LUCIAN’S PRINCIPLES OF HISTORICAL COMPOSITION IN LIGHT OF ANCIENT RHETORICAL THEORY

Abstract

This article explores Lucian’s treatise, How to Write History, in the context of ancient rhetorical and literary theory. While situated within the domain of historiography, the treatise prioritizes issues related to literary composition, such as the linguistic register and content selection deemed fitting for the historical genre. Through comparisons with critics and theoreticians like Aristotle and Demetrius, this study re-evaluates Lucian’s instructions for preface writing and other stylistic guidelines throughout the work. The conclusions highlight Lucian’s innovative approach to historical composition, influenced by rhetorical and literary theory yet reshaped to fit his vision of history and its purpose. Additionally, the examination reveals Lucian’s strategic use of rhetorical and literary theory in critiquing not only writing style but also issues intrinsic to history.

This article has a dual purpose. First, it aims to demonstrate how rhetorical theory influences and shapes Lucian’s conceptual framework in How to Write History (πῶς δϵῖ ἱστορίαν συγγράφϵιν/Quomodo historia conscribenda sit; henceforth HC). Second, it seeks to highlight how Lucian goes beyond and modifies these rhetorical principles to align with his unique vision of history. This point will be illustrated through two distinct analyses. The first part will scrutinize Lucian’s instructions for writing a preface in light of parallel passages in Aristotle’s Rhetoric. In the latter part, I will delve into further stylistic guidelines by exploring the meaning and evolution of the term ‘frigidity’ (ψυχρότης or τὸ ψυχρόν) in Lucian and in ancient literary theory. ¹

The nature of ancient Greek historiography remains a subject of debate among Classical scholars. In recent decades, this discourse has shifted toward examining the relationship between historiography, rhetoric and literature. Following the influential work of A.J. Woodman, a prevailing viewpoint contends that ancient historiography was inherently more rhetorical than conventionally assumed. ² In this context, HC emerges as a rare gem, one of few surviving theoretical discussions of historiography from antiquity. Moreover, it constitutes a unique endeavour to define history as a genre. Through comparisons to other genre and criticism of contemporary historians, Lucian prescribes what linguistic register, content selection and authorial skills befit the historical project. HC thus emerges as an invaluable source for understanding the nature of ancient historiography.

HC has not been directly contextualized within the framework of rhetorical theory. Previous studies have primarily focussed on comparisons with texts associated with the Greek historiographic tradition. These comparisons have typically involved examining the remarks and practices of historians such as Thucydides or Polybius, as well as other theoretical discussions on history, such as those by Dionysius of Halicarnassus. ³ Scholars have analysed rhetorical strategies employed in HC, but their studies did not examine how it corresponds with ancient rhetorical theory. ⁴ Free has underscored the treatise’s connection to paideia in the Second Sophistic, yet he appears to have underestimated the role of rhetorical theory in HC. ⁵

HC is primarily a work of literary criticism, as its title suggests. The focus on literary composition (συγγράφϵιν) takes precedence over a direct engagement with historiographic methodology. Throughout HC, Lucian consistently emphasizes his principles of history: impartiality, commitment to truth and usefulness to posterity. However, these principles are not followed by a methodological discussion on how to uncover the truth. While Lucian acknowledges the necessity of investigation (HC 47), he never delves into the specifics of interrogating eyewitnesses or studying public records. Instead, the historian’s primary task, outlined in HC 50–1, is not to discover the truth but to precisely, accurately and vividly represent it.

As the historian’s task fundamentally revolves around description, a comparison with rhetoric and literary theory becomes indispensable. As I discuss below, this comparison enhances our comprehension of HC in two significant ways. Initially, it elucidates some of Lucian’s ambiguous instructions in sections 52–3 and his reliance on Herodotus and Xenophon as authorities for his preface model. Furthermore, the comparison highlights the differences between history and oratory in Lucian’s perspective. While both are considered pursuits of the πϵπαιδϵυμένος, they inherently adhere to distinct rules and serve different purposes.

HOW TO WRITE A PREFACE: SECTIONS 23, 52–4

The topic of prefaces is addressed multiple times in HC, with particular emphasis in two passages (23, 52–4). These sections respectively criticize the contemporary histories of the Parthian wars and outline the principles of a good historical composition. In section 23, Lucian disapproves of his contemporary’s tendency to exaggerate the preface:

καὶ μὴν καὶ ἄλλους ἴδοις ἂν τὰ μὲν προοίμια λαμπρὰ καὶ τραγικὰ καὶ ϵἰς ὑπϵρβολὴν μακρὰ συγγράφοντας, ὡς ἐλπίσαι θαυμαστὰ ἡλίκα τὰ μϵτὰ ταῦτα πάντως ἀκούσϵσθαι, τὸ σῶμα δὲ αὐτὸ τὸ τῆς ἱστορίας μικρόν τι καὶ ἀγϵννὲς ἐπαγαγόντας, ὡς καὶ τοῦτο ἐοικέναι παιδίῳ, ϵἴ που Ἔρωτα ϵἶδϵς παίζοντα, προσωπϵῖον Ἡρακλέους πάμμϵγα ἢ Τιτᾶνος πϵρικϵίμϵνον· ϵὐθὺς γοῦν οἱ ἀκούσαντϵς ἐπιφθέγγονται αὐτοῖς τό “Ὤδινϵν ὄρος”. χρὴ δὲ οἶμαι μὴ οὕτως, ἀλλ᾽ ὅμοια τὰ πάντα καὶ ὁμόχροα ϵἶναι καὶ συνᾷδον τῇ κϵφαλῇ τὸ ἄλλο σῶμα.

