirely different. We
disbelieve stories that offend our moral sense: the gods of
the Greeks had a character similar to their own, and acted as
they themselves would have acted if they had been gods. Also
they had no ethnology, no knowledge of purer religions to teach
them the falsity and depravity of their own—nor, indeed, would
the proud Greeks have condescended to learn from barbarians
(especially as they believed themselves descended from heroes
who were sprung from the gods). Finally one has only to read
the accounts of travellers in Greece to learn that the religion
_even lingers on to-day_—see, for instance, S. C. Kaines
Smith’s _Greek Art and National Life_ (pp. 153, 172), where the
woodcutters, when a tree is falling, throw themselves on the
ground and hide their faces in deadly fear of the Dryads,[61]
and an _eminent Greek gentleman_ crosses himself at the name of
the Nereïds. (See also W. H. D. Rouse’s _Tales from the Isles
of Greece_. I learn from the _Spectator_ review of a book just
published, _Balkan Home Life_, by Lucy M. J. Garnett, that the
religion has a very strong hold on the people.)
My statement has been very one-sided so far, as I have said
very little of the virtues of the Greeks. These virtues were
those of intelligent primitive people, love of freedom,
justice, and equality (_but confined to their own nation and
not including their own women and slaves_), personal courage,
great patriotism, fidelity to kinsfolk and guests; they
showed at times generosity to a valiant enemy and recognized
some such duties as burying the dead. While I do not think
we can carry the national virtues much further than this,
there would be gradations of character among the Greeks, and
probably many would be more or less kindly, others have a
true affection for their wives, others show private virtues
in various directions—we can only conjecture as to something
of which there is very little evidence in their literature.
On the one hand, we know that Socrates suffered martyrdom
for the truth,[62] and we may surmise that there were other
fine characters; on the other hand, we know that this highly
intellectual _nation_ put the philosopher to death as a
blasphemer against their profligate gods.
But while we can give the Greeks credit for little of the
morality of modern civilization, on the other hand we would be
thinking very absurdly if we regarded their vices as though the
people were on the same moral plane as ourselves. (This is the
fact to be recognised. The ridiculous tendency of the modern
enthusiast is to depict the Greeks as a highly moral nation
striving for righteousness!) Strictly speaking, the Greek
practices and habits should not be called vices, because the
Greeks had no reason to believe that they were doing anything
wrong. Their virtues and their vices were those of ordinary
primitive life.[63] The moral principle, that highest product
of creation, had not yet developed itself among the people to
any appreciable extent, but we see it gradually emerging in
the growing disbelief in the national religion among thinking
men, and reaching an advanced stage in Plato, the greatest
philosopher of antiquity. But to the average Greek, apart from
religion (including respect for parents), the patriotism which
they had learnt from Homer, their one great book, covered much
of what they meant by “virtue”.[64] Whatever was good for the
State was a virtue, whatever bad for the State a vice. We can
hardly realize what Athens stood for in the Greek mind. For
instance, Æschylus tells us that the patron goddess Athena
came to Athens to preside over the balloting of the jurors and
conduct the trial of Orestes, and also that the Furies lived
among the citizens in a sacred grotto. The Greeks saw that they
were immensely superior to the surrounding “barbarians,” and
they regarded their State practically as an object of _worship_
(as Rome was also regarded by the Romans).
It would have been interesting to discuss here the ethical
views of the philosophers, but the subject is far too intricate
for this note—and in any case they and their followers formed
only a few exceptions among the Greeks. It will be seen later
that the use of such words as “virtue,” “holiness,” etc.,
causes a vast deal of meaning to be read into Plato which never
entered that philosopher’s mind.
The great outstanding fact about the Greeks is their
astonishing intellect, combined with sound commonsense
(σωφροσύνη) and a quite modern gift of humour. Their powerful
intellect, however, had very poor material to work upon. In a
previous note I have mentioned their remarkably limited idea of
the world—but, while knowing this to be a fact, we still cannot
realize the _mental attitude_ of men who had even _one_ false
conception of such magnitude as regards their general outlook
and thought. Let us take an instance of a different kind from
the great philosopher Aristotle (384-322 B.C.), who came after
Plato—bearing in mind that the average Greeks would be vastly
more ignorant and superstitious than their greatest thinkers.
