Space travel and time travel in Plutarch
Abstract: One important insight of recent scholarship has been the importance of figuring space âhodologicallyâ, as a lived experience as one travels through it, rather than (or, occasionally, as well as) through the vision of a birdâs-eye map. Plutarchâs own use of the Delphic Sacred Way in On the Oracles of the Pythia is a particularly clear and evocative hodological account, exploiting the suggestions of âplaceâ as well as âspaceâ (to adopt another useful modern distinction) to stimulate reflection on the entire course and rhythm of Greek history, with memories of internecine Greek conflict giving way to the calm of the Roman present: the move from combativeness to more tranquil conversation also mimics this process. The chapter then explores Alexander and the differences made as the narrative moves eastwards and then back towards the west. Outlandish experiences certainly cluster towards the edges of the world, as we might expect, but is there evidence that these generate any change in Alexander himself? The chapter argues that the perceptible change in Alexanderâs character has little to do with the east entering his soul; lieux de mĂ©moire are however relevant, again prompting reflections on the whole of Greek history and provoking the sense of melancholy and even macabre that pervades the final chapters. Life as a journey: that particular clichĂ© began its journey a long time ago.
Space travelling is all the scholarly rage. There has been a lot of interest recently in how ancient authors figure space in their narratives; or âplaceâ rather than âspaceâ, in the favourite theoretical distinction. Space is a matter more of nature, place of culture: space is what is given us by geography, the facts of the physical landscape; place is what humans have done to it, building their cities and their monuments, endowing particular localities with associations and human liveliness. Spaces are covered by air, places embedded in âatmosphereâ. It is important too that ancient texts often treat place and space in a âhodologicalâ way: that is, a journey tends to be described by the impressions as one goes, by visualising each stage in turn, rather than with the take-it-all-in-with-a-single-view image that we get from a birdâs-eye map. There were of course such birdâs-eye maps in antiquity: there is the famous story of Aristagoras wielding one in front of Cleomenes in Herodotus (5.49). But Cleomenes is bewildered by it all, and it needs to be explained to him. It may be second nature to us to cry out for a birdâs-eye map to go with, say, a narrative like Caesarâs Gallic Wars, or even to start mapping one out mentally for ourselves on to that vague shape of France that we already have in our head. The ancient visualising equivalent would be more like a sat-nav reconstruction, once again seeing place as something travelled through sequentially. (Equally, one should not overstate the difference: if one is asked to describe a journey one knows well, say from oneâs home to oneâs office, one typically figures it in a hodological way, and may be quite surprised by a later birdâs-eye view of the curves in a familiar road.)
Another interest has been metatextual, seeing how journeys in the text may have analogies in the way the text itself works, turning the reader into a sort of narrative journeyer. Purves (2010), in particular, took that approach a long way. The textual grounding for such an approach is of course secure, however far we decide to push it. The âpath of songâ is familiar from archaic times;14 many will think too of how Herodotus promises to âgo forwardâ (ÏÏÎżÎČ᜔ÏÎżÎŒÎ±Îč) âjourneying throughâ (áŒÏΔΟıÏÎœ) cities big and small alike (1.5.14), covering them in his text as earlier he had in his travels.15 Herodotus has indeed been the focus of a project in which I have been involved myself, the Herodotus Encoded Space-Text-Image Archive (HESTIA):16 Among other things, that has been concerned with alternative ways of digitally âmappingâ the place-names appearing in Herodotusâ text. During that project we noticed how often questions of space or place overlap with questions of time. It might be a question of distance: did things happen in the same way, following the same physical rules, in the distant past as they do today, and do they happen in the same way in distant lands in the present? (Compare Thucydidesâ use in the Archaeology of distant practices in the present to cast light on his reconstruction of practices in the distant past, 1.6.5â6.) But it is also striking how often local disputes over place âwhose territory should this be?âbecome disputes over the past, over traditional claims and legends echoing back into time immemorial.17
Not that this overlapping of space-questions and time-questions is any surprise. One need only think of the way that Aeschylusâ Persians is so unusual among Greek tragedies, but replaces distance in time with distance in space. And that same early programmatic chapter of Herodotus goes on to explain how his travels have given him an insight into human mutability, into big cities becoming small and small cities becoming big: travel through space, or rather through places (for âcitiesâ are quintessentially places), has given him insight into time (1.5.3â4)âjust as, a little into his narrative, the much-travelled Solon will have such insight into human change and vulnerability.