You may also encounter others who compose splendid, pompous and excessively long prefaces. These prefaces raise expectations that what follows will be equally marvellous. However, in reality, the body of the history they provide is small and devoid of nobility—so childish, akin to witnessing an Eros playing while wearing a giant mask of Heracles or a Titan. The audience’s immediate response to this would be ‘The mountain in labour’. I believe it should not be so; all parts should be consistent and harmonious, with the head aligning with the rest of the body.

At first glance, this passage advocates a cohesive writing style, asserting that the preface should not overshadow the subsequent narrative through excessive length or style. However, Lucian’s main critique seems to be directed at the creation of false expectations, as indicated by the mention of ‘The mountain in labour’ fable. He accuses historians of overdramatizing a subject that is not that significant. Later (HC 55) he repeats this idea, stating that grander historical events merit more extensive prefaces. Therefore, if a historian recognizes that his subject matter lacks substantial significance, Lucian advises the inclusion of a modest preface as a means of appropriately introducing it to the reader.

This approach assumes an objective method for determining the significance of historical events, a notion Lucian hints at when he mentions the criterion of usefulness to posterity (HC 9). Scholars often argue, drawing on Lucian’s own statements and allegories (especially 50–1), that the historian’s role is essentially mimetic. The historian depicts an external reality with an inherent lesson, which is independent of their personal opinions. His task is, in essence, not to distort what already exists, for genuine learning from history occurs only when possessing a reliable record of past events (42). ⁶

Should we, therefore, understand Lucian’s critique according to the same principle? Does Lucian suggest that a good preface should provide a representative preview of the history’s content, and should be written in a style that authentically captures the events in their truest form? While I generally agree with this conclusion, certain complications cast doubt on the assumption that the preface is primarily meant as a preview to the rest of the work. These will become evident as we proceed to analyse the next sections. The first challenge emerges as Lucian takes a somewhat ambiguous stance on what constitutes a preface and when it is deemed necessary:

ἴδοις γὰρ ἂν ἀφθόνους τοιούτους συγγραφέας, τοῦ Ῥοδίου κολοσσοῦ τὴν κϵφαλὴν νανώδϵι σώματι ἐπιτιθέντας· ἄλλους αὖ ἔμπαλιν ἀκέφαλα τὰ σώματα ϵἰσάγοντας, ἀπροοιμίαστα καὶ ϵὐθὺς ἐπὶ τῶν πραγμάτων, οἳ καὶ προσϵταιρίζονται τὸν Ξϵνοφῶντα οὕτως ἀρξάμϵνον· “Δαρϵίου καὶ Παρυσάτιδος παῖδϵς γίγνονται δύο”, καὶ ἄλλους τῶν παλαιῶν, οὐκ ϵἰδότϵς ὡς δυνάμϵι τινὰ προοίμιά ἐστι λϵληθότα τοὺς πολλούς, ὡς ἐν ἄλλοις δϵίξομϵν. (HC 23)

Many authors can be found who place the head of the Colossus of Rhodes on a dwarf’s body. Others, on the contrary, introduce headless bodies with no introduction, diving straight into the narrative. These individuals invoke Xenophon, who begins with ‘Darius and Parysatis had two sons’, as well as other ancient authors. They fail to realize that some prefaces, being virtual, escape the attention of most people, as we shall demonstrate elsewhere.

While Lucian dismisses the option of entirely omitting an introductory segment, he still proposes that the author may employ a προοίμιον δυνάμϵι (translated here as ‘virtual preface’ following Kilburn [1959]), a term that Lucian does not explain but, judging from the reference to Xenophon’s Anabasis, refers to what we call an exposition in modern terms—a narrative-like opening that describes the events leading to the main narrative. Lucian vaguely explains this point later in section 52:

πάντων δὲ ἤδη παρϵσκϵυασμένων, καὶ ἀπροοιμίαστον μέν ποτϵ ποιήσϵται τὴν ἀρχήν, ὁπόταν μὴ πάνυ κατϵπϵίγῃ τὸ πρᾶγμα προδιοικήσασθαί τι ἐν τῷ προοιμίῳ· δυνάμϵι δὲ καὶ τότϵ φροιμίῳ χρήσϵται τῷ ἀποσαφοῦντι πϵρὶ τῶν λϵκτέων.

After preparing all the material, the historian may, at times, commence without a preface when the subject matter does not necessitate preliminary discussion. Nevertheless, even in such instances, he will employ a virtual preface to clarify the matters discussed in the work.

Lucian asserts that the προοίμιον δυνάμϵι replaces the standard προοίμιον when the subject does not require ‘preliminary regulation’ (προδιοικήσασθαι), and its purpose is ‘clarifying what is about to be told’ (ἀποσαφοῦντι πϵρὶ τῶν λϵκτέων). However, this formulation does not provide any practical criteria for determining when the preface can be omitted. As a result, we are left to speculate on our own about how Xenophon’s approach differs from that of historians who compose ‘headless bodies’.

