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World Archaeology

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Greek protohistories

John K. Papadopoulos

To cite this article: John K. Papadopoulos (2019): Greek protohistories, World Archaeology, DOI:
10.1080/00438243.2019.1568294

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Published online: 24 Jun 2019.

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WORLD ARCHAEOLOGY
https://doi.org/10.1080/00438243.2019.1568294

ARTICLE

Greek protohistories
John K. Papadopoulos
Department of Classics, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, UCLA, Los Angeles, CA, USA

ABSTRACT KEYWORDS
Following some definitions and etymologies of key terms – archaeology, History; protohistory;
history, prehistory, protohistory – the purpose of this paper is to review the prehistory; archaeology;
history of Greek protohistories, chronologically beginning with the earliest Greek world
writing in the Greek world, in the Middle Bronze Age (ca. 1800 BC). Ironically,
this early writing did not lead to a period that anyone would call ‘historic’ or
‘protohistoric’. From there, the author traces the passage of writing through
the ‘prehistoric’ period, into the Early Iron Age, and beyond, where we find
the first constructions of narrative history. Several early historians will feature
prominently in this story: Hekataios, Hellanikos, Herodotos and Thucydides,
whose work follows on from that of the earliest Greek alphabetic writing in
the eighth century BC in the time of Homer and Hesiod. By so doing, the
author’s aim is not just to problematize ‘prehistory’ and ‘protohistory’ as
meaningful terms or appropriate categories of analysis, but to suggest that
they are, for Greek antiquity, irrelevant.

Introduction
The term ‘protohistory’ has had a chequered career, for it was coined largely for those civilizations
– another term with a problematic history (Mauss [1930] 2009; Wengrow 2010) – or even ethnic
groups located at the margins of history: among them, the so-called ‘Barbarians’ mentioned by
early European authors in the first millennium BC. With their invention of history (as opposed to
the annalistic chronicles of Mesopotamia) – or, more accurately, historical narrative – the Greeks
could not only write about themselves, but also about others (Hartog 1988). Hence Herodotos, the
putative ‘father of history’ according to Cicero (Laws 1.5; Luce 1997, 26), in the opening of his
enquiry, wrote: ‘Herodotos of Halikarnassos here displays his enquiry, so that human achievements
may not become forgotten in time, and great and marvelous deeds – some displayed by Greeks,
some by barbarians – may not be without their glory’ (trans. A. de Sélincourt).
The purpose of this paper is to review the history of Greek protohistories, chronologically
beginning with the earliest writing in the Greek world, in the Middle Bronze Age, which, ironically,
did not lead to a period that anyone would call ‘historic’ or ‘protohistoric’, and to trace the passage
of writing through the ‘prehistoric’ period, into the Early Iron Age, and beyond. For the early
historic period, several early historians will feature prominently in this narrative, whose work
follows on from that of the earliest Greek alphabetic writing in the eighth century BC. My aim is
to problematize ‘protohistory’ and ‘prehistory’ as meaningful terms or appropriate categories of

CONTACT John K. Papadopoulos JKP@humnet.ucla.edu Department of Classics, Cotsen Institute of Archaeology, UCLA,
Fowler A210, Los Angeles, CA 90095-1510, USA
© 2019 Informa UK Limited, trading as Taylor & Francis Group
2 J. K. PAPADOPOULOS

analysis. In so doing, I wish to draw out the differences between modern and ancient ideas of what
constitutes a historical period, and I also argue that our characterization of the ancient Greek past
does not normally conform to standard definitions of ‘history = written sources’. The problem in
part is the systemic divide between Aegean prehistory and Classical archaeology (Papadopoulos
1993) or, rather, the division between ‘Greek history’ and ‘Aegean prehistory’, with the problematic
liminal period – the Early Iron Age – hovering uncomfortably between the two. Such a period-
ization of the Greek past does not square with what have become our own modern categories of
‘historical period = the existence of literary sources’, ‘protohistory = some written documents, but
no literary or narrative texts’, and ‘prehistory = no writing’ (for periodization, see Morris [1997];
Kotsonas [2016]). The modern division of ‘historical time’, ‘protohistory’ and ‘prehistory’ is thus
determined and defined by the presence or absence of a particular cultural technology: writing, a
technology not shared by all societies. But I have already put the cart before the horse, for the
terms already introduced – history, protohistory, prehistory, together with archaeology – have a
long pedigree that require discussion, for they each carry their own cultural baggage.