And what of Plutarch? I shall take two texts, On the Oracles of the Pythia and the Life of Alexander, seeing how place works on people and does so sequentially and âhodologicallyâ, and in particular tracing that interaction of place and the past, of space and time.
On the Oracles of the Pythia
If one wants an example of hodologicality in Plutarch, Delphi, the scene of the conference from which this book springs, is the place to look. On the Oracles of the Pythia, particularly the dialogueâs first half, describes the conversation as the group wind their way up the Sacred Way, and the climb is described in terms of what they see and the effect this has on them: âplaceâ, indeed, and all that this very holy and very special place can suggest. As always with Plutarch conversations, it ranges widely and learnedly. The first topic centres on the rusting process: what can it be that gives those statues of the navarchs their peculiar blue-green tinge, appropriate as it seems for those old sea-dogs, âstanding there with the true complexion of the sea and its depthsâ (395B)? Then the conversation turns to matters of religion and history, with one prompt or another given by whatever they are passing: that statue of Hieron the tyrantâcould it be coincidence that it fell down on the very day he died, any more than it was coincidence that the statue of a certain Spartan lost its eyes just before his death at Leuctra (397Eâ398A)? A little later we get to the treasury of Cypselus: why Cypselus, and not the Corinthians as a whole ⊠(400DâF)? Next, those statues of courtesans (401A): are they not shaming? Yet ponder the history of Greece: isnât it better to commemorate the odd prostitute than all those infamous battles of one Greek against one another? And so it goes on, until their guest suggests it might be time to sit down and get back to the question they had originally raised, why oracular answers are now given in prose when the famous cases of the old days were given in verse (ch. 17). Here too place matters:
BoĂ«thus immediately observed that the place itself helped to solve our visitorâs problem. âThere used to be a shrine of the Muses here,â he said, ânear the outlet of the stream ⊠Simonides speaks of the placeâŠâ (De Pyth. or. 402C)18
Admittedly, how the place helps is not clear, as the text is defective: it is probably something about how the place used to inspire, not just because of its beauty and the presence of Apollo, but also because of that cult of the Muses that âused to beâ.19 But, somehow, it matters.
Arguably, place matters a good deal more: this is not a dialogue that could be happening just anywhere. That atmosphere of Delphi has its effect. This is initially the case in the most literal way: the air here is particularly thick, and it has affected that rusting process (396A). But this discussion in those early chapters also introduces other themes that are going to come back in interestingly different registers: how far, for instance, purely physical explanations are enough to explain those things that look like coincidences, like the sea-colouring of the navarchsâbut are they, really, just coincidences, when there are so many of them and there is so much of a godly presence in the air? And it is not just religion that is in the air, but history, all that Greek history that is commemorated there, for good or for ill.
Do you not feel pity for the Greeks as you read the inscriptions of shame on these beautiful dedications: âBrasidas and the Acanthians, from Athenian spoilsâ; âThe Athenians from Corinthian spoilsâ; âThe Phocians from Thessalian spoilsâ; âThe Orneates from Sicyonian spoilsâ; âThe Amphictyons from Phocian spoilsâ. (De Pyth. or. 15.401CâD)
That is a favourite theme of the Lives as well, of course, where Plutarch several times dwells on the senselessness of the Greeks throughout their history in fighting one another, so that eventually it had to be left to the Roman Flamininus to give them that peace that their own bickering had denied them for so long (Flam. 11). (Admittedly, not all of that emphasis carries across to the dialogue: Roman memorials, including those of Flamininus, are not mentioned either.20 There may be a reason for that as well, as we will later see.) Once more, then, though in a rather different way from Herodotus, Plutarchâs hodological moving through space encourages insight into time: these lieux de mĂ©moire are dripping with memory, the wrong sorts of memory. Too many battles, too many tyrants, too much Greek blood ⊠. Notice the memories that do not figure here: no Marathon, no Salamis, no Plataea (though Plataea does figure in the sister dialogue On the Decline of the Oracles, and the climbers must have passed the Tripod of Plataea just before getting to Hieron); no, it is the Peloponnesian War and Leuctra and Lysander fighting Thebans that get the space. The Persian Wars figure only onceâin the mention of the statue of Apollo carrying a spear set up by the Megarians âin consequence of the victory that expelled the Athenians from the city after the Persian Warsâ (402A). So even there it is Greek against Greek. The silence is echoing.
Still, times change: the second half of the dialogue is concerned with that, as Theonâa real person,21 but still a significant nameâgives his explanation of why the oracles no longer ...