If Lucian intended for the προοίμιον δυνάμϵι to offer the reader a clear understanding of the narrative’s direction, the exposition of the Anabasis appears counterproductive. Upon the first reading, one would scarcely realize that the central storyline in the Anabasis revolves around the journey of ten thousand soldiers returning home, rather than the march of a Persian prince against his brother. ⁷ The προοίμιον δυνάμϵι, therefore, must aim for something less comprehensive, probably the fluidity of the narrative, that is, to provide initial context for readers to follow the narrative with ease. However, this raises the question once again of why Lucian permits the omission of the preface in the first place, and how does it correspond with the model of the standard προοίμιον that is described in the subsequent section:

ὁπόταν δὲ καὶ φροιμιάζηται, ἀπὸ δυοῖν μόνον ἄρξϵται, οὐχ ὥσπϵρ οἱ ῥήτορϵς ἀπὸ τριῶν, ἀλλὰ τὸ τῆς ϵὐνοίας παρϵὶς προσοχὴν καὶ ϵὐμάθϵιαν ϵὐπορήσϵι τοῖς ἀκούουσι. προσέξουσι μὲν γὰρ αὐτῷ, ἢν δϵίξῃ ὡς πϵρὶ μϵγάλων ἢ ἀναγκαίων ἢ οἰκϵίων ἢ χρησίμων ἐρϵῖ· ϵὐμαθῆ δὲ καὶ σαφῆ τὰ ὕστϵρον ποιήσϵι, τὰς αἰτίας προϵκτιθέμϵνος καὶ πϵριορίζων τὰ κϵφάλαια τῶν γϵγϵνημένων. (HC 53)

When a preface is included, the historian will begin with two issues only, in contrast to the three addressed by orators. Skipping the part of personal goodwill, he will render the audience attentive and receptive. He will capture their attention by indicating that important, essential, relevant and useful matters are about to be discussed. Additionally, he will ensure clarity and ease of comprehension in the forthcoming narrative by outlining the scope of the main events and presenting their causes in advance.

Lucian contends that the preface should be structured into two fundamental components: a justification of the subject matter, emphasizing its importance, essentiality, relevance and usefulness; and a delineation of scope, surveying the events covered in the work along with their primary causes. The primary objective of the first part is to persuade readers that the historical account merits their attention, while the second aims to provide them with the necessary information for understanding and appreciation of the subject. Lucian then substantiates this framework by invoking the authority of Herodotus and Thucydides:

τοιούτοις προοιμίοις οἱ ἄριστοι τῶν συγγραφέων ἐχρήσαντο, Ἡρόδοτος μέν, ὡς μὴ τὰ γϵνόμϵνα ἐξίτηλα τῷ χρόνῳ γένηται, μϵγάλα καὶ θαυμαστὰ ὄντα, καὶ ταῦτα νίκας Ἑλληνικὰς δηλοῦντα καὶ ἥττας βαρβαρικάς· Θουκυδίδης δέ, μέγαν τϵ καὶ αὐτὸς ἐλπίσας ἔσϵσθαι καὶ ἀξιολογώτατον καὶ μϵίζω τῶν προγϵγϵνημένων ἐκϵῖνον τὸν πόλϵμον· καὶ γὰρ παθήματα ἐν αὐτῷ μϵγάλα ξυνέβη γϵνέσθαι. (HC 54)

These types of prefaces were employed by the best authors. Herodotus wrote his history to ensure that events would not fade from memory over time—events that were great and marvellous, explaining Greek victories and barbarian defeats. Similarly, Thucydides anticipated that the war of his time would be significant, remarkable and greater than any previous events, and indeed, these happenings turned out to be significant.

While in other sections of HC, Lucian commonly turns to Thucydides as the paragon of historical writing (HC 5, 42 and 57), in the discussion of prefaces he references Herodotus and Xenophon as well. ⁸ Although Lucian could have maintained the stance he articulated in HC 42, prioritizing Thucydides’ authority over Herodotus’, he opts for a portrayal of unity among the classical historians. However, like Xenophon, Herodotus is not easy to reconcile with Lucian’s instructions.

Herodotus’ preface (1.1.0) notably falls short of Lucian’s expectations, providing scant information about the content of the Histories. A reader unfamiliar with the work would gather only that it involves the deeds of Greeks and Barbarians and a war fought between them. The so-called ‘Persian Chronicles’ (1.1–5) that follow the preface may allude to the international nature of the Histories and the search for causality, but they do little to prepare the reader for the actual content of the work: the origin of dynasties, the rise of the Persian Empire, or the extensive geographic and ethnographic descriptions that constitute a significant portion of the Histories. ⁹

Additionally, Herodotus does not attempt to justify his choice of subject in the manner typical to later historians, at least not in the preface. He assumes the subject’s importance without explicit validation. The trend of affirming the greatness of the subject was initiated by Thucydides, challenging Herodotus’ assertion in Book 7 that Xerxes’ expedition was ‘the greatest of all expeditions known to us’ (Hdt. 7.20.2). At the very least, we can assert that Thucydides was the first to elevate this into a central theme in the preface. ¹⁰

Similarly, an outline of events is a characteristic of prefaces from later periods of Greek historiography. Consequently, the overall structure proposed by Lucian bears a closer resemblance to the practices of Hellenistic and early Imperial historians, particularly Polybius. ¹¹ In Book 1, Polybius’ preface encompasses both a discussion of the subject’s importance and utility (1.1–2), and an outline of the included events (1.3, 1.5). The preface in Book 3 expands on the outline (3.1–5) and then delves into the causes of the Second Punic War (3.6–12).

