In the first book of his Histories, Herodotus describes how a Median cowherd receives a child and a message from King Astyages:

Every reader of Herodotus’ Histories knows how the story ends, because we have heard it innumerable times—maybe not about Cyrus, the ‘child’ of the cited passage, but about Aegisthus, Paris, Oedipus, Moses, Romulus and Remus or Snow White.

The fact that Herodotus is part of a narrative tradition that existed before his time and still lives on today has been the subject of numerous studies. Especially his treatment of myth has been of great interest to scholars, who have often emphasised his critical distance from a mythical tradition, seemingly explicit in his resolution to focus on human achievements in the prooemium. And indeed, tradition is criticised in the Histories, as can be seen e.g. in Herodotus’ rationalisation of mythical stories, one of the most famous examples being the discussion of Helen’s stay in Troy in the second book (2.120): Helen could not possibly have been in Troy, says Herodotus, because the Trojans would have been crazy not to give her back.

However, it has always been obvious that Herodotus could not simply have been the great rationalist, easily detaching himself from every poetic or religious tradition. Of course he remains indebted to myth; mythical elements permeate his entire narrative.

Nor does Herodotus make a clear distinction between a spatium mythicum and historicum, as has sometimes been claimed, especially regarding Herodotus’ famous statements 1.5.3 and 3.122.2. In the first book he concludes the rape stories of European and Asian women with the resolution to only study things he actually knows:

In the third book he says about the Samian tyrant Polycrates:

At first glance one might actually think that Herodotus wants to draw a line between his own present and past and a ‘once upon a time’ kind of mythical past. However, it has always been noticed that the Histories contain many passages that deal with events situated before the human, ‘historical’ era. It seems plausible that Herodotus does not strictly divide ‘historical time’ from ‘mythical time’ but that he is conscious of the problematic limits of accurate knowledge about events that happened very long ago.

So the Histories really do contain mythical characters and events, and their treatment is definitely not of a merely antiquarian nature. On the contrary, it is of great importance for Herodotus’ present. In her study of the Histories’ heroic figures, Elizabeth Vandiver points out an “interaction of symbolic subtext and historical exegesis” (199:13)—the heroes become points of reference for contemporary historical events, for chronological and aetiological reasons, but also as markers and points of orientation for important events, places and personalities.

Sometimes Herodotus draws explicit analogies, e.g. between Teisamenos and his mythical predecessor Melampous (9.33–35). Having cured the Argive women of madness, the hero had claimed kingdom for himself and his brother. Teisamenos now claims citizenship in Sparta, because the Lacedaemonians have been told by an oracle that they need him as a ‘lucky charm’—and he claims it for himself and his brother. ‘By so saying he imitated Melampous’, Herodotus comments (9.34.1).

Herodotus’ characters, too, cite mythical parallels: 9.26–27, Athenians and Tegeans justify their claims on the command of the second wing of the army by telling stories about their ancestors from Heraclid times and the era of the Trojan War.

The construction of identity and self-definition through past events—be they mythical or historical from a modern point of view—is widely acknowledged as a common practice in antiquity by historians and classicists. Hans-Joachim Gehrke has coined the term ‘intentional history’ (“intentionale Geschichte”) for such traditions that are used to constitute and to maintain identity (1994:e.g. 257). The continuity of all times past is presupposed by such a way of thinking, so that the claim that Herodotus rigorously separated mythical and historical spatia would be rather unlikely.

And the similarities between the present that Herodotus describes and the mythical tradition are even closer: some of the Histories’ episodes dealing with historical personalities are structurally modelled after mythical tales; they consist of a combination of narrative elements that are clearly recognizable in mythical stories. The most famous example may be the tale of the Hero Exposed at Birth, which I mentioned at the beginning of this study and will inspect more closely in chapter V.2—Herodotus tells it about the founder of the Persian Empire, Cyrus. In this case, mythical parallels are not explicitly cited, but underlie Herodotus’ historical discourse without losing their recognizable identity and traditional meanings.

Some examples of mythical and ritual structures in Herodotus’ text have been discussed before. Already in 1912, Wilhelm Pohlmann analysed the way qua fabellae Herodoteae narratae sint, comparing the Histories with Homeric epic and biblical texts and thereby finding numerous traditionalisms in Herodotus—without trying to interpret them any further. Similarly, Wolf Aly collects a large number of traditional motifs in Herodotus (1921); he, too, is more interested in the history of the traditional elements than in their meaning within Herodotus’ text.