In his _Mechanica_ Aristotle explains the power of a lever to
make a small weight lift a larger one. His explanation is that
a _circle has a certain magical character_. A very wonderful
thing is a circle, because it is both _convex_ and _concave_;
it is made by a _fixed_ point and a _moving_ line, which are
contradictory to each other; and whatever has a circular
movement moves _in opposite directions_. Also, Aristotle says,
movement in a circle is the most _natural_ movement! Hence we
get the result: the long arm of the lever moves in the _larger
circle_ and has the greater amount of this magical _natural
motion_, and so requires the lesser force! Again, let us take
a story which was as firmly believed by Aristotle as the most
ignorant of his countrymen. Our word halcyon is the Greek
word _Alkuon_, meaning a bird, probably of the Kingfisher
species. The Greeks supposed the word to be formed of two
words, _hals kuon_, meaning “conceived in the sea”—therefore
they believed the bird _was_ so conceived and that it was bred
in a nest floating on the sea—and, as the sea must then be
smooth, they further believed that a period of fourteen days’
calm necessarily occurred about Christmas—finding there was
no such period of calm around their own coasts they either
thought that it must occur (and the birds breed) elsewhere,
or, like Theocritus, that the bird could _charm_ the sea into
tranquillity.[65]
The Greeks believed queer things about animals. I take
the following instances of birds alone from Mr. Rogers’
Introduction to his _Birds of Aristophanes_, so that I need not
give references. By looking at a plover, who returns the look,
a man is cured of jaundice. Penelope, the wife of Odysseus,
was said to have been so named because, having been cast into
the sea, she was rescued by widgeons (Greek, _penelops_). The
song of the dying swan was a belief of the Greeks. The raven
was the bird of augury and had mysterious knowledge. The cranes
fought the pygmies and swallowed stones for ballast. The
young storks fed their aged parents. The sisken foresees the
winter and snowstorms. Mr. Rogers has no need to discuss the
yet more extravagant stories of the phœnix, sirens, harpies,
etc. Plutarch (_De Is. and Os._ LXXI) tells us how the Greeks
regarded birds and other animals in relation to the gods; he
says that while they did not, like the Egyptians, _worship_
animals, “they said and believed rightly that the dove was
the sacred animal of Aphrodite, the raven of Apollo, the dog
of Artemis, and so on.” (Possibly Aristophanes’ comedy did
not win the prize, because the audience saw little humour in
exaggerating the powers which they really believed the birds
to have. To the Greeks the birds were _greater_ and the gods
_smaller_ than we ourselves picture them. Ruskin’s translation
of Od. V. 67,[66] the seabirds which “have care of the works
of the sea,” seems much more likely to be correct than the
accepted version that the birds live by diving and fishing.
Consider how the Greeks would regard the birds that flew round
and over their ships or fishing-nets and over the waves and
rocks, where the sea-gods lay beneath—and compare _Il._ II,
614.)[67]
All that has been said about the Greeks in this and previous
notes is intended, not so much to exhibit the character of that
nation—a matter which does not greatly concern me—but for other
reasons. In one instance the intention was to indicate how
vast a gulf exists between Christianity and the ancient world.
Many classical enthusiasts do not seem to realize this, and a
definitely _pagan_ tendency is very apparent in their habits of
thought.