Likewise, Diodorus, Dionysius and Josephus address three primary issues in their prefaces, following a similar order: (a) emphasizing the importance of the subject and the utility of the work; (b) establishing their qualifications and circumstances that lend credibility to their authorship; and finally (c) providing a periodization and summary of the events and topics to be covered. Dionysius, in particular, notes at the beginning of his Roman Histories (1.1.1) that he feels obliged to address these issues in the preface, as it had become a convention. Therefore, with the exception of (b), Lucian adheres to a common template that has been employed in the preceding centuries.

Therefore, it is tempting to infer that Lucian is making a somewhat contrived effort to align Herodotus with his preface model, and that he introduces the concept of the προοίμιον δυνάμϵι to his theory solely to harmonize it with Xenophon’s Anabasis as an exemplar. ¹² However, in the following section I would like to propose an alternative interpretation based on two key observations: first, that the preface described in section 53 mirrors the structure of a speech preface, and second, that Lucian’s primary concern lies not in introducing the subject matter to the reader in informative sense, but rather in establishing authority through the construction of a trustworthy historian persona.

The rhetorical foundations of Lucian’s preface model

Lucian’s design of the preface becomes evident when considering the comparison between the historian and the orator in section 53, along with the technical terminology employed in the same section. Lucian structures the preface based on two out of the three elements of the captatio beneuolentiae: goodwill, attentiveness and receptiveness (ϵὔνοια, προσοχή and ϵὐμάθϵια). This shared terminology appears in Dionysius of Halicarnassus (Lys. 17) and in the following passage from Aristotle:

τὸ μὲν οὖν ἀναγκαιότατον ἔργον τοῦ προοιμίου καὶ ἴδιον τοῦτο, δηλῶσαι τί ἐστιν τὸ τέλος οὗ ἕνϵκα ὁ λόγος· διόπϵρ ἂν δῆλον ᾖ καὶ μικρὸν τὸ πρᾶγμα, οὐ χρηστέον προοιμίῳ. τὰ δὲ ἄλλα ϵἴδη οἷς χρῶνται, ἰατρϵύματα καὶ κοινά. λέγϵται δὲ ταῦτα ἔκ τϵ τοῦ λέγοντος καὶ τοῦ ἀκροατοῦ καὶ τοῦ πράγματος καὶ τοῦ ἐναντίου. πϵρὶ αὐτοῦ μὲν καὶ τοῦ ἀντιδίκου οἷά πϵρ διαβολὴν λῦσαι καὶ ποιῆσαι […]. τὰ δὲ πρὸς τὸν ἀκροατὴν ἔκ τϵ τοῦ ϵὔνουν ποιῆσαι καὶ ἐκ τοῦ ὀργίσαι, καὶ ἐνίοτϵ τὸ προσϵκτικὸν ἢ τοὐναντίον· οὐ γὰρ ἀϵὶ συμφέρϵι ποιϵῖν προσϵκτικόν, διὸ πολλοὶ ϵἰς γέλωτα πϵιρῶνται προάγϵιν. ϵἰς δὲ ϵὐμάθϵιαν ἅπαντα ἀνάξϵι, ἐάν τις βούληται, καὶ τὸ ἐπιϵικῆ φαίνϵσθαι· προσέχουσι γὰρ μᾶλλον τούτοις. προσϵκτικοὶ δὲ τοῖς μϵγάλοις, τοῖς ἰδίοις, τοῖς θαυμαστοῖς, τοῖς ἡδέσιν· διὸ δϵῖ ἐμποιϵῖν ὡς πϵρὶ τοιούτων ὁ λόγος· ἐὰν δὲ μὴ προσϵκτικούς, ὅτι μικρόν, ὅτι οὐδὲν πρὸς ἐκϵίνους, ὅτι λυπηρόν. (Arist. Rh. 3.14.6–7)

The preface’s essential task, and its distinctive feature, lies in elucidating the purpose of the speech. Consequently, if the subject matter is clear and small, a preface becomes unnecessary. All other forms [of prefacing] are remedies and are common [to all types of speeches]. These elements are customized based on the speaker, the audience, the subject and the adversary. Concerning the speaker and the adversary, they encompass all factors that either eliminate or foster bias […]. When it comes to the audience, the intention is to elicit favour or anger and sometimes to prompt attentiveness or inattentiveness, recognizing that it is not always beneficial to maintain the audience’s attention. This clarifies why many speakers aim to provoke laughter from the listeners. Any subject can generate receptiveness if desired, along with a respectable appearance, as individuals tend to pay more attention to those of good character. People are attentive to subjects that are significant, personally relevant, astonishing and pleasant. Therefore, one should create the impression that the speech revolves around such matters. Conversely, if the intention is to render the listeners inattentive, the impression should be that the subject matter is trivial, unrelated to the audience and bothersome.

Lucian’s instructions not only mirror Aristotle’s terminology but also share a similar perception of the preface’s purpose. Both concur that the preface’s essential function is elucidating the subject, while acknowledging that, at times, it may be omitted. However, Aristotle provides a clearer explanation for this discrepancy. The necessity of a preface depends on the audience and its prior knowledge of the subject. In the context of speeches, it often happens that the subject is so topical that the audience is already well-informed. Lucian seems to share a parallel perspective on historical events—some are so widely known that they require little or no introduction.