The words archaeology, history and protohistory


I begin with archaeology as a counterfoil to history. Like so many words in English (and other
European languages), ‘archaeology’ derives from a Greek word: ἀρχαιολογία (archaiologia). As a
word, ‘archaeology’ has a venerable history, stretching back at least 2500 years. In Classical Greek,
archaeology had the meaning more of ‘antiquarian lore’ and ‘ancient legends’, than it did ‘history’.
One of the earliest extant uses of the word appears in Plato’s Hippias (the Greater), a dialogue
between Socrates and Hippias which took place in the later fifth century BC. Here ‘archaeology’
had the meaning of ‘antiquity’ in general. The geographer Strabo (ca. 64 BC – AD 21), in relating an
ancient story of the Armenian race, used the word archaeology to denote ‘ancient story’. In a
similar vein, the historian Diodoros of Sicily, writing in the first century BC, used the word to mean
‘antiquities’ (as in those of the Greeks and Barbarians), and ‘ancient stories’ or ‘legends’, including
those of the legendary Amazons. A contemporary of the Emperor Augustus, the Greek critic and
historian, Dionysios of Halikarnassos (60–7 BC) wrote a twenty-chapter account of what is today
generally referred to as Roman Antiquities, though the title in Greek was Romaïkē Archaiologia –
Roman Archaeology. This was one of several ancient studies that used the word archaeology in the
title, one of the most famous being Josephus’ (born ca. AD 37/8) magnum opus that is popularly
known as Jewish Antiquities, but is more properly Jewish Archaeology (although a rabbi and zealous
defender of Jewish religion and culture, Josephus wrote in Greek). As far as I can glean, the earliest
use of the concept of ‘material culture’ to mean something along the lines of what we mean by
‘archaeology’ today was Jacob Spon (1647–1685), in his 1678 travelogue (Schnapp 1993, 182–5,
351–3) (Figure 1); five years earlier he wrote ‘our antiquities are nothing if not books, whose pages
of stone and marble were written with iron and chisel’ (Spon 1673; in both Spon [1673] and Spon
[1678] the relevant sections are in the unpaginated ‘Preface’ to each volume). Spon was thus the
first to employ the concept of archaeology in the French language (Schnapp 1993, 353).
In Dionysios’ Roman Archaeology the word ‘archaeology’, in at least one passage, appears with
the word ‘history’. Writing about the ascendancy of Rome over Macedon and Carthage, Dionysios
uses the word ‘archaeology’ to refer to ‘antiquarian lore’, whereas ‘history’ was used in a context
referring to the ‘historical record’. By the time Dionysios wrote his Roman Archaeology, the word
‘history’ was already several hundred years old. Another historian from Halikarnassos, Herodotos
(484–425 BC) had used the word ἱστορία, as noted earlier, in the opening sentence of his study. In
WORLD ARCHAEOLOGY 3

Figure 1. Jacob Spon at Ephesos (Spon 1678, folio, 139).

reality, Herodotos’ use of the word was to refer to ‘enquiry’, or knowledge so obtained through
enquiry, not what we mean by history. Whereas the logographoi (literally ‘word-writers’, historio-
graphers) had written down current stories, the historian set out a different method: active enquiry
versus passive recording. Hence, the natural historian Theophrastos (372/1–288/7 BC) entitled his
research on plants Peri phytōn historia: his ‘history’ was a systematic study based on scientific
observation. Herodotos’s use of the word ‘history’ thus marks not only a literary revolution, but the
very beginnings of the social sciences.
What about ‘prehistory’? Eddy (2011, 3) has made the point that the Oxford English Dictionary
traces the etymology of the word to the 1836 issue of the Foreign Quarterly Review, where it was
used to describe the ‘unlettered ancestors of the Romans’. By 1865 the word appeared in the title
of Sir John Lubbock’s influential Pre-Historic Times as Illustrated by Ancient Remains (Lubbock 1865).
But it was the subtitle of that volume – and the Manners and Customs of Modern Savages – that
was to create pushback well over a century later. As Schmidt and Mrozowski (2013a, vii) state in
the preface to their volume on The Death of Prehistory: ‘Indigenous and native-born peoples in
Asia, Africa, and the Americas see the term [prehistory] as outside their way of constructing history
as well as an explicit denial of their deeper identities’.
As for ‘protohistory’, by prefixing the Greek word ‘proto’ to nouns and adjectives, it provides the sense
of the earliest, the original, or simply the previous stage. The Oxford English Dictionary traces ‘protohistory’
to the January 1876 issue of Harper’s Magazine, and ‘protohistoric’ to 1858. The word ‘protohistory’
appeared in the context of an editorial on the Geographical Congress and Exposition in Paris in 1875, in
which the congress ‘attained the most satisfactory results in anthropology, ethnology, and protohistory’
(Vol. 52, no. 308, p. 20). But the word ‘protohistorian’, in the form of ‘Prothistorian’, goes back to 1647 and
to Michael Hudson’s (1605–1648) The Divine Right of Government (Hudson 1647: book I, chapter viii, 63),
4 J. K. PAPADOPOULOS

