Gasparov the Capitol she-wolf. Capitoline she-wolf

It's been about ten years since Space Trigger was first published by End/Or Press and a little later by Pocket Books. Although a number of my other novels sell better, in two respects I consider this book to be the most “successful”.

1. From publication until today I have received more letters on The Cosmic Trigger than on any of my other books, and for the most part these letters are written by unusually intelligent and free-thinking people. For some reason, many readers of this book believe they can write to me in a friendly and fearless manner about things that are considered official taboo in our society. These letters taught me a lot and helped me find great new friends.

2. On lecture tours, I always get more questions about this book than about all of my other writings combined.

The new edition gives me the opportunity to answer questions that are most often asked and to correct typical reader errors in the interpretation of what I have read.

All thinking readers should understand (but, surprisingly, few understand) that in this book I speak from an agnostic position. The word "agnostic" appears openly in the Prologue, the agnostic attitude is clearly visible in the text itself, but many people still believe that I "believe" in some of the metaphors and models that are used here.

Therefore, I want to state even more clearly than before that

I DON'T BELIEVE IN ANYTHING

This phrase, and precisely in this formulation, was uttered by New Scientist editor John Gribbin during a television debate with Mr. Muggeridge on the BBC channel, and many viewers perceived it with disbelief.

Probably, some relic of the Catholic Middle Ages makes many people, even educated ones, believe that every person must necessarily “believe” in something. If he does not go to church, then he must be a dogmatic atheist, and if he does not consider capitalism perfect, then he must ardently believe in socialism. That is, if he does not have a blind faith in X, then he must alternatively have a blind faith in not-X or in something that is the opposite of X.

In my personal opinion, faith is the death of reason. As soon as a person begins to believe in a doctrine of one kind or another and ceases to doubt, he ceases to think about this aspect of being. The more confidence he gets, the less food for thought he has left. A person who doubts nothing never feels the need to think, and he can be considered clinically dead by all medical standards, for the cessation of brain activity indicates the onset of death.

I fully share the point of view of Dr. Gribbin and most modern physicists. Their position, known in physics as the "Copenhagen Interpretation", was formulated in Copenhagen by Dr. Niels Bohr and his associates in 1926-1928. The Copenhagen Interpretation, sometimes referred to as the "agnostic model", states that whatever system we use to organize our knowledge of the world, that system remains a model of the world, not to be confused with the world itself. The semanticist Alfred Korzybski tried to popularize this postulate among the non-physical public with the slogan: "The map is not the territory." Alan Watts, a talented exegete of Eastern philosophy, paraphrased this statement even more juicy: “The menu is not food.”

Faith in the traditional sense - either certainty or dogma - leads to colossal error. “My current model, or system, or map, or tunnel of reality,” the person believes, “accommodates the entire universe, and I do not need to ever revise it.” The whole history of the development of science and knowledge as a whole refutes this absurd and arrogant point of view, but, oddly enough, the vast majority of people still adhere to such medieval views.

Cosmic Trigger describes the process of consciously stimulating brain change that I did from 1962-1976. In many traditional societies this process is called "initiation". Using modern terminology, it can easily be called a dangerous form of autogenic psychotherapy.

a) before embarking on this perilous journey, I had already completed two different courses of conventional psychotherapy,

b) I had a good scientific and philosophical background,

c) in general, I am not inclined to “believe” too literally in any amazing Revelations.

In short, the most important thing I've learned from my experiments is this: "reality" is always multiple and changing. Because in Cosmic Trigger I was just explaining and illustrating this fact, and also trying to explain it again in other books, but I still run into people who have read all my writings on this topic, but still do not understand that I mean.

In this new Foreword, I will try to explain it again ONE TIME, perhaps more clearly than before.

It just so happened that in English (and Russian) the word "reality" is a singular noun. Therefore, the very process of thinking in English (and related Indo-European languages) subconsciously “programs” us to represent “reality” in the form of one apartment building, similar to a giant New York skyscraper, in which each part is just another “room” in the same building. This linguistic program sits so deep in us that most people cannot “think” beyond it at all, and if someone tries to offer a completely different view of the world, it seems to them that he is talking nonsense.

The notion that "reality" is a noun like a solid block or a baseball bat owes its origin to the evolutionary fact that our nervous systems usually convert energy flows into such blocky "things", apparently as direct bio-survival signals. Such “things,” however, dissolve back into energy flows—processes or verbs—when the activity of the nervous system is heightened by certain drugs, or transmuted by yogic or shamanic exercises, or maintained by scientific instruments. In general, mystics and physicists agree that "things" are constructed by our nervous systems and that "realities" (multiple) are best described as systems or energy packages.

But enough about "reality" as a "noun". The notion that “reality” is single, like a hermetically sealed jar, does not fit with the scientific discoveries of this century, according to which “reality” is best thought of as flowing and meandering like a river, or interacting like a game, or evolving like life itself.

Most philosophers have known since at least the fifth century BC that the world perceived by our senses is not the "real world" but a construct that we create. Our own work of art.

Modern science began with Galileo's experiment, which demonstrated that color is not contained in objects, but in the interaction of our senses with objects.

Despite philosophical and scientific knowledge neurological relativity, which becomes clearer as the equipment improves, due to the peculiarities of the language, we still believe that behind the fluid, tortuous, interacting and evolving universe - the brainchild of our perception - there is a single unshakable monolithic “reality”, sharply and clearly defined, like a metal cube.

Quantum physics has destroyed this Platonic "reality" by showing that with scientific point it makes more sense to talk only about the interactions that we actually experience (our operations in the laboratory); and the psychology of perception finished off this monolithic “reality” when it showed that, by recognizing its existence, we would end up with irresolvable contradictions when trying to explain how a person actually distinguishes a hippopotamus from a symphony orchestra.