The rationale behind this approach also extends to the structure and components of the preface. It should include only those elements relevant to the assumed knowledge of the audience. With the exception of introducing the speech’s purpose, every piece of information in the preface functions as a ‘remedy’ (ἰάτρϵυμα)—a strategic move to counter existing prejudices or aversions. ¹³ The three elements collectively known as captatio beneuolentiae ¹⁴ —goodwill, attentiveness and receptiveness—are highlighted by Aristotle as the desired state of mind for the audience.

Goodwill (ϵὔνοια) is established by creating a positive self-image or, conversely, by undermining the image of adversaries. Attentiveness (προσοχή) is achieved by delving into subjects that pique the listeners’ interest or by presenting the subject in the most captivating manner conceivable. The last objective, receptiveness (ϵὐμάθϵια), is a concept less explored by Aristotle. This term implies a willingness to learn, which seems to be achieved by presenting the subject in an easily comprehensible manner. ¹⁵

Once again, given that these elements function as ‘remedies’, they become essential only in the presence of an ‘ailment’. The task of the speechwriter is to identify weak points to which the audience may react unfavourably or inattentively and prepare preventative strategies. This perspective aligns with Aristotle’s assertion in the subsequent section (Rh. 3.14.8):

δϵῖ δὲ μὴ λανθάνϵιν ὅτι πάντα ἔξω τοῦ λόγου τὰ τοιαῦτα· πρὸς φαῦλον γὰρ ἀκροατὴν καὶ τὰ ἔξω τοῦ πράγματος ἀκούοντα· ἐπϵὶ ἂν μὴ τοιοῦτος ᾖ, οὐθὲν δϵῖ προοιμίου, ἀλλ᾽ ἢ ὅσον τὸ πρᾶγμα ϵἰπϵῖν κϵφαλαιωδῶς, ἵνα ἔχῃ ὥσπϵρ σῶμα κϵφαλήν.

It should not escape our notice that all these kinds [of strategies] are outside the main argument and are directed toward an indifferent listener who hears of matters for which he has no concern. Were this not the case, there would be no need for a preface except to outline the issue broadly, so that, like a body, it may have a head.

Therefore, Aristotle contends that speeches universally benefit from commencing with a general overview of the subject matter. However, everything beyond that stems from the audience being φαῦλος (careless, indifferent or morally weak), ¹⁶ making them more susceptible to bias than to logical arguments.

Lucian’s conception of historical prefaces is similar. With the exception of the universal necessity for a work to have a ‘head’, every element within the preface functions as a ‘remedy’. Just as orators need not defend their reputation when nobody seeks to harm it, historians do not need to persuade what is already widely accepted. There is a possible clue to this notion in section 54. Lucian references the historians’ temporal context through their prefaces. Herodotus recounts deeds of men that were great and marvellous (μϵγάλα καὶ θαυμαστὰ ὄντα), ¹⁷ while Thucydides composed the Histories of the Peloponnesian War with the expectation that the conflict would be great and important (μέγαν τϵ καὶ αὐτὸς ἐλπίσας ἔσϵσθαι καὶ ἀξιολογώτατον…), yet only later did his assumptions prove correct. These statements imply that the two composed their histories under different circumstances. Herodotus wrote in time when the fame and significance of the Persian Wars were already widely acknowledged, while Thucydides, writing at the times of the events, had to substantiate his claims.

The exact circumstances in which Xenophon wrote the Anabasis were probably unknown to Lucian as they are to us, but considering how highly esteemed and widely imitated the Anabasis was in the Second Sophistic, Lucian might have assumed that the march of the ten thousand has always been a well-known event. ¹⁸ However, the more crucial factor is the ability to draw the reader into the narrative. By commencing with Cyrus’ background story, Xenophon constructs a narrative that is both easily followed and intriguing. In this way, he achieves the same effect as captatio beneuolentiae, even without an explicit preface. This appears to be much more important to Lucian than the adherence to a certain model.

Hence, the preface stands apart from the documentation process that comprises the rest of the historical account. Its objective is to persuade the audience to invest their time and to view the narrator as reliable. It is not expected to deliver comprehensive or precise information about the content of the work but rather to offer details that enhance the audience’s attention and receptiveness. Justification for the choice of subject and an outline of events are means through which the historian fosters trust with the audience, but they are not obligatory.

Taking these conclusions into consideration, our examination now turns to the distinctions between historical prefaces and speech prefaces. The comparison of HC 53 with Rhetoric 3.14.7 shows that Lucian deliberately deviates from the conventional model of speech prefaces in two manners. First, by eschewing the appeal to goodwill (ϵὔνοια), the historian creates the impression that the discussion pertains to matters unrelated to them personally. In forensic orations, the appeal to goodwill often seeks to portray the speaker as the victim (e.g. Lys. 1.1–3, 3.1; Dem. 59.1). In historiography, however, the author is not expected to participate in the events he describes. Contrariwise, revealing a personal connection to the subject would evoke suspicions of bias. ¹⁹ Therefore, the historian is expected to establish the audience’s trust solely through discussion of the subject itself.

Second, while Aristotle deems a topic appealing and attention-grabbing if it is important, personally relevant, astonishing and pleasant (τοῖς μϵγάλοις, τοῖς ἰδίοις, τοῖς θαυμαστοῖς, τοῖς ἡδέσιν), Lucian substitutes astonishing and pleasant with essential and useful (ἀναγκαίων ἢ χρησίμων). For Lucian, the purpose of history is not the audience’s pleasure but solely what is useful to posterity (HC 9). He, therefore, advises to create the profile of a trustworthy historian by demonstrating adherence to the principles of history.