specifically referring to Moses, ‘the Prothistorian of the world’. What Hudson meant by the term was,
however, a far cry from what the word has come to mean.
The modern meaning of protohistory can vary from the study of a culture just prior to its
earliest recorded history, to a period that occupies a liminal space between prehistory and history.
More often than not, the term is applied to peoples who did not record their own history. In
excavating an Illyrian Late Bronze–Early Iron Age burial tumulus (ca. 1400–800 BC) at Lofkënd, in
what is today Albania (Figure 2), my colleagues and I were confronted by the problem: there were
no Illyrian/Albanian historians or authors in Archaic and Classical antiquity; indeed, what we know
of the Illyrians, including the names of their many tribes, comes from Greek authors (Papadopoulos
et al. 2014). As Lane (2013, 48) has noted, ‘protohistory’ ‘refers to situations and time periods when
non-literate [European] Iron Age (or more rarely Bronze Age) societies were in contact with those
of Classical Greece and Rome and about which the latter sometimes wrote’. Similarly, in dealing
with the Thracians, Scythians and Dacians, Taylor (1994, 373) writes: ‘Because of the existence in
some but not all societies of historical writing during the first millennium BC, the period has often
been termed “protohistoric” instead of prehistoric’. Ironically, one of the first chroniclers of other
peoples was Herodotos, and Taylor (1994, 374) went on to say: ‘Most archaeologists have read
Herodotos with far less sensitivity. The chronicle of historical peoples and events has tyrannized
protohistorical archaeology’. More to the point, a society need not be illiterate to fall into this
category of protohistory. After all, the Greeks adopted and adapted alphabetic writing from the
Phoenicians, but much of what we know of the Phoenicians is determined and defined by Greek
and Roman texts, beginning with Homer (Winter 1995); and for Rome, Punic Carthage was a rival
and mortal enemy (Quinn 2018). But the history of Greek letters spirals back to an older,
‘prehistoric’ past.

Figure 2. Aerial view of the Late Bronze–Early Iron Age (ca. 1400–800 BC) burial tumulus of Lofkënd in Albania
(Papadopoulos et al. 2014: 701, fig. 2.21).
WORLD ARCHAEOLOGY 5

Prehistory with plenty of texts


We do not know the language of Cretan hieroglyphic or Minoan Linear A and both scripts remain
undeciphered. Their date, however, is clear: Middle Minoan IIA or IIB (Tomas 2010, 341), or ca. 1800–
1700 BC (Figure 3 [a, b]). The later Mycenaean Linear B (beginning 1450–1375, and continuing to ca.
1200 BC, though most of the inscribed material dates to the fourteenth and thirteenth centuries) was
shown to be an early syllabic form of Greek (Ventris and Chadwick 1973) (Figure 3 [c]). Leaving aside
the Cretan scripts, in the years since the decipherment of Linear B there are more than 5000 inscribed
clay tablets from Crete and the Greek mainland (Palaima 2010, 358–9). As for what the texts tell us, the
ideograms and numerical notations provide a general sense of the economic focus of the Mycenaean
palatial territories. There is much on agricultural produce, labour and specialists, added to which there
are extensive land tenure series at Pylos (Palaima 2010, 366–8). As for the social structure of the culture,
there are servants of the deity, specialist craftspersons of the wanax (‘king’), and individuals associated
with the lāwāgetās, a military leader of sorts, in charge of overseeing, among other things, ‘aliens’ in
the territory. A variety of other commodities are carefully monitored (e.g. flax for cloth, including sails,
terebinth for perfumed oil or condiments, and timber). Similar care is given to the monitoring of
animals, controlled by overseers or local ‘big men’ referred to as gwasilēwes, and there are institutions
reminiscent of later Greek political structures, especially the council of elders, geronsiai. Moreover, a
good many of the ideograms deal with armour, weaponry, horses, chariots and wheels, and there are
some 5000 persons listed in collective groups as dependent labour in the Pylos tablets alone (Palaima
2010, 367–8; Nakassis 2013). In the religious realm, there is no shortage of deities named in the tablets,
many also worshipped in Classical times: Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Athena, Artemis, Ares, Hermes,
Dionysos, Eileuthia and Erinys, and others, like Diwia and Posidaia, female versions of Zeus and
Poseidon, not used in the Classical period (Chadwick 1985; Lupack 2010, 271–2).
This brief summary of the sorts of things found in the Mycenaean tablets barely scratches the
surface, but it does provide an overview of people, animals, land and commodities that dominated