The only "realities" (plural) that we actually experience and can meaningfully discuss are the perceived realities that we experience, i.e. the existential realities. These realities contain ourselves as editors, and they are all connected to the observer.

They are able to fluctuate, evolve, expand and enrich themselves, move from low resolution to high resolution, but they do not fit together like mosaic fragments, and do not gather into one single Reality with a capital R. Rather, they set off each other favorably, playing on contrast like pictures in huge museum or the various symphonic styles of Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven and Mahler.

Perhaps Alan Watts said it best: “The universe is a giant Rorschach inkwell.”

In the eighteenth century science gives it one meaning, in the nineteenth another, and in the twentieth a third; each artist sees unique meanings on different levels abstractions; and all men and all women see each his own at different times of the day - depending on the internal state and external circumstances.

This book describes what I call "stimulated brain change" and Dr John Lilly more sonorously calls "the metaprogramming of the human biocomputer."

talking plain language, I, as a psychologist and novelist, decided to find out how quickly the brain activity of a single normal domesticated primate of an average mind could be transformed. The only person on whom I could conduct such an ethically risky experiment was, of course, myself.

Like most people who have historically tried to do this kind of "metaprogramming", I soon fell into a metaphysical trap. It became quite obvious that my previous models and metaphors were unable to explain what I was experiencing. Therefore, as events unfolded, I had to invent new ones. And since I've dealt with issues outside of the generally agreed or consensus reality tunnels, some of my metaphors sound rather unusual. Personally, this does not bother me very much, since I am not only a psychologist, but also an artist. But it really confuses me when people take these metaphors too literally.

I beseech you, kind reader, to memorize the quote from Aleister Crowley at the beginning of Part One, and mentally repeat it to yourself whenever you are at some stage in doubt as to whether I am slipping you the latest theological revelations from the Cosmic Center.

My personal experiments demonstrate (as well as all similar experiments in history) only that our models of "reality" are very miniature and ordered, and the experimental universe is vast and disordered. And no model will ever be able to absorb all the immense disorder that the open mind perceives.

It seems to me (or rather, I hope) that the data of my experiments prove that the neurological model of agnosticism - a kind of application of the Copenhagen Interpretation to human consciousness - allows a person to free himself from certain restrictions of mechanical emotions and robotic thought processes that are inevitable as long as a person remains in within one dogmatic model or one imprinted reality tunnel. As for me personally, I believe (or assume, or intuitively feel) that the most unconventional of my models that are given here - models that imply the existence of a Supreme Intelligence in the form of a Kabbalistic guardian angel or aliens from Sirius - are necessary working tools at certain stages of the metaprogramming process.

In other words, whether such entities exist somewhere beyond our own imagination or not, many of the abilities of our brain will remain a mystery behind seven locks unless we use similar “keys” that unlock these locks. But I don't insist on it; this is just my personal opinion.

Apparently, some people manage to cross the Deadly Place without individual "guides". I even know one guy who imagined a "supercomputer from the future" that sent information back to the past to his brain. More smart people find less "metaphysical" metaphors.

Ten years after this book was written, I don't really care about these speculations. Our lonely little selves can be “illuminated” or flooded with radical science fiction information and cosmic perspectives, and their source can be either aliens, or secret leaders of Sufism, or parapsychologists and / or computers of the twenty-third century, sending signals back in time. Or all this is the work of the “hands” of previously inactive parts of our own brain.

In this regard, I am often asked about two books by other authors that resonate amazingly with Cosmic Trigger - I mean Philip K. Dick's VALIS and Doris Lessing's The Sirian Experiments. "VALIS" is a novel in which there are clear hints that this is not just a novel, but a factual account of personal experience Philip Dick's communication with some form of "Higher Intelligence".

In essence, "VALIS" is only lightly fictionalized; the true events underlying the book are told in a long interview that Phil gave shortly before his death. The analogies with my own experience are numerous, but so are the divergences.

I met Philip Dick two or three times and corresponded a little with him. In my opinion, he was worried that this experience of communication was not a manifestation of his temporary insanity, so he persistently tried to find out if I was sane. I don't know if he came to any conclusion or not.

I interviewed Doris Lessing a few years ago for New Age magazine. She takes synchronicities very seriously, but she is as agnostic about the possibility that they are orchestrated by the Sirians as I am.

I sincerely recommend to the readers of my book all these three volumes - “VALIS”, “ Last testament” and “Sirian Experiments”. Unless you're stuck in a very dogmatic reality tunnel, you're going to have some weird moments asking yourself: Are the Sirians really experimenting on us? And these few strange moments can be a liberating experience for those who aren't scared to death of them.

But there are far more important questions than discussing the extraterrestrial hypothesis. These are practical and pragmatic questions about what a person does with the results of a brain-altering experience. As I've found in my meetings with many New Agers, it's pretty easy to really move your brain using the techniques in this book. Among those who experiment in this area, cases of paranoia and schizophrenia are widespread.

Less clinical but socially more dangerous cases include leagues of self-proclaimed gurus and their misguided disciples who, like me, discovered that there are many realities, but chose one now fashionable anti-Western reality tunnel, calling it the Highest Reality, or true reality, and surrounded its deception by new fanaticism, snobbery, dogmas and cults.

There is a lot of lyrical utopianism in this book. I don't apologize for it and I don't regret it at all. The decade that has flown by since the first edition has not changed my basic beliefs about the rules of the game, according to which the optimist will find many ways to solve any problem that the pessimist considers insoluble.

Since we all create our habitual reality tunnels - sometimes consciously and deliberately, and sometimes unconsciously and mechanically - I prefer to create for each hour the happiest, most interesting and most romantic tunnel that corresponds to the signals that my brain understands.

