For the love of literature: a Byzantine perspective

To safeguard against technocracies and against bureaucracies what is truly human in humankind – to deliver the world to us in its human dimension, that is to say, as it is revealed to individuals who are at the same time interrelated and separate – this, I believe, is the task of literature, and what makes it irreplaceable. Simone de Beauvoir, ‘What can literature do?’ One evening in 1326, Manuel Gabalas (later, Matthew, Metropolitan of Ephesos), was overcome by the desire to read – no text in particular, simply the first book he found. The book he randomly selected from his shelves turned out to be Homer's Iliad . Upon reading, he found himself immersed in the narrative, despite its ostensible lack of moral edification. The Sirens of Homeric poetry called to him: at once willingly and unwillingly, Gabalas continued reading, appreciative of the poet's clever narrative arrangement and the characters’ lifelike portrayal, particularly how subtly their outer appearance reflected their inner traits. After reading selected passages, Gabalas reflected on the poem's overall meaning, struck by its revelations about human life. The Greeks, he realized, had started a war over just one woman to ensure that nobody would ever slight them again. He lamented contemporary humankind's condition: while the ancient Greeks were stirred on account of a mere mortal woman, her beauty perishable, the people of his day had no such experience when their soul, its beauty eternal, was violated or captured by demons. Over a matter as important as their souls’ very integrity, Gabalas observed, they hesitated to seek justice, although the prospective battle would not even require bloodshed.