Anacharsis, Barbarian Philosopher
The Scythian sage on the virtues inherent in wild creatures
§ 9.26.3 Now in those days men of learning sought brevity of speech. And Croesus, after he had displayed to the men the felicity of his kingdom and the multitude of the peoples subject to him, asked Anacharsis, who was older than the other men of wisdom, "Whom do you consider to be the bravest of living beings?" He replied, "The wildest animals; for they alone willingly die in order to maintain their freedom."
And Croesus, believing that he had erred in his reply, and that a second time he would give an answer to please him, asked him, "Whom do you judge to be the most just of living beings?" And Anacharsis again answered, "The wildest animals; for they alone live in accordance with nature, not in accordance with laws; since nature is a work of God, while law is an ordinance of man, and it is more just to follow the institutions of God than those of men."
Then Croesus, wishing to make Anacharsis appear ridiculous, inquired of him, "And are the beasts, then, also the wisest?" And Anacharsis agreed that they were, adding this explanation: "The peculiar characteristic of wisdom consists in showing a greater respect to the truth which nature imparts than to the ordinance of the law." And Croesus laughed at him and the answers he had given, as those of one coming from Scythia and from a bestial manner of living.
—Diodorus Siculus, Library 8-40
I recently thought of this exchange in response to an essay by Erik Hoel asking if it was possible whether animals might, in some respects, be more conscious than we are. The answer given here by Anacharsis on the many virtues of animals doesn't speak specifically to consciousness but more broadly to the ingredients of what we might think of as a fully realized being, in which consciousness undoubtedly plays a role. And in the opinion of the sage, this realization is derived not from culture but from nature. In fact, he argues, it is most accessible to those creatures least polluted by culture, the wild animals. Such thinking runs counter to almost every tradition we have, so it is worth pausing over.
Anacharsis was the son of the Scythian chief Gnurus, whose mother was supposedly Greek. At this time, Greek colonies had been long established on the southern shores of Scythia, and Scythians and Greeks not only interacted for trade but also intermarried, particularly the aristocracy. Anacharsis had the notion of traveling to Greece to learn more about their customs and philosophy. Upon his arrival in Athens, he introduced himself to and became friends with Solon around 589 BCE. He became famous for his forthright and commonsense manners and is regarded by some as one of the Seven Sages of Greece. He was made a citizen of Athens and initiated into the Eleusinian Mysteries before returning home to Scythia.
Anacharsis is a fascinating, curious figure from the ancient world. Though he is absent from them, he looms silently but heavily over the books of The Steppe Saga in two significant ways.
The first is his treatment by the Scythians upon his return from Greece, having assimilated certain Hellenic customs and beliefs in his tenure among them. Without divulging plot spoilers for those who may actually read the books, Herodotus suggests that the events following Anacharsis' return are analogous to circumstances surrounding the philhellenic Scythian prince Skyles and demonstrate a Scythian antipathy, intolerance, or xenophobia toward all things Greek. Was Herodotus correct? I wanted to write this story partly to discover if there was sufficient evidence to support or contradict his assessment of these events. (More on that to come.)
The second derives from the quote above. Whether the wisdom attributed to Anacharsis comes from a Scythian sage who traveled to Greece to learn and share knowledge is open for debate. There is no reason to doubt his existence. However, he has acquired legendary status that confuses attempts to locate him historically or authenticate his (lost) works and sayings.
Once Greek colonies began to appear on the southern shores of Scythia, the wealthy son of a Scythian chief could have found passage to Greece. There, he would have found a stark contrast between the simple lifestyle of his nomadic tribesmen and the mannered urban culture of his hosts—the same people who, back home, were also colonizing the shores of his country. What has often been termed a clash between savagery and civilization could be viewed as a clash between unbroken and tame—gradations of existence along the spectrum of wild to domesticated, nature and artifice.