I feel sorry for the people who stubbornly turn life experience into sad, desperately boring and unpromising tunnels of reality, and I try to show them how to get rid of this bad habit, but I do not feel any masochistic obligation to suffer with them.

This book does not say "you create your own reality" in the sense of global (but mysteriously unconscious) psychokinesis. If you get hit by a car and end up in the hospital, I don't believe you "really wanted" to be hit by a car or "needed" to be hit by a car, as two popular New Age clichés claim. Transactional analysis theory, the source of my favorite models and metaphors, simply says that once you've been hit by a car, the lesson you learn from the experience depends entirely on you, and the results depend partly on you (and partly on your doctors). . If you really want to live (even if doctors believe that this is medically impossible), then, in the end, it is up to you to decide whether to hastily reel the fishing rods out of the hospital, or to stay in bed suffering and complaining.

For the most part, these kinds of decisions are made subconsciously and mechanically, but by following the techniques described in this book, such decisions can become conscious and meaningful.

In the final part of the book, I talk about the worst tragedy in my life. I want to say without pity for myself (a vice that I despise) that my years on this planet included many other terrible and severe experiences, from two bouts of polio when I was a child, and ending with a host of other events that I don't want to speak publicly. When I write about creating a better and more optimistic reality tunnel, transcending ego games and things like that, this is not an empty declaration or the pre-election ranting of another presidential candidate. I just learned a few practical techniques to deal with the harsh conditions of life on this primitive planet.

Listeners at my lectures and seminars usually ask if I remain the same optimist in matters relating to public space programs and life extension. I am even more optimistic than before. Despite the seeming demise of NASA's rigidicus bureaucraticus, I have reason to believe that some European countries will soon undertake the cooperative space migration attempt that I advocate; and Reagan's Strategic Defense Initiative, for all its chauvinism and jingoism, led to a dramatic increase in funding for basic scientific research.

In the area of life extension, there have been several bestsellers on the subject since Trigger was first published; even the most intellectually backward part of US society (i.e. Congress) showed interest in such issues; and the longevity scientists I've met lately are happy to say that these studies are better funded now than they were in the 1970s. The time for a new scientific revolution is approaching.

And in the end, for fun, I will tell you that not all the letters that I receive are thoughtful and informative. I have received some rather idiotic and downright comical anonymous letters from two groups of dogmatists, fundamentalist Christians and fundamentalist materialists.

Fundamentalist Christians accuse me of being a slave of Satan and it's time to exorcise demons from me with the help of various spells.

Fundamentalist materialists reported that I am a liar, a charlatan, a swindler and a scoundrel. Except for this slight discrepancy, the letters are remarkably similar. Both groups demonstrate the blind fanaticism of the crusaders and the complete absence of a sense of humor, goodwill and elementary human decency.

These intolerant cults strengthen me in my agnosticism and convince me more and more that if dogma takes hold of the brain, all intellectual activity ceases.

Robert Anton Wilson

THE FOUNDATION OF ROME

In central Italy, in the lower reaches of the Tiber River, there was the region of Latium. The Latin people lived there. The Latins had the city of Alba Longa; According to legend, it was founded by the ancient Trojans who fled to Italy after the fall of Troy. In Alba Longa, two brothers were kings: Numitor and Amulius. The cruel Amulius deposed the meek Numitor and began to rule Alba Longa with autocracy.

The deposed Numitor had a daughter, Rhea Sylvia. She had two twin sons.

Who is their father? Amulius asked sternly.

God Mars, Rhea replied. Amulius did not believe. He ordered Rhea Silvia to be imprisoned in an underground dungeon, and the twins to be put in a basket and thrown into the Tiber.

The Tiber was in flood; its waves picked up the basket, carried it into a quiet pool and, subsiding, left it there on the shore. A she-wolf, a sacred animal of the god Mars, ran up to the basket. She lay down and began to feed the babies with her milk. At least that's what the old shepherd who found the basket said. The shepherd took the twins to his hut and began to raise them as his children. He named them: Romulus and Remus.

Romulus and Remus were bored of being shepherds. They became robbers. A group of friends gathered around them. The peasants loved the robbers because they protected them from the oppression of Amulius. The king ordered the brothers to be seized. Romulus fought back. Remus was brought before the king. The king gave him to Numitor for interrogation. He asked the young man where he was from. Remus told what he had heard from the old shepherd: about the flood of the Tiber, about the twins in the basket, about the mars she-wolf. Numitor realized that before him was his grandson. At this time, a noise and clang of weapons was heard outside the city wall: it was Romulus and his comrades who came to the rescue of his brother. Numitor and Remus opened the gate for them. The cruel Amulius was killed. Numitor became the king of Alba Longa, and the robber brothers decided to establish for themselves and their friends new town- at the place where they were once found on the banks of the Tiber.

The low coastal valley was surrounded by three hills: Capitoline, Palatine, Aventine, and behind them a second ring of hills could be seen: Quirinal, Viminal, Esquiline and Caelium. On these seven hills, the great Rome subsequently spread. In the meantime, the two brothers argued on which of the hills is better to establish the first settlement. Romulus proposed Palatine, Remus - Aventine. They decided to disperse and wait for the sign of the gods: whoever sees six kites over his hill first, he won the dispute, and there the city will be. They waited all night. At dawn, kites appeared first over the hill of Remus, then over the hill of Romulus. But six of them flew over the Aventine, and twelve over the Palatine. The controversy began again. Finally, nevertheless, they decided to build on the Palatine, but Rem was not satisfied.

