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This introduction looks at the establishment of philology as a discipline within the developing university system, especially but not only in the nineteenth century, and explores its relation to the discipline of theology, with its equally long history back to antiquity. It argues that the interface between philology and theology is an especially revelatory point from which to observe how academic disciplines have functioned, with regard to institutions, authority, methodology – and also with regard to their own blindnesses and competitive anxieties about other fields. It discusses the historiography of disciplinary formation, and introduces the central questions which link the following chapters.
This chapter considers changing Roman attitudes and ideology in relation to the fundamental issues of war and peace. The first half examines the basis for the now common assumption that the Roman state and society had a positive attitude to warfare during the Republic. It draws attention to some important qualifications, before assessing the extent to which the same factors continued to operate in later periods. It also discusses Roman attitudes to peace, a subject that has received much less attention in modern scholarship. The second half focuses on the related themes of Roman attitudes to victory and defeat. Roman military successes during the Republic encouraged the development of a range of rituals associated with the celebration of victory (most famously the triumph) and reverence for the goddess Victoria. These rituals illuminate the close relationship between war and religion in Roman culture, while also highlighting the political implications of military success. Their evolution in subsequent periods of Roman history is considered, alongside Roman responses to defeat – how it was explained and how those explanations changed over time.
This article examines marriage as a pathway to free status for enslaved women in the early imperial Roman world, arguing that women manumitted for marriage to their former owners experienced a qualified form of freedom. Analysis of a funerary altar from early imperial Rome alongside larger bodies of legal and epigraphic evidence shows that in this transactional mode of manumission, enslaved women paid for their freedom by foregoing certain privileges, including, to varying degrees, the ability to enter and exit the marriage at will and the separation of their property from that of their husbands. Through a close examination of one mode of manumission and the unequal unions that resulted from it, this paper offers further evidence that freedom was not uniform, but varied in its meaning depending on who achieved it and by what means.
Cicero puts on an exciting show of outrage, anger, and contempt in his attacks on certain opponents, but balances attacks with statements of restraint and self-control in order to maintain his own dignity and decorum, so that he is not seen as contemptible himself. This balance can be observed in the opening sections of his speeches In Vatinium and De Haruspicum Responsis, where he particularly criticizes the failures of his targets as orators. His persona as an attacker may distract from political weakness in his speech In Pisonem. In the Second Philippic, never delivered in public, he shows less restraint. The Philippics generally show less of the balance he maintained earlier in his career, probably due to political circumstances. While this persona will be familiar to most readers of Cicero, it is a good initial example of how Cicero portrays contemporary people and events through a distorting lens. It is also a good example of how Cicero uses (or weaponizes) norms to police others, often by claiming to embody those norms himself.
This article deals with the question of the art of the flute in ancient Libya. First, reference is made to the way in which the Greek rulers of ancient Libya tried to impose the idea of the Greek origin of the art of flute on the Libyans. This is followed by an analysis of the indications of the continuous existence of the art of flute in ancient Libya. Finally, it is interesting to note that ancient Libya has such a long tradition in the art of flute, opening up the possible Libyan origin of the instrument.
The chapter opens with a discussion of the methodological challenges involved in the study of a society for which we have very few contemporary literary sources, before exploring the dynamic intersections of wealth and power in archaic Rome with special attention to changes over time, primarily on the basis of archaeological evidence. The discussion considers the noticeable shift in the display of wealth from funerary settings to housing, stimulated by the introduction of the census; limits on the degree of ostentation on the part of rich and powerful members of the archaic Roman community; and protection against the dissipation of patrimony. In the final part, the focus shifts to the lower end of the social spectrum with a reconstruction of the lifestyle of a typical Roman farmer in the archaic period, with particular reference to calorific needs and allotment size.
This article reviews the emergence and development of Romano-British glass bangles in southern Britain by providing a fresh analysis of finds that also considers recent theoretical and historical advances in interpreting the transition from the late Iron Age to the Roman period. By analysing the emergence of bangles in terms of technological and stylistic transfer, it suggests that the technology used in their production and their visual elements have continental lineage. It also situates bangles amid indigenous developments in bodily adornments in southern Britain before a.d. 43. By reconnecting British bangles with their continental European counterparts and contextualising them within political, social and cultural processes in south-western England during the late pre-Roman Iron Age, the article argues that the emergence of bangles in Britain did not occur in a vacuum after the Claudian invasion in a.d. 43 but formed an integral part of globalising networks of cross-Channel trade and connections with the European mainland in the early first century a.d.
This article focuses on the role of concubinae in the Roman world, through analysis of inscriptions and reliefs on funerary monuments involving these women and their relatives. It investigates why concubinatus was chosen in preference to legal marriage, and how the concubina was perceived as a member of her partner's family. The results bring to light how this type of quasi-marital union was an appealing option for men of social standing, and that the role of concubinae accepted by their partners was not so dissimilar to that of legal wives. The article considers funerary monuments from Roman Italy, dating from the first century BC to the early third century AD. It deals with the role of Roman concubinae by analysing tombstones from both an archaeological and historical point of view; the aim of this analysis is to reconstruct a social pattern of concubinatus and of the individuals involved in this type of quasi-marital relationship, with the aid of two different types of ancient sources.
Scholars have long grappled with the nature of Heracles’ νόσος and his consequent feminization in Sophocles’ Women of Trachis (= Trachiniae). Despite being triggered by a poisonous garment, which acts by means of magic incantation, the evolution of Heracles’ symptoms is described as a clinical case. Yet, making sense of his feminization from a scientific perspective has proven hard. In this paper, I investigate the symptoms experienced by Heracles, which Sophocles generically refers to as νόσος. The first part focusses on Sophocles’ description of erôs as a disease in Trachiniae. I then move on to dividing Heracles’ symptoms into two categories, which I will call νόσος1 and νόσος2. The erotic passion for Iole which Heracles naturally experiences in the first part of the tragedy will be denoted by νόσος1, whereas νόσος2 will refer to the magic-induced symptoms from which he suffers in the second and final part. In the final section of the paper I will seek to provide a scientific explanation for νόσος2 and, ultimately, to describe the medical reasons behind Heracles’ feminization.