So, the divergent views attributed to Anacharsis regarding the relative merits of "the wildest animals" are striking. If these sentiments are genuine, they make sense considering their source. But, even if they are fabrications of later writers attempting to simulate the unpretentious, down-home style of barbarian thinking, they say something about the perception of the writers toward Scythian life and belief. "Scythian discourse" is an actual genre of writing intended to offer a commonsense, practical counterpoint to high-minded, impractical philosophical ideas or to contrast the virtues of modest living with the vices of vanity and excess.
Also revealing are the qualities and attributes upon which the text focuses its attention. Croesus asks Anacharsis about the three virtues he presumably feels are most essential to "the felicity of his kingdom" and asks which beings possess them in the greatest measure. These virtues are bravery, justice, and wisdom. To each of these, respectively, Anacharsis appends freedom, piety, and integrity as inseparable from their counterparts.
Then, counterintuitively, he suggests that wild creatures, rather than domesticated ones, either possess these qualities in greater abundance or are best equipped to attain them. They share two very different visions of what these qualities look like in action.
For many centuries at least, it has been assumed that animals lacked both "souls" and consciousness. Pre-Christian traditions of the distant past, however, had little trouble imagining powerful spiritual elements within animals. For traditions like Pythagoreanism, transmigration meant that souls formerly inhabited human forms might pass into animal bodies, leading practitioners to lives of vegetarianism.
While, as an agnostic, I'm dubious about the prospect of souls generally, the question of consciousness is more likely to find empirical evidence through scientific methods. And these methods seem to confirm what those of us who work closely with animals already know from experience: animals are very capable of a broad range of rational, empathetic, emotional behaviors that we would associate with varying levels of consciousness, however we choose to define it. They desire, fear, learn, plan, invent, deceive, play, share, bond, and mourn. They have the capacity for deep sorrow and exuberant joy. They remember. They dream. Wild animals do all this free from the mold of human society and law—let alone human genetic manipulation. Does this mean that the minds and emotions of wild animals are purer than others, including our own? After all, we are a self-domesticated species and grow tamer with every generation. What species has been more manipulated than us?
Anacharsis essentially asks whether our social cultivations have not just blunted our base instincts but our noble ones as well.
As a barbarian raised to live by his herds on the Pontic Steppe, Anacharsis could speak with some authority among his urban Greek audience. His lifestyle meant he had lived not only close to nature but close to his essential nature. At the margins of existence, against the harshest elements, and fighting both men and predators for one's very survival, the nomadic life of even a wealthy, prominent man like Anacharsis would undoubtedly have been regarded as wild and savage to the civilized people of the age. Indeed, Diodorus tells us that Croesus laughs at him as "one coming from Scythia and from a bestial manner of living."
But it also seems to have left many impressed, with grudging respect, and caused them to reflect upon the impotence and vice their continuous cultivations could produce. Several classical writers would create works praising the honesty and pragmatism of Scythian culture in contrast to the pretentiousness and vices of their own. While it's true this may have been a timeless rhetorical device, employing the wholesome rustic or noble savage as a foil for the corrupt urbanite, it may also have been the truth as they saw it. "Bestial manner of living" is intended as an insult, but Anacharsis and his Scythian brethren might just have taken it as a compliment.
So, is there any merit to Anacharsis' argument about the moral advantages of wild animals? Does this extend to people or cultures who live closer to nature? What consequences might ensue if an individual or society lived the ideal presented by Anacharsis?
Croesus asked questions about bravery, justice, and wisdom, qualities valued by his society. Which virtues are most valued by our society? Which would you consider essential to the felicity of our kingdom?
Diodorus Siculus, Library Bks 8-32 translated by Charles Henry Oldfather (1887-1954), from the Loeb Classical Library edition of 1933, a text asserted to be in the public domain.
Thank you for this history lesson! You ask interesting questions. I'm always wary of the noble savage infatuation that seems to have infected the anti-West movement, and shudder at the thought of a world where the Enlightenment never happened. That said, as time goes on, I love animals more and more and people (at least groups of them) less and less.