The founding of the city took place in this way. On the Palatine they determined a place that would be the center of the city. There they dug a hole and buried in it the firstfruits of the fruits of the earth. In front of the pit, one after another, all the comrades of Romulus and Remus, the future citizens of the new city, tanned, ragged and serious, passed. Each threw a handful of earth from his hometown into the pit. Now everyone could rightfully say that Rome is his fatherland. Then a plow, describing a circle, drew the border of the city. The plow was copper, carried by a white bull and a white cow, Romulus followed the plow singing prayers. His comrades followed and turned the cut earth towards the city so that not a single lump would remain on the foreign side. Where the gate should have been, the plow was lifted and carried through the air. The furrow was sacred, but the gates could not be sacred: both clean and unclean objects would be carried through them.

Over the drawn furrow, Romulus began, digging a ditch, to pour a shaft. Rem mockingly followed the work of his brother. Romulus solemnly proclaimed:

From now on, no one will ever step over these walls with impunity.

The shaft was barely knee-deep. Rem laughed and jumped over the rampart. Romulus did not understand jokes; he rushed at his brother and struck him with his sword. Rem fell dead. He was buried on the Aventina, where he dreamed of founding a city. Romulus was left alone as the leader of his friends. The city founded by him began to be called by his name: in Latin, Rome is called Roma.

Modern archaeologists attribute the period of the city's emergence to the 8th century. BC e., and Roman historians even calculated the year and day of the founding of Rome - April 21, 754 BC. e.

Thus began the history of Rome with fratricide. And when many centuries later Rome, the capital of the world, was tormented by storms civil wars people said:

This is retribution for the spilled blood of Rem.

THE RAPE OF THE SABINE WOMEN

The first inhabitants of Rome were robbers from the detachment of Romulus. There were few of them. Then Romulus laid the temple of the purifier god Veyovis on the nearby Capitoline Hill. Any runaway slave, debtor or criminal who fled to this temple became free and justified. Six months have passed. Fugitive people from all over Latium began to flock to Rome. But they had no wives, no children - there was no one to leave the founded city. Neighboring cities did not give their daughters to the Romans.

This is not a people, but a gang of robbers, they said.

It was necessary to get wives by cunning and force.

Romulus spread a rumor that an altar built to an unknown god was found on the territory of Rome. He was called Kons - the god of light (hence the consul - adviser, and the council - advice). In honor of this find, a holiday with games was announced. Both surrounding tribes converged on him: the Latins, the inhabitants of the coastal plain, and the Sabines, the inhabitants of the Apennine foothills. They stood, mixed in the crowd, waiting for the games. Romulus waved his cloak - and the Roman youths attacked the Sabine girls: each one grabbed the first one that came across and carried it, screaming and struggling, to their hut. Confusion began, the guests fled. The Sabine women remained in Rome - to get used to their fate as captives and wives. And the Sabines prepared for war - to punish the kidnappers.

The Sabine king was Titus Tatius. In order to attack the Palatine, he decided to first capture the nearby Capitol. There was a small Roman fortress there. Her boss had a daughter, Tarpeya. The Romans were poor and the Sabines were rich. Tarpeya secretly promised Tatsia to let the Sabines into the fortress if each warrior would give her what he wears on his left hand. On the left hand, the Sabines wore golden wrists. She forgot that there was also a shield on her left arm. The Sabines rejoiced at the betrayal, but despised the traitor. Tarpeya was pelted to death with heavy shields. That Capitoline cliff where this happened was called the Tarpeian Rock. From here, convicted criminals were then thrown into the abyss.

The next day a battle took place between the Capitol and the Palatine. First, the Sabines pushed the Romans, then the Romans pushed the Sabines. Suddenly, the kidnapped Sabine women, with loose hair, in torn clothes, fled from the Roman hill and rushed into the thick of the battle. They fearlessly separated the fighters.

THE FOUNDATION OF ROME

The deposed Numitor had a daughter, Rhea Sylvia. She had two twin sons.

Who is their father? Amulius asked sternly.

God Mars, Rhea replied. Amulius did not believe. He ordered Rhea Silvia to be imprisoned in an underground dungeon, and the twins to be put in a basket and thrown into the Tiber.

Romulus and Remus were bored of being shepherds. They became robbers. A group of friends gathered around them. The peasants loved the robbers because they protected them from the oppression of Amulius. The king ordered the brothers to be seized. Romulus fought back. Remus was brought before the king. The king gave him to Numitor for interrogation. He asked the young man where he was from. Remus told what he had heard from the old shepherd: about the flood of the Tiber, about the twins in the basket, about the mars she-wolf. Numitor realized that before him was his grandson. At this time, a noise and clang of weapons was heard outside the city wall: it was Romulus and his comrades who came to the rescue of his brother. Numitor and Remus opened the gate for them. The cruel Amulius was killed. Numitor became the king of Alba Longa, and the robber brothers decided to found a new city for themselves and their friends - in the place where they had once been found on the banks of the Tiber.

Over the drawn furrow, Romulus began, digging a ditch, to pour a shaft. Rem mockingly followed the work of his brother. Romulus solemnly proclaimed:

From now on, no one will ever step over these walls with impunity.

Modern archaeologists attribute the period of the city's emergence to the 8th century. BC e., and Roman historians even calculated the year and day of the founding of Rome - April 21, 754 BC. e.

Thus began the history of Rome with fratricide. And when many centuries later Rome, the capital of the world, was tormented by the storms of civil wars, people said:

This is retribution for the spilled blood of Rem.

* * *

Entertaining Greece
Tales of Ancient Greek Culture

From the writer

If you, a young reader, leaf through this book, look at the pictures, look at the table of contents, read a few pages here and there, the first question you will probably ask is: “Did it really happen that way?” I will answer yes and no.

The truth is that there were glorious victories of the Greeks over the Persians, and then the fabulously quick conquest of the East by Alexander the Great. It is true that the Spartans were invincible warriors, and the Athenians built marble temples better than others and composed tragedies for the theater. It is true that the word "philosophy" first appeared in the Greek language and that in Library of Alexandria engaged in almost all the same sciences as we do.