Of course, there have also been more fruitful analyses. Later studies have always made the important connection between the meaning conveyed by the traditionalisms Herodotus uses and their semantic implications for the latter’s work. Without going into details (for more extensive abstract see Wesselmann 2011, chapter I.2), I will mention just a few important analyses, such as Jean-Pierre Vernant’s 1982 comparison of Herodotus’ story of Cypselus (5.92.α–ε, cf. below chapter V.2) with the myth of the Labdacids or the studies of Deborah Boedeker on mythical patterns in Herodotus in general (2002) and in particular—1987 on Demaratus (Hdt. 6.63–7), 1988 on Artaÿctes (Hdt. 7.33; 9.116–120), 1993 on the bones of Orestes, Hdt. 1.66–68). William Hansen has shown the parallels of Herodotus’ Lydian logos with the Brothers Grimm’s Marienkind and other folktales (2002, 316–327); Philip Stadter takes a look at the story of Adrastos, the traditional ‘tale of the exiled killer’ (2004:38–42; cf. below, chapter V.3.1).

In addition to mythical parallels, there have been studies on ritual structures shaping Herodotus’ narrative, such as Christiane Sourvinou-Inwood’s analysis of Herodotus’ account of the relationship between Periander and his son Lycophron (1991:244–284; Hdt. 3.48; 3.50–53), where she detects abundant elements of iniatory metaphors, or Alan Griffith’s examination of mythical and ritual traditionalisms in Herodotus’ story of “Euenius the Negligent Nightwatchman (Herodotus 9.92–6)”: mythical allusions to the story of Polyphemus are complemented by ritual parallels with a Scythian ritual also described by Herodotus (1999). Finally, Charles Chiasson’s 2005 study of mythical and ritual elements in the famous story of Cleobis and Biton (Hdt. 1.31) sheds some light on the shaping of the tale by various traditionalisms such as the mythical motif of the mother who causes her son’s death or metaphors of male initiation in the cult of the Argive Hera.

So far, studies on the subject of mythical or ritual patterns in Herodotus’ Histories have mainly dealt with isolated examples and problems. A complete survey of traditional motifs and patterns in Herodotus’ work is, of course, impossible to obtain, due to the incompleteness of our knowledge of antique texts on the one hand, and to the immense richness of the existing material on the other.

This attempt to reconstruct a contemporary field of associations will not help to explain what Herodotus ‘tries to say but cannot’, but rather what allows author and contemporary recipients to understand each other, and what is lacking in a modern reader. My aim is not a translation of an ancient, mythical system into a modern, ‘logical’ one. And of course mythical and ritual associations will not construct the final interpretation of Herodotus’ Histories; the idea is to find one way among many other possible ones to get closer to an original reception of the text.

This kind of analysis of Herodotean historiography leads to some general reflections on how the mythical and ritual tradition functions within the new genre. These thoughts are first touched upon in the textual analyses of chapters II–V, where I focus on the effects of the mythical and ritual associations within the actual passages examined. The more general reasons and results of Herodotus’ dependance on tradition are the subject of closer inspection in the concluding chapter (VI), where I first discuss the more immediate effects of the mythical patterns on the reception of historical events, such as structuring a mass of data, giving ‘meaning’ to the bare and accidental historical facts, and validating them by their inclusion within a highly valued mythical tradition (VI.1).

Next, I try to deal with the problems of Herodotus’ modern reader (VI.2), who may be frustrated when confronted with a different logical system of narration, such as Herodotus’ first discarding a story as untrue, then discussing its plausibility in detail (as is the case in one version of Croesus’ crossing of the river Halys 1.75; cf. chapter II.2.3), or the mixture of mutually exclusive explanations for Cambyses’ and Cleomenes’ madness (cf. chapter III). This lack of ‘modern’ logic serves as a narrative strategy to multiply the interpretative dimensions of the story told; although very alien to the modern reader it can be understood, I think, by additional examples and by reference to similar Homeric modes of narration.