Figure 3. The three scripts of the Aegean ‘prehistoric’ period: (a) Cretan hieroglyphic, (b) Minoan Linear A and
(c) Mycenaean Linear B. Only the latter has been deciphered and shown to be an early form of Greek; drawing
Tina Ross.
6 J. K. PAPADOPOULOS

the economies of Late Bronze Age Greece. But where is the ‘history’? No one has seriously claimed
that Greece at the time was ‘historic’ or ‘protohistoric’; it is still regarded as ‘prehistoric’, despite
the fact that Minoan Crete, beginning in the Middle Bronze Age, was probably the earliest complex
society in Europe (cf. Papadopoulos [2005a]). Consequently, literacy and/or the existence of a
writing system do not determine whether or not a society is protohistoric.
What is also ironic is that Late Bronze Age Greece, despite its literacy, appears as one of those
cultures in the texts – or margins – of other societies, not least the Hittites and Egyptians; in this
way, Late Bronze Age Greece is like Taylor’s Thracians, Scythians and Dacians in the pages of
Herodotos or Homer’s Phoenicians. The Achaeans – one of the collective names for the Greeks in
Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey – are associated with the Ahhiyawa of the Hittite texts, and the ‘Land of
Ahhiyawa’ that lies to the west of the Hittite empire (Güterbock 1983, 1984; Vermeule 1983;
Beckman, Bryce, and Cline 2012). The Hittite texts are replete with tantalizing place names, such as
Wilusa (Troy/Ilion) and Millawanda (Miletos), both on the west coast of Asia Minor; most of these
Hittite texts date to the fourteenth to thirteenth centuries BC (Güterbock 1984). Similarly, the
Ekwesh of the Egyptian records have been associated with the Achaeans, while the Denyen and
Tanayu have been related to the Greek Danoi or Danaans, the other common name of the
collective Greeks in Homer, and Tinayu (Ti-nȝ-iiw) is equated with the Greek mainland (Phillips
2010, 822–3; Kelder 2010). There is also the term Kf.tiw (Keftiu), which is now, almost universally,
accepted for Crete and the Minoans (Phillips 2010, 822). The earliest references to these groups is
in the Annals of Thutmosis III (1479–1425 BC). In a later inscription, dating to the reign of
Amenhotep III (1382–1344 BC), not only are the Tanayu mentioned, but several of their cities:
Mycenae, Nauplion, Kythera, Messenia and the Thebaid (the region around Thebes, but not Thebes
itself) (Kelder 2010, 126). Although there is no shortage of Levantine and Egyptian objects in
Minoan Crete and Mycenaean Greece, and plenty of Minoan and Mycenaean commodities all over
the eastern Mediterranean (not least the Aegean wall paintings and other representations in the
Nile Delta: Phillips 2010, 823–4), there is little in the Linear B tablets that directly references Egypt,
the Near East and the Hittite homeland. The exceptions are two possible Egyptian individuals in
the Linear B tablets from Knossos: a shepherd named Aigyptios (‘Egyptian’) and Misraios, an
Egyptian New Kingdom name (‘Egypt’ in Semitic is Miṣr and Miṣ’r/Maṣr in Arabic: Phillips [2010,
823]). Despite this wealth of literary information, we are still firmly in the prehistoric period, at least
as far as the Greeks are concerned.

The invention of (Greek) history


It is one thing for a Thutmosis or a Ramesses to record his own glorious deeds – however real or
imagined – and to enshrine them in architecture, or for a Mycenaean scribe to monitor commod-
ities on clay tablets, and quite another for a Herodotos (1.1) to pen, consciously, an enquiry
(historia), or a Thucydides (1.22) to write a ktema es aiei, a possession, or legacy gift, for all time. I
would think that Thutmosis or Ramesses thought of their inscriptions as being for posterity, and
Homer certainly thought that recording great deeds for all time was the purpose of epic poetry.
But Thucydides was the first who had the audacity to state this up front.
Herodotos of Halikarnassos and Thucydides of Athens (ca. 460–400/395) are not the
earliest Greek historians. Among earlier historians – if we can call them that – Hekataios of
Miletos (ca. 550–476 BC), the son of Hegesander, looms large as one of the most important
of the Ionian prose-writers or logographers (Jacoby 1956a, 186–237). He is credited with two
works: the geography (Periēgēsis), or ‘Journey round the world’, and his Genealogies or
WORLD ARCHAEOLOGY 7