But that around these events there were so many prophesies of oracles that came true; that all the heroes were heroes without fear and reproach, and the villains were villains to the depths of their black souls; that all the speeches that were said at the same time were so clever, short and coherent; that all the curiosities of terrestrial nature and human customs, which the ancient Greeks heard about, were really such - one cannot, of course, vouch for this. There is a lot of fiction here. Whose invention is this?

It was invented by the Greek people themselves. After all, it always happens: when some interesting event happens, news about it is passed from mouth to mouth, acquiring new and new picturesque details, and in the end the facts are so closely intertwined with the legends that the learned historian has to work hard to separate one from the other. another.

How historians reconstruct the actual appearance of events from contradictory stories about them - this could be written very interestingly, but it would be a completely different book. Our book is about how the ancient Greeks themselves remembered their past. Is it possible to judge a person by what he says about himself? You can: even when he composes, we see what he is and what he would like to be. The same can be said about the whole ancient culture her stories about herself.

Everything that goes without saying for us now was once discovered for the first time. And that one must obey the law; and that parallel lines do not intersect anywhere; and that the beating of the pulse in man is from the heart; and that the thought of a thing can say more about it than a glance at it; and what interesting stories You can act out in faces and then it's called drama. Such discoveries were made separately in Babylon, and in India, and in China, and in Greece. But our own civilization, modern European, developed mainly on the basis of the ancient Greek (and the ancient Roman that replaced it). Therefore, the ancient Greek discoveries are closer to us than any others.

From century to century, almost the same definitions were copied in the textbooks of mathematics, which were once given by Euclid; and poets and artists mentioned and depicted Zeus and Apollo, Hercules and Achilles, Homer and Anacreon, Pericles and Alexander the Great, knowing for sure that the reader and viewer would immediately recognize these images. Therefore, it is better to know the ancient Greek culture - this means a better understanding of Shakespeare, and Raphael, and Pushkin. And, ultimately, themselves. Because you cannot answer the question: “Who are we?” without answering the question: “Where did we come from?”

However, I'm getting ahead of myself. Because “know thyself” is also one of the precepts ancient greek civilization and you will meet him again and again in this book. I wish you success!

Part one
Greece becomes Greece
or before the law was a tradition

There is a tribe of people

There is a tribe of gods

The breath in us is from a single mother,

But the power given to us is different:

Man is nothing

And the copper sky is an unshakable abode

Till the end of time.

But there is something

Elevating us to the celestials, -

Whether it be a powerful spirit,

Whether it is the power of nature, -

Although we do not know to what extent

Our path is inscribed day and night

Rock.

In the beginning there was a fairy tale

Historical science begins with chronology. This is perhaps the most boring part of the story, but also the most necessary. If you do not know what was in the past before and what will happen later, then all other knowledge loses all meaning.

The Greeks understood this and memorized the chronology diligently. On the island of Paros, diligence went so far that a large chronological table of Greek history was carved on marble and displayed in the square for passers-by to look and be enlightened. This table has been preserved. But she looks like modern look, a little strange. Here's the beginning, with a few cuts.

Year 1582 BC. e. King Kekrops reigns in Athens.

Year 1529. global flood from which Deucalion and Pyrrha escaped.

Year 1519. King Cadmus, the founder of Cadmea, came to Thebes from Phenicia and taught the Greeks writing.

You say, “Is this a story? This is a fairytale! It’s like making a table according to the chronology of Kievan Rus and including dates in it: then Ilya Muromets killed the Nightingale the Robber, and then Ruslan killed Chernomor.

The Greek, hearing such words, would be offended. Perhaps he himself is from a noble family who traces his origins to one of the mythological heroes mentioned here. The Spartan king Leonidas, the hero of Thermopylae, considered himself the great-great- (repeat this "great" 20 times!) - the great-grandson of Hercules. The Greeks considered the life span of a human to be 70 years, the best time for the birth of a son is 35 years. Leonidas died in 480 BC. e. Count from this date 23 times 35 years (the life of Leonidas and 22 generations of his ancestors) and you will find yourself in 1285 BC. e., just at the time in which the Parian table settles Hercules. How can one not believe such a chronology?

And not only conceited kings, but also more serious people often raised their family to heroes and gods. Hippocrates was a great scientist, the father of Greek medicine; we will meet again in this book. He was from the family of hereditary doctors, Asclepiades, and this family originated from Asclepius, the god of healing, the son of Apollo; Hippocrates was an 18th generation descendant of the god. If you make a calculation of years, it will turn out: God lived shortly before the Trojan War. And it is true: in the Iliad it is written that the son of the god Asclepius, Machaon, was, so to speak, the chief physician of the Greek army near Troy. (Do you know the big bright swallowtail butterfly? So, it is named after this very demigod doctor, but why - I don’t know.)

So let's not laugh in advance. For the Greek, the chronology of myths was an important matter. Great scientists were engaged in it. Eratosthenes, the great mathematician who first calculated the size of the globe (as he did, we will learn in the last part of this book), calculated the date of the fall of Troy just as diligently. By the way, he got it different than on the Parian table: 1183. But these are trifles.

And two more words. I said that I rewrote the beginning of the Parian table with slight cuts. But I made one more change to it - very simple and very conspicuous. Which? Try to guess. Who does not guess, for those I will tell about it on the 52nd page.

Resettlement of the Doryans

If you review the Parian chronological table and try to guess in it the place where mythology ends and history begins, then most likely it will be a mysterious line: "Year 1128. Migration of the Dorians led by the kings of Heraclids to the Peloponnese." Mysterious - because if any of you remembers who the Heraclids are, then it is unlikely that it was for resettlement.

