I’m just way more skeptical about these discrete facts I keep hearing thrown about as so much proof of the “there” that’s supposed to be there in history, whether narrative, academic, or otherwise. Sure, stuff happened, but that’s a narrative too. And the terms of these narratives are so porous, like Persians, invaded, Greece, and the like. I do agree about unreasonable skepticism, but when that’s countered by undue credulity, I guess I’d rather fall on the side of skepticism. But, sure, folks marched around and stuck weapons into one another, agreed.
I think I mentioned above not wanting to further discuss your exact words re: faux-Athena. It’s a bit of the old “empty chair” argument, and it’s neither enlightening nor pleasurable.
Re: verisimilitide: Compare, if you will, these two fantastic stories from the texts we’re discussing. Here’s Arion’s miraculous rescue by the dolphin in Herodotus:
This Arion, they say, who for the most part of his time stayed with Periander, conceived a desire to sail to Italy and Sicily; and after he had there acquired large sums of money, he wished to return again to Corinth. He set forth therefore from Taras, and as he had faith in Corinthians more than in other men, he hired a ship with a crew of Corinthians. These, the story says, when out in open sea, formed a plot to cast Arion overboard and so possess his wealth; and he having obtained knowledge of this made entreaties to them, offering them his wealth and asking them to grant him his life. With this however he did not prevail upon them, but the men who were conveying him bade him either slay himself there, that he might receive burial on the land, or leap straightway into the sea. So Arion being driven to a strait entreated them that, since they were so minded, they would allow him to take his stand in full minstrel’s garb upon the deck of the ship and sing; and he promised to put himself to death after he had sung. They then, well pleased to think that they should hear the best of all minstrels upon earth, drew back from the stern towards the middle of the ship; and he put on the full minstrel’s garb and took his lyre, and standing on the deck performed the Orthian measure. Then as the measure ended, he threw himself into the sea just as he was, in his full minstrel’s garb; and they went on sailing away to Corinth, but him, they say, a dolphin supported on its back and brought him to shore at Tainaron: and when he had come to land he proceeded to Corinth with his minstrel’s garb. Thither having arrived he related all that had been done; and Periander doubting of his story kept Arion in guard and would let him go nowhere, while he kept careful watch for those who had conveyed him. When these came, he called them and inquired of them if they had any report to make of Arion; and when they said that he was safe in Italy and that they had left him at Taras faring well, Arion suddenly appeared before them in the same guise as when he made his leap from the ship; and they being struck with amazement were no longer able to deny when they were questioned. This is the tale told by the Corinthians and Lesbians alike, and there is at Tainaron a votive offering of Arion of no great size, namely a bronze figure of a man upon a dolphin’s back.
Just dripping with lovely details, that oh-so-realistic passage. And then here’s Mark on the demons and the swine:
And they came over unto the other side of the sea, into the country of the Gadarenes. And when he was come out of the ship, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit, Who had his dwelling among the tombs; and no man could bind him, no, not with chains: Because that he had been often bound with fetters and chains, and the chains had been plucked asunder by him, and the fetters broken in pieces: neither could any man tame him. And always, night and day, he was in the mountains, and in the tombs, crying, and cutting himself with stones. But when he saw Jesus afar off, he ran and worshipped him, And cried with a loud voice, and said, What have I to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of the most high God? I adjure thee by God, that thou torment me not. For he said unto him, Come out of the man, thou unclean spirit. And he asked him, What is thy name? And he answered, saying, My name is Legion: for we are many. And he besought him much that he would not send them away out of the country. Now there was there nigh unto the mountains a great herd of swine feeding. And all the devils besought him, saying, Send us into the swine, that we may enter into them. And forthwith Jesus gave them leave. And the unclean spirits went out, and entered into the swine: and the herd ran violently down a steep place into the sea, (they were about two thousand; and were choked in the sea.And they that fed the swine fled, and told it in the city, and in the country. And they went out to see what it was that was done. And they come to Jesus, and see him that was possessed with the devil, and had the legion, sitting, and clothed, and in his right mind: and they were afraid. And they that saw it told them how it befell to him that was possessed with the devil, and also concerning the swine. And they began to pray him to depart out of their coasts.
Both are quite fantastic events that I think, agreeing with you above, that many “reasonable,” non-supernatural-believing folks would be quite skeptical about. (And Mark seems a touch more “real” to me, but that’s a function of style, primarily tone, in the Greek and here in the KJV.) But if you’re going to introduce verisimilitude as a category for historical truthiness, I’m not sure it helps your argument, as it allows for incredibly fantastic and fictional pieces to be admitted to the bar of history based simply on the stylistic elements pertaining therein, i.e., seeming facts and details, names names names, an authoritative narratorial voice, a grasp of pacing, subordination, and presentation of elements of a story, and so much more. DeFoe would go crazy with this when writing his fiction and his fictive histories some centuries later. So you’re basically arguing my case for me if you’re going to throw out the awful term accuracy and bring in such a fictive, fungible term like verisimilitude as a marker of historical authenticity. For which I thank you. Taken together, they’re both grab-bag narratives of every damn thing the authors wanted to talk about, encyclopedias, and I’m not sure either admits a higher standard of truthiness than the other.
Many forms of “evidence” (a lovely, loaded metaphor, who’s judging? who’s the jury?) provide more convincing narratives than others, sure: of course, when seen from our contemporary viewpoint, which is a construct of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, and which we consensually agree to call true, lacking other alternatives. Love those archives, documents, shards of pottery and whatnot, of course. I just think we have such opposed views as to a lot of these things, and I’m particularly of the linguistic-turn school, which finds so many of the basic terms we’ve used problematic, fun, poetic, rhetorical, whereas you seem to see them as more or less having a stable, central meaning. Your shorter dialogues with liquidself are similar, such as your finding the term of historical document to be capable of admitting “every single book ever written” to be strange, whereas that’s exactly how I would define the term in its broadest sense. Cf. your recent (to me tone-deaf) statement that the Declaration isn’t mythology because documents and facts and stuff. You conveniently ignore the DoI’s own mythologizing (all that stuff about freedom and dignity, asserted but not argued), its rhetorical stances, its use of metaphor, its narrative, and its highly-privileged status as a quasi-religious text for the American republic: mythology works, but not if you’re going to insist that mythology is Greek gods and whatnot. I feel that liquidself and I have been discussing these issues in a more critical, post-linguistic-turn, narrative-based sort of way, whereas you and others have been insisting on a stable set of meanings and a “there” that’s there. And it gets to feel that we’re talking right past one another, which is a shame, because it’s a fascinating topic and one that we’re both smart about and highly invested in.