On a dusty road somewhere in archaic Greece, a man in late middle age walks with a staff, a cloak, and a voice that can still fill a hall. The road runs between little poleis and scattered farms, past shrines with their painted images of the gods: Athena with her spear, Apollo with his bow, Zeus hurling thunder from a human hand. At each stop, this man recites verses for his supper, like any rhapsode. But his poems do something unusual. They bite the hand that feeds him. He praises the city, yes, and sings of wine and moderation, but he also mocks the gods whose statues stand above the people, and he tells them they do not know what they think they know. His name is Xenophanes of Colophon, and in the long line of Greek thinkers he is one of the first to direct reason not just at nature, but at religion and at human certainty itself.He was born around 570 BCE in Colophon, a city on the Ionian coast of Asia Minor, a world not so far from that of Thales, Anaximander, and Anaximenes. Yet his life soon took a different turn. At some point—perhaps in his twenties or thirties—he was driven from his home by war or political upheaval. He became, by necessity, a wanderer. Later traditions speak of him spending decades on the road, performing in symposia and public gatherings throughout the Greek world: in Sicily, in southern Italy, in the cities of Magna Graecia. He would have lived by his tongue, paid in food, lodging, and gifts for his recitations. Unlike the more settled Milesian philosophers, who could think and teach in one place,

Ver todos los episodios