And the resettlement was: it really is not only mythology, but also history. The Greeks are not the original inhabitants of Greece, they are aliens. They came here from the north, from beyond the Balkans; where and with whom they lived before - scientists are still arguing about this. The Greeks themselves did not remember this. But they well remembered something else - that they moved here in two waves. The Achaean tribes were the first to migrate; it is about their kingdoms and principalities that the memory was preserved in myths. The second to migrate were the Dorian tribes; and about this resettlement was complicated, one might say, the last Greek myth and then the story began. The myth was this.

The most famous Greek hero was Hercules. He was a descendant of the kings of Argos. But he himself was not a king: all his life he lived as a homeless worker in the services of others. Dying, he ordered himself to be burned at the stake on the top of Mount Eta. From this bonfire at the foot of Eta, hot springs were hammered: according to these sources, the neighboring mountain pass became known as the “Hot Gate” - Thermopylae.

Next to Mount Etoia lies a tiny mountainous region - Dorida. Here the sons of Hercules found shelter; the eldest and chief of them was Gill. They were cramped in little Dorida. They gathered a squad of brave Dorian highlanders and decided to go to the Peloponnese - to mine the Argive kingdom of their ancestors.

Before the campaign, as usual, they turned to the oracle. (The oracle is not a person, but a sanctuary where the priests gave predictions on behalf of the god; how this was arranged, we will tell further.) We received the answer: "Wait for the third fruits and go through the gorge." Gill reasoned that the "third fruit" was the third harvest, the third summer; he waited two years, and in the third year he led his Dorians through the "gorge" of the Isthmus of Corinth. The local Achaeans came out to meet them. They agreed to resolve the dispute by single combat between the leaders. The leaders agreed - and Gill fell. The Dorians had to return to Dorida with nothing.

Again they turned to the oracle: “Why did you deceive us?” The oracle replied: “You yourself did not want to understand the broadcast correctly. The fruits are not earthly, but human; the gorge is not land, but the sea. The Heraclides realized that the victory would not go to them, but only to the third generation after them, and it was necessary to go to it not along the narrow Isthmus of Corinth, but by swimming through the narrow Corinthian Gulf.

While three generations have changed, a hundred years have passed. The Heraclides waited patiently for their time. Finally, after sons and grandchildren, great-grandchildren grew up: three brothers - Aristodem, Temen and Cresfont. Gathered an army, built ships for the crossing. Again they asked the oracle for prophecy: “What can we do to win?” The answer sounded mysterious: "Take the three-eyed guide." The brothers considered. Suddenly a rider on a horse, blind in one eye, appeared on the road. It was the Aetolian prince Oksil: he killed a relative, lived in exile for ten years and was now returning to his homeland. They began to persuade him to join the campaign. He easily agreed, but immediately gave himself a reward: one of the best pieces of the Peloponnese - Elis

With a three-eyed guide, the three brothers crossed over to the Peloponnese, won a long-awaited victory over the Achaeans and began to divide the conquered places. The middle of the Peloponnese is a wild, wooded upland, but on its sides lie four fertile valleys: in the east, Argos, in the west, Elis, in the south, Laconia, and the best of all, Messenia. Elis was given to Oxila, and three brothers cast lots for the other three regions. Each one lowered a stone into a pot of water: the one who is taken out first, he will own Argos, whose second - Laconia, whose third - Messenia. Aristodemus and Temen cast their lots honestly, but Cresfont cheated. He wanted to get a fruitful Messenia, and he threw a lump of earth into the water instead of a stone, which dispersed in the water. Argos went to Temen Laconia - Aristodemus Messenia was left to the share of the crafty Cresfont.

Having made a division, the brothers made sacrifices to Zeus on three altars. And in the morning, on their altars, there was an unexpected animal: in Argive - a toad, in Laconian - a snake, in Messenian - a fox. The fortune-tellers, after conferring, explained: the toad is a slow-moving animal, so it is better for the Argive Dorians not to go to war; the snake is formidable, so that the Laconian Dorians will be victorious; and the fox is cunning, which everyone could and will be able to verify. The brothers looked at each other, understood Cresfont's cunning and harbored an evil memory of the Messenian Dorians.

King Kodr

When the Dorians occupied the Peloponnese, the Peloponnesian Achaeans either submitted to them, or went into remote mountainous areas. And the most noble and proud families began to leave the country and move to the north: to Boeotia, where the third large Greek tribe lived - the Aeolians, and to Attica, where the fourth tribe lived - the Ionians.

They were received hospitably, especially in Attica. Here, just at this time, the last king of the kind of glorious Theseus, the winner of the Minotaur, died. The elders conferred and chose a stranger as the new king - an Achaean from the royal family named Kodr.

The Peloponnesian Dorians were offended to see that a fugitive from under their power became a king on a foreign side. They went to war with Attica and laid siege to Athens. The siege turned out to be difficult, they decided to send to the oracle and ask: “Will we take Athens?” The oracle replied: "Take it if you do not touch the king." The Doryans announced a strict order throughout the army: do not touch King Kodra under any circumstances - and continued the siege.

In Athens, too, they learned about the oracle's answer. And King Kodr decided to save the city at the cost of his life.

He dressed in a torn peasant dress, shouldered a sack, took a crooked sickle for cutting branches, went outside the gate and began to collect firewood. He was seized and dragged to the Dorian camp. He began to fight back, waved his sickle and wounded some warrior. This infuriated the Dorians, they killed him, and threw the corpse into the field.

The Athenian elders sent an embassy to the Dorian camp: “According to the sacred customs of the ancestors, return the body of our king to us for burial!” “We didn’t touch your king!” - they answered. "Here he is!" - the Athenians showed a dead body in rags and with a bundle of brushwood over his shoulders. The Dorians peered and understood: they had not observed the oracle's warning. They handed over the slain Codrus, lifted the siege and left Attica with nothing.