But the main object of pointing out the inferior state of
civilization among the Greeks, their non-moral character
in certain respects, their ignorance and superstition, and
their low standard of morality generally, has to do with
the important question of interpreting Greek literature and
philosophy. It would matter very little that the enthusiast
should picture the Greeks as a race of saints and demigods, if
there were no beautiful and valuable literature to be coloured
and falsified by reason of such views. It is only by realizing
the actual life and thought of this primitive race that _we
can understand their language_, that is to say, we can learn
what meanings should be attached to the words they use. Only
thus can we _interpret their literature_. We have already had
two simple illustrations of this. In one case what appears
to be a poetic fancy in Theocritus, when the voyager hopes
the halcyons will calm the sea for him, is seen to be a wish
that the birds _will actually exercise the power that they
possess_. The other instance appears on page 294. But much more
important is it that, in reading words of knowledge such as
references to the starry heavens or the constitution of matter,
or mental or moral phenomena, we should not attribute to the
Greek writer conceptions far larger and higher than he had in
his mind. To amplify what I have said in a previous note, let
us take the words in Plato, Aristotle or, say, Euripides which
are translated by such English words as “morality,” “purity,”
“virtue,” “honour,” “religion,” etc. It is clear that the
original Greek expressions cannot signify, for instance, either
purity as we know it, or even abstention from unnatural vice or
from infanticide.[68] We are, therefore, mistranslating when we
use such English words (because they are the nearest equivalent
to the Greek expressions), and this fact needs to be steadily
borne in mind. Again when interpreting, say, a Greek play, it
is necessary to bear in mind, not only the _supposed_ character
of the _dramatist_, but also the _actual_, _known_ character of
the _audience_ to whom the play was addressed. I now propose to
give an illustration which will bring me on dangerous ground.
Is it reasonable to ask if the Athenians, some few of whose
characteristics have been outlined in these notes, would have
flocked to hear, and have greatly enjoyed, a play replete with
high moral teaching, and containing hymns that might have come
out of a Church Hymnal? Now the _Bacchae_ of Euripides, one
of the most popular of Greek plays, and the _Hippolytus_ of
the same dramatist, have been translated by one great Greek
scholar, Professor Gilbert Murray, in a manner that (at any
rate, as regards the _Bacchae_) received the “hearty admiration
and approval” of another great Greek scholar, Dr. Verrall.
In this version, one after another of the debased Greek gods
is called “God.” We also find such expressions as (note the
capitals) “God’s grace,” “Virgin of God,” “Babe of God,” “God’s
son,” and even “God’s true son” (who is Dionysus or Bacchus),
“Spirit of God,” “Child of the Highest,” “Heaven,” “Purity,”
“Saints” (who are the Maenads!), “righteous,” “divine,” “holy,”
and so on.
Professor Murray is put in a difficulty when two or more gods
are referred to. In some cases he becomes illogical (and
reminds us of the Kaiser), as when Dionysus has to say “God and
me.” In others he has to use the Greek name for one god, and
then the words sound blasphemous, as when he speaks of Dionysus
who was “born from the thigh of Zeus and now is God.” These
instances are taken quite at random and there must be many
others.
Take the following two lines as a short illustration of
Professor Murray’s version:
Where a voice of living waters never ceaseth
In God’s quiet garden by the sea.
The original reads: “Where the ambrosial fountains stream forth
by the couches of the palaces of Zeus,” or, to give them a more
musical turn, Mr. A. S. Way’s version is:
Where the fountains ambrosial sunward are leaping
By the couches where Zeus in his halls lieth sleeping.
In Professor Murray’s two lines Zeus becomes “God,” “living
waters” is taken from the Song of Solomon, and “God’s quiet
garden” from Isaiah and Ezekiel. Such expressions, with their
tender and beautiful associations, do not in the least convey
the sense of the original. Used to describe the palace of a
vicious, barbaric deity, they are a _mistranslation_. Also
every one of the expressions referred to above is, wherever
used, another mistranslation (although some may be necessitated
by the limitation of language). Again there are other more
pronounced mistranslations, some of which are pointed out by
Verrall (_Bacchants of Euripides_). Thus where the very old
man Cadmus, setting out on an unusual journey, merely says to
his ancient comrade, “We have pleasantly forgotten that we are
old” (_Bacchae_ 184-9). Professor Murray interpolates a stage
direction, “_A mysterious strength and exaltation_” (from the
god Dionysus) “_enters into him_”—and he alters the words of
Cadmus to conform with the miracle:
Sweetly and forgetfully
The dim years fall from off me!