The second problem of (not only) the modern reader is the dichotomy between fact and fiction. In the context of ancient and modern theory of fictionality, and taking into consideration the practice of oral poetry, which long after the introduction of writing still influenced Greek texts and their concept of reality, this dichotomy turns out to be of surprisingly little relevance for Herodotus’ actual text.

At the end (VI.3), with the evidence gained from the textual analysis, I reconsider the phenomenon of a ‘mythical and ritual poetics’, meaning an interdiscursive field between traditional storytelling and the new genre of historiography, defined by similar patterns, motifs and modes of expression. Anton Bierl describes such a ‘mythical and ritual poetics’ as follows:

A mythical and ritual poetics also concerns itself with “the ways in which rituals or ritual textures as inscribed within other frames of human experience and expression interact with and act upon the formation, expression, and manipulation of diverse cultural and sociopolitical discourses”—as Yatromanolakis and Roilos define a purely ritual poetics (2003:40 = 2004b:28). The consciousness for this interaction of discourses, for the importance of the cultural context in general, indeed, for a cultural poetics, can be traced back to the social semantics of Clifford Geertz, who has pointed out the impossibility of separating content from context-bound representation (esp. 1973a and b).

Herodotus’ use of mythical and ritual structures is also part of such a general ‘cultural poetics’, since we never seem to deal with an isolated mythical or ritual parallel that is consciously molded into historical discourse. Rather, one level of association continually generates new ones within the complex cultural field of reference: a mythical story can refer to a certain ritual, this ritual points to a special phase of life, which again is associated with a certain character, and so on. To discuss all possible levels of association is impossible, but from time to time one mythical or ritual allusion will lead to quite different fields, e.g. the structure of the ‘Thyestean feast’, which clearly points to the sphere of initiation, but also to the paradigm of sacrifice. At first glance, these paradigms do not seem to have a lot in common, but they still merge in the story of the slaughtering and eating of a child. Every level of association leads to other systems of reference, giving more levels to the story Herodotus tells. This variety of contextualisation and endless possibilities of combining systems of reference need not cause too much irritation, as it is common practice with all kinds of art and literature, and also in modern media: Tim Burton consequently mixes the fields of marriage and death in his animated film “Corps Bride”; Lars von Trier in his “Antichrist” merges the modern ritual of a therapeutic mourning process with medieval conceptions of satanistic cult. Every one of these paradigms carries a vast amount of cultural connotations; from their combination emerge new levels of association the recipients easily cope with. As for myth, it functions in its very own original way: not as just some story, but as an incentive for different reactions, a mode of expression completely dependent on its audience.

Consequently, the dividing of the examined passages into chapters is all but mandatory. The structure of the ‘Thyestean feast’ is included in the category of ‘initiation’ because it seemed to fit in with other stories dealing with young people and some kind of a new beginning. On the other hand, the theme of initiation also appears in the context of ‘madness’ (cf. chapter III.1.4) and is discussed within the context of the madness-stories. My categorisation follows practical necessities, but the paradigms of the traditional story are flexible and can be combined at liberty. Every ritual paradigm, every mythical pattern and, accordingly, every historical event associated with it, consists of a multiplicity of associative nets, the complexity of which can become more intelligible in a larger survey of mythical patterns in Herodotus than has so far existed.

Both forms of communication are linguistic systems consisting of small parts, functions, motifemes, or “programms of action” according to the terminologies of Propp 1928, Dundes 1964, and Burkert 1979; I will use the terms ‘element’, ‘motif’ or ‘function’ synonymously.

Mythical stories underlie Herodotus’ narrative, too, and they are sometimes closely associated with ritual paradigms. This is especially striking with regard to madness (Ch. III: the madness Dionysus sends to his enemies is very similar to the cultic ecstasy he demands of his followers) and initiation (Ch. V: the ritual structure actually generates stories about young people growing up).

The identity of a ritual or mythical structure ultimately seems to be a matter of quantity. If there are several common elements in two different stories, we can speak of a similarity of the basic structure or langue, citing the term coined by Ferdinand de Saussure, whereas the individual shape of the structure would be the parole.

The structuralist method of isolating narrative structures into single elements, common practice since the times of Vladimir Propp, allows us to compare similar or identical structures, but without claiming a fixed order of elements as Propp did for his Russian folk-tales (1928). On the contrary, we will rarely find a mythical structure without modifications in Herodotus: there is always a certain amount of variation, duplication, transfer to other characters of the story, or combination with other mythical and ritual elements that are not traditionally linked.