Kodra was buried like a hero at the gates of Athens he had saved. A high mound was raised over his grave and sowed with wheat - as a sign that he gave his life for the happiness and prosperity of his adopted fatherland.

And the elders, on reflection, decided: after Kodra, no one in Athens is worthy to bear the name "king" - from now on, the head of state will be elected and will be called simply the ruler, in Greek - archon.

The first archons in Athens were chosen for life and only from among the descendants of Codrus; then only for ten years; then only for one year - and already from any noble families. The first archons ruled unanimously; then, to help such an archon, three more began to get out, dividing among themselves the three main royal concerns - the archon-priest, the archon-voivode and the archon-judge; then one archon-judge was not enough, and they began to choose as many as six. Thus was formed a college of nine archons who ruled Athens during the year; and after serving their term, they became members of the council of elders, which sat on the hill of the god Ares - the Areopagus. So in Athens, the power of the king was replaced by the power of the nobility - the monarchy was replaced by the aristocracy.

Homer breaks up with a fairy tale

Seven cities argue about grandfather Homer -

In them, ou begged for alms at every door.

(English epigram)

After the resettlement of the Dorians in Greece, it immediately became crowded. It was necessary to look for new lands. People began to gather in detachments, boarded ships and set off across the sea to establish new Greek settlements on foreign, "barbarian" shores.

The first direction of this colonization suggested itself: through the Aegean Sea, to the opposite coast of Asia Minor. All four Greek tribes stirred and started moving. From island to island, as from stone to stone, they crossed the Aegean. The Eolians occupied the north of the Asia Minor coast with the island of Lesbos, the Dorians - the south with the island of Rhodes, the Ionians - the middle with the islands of Chios and Samos and with the newly founded cities of Smyrna, Ephesus, Miletus. The Achaeans turned in the other direction and sent the first ships to the stormy western sea, to the shores of Italy and Sicily.

New places stirred up old memories. The settlers of the Asia Minor shores recalled how, not far from these places, their ancient ancestors fought near Troy; scouts of the western seas recalled how Odysseus wandered along the road to his homeland in the same lands. And when the noble people of the new cities gathered for feasts and entertained themselves with songs, they increasingly demanded that they be sung about the Trojan War and the passages of Odysseus.

These songs were sung by storytellers - aeds. They passed them down from generation to generation, changed or supplemented ancient songs, and composed new ones according to their model. Generations of Aeds have developed a measured long verse for songs - a hexameter, a poetic language rich in old words and phrases, a set of ready-made expressions for describing frequently repeated actions. Such songs were very similar to our epics. And they were as long as epics: for an hour of singing or so, so that the listeners would not get bored. If necessary, the singer could always compress and stretch his story - for example, add details - like a hero, arming himself for battle, first puts on leggings, then a shell, then a helmet, takes a sword, then a shield, then a spear, and what master made this shield, and from which ancestor he got this sword.

Such an aed, a wandering blind storyteller, was Homer - the one who first created two large epic poems instead of short songs: the Iliad about the Trojan War and the Odyssey about the return wanderings of the hero. No one remembered anything reliable about Homer himself - not even the place of his birth:

Seven cities compete for the wise root of Homer:
Smyrna, Chios, Colophon, Salamis, Pylos, Argos, Athens.

These seven argued most stubbornly; but other cities considered themselves the birthplace of Homer - even Babylon and Rome. They agreed only that he lived as a wandering poor man, earning a living by singing songs. For example, these:

If you give me money, I'll sing, potters, I'll sing you a song:
“Hear your prayers, Athena! guarding the furnace with the right hand,
Let pots and bottles and bowls come out to glory,
So that they burn themselves well and give enough profit,
To be sold smartly in the market, smartly on the streets,
So that from the fat profit for the song we will be rewarded.
If, shameless tribe, you deceive the singer insolently.
I will immediately summon all the enemies of the pottery kiln:
“Hey, Razbivaka, Cracker, Gorshkolom, Insidious Syroglinnik,
Hey, Netushim, tortuous for tricks to the detriment of the craft,
Hit the brazier and the house, turn the stove upside down,
Take it all away; let the potters shout out the hut ...
Let them look at the fierce disaster with a plaintive groan!
I will, laughing, admire the miserable lot of villains.
If anyone wants to save, let the flame head
He will burn everything, and his fate will serve others as science.

The Iliad and the Odyssey are very long poems, over three hundred pages long. The transition from composing small epics to composing long connected epics is a complicated matter. There were two ways. One is easier: it was possible to string episodes in a row, adjusting the end of one with the beginning of another, from the very kidnapping of Elena to the return of all the heroes. Another more difficult one: one could take any one episode and, expanding it with details, fit into it everything that was poetically interesting in the entire Trojan War.

Homer went the hard way. He chose for each poem only one episode from a ten-year war and ten-year wanderings. For the Iliad, this is Achilles' anger at Agamemnon and its cruel consequences: the death of Patroclaia, Achilles' revenge on Hector. For the Odyssey, these are the last two transitions in the hero's voyage: from the island of Calypso to the island of the feacs and from the island of the feacs to his native Ithaca, and there - a meeting with his son, reprisals against Penelope's suitors and reconciliation. All previous episodes of Odysseus' wanderings are contained in his story about himself at a feast at the feacs; all other episodes of the Trojan War are included in incidental mentions in speeches actors. And behind all this - now in the course of the story, now in a lengthy description, now in a cursory comparison - there is a whole encyclopedia of pictures of people's life - the work of a plowman and a blacksmith, a people's assembly and a court, a house and a battle, weapons and utensils, athletes' competitions and children's games . To the current reader, they may seem like lengthy, distracting from the action, but Homer's contemporaries enjoyed them.