Histories or Heroologia (West 1996). Two other supposed Milesians, Kadmos and Dionysios,
are often listed as the earliest logographers, but their veracity as historical figures has been
questioned (Pearson and Hornblower 1996; Fowler 1996). The point here is that, although we
could easily refer to all of these men as early historians, no one has ever called them
protohistorians.
Although referred to as the ‘Father of History’ by Cicero, Herodotos’ reputation in antiquity was
a chequered one, and in many quarters he came to be known as the ‘Father of Lies’ (for a balanced
view of Herodotos, see Griffin [2014]). As J.A.S. Evans noted so well, Herodotos, from the early
Hellenistic period on, did not suffer only from being an entertaining liar, but there was a whole
slew of essays designed to expose his naivété, plagiarisms and falsehoods: Against Herodotos by
Manetho; On Herodotos’ Thefts by Valerius Pollio; On Herodotos’ Lies by Aelius Harpocration; Against
Herodotos by Libanius; and Plutarch’s On the Malignity of Herodotos, the latter being the only one
of these texts to have survived (Evans 1968, 14). But the beginnings of such a reputation go back
to the fifth century BC and to authors like Thucydides and Ktesios of Knidos, the latter openly
attacking Herodotos’ veracity (Evans 1968, 13). As for other contemporary historians, we do not
know what the influential Hellanikos of Mytilene (ca. 480–395 BC) thought of Herodotos (for the
importance of Hellanikos, see Harding [1996]), and Jacoby (1949, v) tried to prove that the ‘Atthis’
– the history of Athens as written between ca. 350 and 263 BC – did not derive from an old and
semi-official chronicle kept by the priestly board of Exegetai, but was created by none other than
Hellanikos (for Jacoby’s developmental schema of Greek history, see Jacoby 1956b [2015]). As for
Thucydides, he never mentions Herodotos by name, but there is general consensus on his
disapproval of him: ‘He contradicts Herodotos on a number of points, and his statement that his
history was a not a prize essay but a “possession of lasting value” sounds like a shaft aimed at
Herodotos; at least later writers thought so’ (Evans [1968]: 12, citing Lucian, How to Write
History, 42).
More recent scholarship on Herodotos (e.g. Hartog [1988]; Bakker, de Jong, and van Wees
[2002]; Dewald and Marincola [2006]; Vlassopoulos [2013]) has, sometimes, a more positive take
on the historian (e.g. Griffin [2014]) and sometimes more nuanced (e.g. Fowler [2011]). Jasper
Griffin has argued that scholars have been misled to disregard, or even deny, Herodotos’ use of
various sources: ‘We may reflect that it is, indeed, a very fortunate fact for us, and for our
understanding of fifth-century history, that Herodotus was less fastidious, more adventurous,
and much more omnivorous, in his collection and selection of his material’ (Griffin 2014, 1). In
his contrast of ‘mythos’ and ‘logos’, and the rejection of the simplistic thesis of Greek progress
from mythos (‘myth’) to logos (which is contrasted to mythos and stands at the beginning of an
unbroken tradition of Western rationalism), Fowler (2011, 45) reanalyses the semantic history of
the terms, and points to the significant role played by pre-Socratic philosophers, Herodotos and
Sophists. More to the point, as Joseph Skinner has noted, Herodotos has been very much in
vogue, recently:

The veritable avalanche of monographs and conference proceedings devoted to the painstaking analysis
of his output and ideas must rank among one of the most impressive literary comebacks of the late
twentieth/early twenty-first centuries – at least where Classics is concerned. (Skinner 2012, 7, with n. 22)

Whatever the scholarly ambivalence to Herodotos, how well does Thucydides himself fare?
Green (1998) had this to say about Thucydides:
8 J. K. PAPADOPOULOS

What would we make of a World War II general fired for incompetence whose subsequent narrative of
events, while never identifying its sources, crucified the politician responsible for his dismissal and
depicted the enemy commander who had outmanoeuvred him as a genius so brilliant that he was
virtually undefeatable? The general, of course, was Thucydides. Add the Thucydidean habit of false
suggestion by selective omission and the underplaying of dominant economic motives and the result is
an account that must be handled with extreme caution.

I begin by focusing on one passage of Thucydides (1.2) that appears early in his narrative, in
that part of the work dubbed by later scholars ‘the archaeology’:

It appears, for example, that the country now called Hellas had no settled population in ancient times;
instead there was a series of migrations, as the various tribes, being under the constant pressure of
invaders who were stronger than they were, were always prepared to abandon their own territory.
There was no commerce, and no safe communication either by land or sea; the use they made of their
land was limited to the production of necessities; they had no surplus left over for capital, and no
regular system of agriculture, since they lacked the protection of fortifications and at any moment an
invader might appear and take their land away from them. Thus, in the belief that the day-to-day
necessities of life could be secured just as well in one place as in another, they showed no reluctance in
moving from their homes, and therefore built no cities of any size or strength, nor acquired any
important resources.