Similarly, the need for the preface to mirror the historical significance of the subject matter aims at demonstrating that the historian acknowledges the merit of the subject and does not write with the aim of magnifying. As I discuss below, the connection between the quality of the subject and its appropriate stylistic presentation also has roots in rhetorical theory. None the less, Lucian displays originality in combining this tradition with his own vision of the historian as a man of truth (HC 40). ²⁰

THE CONCEPT OF FRIGIDITY BETWEEN RHETORIC AND HISTORY

The influence of rhetorical and literary theory on HC can also be demonstrated through exploration of the term ‘frigidity’ (ψυχρότης or τὸ ψυχρόν), which typically denotes an expression that is excessively adorned and overstyled. ²¹ The connection between this concept and coldness is not immediately apparent. In Old Comedy, ψυχρός often refers to something dull and unexciting, particularly to poor jokes that fail to amuse. ²² While the sense of extravagant diction may have developed later from its use in Old Comedy, the link is not straightforward.

Both von Möllendorff and Free have observed that Lucian employs the term in a broad range of meanings, referring to several different literary faults. ²³ However, neither scholar has delved into the background and the evolution of the term, providing an opportunity for us to explore what Lucian drew from rhetorical theory and how he expanded on the concept.

Aristotle (Rh. 3.3.1–4) demonstrates frigidity through practical examples, asserting that the use of compounds, obsolete words, epithets and metaphors can result in frigidity. While these elements are deemed suitable in poetry, they are discouraged in prose as they compromise clarity rather than enhancing it. Theophrastus defines frigidity as ‘that which transcends the expression appropriate to the thought’ (ψυχρόν ἐστι τὸ ὑπϵρβάλλον τὴν οἰκϵίαν ἀπαγγϵλίαν, Demetr. Eloc. 114; Roberts’s translation). Although the original context of this statement is lost, it clearly implies something more general than merely incorporating poetic elements into prose. The formulation suggests that language has a habitual way of expressing an idea, and deviating from it results in artificial utterances.

Demetrius, the author of De elocutione, ²⁴ interprets Theophrastus’ definition as pertaining to the presentation of a trivial matter using overly lofty expressions—as when describing everyday objects like housewares with flowery language (Eloc. 114). The underlying principle is that style should be fitting—restrained for modest subjects and elevated for significant ones (120). Demetrius illustrates this by commending Xenophon’s concise depiction of the river Teleboas: ‘This was not a large river; a beautiful one though’ (οὗτος δὲ ποταμὸς ἦν μέγας μὲν οὔ, καλὸς δέ). ²⁵ The essence lies in the brevity and precision of the expression, mirroring the object itself and thereby evoking vividness. Any attempt to describe the river in a more elevated language would be deemed frigid (Eloc. 121).

Another form of frigidity stems from making hyperbolic statements (Eloc. 115, 124–7). As an illustration, Demetrius quotes a line by an unknown writer describing the Cyclops hurling the boulder at Odysseus: ‘The rock was carried [through the air] with goats still grazing on it’ (φϵρομένου τοῦ λίθου αἶγϵς ἐνέμοντο ἐν αὐτῷ, Eloc. 115). This type of absurdity is markedly different from the previous one, as the statement is not excessively adorned but rather far-fetched and implausible. None the less, there is a common thread connecting these issues. Demetrius unequivocally links good style with realism, while something labelled as ‘frigid’ is unrealistic and absurd. Frigidity occurs when one attempts to magnify beyond reality, in a sense deceiving the audience by attributing nobility to something undeserving. For this reason, Demetrius likens the perpetrator of frigidity to an impostor (ἀλαζών), who falsely boasts of qualities he does not possess (119).

Ps.-Longinus and Hermogenes of Tarsus offer additional examples of statements that could be deemed frigid. In essence, both share a viewpoint similar to Demetrius, contending that frigidity results from an attempt to achieve an elevated style. However, some of their examples extend beyond the scope of our previous discussion.

In De sublimitate (4.1–3), Ps.-Longinus presents two instances of Timaeus’ frigidity. In the first, Timaeus praises Alexander for conquering Asia in less time than it took Isocrates to compose his panegyric for the war against the Persians. In the second, he asserts that Hermes successfully took retribution against the Athenians for vandalizing the hermai because their defeat in Sicily came from the hand of Hermocrates, son of Hermon.

Notably, these examples diverge from extravagant diction or hyperboles. Instead, the flaw in both statements lies in their logic. Comparing the achievements of a conqueror to those of an orator serves no purpose, and the reasoning in the second example is simply ludicrous. The common thread with the previous examples is that one undermines in the pursuit of enhancement. Timaeus, in seeking to magnify the deeds of Alexander and the misfortune of the Athenians in Sicily, inadvertently veered into a realm of absurdity.

Hermogenes introduces two more potential causes of frigidity. The first involves the use of wordplay for subtlety, such as employing words in an unorthodox manner or using words with similar sounds (Id. 2.5.341–2). Hermogenes cautions that this may come across as comic rather than subtle. The second case pertains to the use of vehement or solemn words to create a forceful impression. Such expression may sound frigid when delivering an unwarranted or unnecessary reproach (Id. 2.9.377).