This is no coincidence. This means that Homer's contemporaries felt: between them and the mythical times lay an uncrossable line. On this side - everyday life, labor, oppression, poverty, the dominance of the proud and cruel nobility; on the other side - feats, greatness, wealth, brilliance, everyone is valiant, powerful and noble, and I want to carefully keep every detail in my memory and admire it for a long time. This is why Homer's poems are so long and why they are so detailed. In them, Greece, entering the threshold of history, says goodbye to the realm of fairy tales.

Hector's farewell to Andromache

Here is one of the most famous episodes of the Iliad. There is the first big battle described in the poem. Achilles has already quarreled with Agamemnon and has already withdrawn from the battles, but the Greeks are still strong and are pushing the Trojans. Then the Trojan leader Hector leaves the battlefield and goes to Troy: let the Trojan women pray to the hostile Athena - maybe she will have mercy and spare the Trojans. Having given orders, he wants to see his wife Andromache and his infant son Astyanax (the "ruler of the City"): what if he dies in battle and never sees them again? And he meets them at the very gates leading to the battlefield. In the general course of events of the Iliad, this is a pause, a respite, it would be possible not to talk about all this at all, but Homer also contains here the tragic contrast between the formidable military and peaceful family life, and - in the words of Andromache - an episode from the initial years of the Trojan War, and - in Hector's foresight - the future outcome of the war, and the duty of those who are with the shield, and the share of those who are behind the shield.

Hector, passing through the wide city, reaches the gate
Skeisky - it was through them that the exit was to the plain, -
Suddenly, a housewife here met his wife,
Daughter of Etion the benevolent Andromache.
Etion the father lived at the foot of the wooded Plaka
In Thebes, the lower Plakians and the Cilicians ruled;
His daughter married the copper-armored Hector.
There she met her husband; behind her is a respected nanny,
Gently pressing the baby to her chest, she carried the baby,
Dear son of Hector, he was like a star, he is beautiful,
Hector called him Scamandreus, and the rest of the people in the city
Astyanax for the fact that Hector was the stronghold for Troy.
As he looked at the child, the father smiled involuntarily.
Andromache's wife stood nearby and wept bitterly.
She took her husband's hand and said:
- You, amazing, destroy yourself with your courage.
It can be seen that you don’t feel sorry for either your son or me, miserable,
That I will soon remain a widow: after all, soon the Achaeans,
Rushing everything at you, they will kill you - and it’s more comforting for me
It would be better to go down to earth than to lose a husband. Which
Will I be warm in life when death befalls you?
Sorrow alone! After all, I have neither a father nor a darling:
Ah, god-like Achilles killed my father,
Yes, and he razed the native city of the Cilicians to the ground -
Thebes are high-altitude. But Etion's body,
He didn’t even expose the dead, maintaining respect.
He burned it according to the rank with armor swearing together
And he filled the burial ground. Around the same elms grew
Mountain nymphs, Zeus the aegis bearing maiden.
Hector, you are my father, and you are my mother, Hector,
You are my only brother, and you are my blooming husband,
Have pity on me now, stay with us on the tower,
Place your army at the wild fig tree: there are fewer
Our city is protected and more accessible to the attack of the wall.
Hector the Great, sparkling with a helmet, answers her:
- Everything you say here bothers me, but I'm ashamed
Me before Trojans and Trojans in long robes,
If I'm like a rotten coward, evade the battle.
I myself know perfectly well, believe with your heart and spirit:
There will be no day - and sacred Troy will perish,
Priam and the people of the spearman Priam will perish with her!
But now I do not lament the death of so many Trojans,
Not about my brave brothers who will soon
They will fall into dust, killed by the hand of enraged enemies, -
Only about you I mourn! Achaean in copper armor
All in tears will lead you far into captivity:
In Argos you will weave a cloth for a foreign mistress,
You will carry water from the Miseid and Hyper springs,
Heart reluctantly, submitting involuntarily to a bleak fate.
Someone, seeing how you shed tears, will say:
“Hector is his wife, he was the first warrior in battles
He is among the troops of the Trojans when Ilion was destroyed.
Someone will say this, and it will pinch on the heart more strongly:
There is no person who would save you from bondage.
Let me die and close with loose sand
Before I see your captivity and hear your plaintive cry! -
So saying, the brilliant Hector leaned towards the child,
But the baby on the chest of his nurse in beautiful clothes
With a cry, he recoiled back, frightened by his father's appearance:
He was afraid of copper, a horse-mane sultan,
Seeing how she hung from the very top of the helmet.
Dear father and kind mother laughed at this.
Hector quickly removes his brilliant helmet from his head,
He puts a brilliant helmet on the ground with a quick radiance,
He himself kisses his son and, taking him in his arms, high
Raises up, praying to Zeus and other immortals:
- Zeus and the eternal gods! look at the baby son!
Let him grow up, like me, outstanding among the Trojans.
Send him strength, virtue, may he reign mightily,
So that they could say about him: “He surpassed the Father!” -
Watching as he walks from the battle, returning with bloody booty,
Taken from the dead enemies, maternal heart pleasing.
He passes the son from hand to hand to his dear wife.
Tighter she pressed the child to her fragrant breast
And smiled through her tears. The husband looked, was touched,
He hugged her tenderly and said this in the end:
- Poor you! Do not twist your soul about me beyond measure.
If fate is for me to be alive, no one will send me to the next world,
And no mortal can escape his fate,
Neither bad nor good, from the first minute of birth.
You go home, mind your own business,
Sit at the loom or at the spinning wheel and watch, so that idle
The girls didn't chat. War is a man's occupation:
Of the Ilionian men, it is especially close to me.
So saying, the brilliant Hector raises his helmet
With horse mane. The wife went home,
But, turning around more than once, she followed him with her eyes ...

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