The idea of divine retribution is a current that runs consistently through the pages of Herodotus.  Evil deeds, wicked actions, or the manifestation of hubris, will eventually be repaid; and the payment is usually devastating. 

It is perhaps a lesson that we have forgotten.  The idea is seen by many, in our supposedly enlightened and sophisticated age, as a quaint relic of the remote past:  this idea that that divine forces are watching what we do and weighing our actions in the balance.  Some find the suggestion risible.  But those who have seen something of life know that there is much truth to be found in old Herodotus’s position.  Of course some men escape the net of Fate.  But many—perhaps most—do not. 

Consider Herodotus’s relation of the fate of the Lydian king Croesus.  Here the retribution is generational in origin:  in other words, Croesus is punished not really for something he himself did, but for the misdeed of his ancestor Gyges. Gyges’s crime was murdering his master and seizing the Lydian throne, to which he had no legitimate claim (I.8—13).  And then five generations pass:  five generations, and the guilt of Gyges has still not been expiated.  Along comes Gyges’s descendant Croesus, full of confidence and hubris.  Yet no man can escape his fate, and the blood drawn by Croesus’s ancestor must be atoned for—even if Croesus is not necessarily a bad man himself.  In I.91, the Delphic oracle links Croesus’s ruin to the heinous crime that took place five generations before him. 

Another Herodotean example of divine retribution is found in his somewhat curious account of the abduction of Helen of Troy.  Most legends of the Trojan War suggest that Helen, after her abduction by Paris, resided in Troy.  Herodotus thinks otherwise (II.112-126).  According to the testimony of Egyptian priests, whom our historian spoke to himself through interpreters, Helen actually was in Egypt while war raged on the Troad.  When the outraged Greeks (Argives) landed at the Hellespont and asked for the return of Helen, the Trojans assured them she was in Egypt.  The Greeks thought they were lying, and a war began that ended with the destruction of Troy.  Herodotus saw this as divine punishment for the act of abducting Helen.  He says, in A.D. Godley’s translation of the Histories:

But since they did not have Helen there to give back, and since the Greeks would not believe them although they spoke the truth—I am convinced and declare—the divine powers provided that the Trojans, perishing in utter destruction, should make this clear to all mankind: that retribution from the gods for terrible wrongdoing is also terrible. This is what I think, and I state it.  [II.120]

And there we have it.  There is no escape for wrongdoing.  There is always a price to be paid.  We cannot know when the invoice will become due—but it will arrive.  Another one of my favorite examples of Herodotus’s pious preoccupation with divine judgment is found in his description of the fate of the Egyptian king Pheron, the successor of Sesostris (II.112).  One year, the Nile’s annual flooding greatly exceeded his expectations.  Angered by this event, Pheron threw a spear into the rising waters.  While this might seem a harmless act of frustration today, it was not so to the ancient Greeks.  Rivers were sacred, especially the Nile.  Rivers were the givers of life.  To act so disrespectfully was a insult to the gods.  And the insult had to be avenged.  In Pheron’s case, the punishment was mitigated to suit the offense:  he was stricken with blindness.  The blindness lasted for ten long years. 

It is difficult to read such stories and believe they are nothing more than childish fables.  They are not.  They are, in fact, repositories of the profoundest wisdom.  These kinds of lessons are not popular in our era, of course.  We are told from birth that we can do anything.  We are told that our technology, our innovation, our power, our strength, our “vision” (whatever that may mean), can and should overcome all obstacles.  Nothing is sacred.  Everything is fair game:  we can tamper with what we wish, and no price will ever be paid.  But I think Herodotus would beg to differ.  And in our own time there are some leaders and public figures who will discover that, although their evil and iniquity may have escaped punishment for many years, the sands of the hourglass will eventually run out on them as well.