Brief Notes on Thomas
McEvilley
By Peter Valente
1
The Shape of Ancient Thought and The Arimaspia
Pan neglected his / leaping and sang / the odes of / Pindar.
In The Shape
of Ancient Thought, Thomas McEvilley notes there had been important
similarities between the thought of India and Greece in the Ancient world. One
reason for this is that both were profoundly affected by the Bronze Age
civilizations of the Ancient Near East, especially Mesopotamia. Under the
Persian Empire (roughly the 6th century BCE), there was an important
transmission of ideas from Northwestern India to Eastern Greece (part of
present day Turkey/Western Anatolia). These ideas included reincarnation, a
cyclical view of time, and the idea of monism. Pre-Socratic thought, the
central philosophical movement at the heart of Western Civilization, was
essentially brought over from India and based on these ideas. Later, during the
reign of Alexander (the 4th century BCE), this transmission occurred
in reverse; now Greek thought, carrying with it the advanced ideas of the
dialectic, of reason, and logic, began to influence thought in India. The
radical view in The Shape of Ancient
Thought is that this significant exchange and influence of ideas between
East and West, which occurred for many centuries and showed that the origins of
Greco-Roman culture were non-Western, were repressed in favor of a Western
bias.
In McEvilley’s novel, The Arimaspia, a Greek scholar is travelling to India in order “to
unite East and West in a megaculture that would combine, and yet somehow
separately preserve, the best of all its parts.” He discovers the challenges of
such a product. On arriving in India, he encounters Megasthenes[1], who
believed that the Indians were “better in deed than in word,” and that their
“opinions indicate mental simplicity;” such ideas resulted in what the narrator
sees as part of Megasthenes’ racist projection: “that dark-skinned peoples can’t
deal with abstraction, that they are associated with the instincts, and so on.”
Our Greek scholar also discovers the influence of Indian thought upon Greek
thought:
Even then they speak of nothing so much as of
death, for they say that the life here is as it were that of a babe still in
the womb, and that death, to those who have devoted themselves to philosophy,
is birth into true life, and that they discipline themselves above all to be
prepared for death. (This was the Orphic line too. Socrates is said to have
remarked that philosophy was “practicing death.”)
In reading an Indian text, he notes the expression
of Western ideas mixed with a form that is distinctly Eastern; he describes the
text as “unrolling inexorably the ancient story of war and betrayal that
reminds me of the Homeric tales except for its narrative form, which seems
pluralistic and shapeless. Aristotle would never accept it: no clear beginning,
middle, and end.” He feels surrounded by a “big emptiness” that cannot be
“surrounded or embraced in a framework which could give it meaning, because
such a framework would just become the next boundary of the finite and be in
turn surrounded by the big emptiness.” The concept of ‘zero’ or ‘sunyam’
originated in ancient India. It was derived from the concept of ‘void’ or
‘śūnyatā’ propagated by Nāgārjuna[2] in his
work Seventy Verses on Emptiness. Our
Greek scholar comes up against the limits of reason. But his project of
“establishing a philosophy school in India and fomenting a synthesis of Greek and
Indian thought” is an attempt to establish global harmony.
Such attempts to acknowledge the Eastern influence
upon the West were repressed over time as a result of racist ideas during the
colonial period (primarily the British agenda); the West was seen as the home
of rational positivism and the East as mystical and irrational, thus inferior
and superstitious. When Shelley writes, “We are all Greeks,” he specifically
means the West, the Greco-Roman culture. Thus, the East and West have always
been seen as distinct; in the East, China and Japan were dependent on Indian
origins, and in the West, the Greco-Roman civilization has been seen, as a
result of the colonial project, as the sole culture responsible for the origin
of Civilization, and thus superior to all other cultures. McEvilley tells us[3] that in
1786, at the height of the Colonial period, there was a man named Sir William
Jones, who gave a lecture in which he stated that Sanskrit was an Indo-European
language. This struck at the heart of the British agenda. If Sanskrit was
understood to be the oldest of the Indo-European languages that would topple
the supremacy of the Western linguistic bias. But his views were
ignored.
In our time, this colonial agenda is disguised as a
progressive movement for the people, one that leads to the demonization of
Islamic culture and immigrants in general, nationalism, and white supremacy.
But, despite this, and as a result of technology and the changing face of our
culture and the world, the spread of nationalism is challenged. In such a
political environment, translation becomes increasingly important. Today
educated children are fluent in at least two if not more languages. Many
translations from Farsi, Arabic, Turkish, and other non-Western languages are
being published. The primacy of English is called into question.
2
Translations
My first encounter with McEvilley’s work was
through his translations from the Greek. During the time, I was also working in
the same territory, producing translations of Catullus, Lucretius, Ovid,
Martial, and others, in an attempt to show how foreign the value system of the
Ancient world is to our own, and to reveal certain cultural forces at work in
our time. At the center of the project was a reconsideration of sexuality in
the pre-Judeo-Christian world. Here is McEvilley’s translation of the Epicurean
Philodemus’ (c.110 – 35 BCE) poem, “Philodemus Reforms” (11.34):
I
want no more garlands of white violets, no more lyre-playing
No
more wine with cocaine in it, no more Syrian incense burning on the nighttable,
No
more all night parties that end with a thirsty whore in my bed –
No
more! I hate these things; they are all driving me mad!