We only have to look at Mycenae (Figure 4) or Tiryns, or Thebes or Pylos, or even Early Iron Age
Lefkandi, to see how off-mark Thucydides was in his reporting (Papadopoulos 2005b). He is often
showcased as the historians’ historian. Yet, what he says about the early history of Greece before
his own time can be patently wrong. Then there is his use of τὰ δέοντα (‘what the situation
demanded’, ‘what was appropriate’). In his pursuit of truth, Thucydides does not mince his words
when he claimed that he would not necessarily report what was precisely accurate, but what was
fitting given the context (for the objectivity and authority of Thucydides, see, especially, Rood
[2012], with references).
Nobody has called Thucydides the father of lies, though Francis Cornford got close in the
preface to his 1907 book on Thucydides Mythistoricus (Cornford 1907, vii). Despite severe criticism,
then and now from the historical establishment (Chambers 1991), and dismissed as wrong-headed
and pernicious by Sterling Dow (see Calder [1991, v]), Cornford’s great achievement was to see
Thucydides as an artist and to bring out the essentially artistic aspect of his history. His book –
which predates the seminal contributions of Collingwood (1946), Ricoeur (1971) and Gadamer
(1975, 1981; cf. DiCenso [1990]) by decades – goes well beyond a discussion of Thucydides’
‘trustworthiness’, to embrace a meaning of history that was already inwrought into the very
structure of Thucydides’ mind (Cornford 1907, viii). Cornford went on to issue a warning to all
historians and archaeologists by saying about Thucydides that

he had forgotten that he was an Athenian, born before Aeschylus was dead; and it did not occur to him
that he must have a standpoint and outlook from which the world, having a long way to travel in a
thousand or two thousand years, would drift far indeed. Thus it came about that even his vigilant
precaution allowed a certain traditional mode of thought, characteristic of the Athenian mind, to shape
the mass of facts which was to have been shapeless, so that the work of science came to be a work of
art. (Cornford 1907, xiii–ix; Papadopoulos 1999; for various views on Thucydides, see Rengakos and
Tsakmakis [2012])

The type of history written by a Hekataios or Herodotos or Hellanikos or Thucydides in the


‘historic’ period is not the only one we find in Greece; there are others, some that begin early in
WORLD ARCHAEOLOGY 9

Figure 4. The Gate of the Lions at Mycenae by an unknown photographer. Albumen silver print, 26.7 × 21 cm.
GRI 92.R.84 (03.18). Courtesy Getty Research Institute (Papadopoulos 2005b: 107, Figure 1).

the development of writing in many cultures, the habit of recording important things in stone or
on clay for all to see.

Written in stone and on clay


Epigraphy is the study of inscriptions engraved on stone or metal or clay. As Pleket (1996, 539,
with references) notes:
Initially, inscriptions tended to be disregarded or even despised by the champions of the revered
literary sources; but when the latter came under the attack of Descartian rationalism and Pyrrhonian
skepticism, epigraphical shares increased in value on the historical stock exchange: inscriptions were
authentic and direct and could not be disqualified as forgeries or highly biased accounts. Since then,
inscriptions have increasingly become part of the standard menu of scholars interested in any aspect of
Greek civilization and society.

Among the numerous Greek inscriptions that have come to light, I illustrate only two: a treaty
between Athens and Methone dating to the 420s BC found on the Athenian Acropolis (Figure 5[a])
and an inscription, incised onto a cup from Lesbos after firing found at Methone: ‘I belong to
Philion’ or ‘I am (the cup) of Philion’ (Bessios, Tzifopoulos, and Kotsonas 2012, 337–9, no. 1;
10 J. K. PAPADOPOULOS

Figure 5. a) Decree recording an alliance between Athens and Methone in Pieria (EM 6596) found on the
Athenian Acropolis and dating to the 420 BC (courtesy, Acropolis Museum, Athens); b) drinking cup from Lesbos
found at Methone, with an inscription incised after firing (MΕΘ 2249), late eighth to early seventh century BC,
reading: retrograde: Φιλίoνος ἐμί (‘I belong to Philion’ or ‘I am [the cup] of Philion)’ (Bessios, Tzifopoulos, and
Kotsonas 2012, 337–9), no. 1; (Tzifopoulos 2013, 36–7).