The (re)occupation of hillforts was a distinctive feature of post-Roman Europe in the fifth to seventh centuries ad. In western and northern Britain, hillforts are interpreted as power centres associated with militarized elites, but research has paid less attention to their landscape context, hence we know little about the factors that influenced their siting and how this facilitated elite power. Geographic Information Systems (GIS) provide opportunities for landscape research, but are constrained by limitations of source data and the difficulty of defining appropriate parameters for analysis. This article presents a new methodology that combines data processing and analytical functions in GIS with techniques and principles drawn from ‘traditional’ landscape archaeology. A case study, focused on Dinas Powys, suggests that the strategic siting of this hillfort facilitated control over the landscape and has wider implications for our understanding of patterns of power in post-Roman Britain.
The Neopythagorean Diotogenes, author of a lost treatise On Kingship of which some fragments have come down to us in Stobaeus’ Anthology, is a largely neglected writer. Scholars either ignore him or briefly discuss him in the context of general overviews of Greek political thinking, usually comparing him to other Neopythagoreans such as Sthenidas and Ecphantus. This article argues that Diotogenes deserves to be read for his own sake, as a creative and subtle thinker who managed to contribute to his own philosophical tradition by benefiting from Homeric exegesis and by taking into account the more concrete demands of daily life.
Iberia was one of the first overseas territories to fall under Roman control when the provinces of Hispania Citerior and Ulterior were established in 197 B.C., preceded only by Sicilia (241) and Sardinia et Corsica (227).1 Renieblas and the sites surrounding Numantia are among the first camps of Rome‘s earliest overseas expansion to be confidently identified archaeologically. They are central in analyses of the Republican army and Roman siegeworks,2 the conquest of Hispania,3 and the effects of the war on local communities.4
The Life of Aesop is an entertaining yet profound account of Aesop's life dating from the first to second centuries ad. Although it is widely agreed that the Life of Aesop may be read as a ‘metafable’, there has been, in my view, a widespread and perversely negative interpretation of the supposed moral of this life story: that ‘pride comes before a fall’. This supposed moral is not borne out by the ending, in which Aesop's prophecies of doom prove to be correct, the Delphians are thrice punished for executing Aesop, and Aesop himself achieves everlasting fame as a storyteller. In this paper, I will argue that a more fitting moral for the Life of Aesop is that ‘even the weakest may find a means to avenge a wrong’. This is the moral that accompanies the quintessentially Aesopic fable of the dung beetle, the hare, and the eagle in which a tiny dung beetle triumphs over a powerful adversary. This fable is pointedly narrated by Aesop to the Delphians just before he is put to death. By reading the Life of Aesop as an exposition of this fable, I will demonstrate that Aesop, just like the dung beetle, is not the loser but the ultimate victor.
Gordion, ancient capital of Phrygia, was a large and thriving city of secondary importance during the period of the Achaemenid Persian Empire (ca 550–333 BC). Recent work makes possible a reconsideration of the site: evaluating its architecture, finds and use of landscape within and after the socio-economic and administrative context of the Achaemenid imperial system enables the following new overview. During the Achaemenid period, Gordion’s populace participated in the broad cultural exchanges enabled by the imperial system and may have emphasised animal husbandry. When Alexander’s conquest led to the collapse of the Achaemenid administrative infrastructure, the impact on Gordion’s economy and cultural circumstance was profound. Its population plummeted, the architectural and spatial organisation of the site changed dramatically and new directions and means of trade and cultural interaction developed. Gordion’s archaeological remains reflect and emphasise the tremendous historical and political changes attending the end of the Empire and the beginning of the Hellenistic period.
IN A POEM WRITTEN IN EPISTOLARY FORM TO HIS FRIEND FLORUS, Horace launches a litany of excuses for why he is a lousy correspondent. Among his reasons is the difficulty of life in Rome and the strain exacted by its streets:
And anyhow, how do you think I can write poems in Rome, amidst so many cares and so many responsibilities? One man asks me to be his sponsor, another to leave behind all my duties and to hear what he's written: this one's lying sick on the Quirinal, that one's on the furthest part of the Aventine, and yet I've got to pay a visit to both. The distance is hardly convenient. “True, but the roads are clear, so there's nothing to stop you from thinking en route.” Sure. First, a builder in a rage rushes by with mules and workmen; then a huge crane hoists a beam and a boulder; and then comes a funeral procession, jostling its way along with lumbering wagons; a mad dog scampers by this way, a muddy pig that: now go and think carefully on some melodious verse!
For our investigation of street life, at least two things are fascinating about Horace's portrait of urban life. First, the skeptical voice he embeds in his poem sees Roman streets in much the same way that plenty of scholarship on Roman cities has: they are relatively empty; they primarily offer a means of movement; and, when they are broad, few impediments or distractions will be present. Second, Horace's response confirms what we know intuitively even as we look at relatively desolate streets on archaeological sites – namely, that there was much and many that got in the way.
But who and what were present, and what pursuits they engaged in, can contrast markedly with what we normally experience in cities of the modern West. There is, of course, construction equipment – a timeless complaint, it seems – but also beasts of burden, people carrying materials, funerals lumbering along and aloud, and even loose animals. The scene depicts very little “normal” traffic: people like the poet trying to get from place to place.