But
– give me garlands of narcissus flowers, and let me play the flute,
Perfume
me with saffron, give me wine with amphetamines and hashish,
And
mate me, yes mate me, with a virrrgin.
It
is an interesting poem in several respects. Epicurus believed that what he called “pleasure” was the greatest good,
but that the way to attain such pleasure was to live modestly, to gain
knowledge of the workings of the world, and to limit one’s desires. This would
lead one to attain a state of tranquility and freedom from fear as well as an
absence of bodily pain. Of course, this is by no means a hedonistic philosophy,
though it speaks of “pleasure” as the ultimate good. The similarity of this
thought with certain Buddhist doctrines on sexuality and restraint is striking:
“This is called the bliss of renunciation, the
bliss of enlightenment. I say of this kind of pleasure that it should be
pursued, that it should be developed, that it should be cultivated, that it
should not be feared.[4]” Philodemus is exchanging one kind of
pleasure for another by renouncing the “lyre-playing” for the flute, choosing
wine with hashish and amphetamines instead of cocaine, renouncing the “Syrian
incense” to be perfumed with saffron. Perhaps the “flute” suggests the syrinx
of Pan. Many modern
scholars consider Pan to be derived from a Proto-Indo-European
god, whom they believe to have
been an important pastoral deity. The Rigvedic[5] god Pushan is believed to be an earlier form of the
Greek god Pan. Amphetamines
and Cocaine are both stimulants whose effects are similar. But hashish, a word
that comes from Arabic, meaning “grass,” suggests the East. As trade between India and the Greco-Roman world increased,
spices became the main import along the Spice
Routes from India to the Western world, rivaling silk
and other commodities. Ancient Greeks and Romans valued saffron as a perfume or
deodorizer that they scattered in public spaces such as the courts, and
amphitheaters. Wealthy Romans took daily saffron baths. In this poem, there is a mixture of Eastern and
Western influences. In the last line of the poem, Philodemus makes it clear
that he wants a “virrrgin” and not a whore for a wife: “And mate me, yes mate me, with a virrrgin [my emphasis].” McEvilley’s poetic license with the
spelling of the word “virgin” is significant since it expresses excitement
while also pointing to the fact of his “reformation.” It is generally accepted that Hellenistic culture
in general, and Hellenistic philosophy in particular, have influenced early
Christian thought. And the writings of Philodemus, as well as the Epicurean
philosophers, have played a significant role. For this reason, I read a tension
between the “virrrgin” of the poem and the “virgin” of Christianity which will
eventually be resolved in a crystallizing moment when the West asserts its
power and taking the form of the Christian religion casts away the East as
though it were exorcising a demon. With
Christianity’s subsequent dominance over the West, the project of neglect and
repression of Eastern thought was virtually complete.
In the Arimaspia,
McEvilley appropriates many texts from the Ancient world; one that is used
extensively is Philostratus’ Imagines.
I imagine this text was important to him since it is in a way a kind of Ancient
art criticism, and McEvilley himself was a well know art critic. In the Imagines, Philostratus describes a
series of paintings to a young boy. I have translated these texts and reading
McEvilley’s The Shape of Ancient Thought
has made me aware of certain important cultural aspects and forces at work. The
following text concerns a painting of Themistocles and is of particular
interest here. Themistocles (c. 524 – 459
BCE) was an Athenian politician and general. Plutarch describes him as “the man
most instrumental in achieving the salvation of Greece” from the Persian
threat. Here is my translation:
31.
THEMISTOCLES
Here is a Greek, and we can tell by his rough cloak that
he is an Athenian, and he is among these barbarians, these men who are
degenerates and whose lives are ruined, and I imagine he addresses them with
some wise words, in an attempt to have them see the error of their ways and to
urge them to give up their luxuries and their decadent way of life. We are in
the center of Babylon and these are Medes; notice their royal standard which is
a golden eagle upon a shield, and here is a king on his throne, elaborately
adorned in many vibrant colors, shimmering like a peacock. Now the painter’s fine depiction of a tiara
and a tasseled cloak or a jacket with sleeves or even the grotesque forms of
animals that these barbarians decorate their clothes with, fine as these
representations are, more deserving of our praise is the painter’s use of these
golden threads woven into the cloth and how he has preserved the specific
design of the garment which contains them, and also, by Zeus, the way in which
he painted the faces of these eunuchs. Of course, the palace is also made of
gold, indeed, the accuracy with which the painter depicts his subject makes the
painting seem unlike a painting at all; the palace seems like an actual
building and you can smell the fragrance of frankincense and myrrh, for it is
the habit of these barbarians to pollute the clean air and thus clog the
passage of the wind. Now let us imagine a man, carrying a spear, who is talking
to another man about this Greek, while looking at him with wonder, having heard
in part about his great achievements. Now I think that Themistocles, son of
Neocles, arrived in Babylon from Athens, after the immortal triumph at Salamis,
because he did not know the best place in Greece to be safe; imagine him
talking with the king about how he aided Xerxes while he was in command of the
Greek army. These Median people surrounding him do not disturb his peace of
mind at all, instead, he is as courageous and as bold as he would be if he was
standing on a podium about to give a speech; the language he speaks is
unfamiliar to us, but Themistocles is fluent in this Median tongue which he
learned with great difficulty in that land. If you doubt his proficiency in
this language just look at how closely these barbarians listen to him, how
their eyes acknowledge the words he is using and indicate that they do
understand him without effort, and look at Themistocles, how he holds his head
up high like an orator addressing the people; notice also that he is somewhat
hesitant when he speaks, though his eyes express his contemplative nature, and
this is because the language is new to him and he learned it only recently.