Tzifopoulos 2013, 36–7) (Figure 5[b]). As for the historicity of inscriptions two examples will suffice:
first of all, the inscriptions on stone from the Athenian Acropolis in the Classical period that
provide inventories of dedications to the deity, especially the goddess Athena. As Linders (1987,
118) has shown, inventories of valuable dedications to a deity through time can appear, disappear
and reappear, while all the time being there. Indeed, the selective character of the inventories has
been noted by a number of scholars (Bruneau 1970: 279–80; Linders 1987, 118), while others have
stressed that the value of the inscribed stele was primarily symbolic (Vial 1984, 220–2).
Much closer to the Early Iron Age and to the period often thought of as ‘protohistoric’ are the
pre- and post-firing inscriptions on pottery. As I have noted elsewhere, the ever-growing new
discoveries of early alphabetic Greek, most recently from Eretria and Methone, reinforce
the existing patterns of finds, and emphasise the way we move rapidly from a Greek world without
writing in the ninth century to one where writing is used for casual purposes, even jokes, in the context
of communal drinking by 725 BC at the latest. It is remarkable that the invention of a new form of
communication is adopted so widely within so few years – akin to the invention and spread of email in
the late twentieth century – but in a world in which we have not been inclined to think that there was
anything by way of appropriate infrastructure. (Papadopoulos 2016, 1252)

The important point I wish to make here is that inscriptions, whether in stone or on clay, are
examples of ‘historical’ writing in genres other than narrative prose. As already noted, Greek epic
certainly claimed to offer a vision of the past, as did certain lyric or elegiac poets, such as
Mimnermos, who hailed from either Smyrna or Kolophon and whose floruit was in the 620s–
630s BC (West 1974, 72–6; Allen 1993). Consequently, it is important to treat both the literary
accounts by historians and the inscriptions similarly, and to try to understand not only what their
authors said or wished to say, but to read the texts for all those unarticulated assumptions, or
cultural baggage, they carry.

What is it about ethnographers and lying?


I want to return briefly to Herodotos because he never referred to his work as a ‘History’, in the
modern sense of the term. As we have seen, his was an enquiry and, for whatever reasons, his
WORLD ARCHAEOLOGY 11

reputation as a liar has stuck. At issue is seeing Herodotos as just an historian. Herodotos was both
an historian and an ethnographer. The point is well made by Skinner (2012, 245): ‘Ethnographic
enquiries can be detected at every level of Herodotean analysis.’ So, rather ‘than seeing ethno-
graphy and history as two distinct areas of practice, we might instead see “thinking about culture
from the point of view of an outsider” as intrinsically bound up in explaining past events – and, by
extension, the present.’
By viewing Herodotos as historian and ethnographer, my aim is to draw a thread that extends
from Herodotos in the fifth century BC to Peter Metcalf in the early twenty-first century. Although
he does not refer to Herodotos – or to Francis Cornford – he is casting his gaze inadvertently back
to the former, and channelling the latter. In his short book They Lie, We Lie: Getting on with
Anthropology, Metcalf (2002, v) writes about an old woman, Bilo (i.e. ‘Widow’) Kasi, of central
northern Borneo, in the following terms, in a preface entitled ‘How am I to read this gesture?’
(Figure 6):

Figure 6. Cover of Peter Metcalf’s They Lie, We Lie: Getting on with Anthropology (2002).
12 J. K. PAPADOPOULOS

She was for years an obstacle; a tiny woman with great authority, old even when I first knew her in the
mid-1970s, who did not want me to know certain things, who wanted certain knowledge to die with
her. She puzzled me then, although I think I understand her better now. Nevertheless, I had to
circumvent her, and that is what I did, using every dodge I could find. Now I hear that she is very
frail and cannot last much longer, and also something more surprising: I hear that she has left
instructions that a copy of my book, carefully wrapped in plastic, be put in her coffin. How am I to
read this gesture? Is she finally embracing my project of documentation? Or is she burying it? Is she
taking her secret world with her after all, despite my best efforts?

Bilo Kasi thus gets to the core of questioning the ethnographer’s objectivity and authority. In
the opening paragraph of his explanation of the project, Metcalf (2002, 1) continues, as if he were
Cornford writing in the twenty-first century:

This is an essay about lies: white lies and ones black as night, evasions, exaggerations, delusions, half-
truths, and credible denials. Consequently, it is about art and literature, and specifically the art and
literature of anthropology, as ambiguously manifested in our unique genre, the ethnography. It is a
response from one discipline to the pervasive epistemological skepticism of our times. At the begin-
ning of the twenty-first century, it is swimming against the intellectual tide to discuss the truths that
ethnographies may contain, so let us instead see what profit there is in examining the kinds of lies in
which they traffic.

Metcalf’s approach may provide a useful avenue of enquiry, but it is also important to
remember that ethnographic writing has roots that go back to antiquity (see various papers in
Almagor and Skinner [2013]).

