Emily Katz Anhalt’s latest book, Ancient Wisdom for Polarized Times, makes a powerful case for relearning the lessons of Herodotus.

Though ancient Greek historian Thucydides is arguably the father of political science, he was preceded on the scene by the father of history, Herodotus. Though some have called him the father of lies because of the tall tales he tells in his Histories, Herodotus’ account of the war between Greece and Persia marks the first attempt in the West to analyze battles, cultures, and political leaders in such a way as to construct a meaningful narrative that sheds light on the forces that propel history. //

In today’s volatile political environment, reality is under siege. Influential voices at all extremes of the political kaleidoscope—some cynical opportunists, some blinded by ideological certainties—craft narratives and interpretations drawn not from fact but from fantasy. Purveyors of falsehoods prey on human gullibility.  … Extremists gain powerful support from anyone uninterested in learning facts or unwilling to moderate an opinion based on evidence and logic. Some argue that we are each entitled to our own reality, or that objective facts are inherently prejudicial, or that factual evidence is fake news. Captivated by misleading and demonstrably false narratives, we forfeit our capacity for compassionate, humane interactions and we imperil human survival itself.

What Herodotus offers to moderns trapped in such an environment is a method for assessing the past and the present that is grounded in evidence and the proper interpretation of that evidence. “Herodotus introduced the concept of objective truth, derived not from personal preference or authoritative pronouncement (whether by a political or divine authority) but from factual investigation and empirical deduction and analysis,” Anhalt notes. Though it is true that Herodotus includes fanciful stories and bizarre legends in his Histories, he also provides the necessary criteria for evaluating their veracity.

Whereas Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey and Hesiod’s Theogony and Works and Days begin with invocations of the muse, Herodotus writes on his own authority; indeed, the first word of his book is his name! Like Homer, he recounts memorable deeds, but he does so in a way that excludes the actions and interventions of the gods. Instead, he “concentrates on human conduct, beliefs, and choices and their consequences. Not divine but human behavior emerges as a potent force for change in human events.” //

“For Herodotus, the human capacity for self-deception constitutes an unseen but determinative force in human life. Three powerful autocrats—Croesus, Astyages, Cyrus—deceive themselves into thinking that supernatural signs validate their desires and confer control over future events. … Nothing compels Croesus to attack Persia, Astyages to try to kill his grandson, or Cyrus to attack the Massegetai. They just want to,” she writes. “Lust for greater territory and power, like a king’s lust for his own wife [Candaules] or sailors’ greed for a passenger’s money, needs no further explanation. But self-deception feeds human appetites and makes supernatural signs worse than useless.”

The human propensity for self-deception is often highlighted in the Histories, a fatal flaw that can only be overcome by “self-reflection and self-restraint,” the very things that Herodotus’ barbarian autocrats lack. And yet, the Athenians are not above a little self-deception of their own. //

Why then, if the Greeks are as susceptible to deception as the barbarians, were they able to defeat the Persians? Because their sense of history and of the repeated patterns of cause and effect that connect one generation to the next empowered them to learn from the past. (Anhalt intriguingly argues that the Greek word for truth, aletheia, means “not forgetting.”)

Persian autocrats like Darius and Xerxes, on the other hand, refused to study, consider, or be instructed by past errors. “While discussion enables the Greeks to absorb facts and recognize wise counsel, the Persians ignore factual evidence and fail to learn from previous experience,” she notes. In his preparation for the decisive naval battle of Salamis, she further observes, “Persian king [Xerxes] makes unilateral decisions. He lacks discernment and access to dissenting opinions. He draws incorrect inferences from misleading external appearances. In contrast, Greeks benefit from constructive debate.”

Another way of saying this that most readers will recognize from their schooldays is that Xerxes falls prey to the consequences of hubris. However, whereas most of us were taught that hubris means overweening pride, Anhalt argues that “hubris in Greek meant excessive, unrestrained desire, ambition, and overconfidence. It frequently involved impulsive, short-sighted violence, specifically violence redounding to the harm of the perpetrator. … In Greek, the opposite of hubris is not ‘humility’ or ‘modesty’ but sōphrosunē, meaning ‘wisdom,’ ‘prudence,’ ‘self-restraint,’ ‘moderation,’ even ‘chastity.’ … [Hubris is that which] liberates the ruler’s most violent impulses and frees him to wreak havoc.” It makes him believe that he can, like the gods, fulfill his sexual lusts without consequences. So fall the tyrants of the earth.