Let us now proceed to compare this intellectual groundwork with HC. Certain points of similarity become apparent even when Lucian does not explicitly employ the words ψυχρός or ψυχρότης. Similar to Aristotle, Lucian advises against the use of poetic, archaic or obscure expressions, a sentiment echoed not only in HC (14, 22 and 44) but also in other works (e.g. Demon. 26, Rh. Pr. 17 and Lex., passim). In Lex. 23–4, Lucian rejects these forms of expression for the same reason Aristotle does—they compromise the clarity of the message. However, it should be noted that other literary critics express similar viewpoints without referring to the term ‘frigidity’. For example, lucidity and ordinary language are identified as virtues of the Attic orators (Dion. Hal. Lys. 4; Isoc. 2; Dem. 4).

Even more noteworthy is the resemblance between Lucian’s and Demetrius’ perspectives concerning the portrayal of humble and significant matters. Despite his disapproval of blending poetry and prose, in HC 45 Lucian concedes that an elevated style with poetic touch can be useful in situations that constitutes the pinnacle of the narrative, such as battle descriptions. Yet, the choice of diction must elevate in harmony with the beauty and magnitude of the subject described, mirroring them as closely as possible (ἡ λέξις […] τῷ μὲν κάλλϵι καὶ τῷ μϵγέθϵι τῶν λϵγομένων συνϵπαιρομένη καὶ ὡς ἔνι μάλιστα ὁμοιουμένη). The greatest risk lies in succumbing to overexcitement and veering into poetic intoxication (κινδύνων γὰρ αὐτῇ τότϵ ὁ μέγιστος παρακινῆσαι καὶ κατϵνϵχθῆναι ἐς τὸν τῆς ποιητικῆς κορύβαντα).

The correlation between subject matter and its appropriate preface can also be seen as an extension of Demetrius’ principle. While Demetrius concentrates on how objects are portrayed and described, Lucian broadens the principle to encompass the relationship between the overall theme and the stylistic character of substantial text units. In critiquing historians for crafting excessively bombastic prefaces, Lucian himself employs hyperbolic imagery to underscore the laughable and absurd nature of these prefaces, such as ‘an Eros playing while wearing a giant mask of Heracles’ and ‘the head of the Colossus of Rhodes on a dwarf’s body’ (HC 23, quoted above).

Like Ps.-Longinus, Lucian humorously points out historians’ lapses in common sense, such as an unnamed historian who likened a Roman general to Achilles and a Persian king to Thersites, failing to recognize that generals deserve acclaim for bravery rather than physical attractiveness (HC 14; likewise 16, 17).

Some of Lucian’s remarks echo the discussions in Hermogenes. When discussing the power of expression (ἑρμηνϵίας ἰσχύς), Lucian cautions against employing vehement style and other rhetorical figures that may seem overly forceful, especially at the beginning of a work (HC 43). There is also a possible criticism of frigid wordplay in HC 32, when Lucian pokes fun at the titles given to histories of the Parthian war. Some are criticized for being too banal, while one, in particular, is said to sound amusing when spoken aloud: Δημητρίου Σαγαλασσέως Παρθονικικά (Demetrius Sagalasseus’ Parthivictories).

Therefore, there is an impressive amount of overlap between the stylistic prescriptions in HC and the discussions of the term frigidity in literary and rhetorical theory. Obsession with style and drama appears to be a recurring motif through HC, and this motif plays a pivotal role in the rhetorical strategy of HC. Lucian seldom attributes a single fault to his victims; instead, he portrays a picture in which lack of rhetorical skills parallels unrealistic and absurd historical accounts (e.g. HC 15, 21 and 25–6), implying that the two are inherently linked.

The instances where Lucian explicitly uses the term ‘frigidity’ in HC, although limited to three, are particularly intriguing. While sharing commonalities with earlier examples, they also reveal innovation in the term’s usage.

In the first occurrence (HC 16) Lucian directs his critique at a man named Callimorphus, a doctor turned historian who wrote a history in the form of a poorly styled travel log. Lucian, however, pays scant attention to this particular issue, as Callimorphus openly acknowledges his lack of literary skill and presents his work as a rudimentary prototype or raw material intended for someone else to refine. Instead, Lucian takes issue with Callimorphus for bestowing upon his history a grandiose title that far surpasses the value of his composition, and for mixing Ionic morphology within a poorly written koinê. But mostly, Lucian finds fault with his ‘ultra-frigid’ preface, in which Callimorphus argues that a doctor is qualified to write history because Asclepius, the god of healing, is the son of Apollo, the leader of the Muses.

This amusing attempt to establish the author’s competence harks back to the notion of frigidity as a form of pretension—boasting of qualities one does not possess. Similarly, the grandiose title and the inclusion of Ionic morphology (probably to emphasize Callimorphus’ medical background) attempt to embellish what is, in essence, unworthy of embellishment. Lucian is willing to accept Callimorphus’ work as raw material, but refuses to elevate it beyond its intrinsic merit.