Conclusions
I want to end with a systemic divide. What has exacerbated the Greek experience is the distance
maintained and perpetuated by dividing the course of lived experience between a ‘prehistoric’ Bronze
Age, on the one hand, and a ‘historic’ or ‘protohistoric’ Classical archaeology, on the other (cf. Kotsonas
[2016]). The result has been a great divide, a veritable iron curtain, separating the Aegean Bronze and
Early Iron Age (Papadopoulos 1993). Most surveys of Classical Greek material culture begin with the
Protogeometric period as the ‘seeds of Greek Art’ (e.g. Robertson [1975, 14–33]). The period is often
credited with the first glimmers of an ‘awakening’ following the bleakness – the deep sleep – of the
Submycenaean period (the very terms ‘Submycenaean’ and ‘Protogeometric’ carry all sorts of – modern –
cultural baggage). It is during this time that we find the initial steps along the path which ultimately leads,
via the ‘renaissance’ of the Late Geometric period (ca. 760–700 BC) (Snodgrass 1971, 416–36; Hägg 1983),
to the ‘Classical Moment’. Because this liminal, in-between, period does not readily belong, for reasons
difficult to fathom, in the intellectual realm of the prehistorian nor, largely on account of the lack of
contemporary literary sources, in that of the Classical archaeologist, it floats rather uncomfortably
between the two. For the Classical archaeologist, it is still viewed as the beginnings of something
distinctly Hellenic, even though the deciphering of Linear B, 60 years ago, should have revolutionized
the teaching of early Greek history (Chadwick 1984, 1–14). For the prehistorian on the other side of the
iron curtain, the great Bronze Age palaces are destroyed and the advent of iron (the latter a popular
subject in its own right) heralds a convenient, if artificial, stopping point. The deliberate distance still
maintained and institutionally perpetuated between the second millennium and the culture of Classical
Greece (Morris 1989, 48) has created a need to view the Early Iron Age in Greece as a protohistoric period,
a fresh start, as if the Bronze Age, with all its texts, did not matter.
WORLD ARCHAEOLOGY 13

What this brief overview of the Greek experience to prehistory, protohistory and history has shown is
that, first of all, there has been no consistent use of the term protohistory, at least so far as the Greeks are
concerned. What is clear is that the liminal period between prehistory and history is rarely, if at all, referred
to as protohistoric. Where the term has been applied in a slightly more consistent manner is in reference
to other cultures, that is, when a group of people who have not yet developed writing have already been
noted in the writings of other cultures. It is here where the work of Herodotos as ethnographer is so
important. But what about the converse? As I have noted, the inhabitants of Greece – fully literate, at least
the scribal class in the employ of the Minoan and Mycenaean administrations – regularly appear in the
writings of other cultures, including the Egyptians and Hittites, yet we still refer to this period as
prehistoric, not protohistoric.
Secondly, and following on from the first point, literacy, or the existence of a writing system,
does not determine whether a society is protohistoric. Even in those cultures, like the
Sumerians and Egyptians, that developed writing very early, a strong and continuous oral
tradition functions in a way not unlike history, but it is one that we cannot easily access
from a distance. This is precisely why the study of iconography is so crucial to both prehistoric
and historic societies. It is in the case of cultures that have never developed writing – the
Australian Aborigines, for example – where the oral tradition is so rich. To refer to the
Australian Aborigines in, or soon after, 1770 or 1788, as protohistoric would be jejeune.
Moreover, Lane ([2013, 51], citing Craven [1999, 64]) has made the point that ‘Indigenous
Australians consider the words “prehistory” and “prehistoric” as inappropriate terms that both
historically and currently continue to deny the validity and richness of Indigenous cultures’.
Furthermore, ‘protohistory’ should never be confused with ‘text-aided’ archaeology (Little 1992;
Lane 2013, 49). As several scholars have noted, the beauty of text-aided archaeology lies
precisely in the fact that it uses texts and material sources in any specific context and it is
an approach not restricted to periods of initial textual encounter (Lane 2013, 49). Using both
archaeology and texts is ‘a boon and a challenge’ (Taylor 1994, 373).
In the end, terms such as prehistory and protohistory are problematic because they anticipate
change along evolutionary trajectories. As Schmidt and Mrozowski (2013b, 17) note, with such a
trajectory, there is an inevitable movement of history as linear time that proceeds from prehistory
to history. ‘This linearity submerges other forms of time – punctuated time, ritually rhythmic time –
that are ignored, and linear designs are privileged at the expense of many cultures that reckon and
think about time in non-linear ways.’ What is telling is that Greek culture, which first articulated
historia as an enquiry, had clear words that developed over time for both history and archaeology,
but the notions of prehistory or protohistory – like prearchaeology or protoarchaeology – would
be nonsensical in their own particular context, place and time.

Disclosure statement
No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author.

Notes on contributor
John K. Papadopoulos is Professor of Archaeology and Classics at UCLA. Research interests: the Aegean and
Mediterranean in the prehistoric and Classical periods; Greek colonization; Athens; and the integration of
literary and material records in studying the past. He has authored/edited 12 books, over 100 articles and 40
book reviews.
14 J. K. PAPADOPOULOS

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