Our group made a quick morning breakfast yesterday at Hotel Arcadia, boarded our small tour bus, and bid farewell to Istanbul. We traveled west through Constantine’s ruined walls, making our way toward the far end of the sea of Marmaris where the ferry runs the short route to the Asia side of Turkey at Gallipoli. At Gallipoli we stopped for a light lunch before boarding the ferry.
Although we had two primary destinations on the itinerary–Troy and Assos–traveling near the tombs of the fallen Turk, Aussie, and New Zealander soldiers constituted a noteworthy experience in its own right. The strategic importance of the Dardanelles Straight is unmistakable. Here, where access to the Sea of Marmaris (and the Black Sea beyond) narrows so dramatically, it’s easy to grasp why military strategists would emphasize control of the passage. What’s hard is to conceive that the lives of a half-a-million people were lost in less than a year’s time in the bloody battle that Turk and Aussie waged here nearly a century ago. Cenk says that the grandchildren and great-grandchildren of those far-from-home soldiers from down under flock to the site every year on a designated memorial day and perennially ask the same question: “Why were they here?”
My expectations about the archaeological site of ancient Troy were low. Consequently, to say that I found my expectations exceeded might indicate faint praise. I don’t entirely deny it, yet I want to give Troy’s remains their due honor.
The sights offered by the ruins of Troy really do deserve praise, and great imaginative possibilities open up merely by way of being in that place, standing above the “dusty plains” below, and gazing towards the wine-dark sea over which the thousands of Greeks once sailed. Yet those once dusty plains are now dotted with trees and their fertile fields are under cultivation. Even more strikingly, the sea is a few kilometers distant. We saw a map of Troy’s location at the southern point of the old harbor before it silted up. That a vast natural harbor once rendered the city perfectly located at the beginning of the straights is hard to believe. So it was.
Portions of the excavated site were incredibly interesting. Seeing the walls of Troy VI, Priam’s walls, was incredible. Standing high atop those walls and looking over to the sea brought a rush of recollections about the Iliad and the Aeneid to mind. I also found it fascinating to read again about Schliemann’s excavations, look at pictures of his wife wearing loot taken from Priam’s treasury, and see the “trench” dug under his direction through a vast middle section of the site. I’m flummoxed about whether to love him or hate him. To hear Cenk tell the story, Schliemann is little better than a treasure hunter. It’s Frank Calvert, in his estimation, that deserves credit for finding the site. But on the other hand Schliemann was highly educated, and his autodidactic propensities enabled him to learn at an incredible pace and level of sophistication at a relatively late stage of life. I’m persuaded that his fondness for Homer’s epics was not predicated upon self-aggrandizing instincts alone, even if his excavations brought him additional wealth. As one of our students pointed out, Schliemann stands near the beginning of the scientific practice of archaeology, and the charitable interpretation is that he didn’t appreciate the degree of damage to the site caused by his investigations, coupled with over exuberance at his magnificent discoveries.
For all that one can see and imagine walking in the ruins of Ilium, there isn’t in truth a great deal to see. Exercising the powers of the imagination is more a necessity here than in many other better preserved archaeological sites.
Assos, the great center of philosophical study across from the isle of Lesbos, was an inspiring place to visit. Up the rough cobblestone street, twisting steeply round the mountainside, we made our ascent to the abode of the patron goddess, or at least her idol. The beautifully positioned temple for Athena that sits astride the small acropolis has a handful of reconstructed columns, giving it a haunting, empty quality. What a place for the likeness of a goddess to stand sentinel, watching over the small city of Hermias and casting watchful looks over the sea spreading far away!
To this small seaside city, Aristotle came in 347 or 348, following his dispiriting experience of being passed over as head of Plato’s Academy in Athens. Hermias, the ruler of Assos, was a devoted Platonist, and here with him and other philosophers Aristotle found fit company to continue his efforts to love wisdom well. He married Pythias, Hermias’ adopted daughter, and by some accounts Aristotle began–or at least contributed to–the founding of a new school of philosophy. In only a few years’ time, Hermias lost his life to the Persians through the machinations of Memnon of Rhodes, and when Assos fell into the control of the Persians in 345, Aristotle once more took up his peripatetic, wandering ways. The first years of the the decade of the 340s were difficult ones for Aristotle.
Scott Moore, Ann Schulz, and I relished the opportunity here in Assos to reflect with the students about Aristotle, the importance of philosophy beyond famed Athens, and the extent to which for the ancients the love of wisdom was bound up together with a morally and spiritually significant way of life. My classical philosophy students have read Pierre Hadot’s What is Ancient Philosophy? and I was happy to see them discern more nearly how Aristotle was engaged in something more existentially significant than “armchair philosophy” or “classroom instruction.” Understanding how to educate the young, organize civic life, conduct one’s affairs admirably and piously, and prepare well for death–matters such as these occupied a significant proportion of the time of the philosophical “school” of Assos. Questions about ousia, ta onta, and the archē, as well as distinctions between epistēmē and nous, must have occupied their attention, but I accept Hadot’s claims that philosophical dialogue for them exemplified a discipline, a practice, an askēsis or spiritual exercise, that helped them make progress toward a shared vision of the good human life.
According to Cenk, Assos holds an annual festival of philosophy. The participants gather in the renovated theatre where they make speeches and honor the legacy bequeathed to the city by the likes of Hermias and Aristotle. My guess, unaccompanied by any direct knowledge, is that the philosophy in evidence at the festival is rather unlike the longing for wisdom once practiced in Assos, namely as an all-encompassing way of life, when Aristotle lived three years of his life next to the sea, found refuge under the protection of the goddess of wisdom familiar from his years in Athens, and tried to order his affairs in accordance with logos.
Our day ended in the tranquil setting of a comfortable seaside hotel, the Assos Dove Hotel. In the pleasant traveling company of our Baylor group, we had a fine dinner on the terrace and watched the setting sun go down behind the acropolis, intensifying the silhouette of the Athenian temple columns. We breathed in deeply the salty sea air and listened to the calming waves lapping the sandy shores beneath us. And there as well, embracing the philosophically significant legacy of Assos, I gathered round the table with my classical philosophy students and tried with them to make good sense of the Presocratic figures we’ve been studying these past few days. Not a bad way to practice the love of wisdom!