In the second instance (HC 19), Lucian ridicules a historian whose frigidity is described as being ‘beyond the Caspian snow and the Celtic ice’ (τοσαύτη ψυχρότης ἐνῆν ὑπὲρ τὴν Κασπίαν χιόνα καὶ τὸν κρύσταλλον τὸν Κϵλτικόν), as the historian becomes obsessive with ekphrasis. Lucian portrays this historian as so engrossed in detailing mountains, plains and rivers that he inflates the size of the work, even dedicating an entire book to describe the emperor’s shield. The criticism here is unique as it revolves around the irrelevance of the description and the excessive details that make it lengthy and tedious. In the subsequent section (HC 20), Lucian likens this to a person who cannot enjoy the main course because he overindulged in the appetizer. As in previous examples, the historian is filled with the desire to show off his eloquence, but this time the frigidity is manifested by his incapacity to distinguish the essential from the marginal.

In the third instance (HC 28), Lucian recounts a historian who allocates an immense portion of his work to a frigid story about a Moorish horseman named Mausacas. While wandering in the mountains, Mausacas encounters a Syrian family and joins them for a meal. The narrative is then interrupted by additional digressions concerning Mausacas’ previous travels. Similar to the prior case, this story is deemed frigid because of its insignificance and excessive length.

Hence Lucian’s concept of frigidity extends beyond the conventional idea of stylistic exaggeration. In contrast to his predecessors, who predominantly associate the term with diction (λέξις), types of expression (ἑρμηνϵία) or rhetorical figures, Lucian takes a more abstract viewpoint. While frigidity for Lucian remains connected to the desire to showcase eloquence, he accentuates the absurdity of the utterance more than its cause. None the less, as demonstrated in examples from Ps.-Longinus, this trend is not entirely exclusive to Lucian.

Furthermore, it becomes evident that beyond the context of HC, the application of the term is not confined to literary criticism. In a notable scene in the True Histories (2.20), Lucian discovers from the spirit of Homer that all alleged spurious verses in his works are indeed authentic. In response, he dismisses Zenodotus’ and Aristarchus’ deliberations as ψυχρολογία (‘hogwash’), not because he critiques their writing quality from a literary standpoint, but because their endless debates prove to be futile. Similarly, when Zeus informs Menippus that his long-unused altars are ‘colder than Plato’s Laws and Chrysippus’ Syllogisms’ (ψυχροτέρους ἄν μου τοὺς βωμοὺς ἴδοις τῶν Πλάτωνος νόμων ἢ τῶν Xρυσίππου συλλογισμῶν, Icar. 24), ²⁶ he implies that these are extensive and tedious treatises that do not truly justify the volume of scrolls they occupy. The context does not suggest an interest in the literary aspects of these texts but rather a general frustration with the prolixity of philosophical inquiry.

In other instances, the words ψυχρός and ψυχρολογία emerge in situations where someone is attempting to sound intelligent, but ends up being perceived as foolish, such as when Alexander of Abonoteichus offers a feeble excuse after his prophecy proves false (Alex. 48) or when Heracles endeavours to persuade Diogenes that he is, indeed, on Olympus, not in Hades (DMort. 16.5). Lucian also employs the term in reference to his childhood dream (Somn. 17)—as an expression of the audience’s dissatisfaction with a lengthy and irrelevant narrative.

However, in HC, Lucian’s critique distinctly concerns the literary aspects of the text, and the word ψυχρός can hardly be divorced from the numerous implicit references to frigidity throughout the treatise. Therefore, the most plausible explanation to the semantic extension of the term is that Lucian intentionally broadens the concept in order to discuss issues inherent to history from a rhetorical perspective. Lucian perceives history as a war monograph. For this reason, its primary focus should be on the progress of the campaign from the perspective of the military commanders (HC 49). Other elements typical of history, such as geography, speeches and anecdotes, are considered subsidiary and should be either limited or at least regulated (HC 56–8). When Lucian mocks the emphasis on marginal issues (HC 19 and 28), he is, in essence, advocating the same principle on an aesthetic basis. This lays the groundwork for the more formal articulation that follows later on.

CONCLUSIONS

Lucian wrote HC under considerable influence from rhetorical and literary theory. However, the treatise represents a substantial effort to reshape conventional models and terminology, adapting them to his unique perspective on the historical genre. According to Lucian, the preface functions as an opportunity for the author to captivate the audience and establish credibility as a trustworthy source for the account. While ancient historians actively pursued these objectives from the early days of Greek historiography, Lucian’s innovation lies in his ability to formulate a theoretical model for the historical preface, combining elements from the existing model of speech preface with conventional elements in the historiographic tradition.

A crucial distinction between a historical preface and a speech preface lies in the separation of the narrator from the narrative. The historian must assume the role of an external observer with no personal connection to the subject. Consequently, the means employed to persuade the audience must originate from the subject itself. Specifically, this involves demonstrating the significance and utility of the subject and outlining the events and their causes in an easily comprehensible manner. This is not an introduction in the modern sense, since the primary purpose is not to offer background information or to convey the gist of the upcoming narrative.

An examination of the term ‘frigidity’ reveals that many of Lucian’s critiques about style are prevalent in rhetoric and literary criticism at large. However, Lucian is not merely influenced; he also strategically employs this background to his advantage by juxtaposing examples of frigid writing with examples of untruthful or flattery writing. This creates the impression that poorly written history is also unreliable history.

Lucian also appropriates this terminology to address issues more intrinsic to the historical domain. In his view, history fundamentally embodies a war monograph, emphasizing the military campaign and reaching its stylistic pinnacle with a vivid depiction of battlefields. Consequently, historians who deviate from this central focus are labelled as ‘frigid’. By diverting attention to inconsequential and marginal issues, they parallel authors who embellish beyond the necessary and appropriate degree.