Here, therefore, we find _an important episode_ deliberately
introduced into the play.
Take another instance which Verrall does not mention. In the
very enthusiastic “Introductory Essay,” Professor Murray
tells us that Euripides longed to escape from the bad, hard,
irreligious Athenians[69] of that day, and proceeds as follows:
“What else is wisdom?” he asks, in a marvellous passage:—
What else is wisdom? What of man’s endeavour
Or God’s high grace so lovely and so great?
To stand from fear set free, to breathe and wait;
To hold a hand uplifted over Hate;
And shall not loveliness be loved for ever?
There is nothing here, nor in the translation that follows,
to indicate that there has been any interference with the
text. It is only upon turning to the notes _at the end of the
translation_ (which the average reader would hardly study)
that we find the third line is “_practically interpolated._”
He gives reasons for this that are not easy to follow, and
says “If I am wrong, the refrain is probably a mere cry for
revenge;” I add that the latter is the generally accepted
meaning, and the only meaning I can see in the original Greek.
Now Professor Murray’s object in all this is to convey in
words that appeal to our minds his conception of the devout,
religious and, therefore, _highly moral_ attitude of, not only
Euripides, _but also his Athenian audience_. The attitude of
mind must be that of the _audience_, as well as the dramatist,
because none but devout, religious people go to a “Service of
Song,” and, as stated above, the _Bacchae_ was a very popular
play among the Greeks. If, however, Professor Murray thought
that, by colouring, altering, and adding to the play, he gave
a more correct impression of it as it appeared to the Greeks,
he was perfectly at liberty with that object to mistranslate as
much as he pleased—_provided he told his readers and hearers
that they were not reading or hearing the words that Euripides
wrote_.
Has he told them this? The book is entitled “Euripides
_translated_ into English rhyming verse.” In the Preface he
also begins by telling us definitely that it is a translation;
later on he says: “As to the method of this translation ...
my aim has been to build up something as like the original
as I possibly could, in form and what one calls ‘Spirit.’ To
do this, the first thing needed was a work of painstaking
scholarship, a work in which there should be _no neglect
of the letter_ in an attempt to snatch at the spirit.” He
then goes on to tell us that “The remaining task” was to
reproduce the poetry of the original and (here is the only
admission that he has varied from the text) he ‘has often
changed metaphors, altered the shapes of sentences, and the
like.... On one occasion he has even omitted a line and a half’
(because unnecessary) and he says, he ‘has added, of course
by conjecture, a few stage directions.’ Let the non-classical
reader look back over what has been said above and ask himself
whether such words—however carefully studied—would have given
him the least impression of what this “_translation_” actually
amounts to.
Without entering into any long discussion as to the so
called “purity choruses” of the _Bacchae_, let us simply ask
the question, Does this pious, fervently-religious version
represent the actual play that the cruel, lying, treacherous
and unspeakably sensual Greeks flocked to see and enjoy?
Further comes a much more important question, Would such a
“translation,” put before English readers, or staged before an
English audience, give them a _true_ or a _false_ idea of the
character of the Greeks?
I might compare with this Ruskin’s view of the Greek character
(_The Crown of Wild Olive._). This is what he says the Greeks
won from their lives: “Free-heartedness, and graciousness, and
undisturbed trust, and _requited love_, and _the sight of the
peace of others, and the ministry to their pain_.” (Italics
mine.) This is truly amazing! I am tempted to go back again
to Professor Murray’s _Euripides_ (p. lxiii) and quote a like
passage:
“Love thou the day and the night,” he (Euripides) says in
another place. “It is only so that Life can be made what it
really is, a Joy: _by loving not only your neighbour_—he is so
vivid an element in life that, unless you do love him, he will
spoil all the rest!—but the actual details and processes of
living, etc., etc.”
The italics are again mine—but here it will be seen that
Euripides has, _as a matter of course_, anticipated the great
evangel of Christ! He has even gone a step further—but I
must leave Professor Murray to his love of the “details and
processes of living,” whatever that may mean.