An Unexpected Payment

Hungering for an education, he sought out the most celebrated lyrical poets of his time.  Determined to learn their craft, he dissected their works, analyzed their rhythms, and absorbed the beauty of their language and underlying techniques. Through persistent study and practice, he refined his skills, mastering the twin arts of poetic composition and oration.

Patronage fuelled the arts in ancient Greece. Wealthy people invested in cultural productions as a strategy to increase their social standing, particularly by sponsoring poets. The elite would pay-to-persuade the verses of the lyrically gifted, turning them into weapons of influence. The fame of their sponsored poet would draw in large crowds, while the skill of their poet could weave their patrons' ambitions into compelling stories, swaying audiences toward a specific viewpoint while increasing the patron's prestige.

Yet, these lyrical poets weren't just mouthpieces. Their poems also expressed their own perspectives and were celebrations of the broader Greek culture and pantheon. This delicate balancing act between economic obligation and personal expression added a tension and richness to the artist's relationship with their society.

As a poet, Simonides of Ceos, had the unique ability to walk across the political borders that were impermeable to others. As his talents blossomed and as he expanded his collection of works, his fame and influence rose. Consequently so did his value to the patron class. He met and knew many of the wealthy and politically connected across the whole of Greece. With age, Simonides of Ceos would gravitate closer and closer to the heart of the Greek story, orbiting nearer and with greater velocity around its tragic centre.

But the life of a lyrical poet wasn't merely an adventure; it also involved practical concerns and a lot of hard work. Significant effort went into crafting long presentations that used internal rhyme and maintained rhythmic patterns. These features not only delighted audiences but also helped the poet remember the piece as a complete narration. There were no teleprompters, printing presses, pencils, pens or paper. The writing tools of the time were cumbersome and expensive, with wax tablets chafing calloused hands, their metal styluses slipping with every other letter. And even more precious was papyrus, needing reeds and ink that often stained the tunic. Travel meant lugging a repertoire of precious scrolls and finding secure places to hide them at each destination. Additionally, poets had to navigate the political complexities of their patrons' moods, affiliations, and attitudes. With a single fickle gesture, a noble could erase months of effort for his own amusement – a threat far worse than losing a stylus to the sea. While offending the powerful pretty much guaranteed damaging profitable relationships, exile wasn't unheard of.

A strong memory was useful for an ancient, but it was indispensable to a Greek lyrical poet. It allowed them to compose and recite complex verses without relying on written materials, saving time and resources. If only the mind could perfectly hold each recited verse secure against fading, age or misfortune! Though every poet prayed for a mind that would do this, none at that time believed such a thing possible.

Like anyone successfully selling anything, these poets understood the desires at the heart of their patrons. The panegyric wasn't merely empty praise, it was a speech that crafted a mental stage. Greek gods, noble ideals, and cherished traditions represented those deep-seated desires - power, respect, belonging - acting as stars of that imagined space. The poet would skillfully position their patron amidst these ideals, subtly forging a connection in the audience's mind between their patron and the potent emotions those symbols evoked. In effect, the poet acted as a master advertiser, twinning their patron with the images of what the audience longed for. Advertising isn't new; it understands the primal desire we have, to be associated with the symbols of what we admire.

But poets walked a tightrope. Praising their patrons too heavily could make the poetry sycophantic and tiresome to their broader audience. Yet, displeasing the patron meant risking withheld payment or even exile. A stupid patron might not understand the nuances of the lyrical associations, and demand that they be praised during the entire performance. Or the callous could use such a poem to their economic advantage, stiffing the poet after he had constructed and performed the panegyric. This is exactly what happened to Simonides of Ceos. Immediately after he presented to a packed banquet hall owned by Scopas of Thessaly, Scopas confronted him and loudly sneered that he would only pay for half of the work – 'let the twin gods cover the rest for their share of the praise.'

You see Simonides had interwoven Scopas' artificial praise with honour to the Greek twin heroes of Castor and Pollux; immortalized in the constellation Gemini. For this, Scopas had degraded and publicly rebuked him. Now Simonides was forced to sit through the remaining feast, a mask of composure his only defence against further humiliation. To reveal his anger would only confirm his powerlessness before the judging eyes of the other guests. His work, his gift to this cruel patron, still hung in the air, defiled by the stench of the calculated outburst, a twisted echo of what it was meant to be. Simonides had just endured two public insults.

To his surprise and relief Simonides was approach by an attendant, who told him that two men were waiting outside, they had something for him. He left the banquet hall and looked for the two men, but could find no one. Then he heard a large crack and a thundering sound. He turned, dust stinging his eyes, the banquet hall had collapsed – killing everyone within it.

To a modern we might infer that Scopas, who had just publicly jilted his performer, had probably done the same to his architect. Simonides might have thought the same thing, but he had nowhere else to be, so he stayed at the disaster to see if he could help.

News of the collapse travelled fast, and the distressed relatives of the guests rushed to the scene in the vain hope to find an injured loved one. Instead, they only found unrecognizable mangled corpses, the destruction was absolute.

Simonides was astonished that he could name where every guest had been sitting. He took on the solemn and morbid duty of helping families identify their loved ones, so their bodies could return home for the respect of burial rites. He performed his memory trick by first imagining how the banquet hall looked, then imagined who had sat at each spot within it. It was a two step approach.

This perfect recall surprised the poet, who had struggled his entire life to remember. Yet here was a technique that just worked with no effort at all. The innovation wasn't lost on him, he branded it "the method of loci". Loci, means place. Simonides of Ceos could have kept this as a poet's trade secret, but instead he shared his innovation with anyone who would listen. The Romans who wrote about him hundreds of years after his death, talked about how it was an indispensable technique for anyone receiving an education.

But Simonides of Ceos, the Greek lyrical poet, understood something a modern wouldn't. An invisible transaction had occurred between him and the mythical twins – Castor, born mortal, and Pollux, born immortal. He had accidentally made, not one, but two payments: once to the mortal, honoring him through poetry, and once to the god, as an offering of human life via Scopas' greed. The twins, in turn, repaid him twice. Once as a mortal would, by saving his life, and once as a god would, by showing humanity how to architect a perfect memory.

Yet this second payment has mostly been forgotten, and we have mostly forgot that we forgot it.

In honour of Simonides of Ceos, here is my panegyric for him:

As calcium bones degrade
stories are forgotten
to remember, first think of Castor's payment

Like us once condemned
mortal, to end
but now forever fixed atop of Gemini

He exists of six
binary twins mixed
with his beloved brother below

An immortal poly twin
named for loving linkage
one giant orange lux, Pollux

Both honoured by Simonides
Who was cheated by the rich
Paid back by what seemed to be missing

Castor saved his life
But twins speak in twos
And Pollux gave like Prometheus before him

A simulacrum of forever
"method of loci" for all
revealed through mangled guests as gods teach

But he wasn't loud enough
his lesson is fading
as literacy petrifies oralcy