Notice
the repeated use of the word barbarian (βάρβαρος) to describe the Medes, who were an ancient Iranian people who lived in
an area known as Media (northwestern Iran) and who spoke the ancient Median
language. They are described as “degenerates
…whose lives are ruined.” And Philostratus imagines Themistocles addressing
them “with some wise words, in an attempt to have them see the error of their
ways and to urge them to give up their luxuries and their decadent way of
life.” It is a mission to civilize and dominate the “barbarian.” Furthermore,
he writes, “you can smell the fragrance of frankincense and myrrh, for it is
the habit of these barbarians to pollute the clean air and thus clog the
passage of the wind.” Philostratus continues, “Now let us imagine a man,
carrying a spear, who is talking to another man about this Greek, while looking
at him with wonder, having heard in part about his great achievements.”
Themistocles is fluent in the language of the Medians and uses his authority,
as an educated Greek, to dominate them and assert his superiority over them. My
own examination of certain Ancient texts shows the subtle ways that Western
culture dominated those cultures which were foreign to it, bending what they encountered or saw to emphasize their
superiority over the East.
3
Conclusion
Thomas McEvilley’s monumental study The Shape of Ancient Thought and his
novel The Arimaspia have much to tell
us about a world where the free exchange of ideas was valued and fruitful. In
our present world, as democracy faces challenges unheard of in previous
generations, his work can provide a kind of map of a possible alternative way
of being in the world, one where difference is accepted, not merely tolerated,
and where there is conversation and the open exchange of ideas, rather than the
present polarization which creates walls and breeds hatred of foreigners. Even
in our present world of globalization it is illuminating to read in The Arimaspia that though “the idea of
global harmony can be a transparent excuse for imperialism….it once had a great
ring that is not yet gone altogether.” Translation is of vital importance in
our time and is one way of bringing over ideas that are non-Western, so as to
examine cultures outside the one you were born in, and thus create a dialogue. Such
a dialogue is crucial and the essence of our democracy. We ignore McEvilley’s
work at our own peril.
[1] Megasthenes (350
– c. 290 BCE) was an ancient Greek historian and ethnographer of India during
the Hellenistic period. He
described his findings in India in a book called Indika, which has been lost but partially
reconstructed based on the writings of later authors.
[2] Little is known of his life. He was born a Hindu,
which during his time (c. 150 – c. 250 CE) meant a religious allegiance to the
Vedas.
[3] From a video on YouTube of McEvilley talking about The Shape of Ancient Thought.
[4]
Ven Bhikkhu Bodhi’s translation of
the Buddha’s words in The Middle Length Discourses of the Buddha, p. 557
[5] The Rigveda
is an ancient Indian collection of Vedic Sanskrit hymns.
*****
*****
Peter Valente is the
author of A Boy Asleep Under the Sun:
Versions of Sandro Penna (Punctum
Books, 2014), which was nominated for
a Lambda award, The Artaud Variations (Spuyten Duyvil,
2014), Let the Games Begin: Five Roman
Writers (Talisman House, 2015), The
Catullus Versions (Spuyten Duyvil, 2017), two books of photography, Blue (Spuyten Duyvil) and Street Level (Spuyten Duyvil, 2016), two
translations from the Italian, Blackout
by Nanni Balestrini (Commune Editions, 2017) and Whatever the Name by Pierre Lepori (Spuyten Duyvil, 2017), Two Novellas: Parthenogenesis & Plague
in the Imperial City (Spuyten Duyvil, 2017), a collaboration with Kevin
Killian, Ekstasis (blazeVOX, 2017)
and the chapbook, Forge of Words a Forest (Jensen Daniels, 1998). He is
the co-translator of the chapbook, Selected
Late Letters of Antonin Artaud, 1945-1947 (Portable Press at Yo-Yo Labs,
2014), and has translated the work of Gérard de Nerval, Cesare Viviani, and
Pier Paolo Pasolini, as well as numerous Ancient Greek and Latin authors. He is
also presently at work on a book for Semiotext(e). In 2010, he turned to
filmmaking and has completed 60 shorts to date, 24 of which were screened at
Anthology Film Archives.