This corresponds to the synchronic-paradigmatic approach of Lévi-Strauss, who, discarding the postulate of the elements’ fixed order, concentrates more on the rules of combination (1958:232), speaking of bundles of relations (“paquets de relations”, 234) gaining their meaning only in combination with other bundles. Like a musical score can be read from left to right as a diachronic sequence, or from top to bottom, regarding the synchronic collaboration of the different instruments, mythical data, too, can be parallels without a direct diachronic link, such as Cadmus’ slaying of the dragon in Theban myth corresponding on the synchronic-paradigmatic axis with Oedipus’ victory over the Sphinx (Lévi-Strauss 1958:233–239). That this more liberal approach can be fruitful for Herodotus, too, has been shown e.g. by William Hansen, who points out that motifs closely linked in other traditional tales are in the Histories distributed on both the stories of Gyges and Croesus (2002:316–327).

Of course, it cannot be wholly denied that this approach risks being arbitrary from time to time. Every comparison requires simplification, and single elements can only be included in the analyses according to their relevance. However, if there is a striking number of common elements, it is always worthwhile to compare two structures—it will be shown, I think, that this is the case even when the individual shape of the parole lacks certain functions of the traditional langue .

In collecting structural parallels for Herodotus’ narrative, I concentrate on panhellenic myths and rituals likely to be known to Herodotus’ panhellenic audience. Nothing too exotic or too local is included, unless it seems mandatory, e.g. in the discussion of the founding myths of Cyrene that differ according to source (V.3.2).

I do not try to split up the structures into single motifs as Wolf Aly has done in 1921, but rather focus on the investigation of entire structures instead, as this seems more fruitful.

Myths and rituals that are attested only after Herodotus are also taken into consideration, as the possibility of an earlier oral transmission can never be ruled out.

I do not discuss whether Herodotus has invented or just heard and incorporated a story, which can in no case be definitely decided. What matters is the fact that Herodotus did include the story in his work—even if he classifies it as untrustworthy (cf. chapter VI.2.1)—with all its connotations and implications. The creative role of the author remains a significant factor in any case: Herodotus himself decides not only on incorporating the story, but also about its mode of narration and context—and whether to include, vary, or omit the traditional elements it may contain.

I could not investigate all the mythical and ritual parallels that I myself have found reading the Histories, much less all possible associations of the contemporary recipient. Also, it is always possible for a single tale to refer to different myths (as has been shown with the story of Demaratus, which alludes to stories around Helen of Sparta, her brothers Castor and Pollux, and Heracles; cf. Boedeker 1987). Therefore, this survey on mythical structures in Herodotus is all but complete, or, on a positive note: there still remains a lot to be discovered.

Herodotus not only uses traditional structures passed on to him by obscure oral tradition. Naturally, he also encounters written versions, especially in Attic tragedy and the Homeric epics. In the full German version of this chapter, I have come to the conclusion that it does not make a categorical difference whether Herodotus deals with a fixed, written myth or an obscure oral tradition. Every myth has two levels of identity. On the one hand, it will always be a generally traditional narrative with an identity independent of any artistic treatment. On the other hand, it may be so irrevocably marked by a certain adaption that it cannot be separated from the genre Herodotus and his audience associate with it.

On the second level, mythical content might according to its treatment by Homer or tragedy be associated with a certain context, to say nothing of ‘epic atmosphere’ or ‘tragic philosophy’. It will therefore carry a greater complexity and more detail than the orally transmitted version—which Herodotus can work on additionally, as is the case in the echoes of the Homeric scene of Achilleus and Scamander (chapter II.2.2), or in the conscious and purposeful mixing of genres that we find in the story of Rhampsinitus (V.5).

Still, the first level of myth seems more elementary: basically, allusions always work in the same way, if the reference is made to another text or to an obscure oral tradition. The technique of allusion is common practice even in oral traditions: Homer, too, marks his characters by genealogy or by a striking story. Mythical discourses are part of Greek literature from the very beginning. On this first level of myth, the characters and patterns are of importance, not the specifics of genre. Consequently, it must be legitimate to investigate Herodotus’ integration of traditional parallels even independently from their existing treatments—always considering the additional importance of details used by Homer or a tragedian.