1994:144) but also in the attitudes that they express and presuppose in almost any
number of other areas.
A crucial point here is not to see these texts as static, presenting us with a mere list
of propositions about the gods or their intervention in human life, but instead to
recognize the interrelationship between different propositions, and thus to examine
how such propositions were sustainable in the light of experience. This is an approach
which can be traced back in modern anthropological literature through Godfrey
Lienhardt and Edward Evans-Pritchard as far back as E.B. Tylor (Evans-Pritchard
1937, 1956; Lienhardt 1961; cf. Skorupski 1976:4–5), but which can also be
found implicit in earlier classical scholarship (Dodds 1951:33; Dover 1974:133–44,
156–7, 241–2, 246–8, 1972:33; Lloyd-Jones 1971:3, 134): that propositions
concerning divine intervention require the prior existence of ‘‘blocks to falsifiability,’’
or ‘‘let-out clauses,’’ in order to be sustained. It is best explained by way of analogy to
a different context. If one feels an unshakable belief in, say, the honesty and public-
spiritedness of politicians, evidence to the contrary (the disclosure, for example, that
a prime minister or minister gave favors in exchange for gifts or loans) will need
to be explained away: for example, by saying that this individual is an unrepresentative
‘‘bad apple,’’ that the problem is only one of unfortunate perception (fueled
by the disreputable press), or – especially if one’s concern is for the honesty of
politicians of only one party – that it is a fault with the system, one which applies
to all parties equally. (One need not suppose that the individual who holds to this
belief, regardless of apparently contrary evidence, is disingenuous in their original
commitment.)
To take now an extended ancient example, a number of authors reveal the
assumption that certain actions will inevitably provoke divine retribution. This is
made clear: through repeated proverbial remarks, for example Theognis’ warning to
Polypaides on the dangers of deceiving a guest or suppliant (‘‘No mortal... has yet
escaped the notice of the immortals,’’ 143–4; cf. Theognis 197–208, Solon fr. 13
West); through extended moral tales (the Herodotean story of Glaucus, 6.86; cf.
Herodotus 4.205, Lysias 6.1–2, Andocides 1.29–30, Lycurgus,Leocrates95–7); and
through passing assumptions (cf. Herodotus 1.159.4, 2.139.2 with Harrison
2000:103–4). These actions can often be described as acts of sacrilege (so, for
example, perjury, the failure to respect suppliants, or the killing of envoys) but by
no means always: a number of ‘‘injustices’’ (unprovoked violence, for example) also
attract retribution, as well apparently as a man’s intentions or broader disposition
(Herodotus 6.86, Solon fr. 13 West, Theognis 897–900). At the same time, reversals
in fortune are frequently interpreted as due to an earlier misdemeanor. In some cases,
where an individual is held to have committed numerous acts of sacrilege or injustice,
an ancient author might concede a lack of certainty in attributing a comeuppance to a
particular crime (Lycurgus,Leocrates91); in other cases, where for example the very
same men responsible for sacrilege are singled out for punishment or where there is a
degree of appropriateness in the timing or nature of the punishment, there is no
doubt (e.g., the Potidaea floodtide, Herodotus 8.129).
Clearly, however, the assumption that all unjust acts will be punished by direct
divine intervention would be a difficult, if not actually impossible, one to sustain. But
this assumption or belief can be reconciled with experience by means of a number of
‘‘let-out clauses’’:
376 Thomas Harrison