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This Profile looks at two technologies that were developed to make source texts in the original Greek, Latin and, indeed, any language directly accessible to audiences who have not yet studied – and may never study – the language itself: (1) translations aligned at the word and phrase level with the original text and (2) rich linguistic annotations explaining the part of speech, regularised dictionary form and syntactic function of each word in a corpus (typically called treebanks, because the syntactic structure is commonly visualised as an inverted tree).
How do ancient (or contemporary) portraits display power? Why is that man (or less often woman) a ruler, and how can viewers (or readers), alone or in a crowd, tell that he represents something more than himself? He stands for something, literally in the case of ancient bronze or marble portrait statuary, signifier of a powerful office, and its individual holder, a basileus (‘king’) or an emperor. His power over me and mine is expressed in physical or literary form by the creation and circulation of his image(s), by their intrinsic attributes, materials or context. Images become powerful not just by their creation, but through contemporary social and political rules (or norms) of representation and by their reception. Mass media rely on specific associations in my (or our) culture, state and/or religion to convey not only a ruler's individual appearance and character, but also his office and its ideals, symbols and authority over me and us.
Aristophanes' Knights was a sensation in its time, famous for its assault on the Athenian politician and demagogue Cleon in the first comic drama devoted to a sustained, open satire of an individual political figure. It is also the first play Aristophanes produced in his own name, and the one that solidified his reputation as a leading comic dramatist. This is the first full-scale commentary on Knights in over a century. The Greek text is based on a fresh analysis of the manuscripts, papyri and other ancient sources. The extensive commentary situates the play in its linguistic, literary and intellectual context and allows full appreciation of its original performance context. Particular attention is paid to the poet's language and to the social and literary traditions of his time, and abundant citations and quotations of parallel passages ranging far beyond the comic poets are offered, with all Greek translated.
Teaching ancient literature in translation is increasingly common across schools and universities; however, there has been limited discussion of pedagogical approaches towards, specifically, translated literature. I discuss the findings of a study conducted on first-year undergraduates at Oxford University, who analysed translations of the Iliad as part of a taught course. The publication of Wilson (2023) offers an opportunity to see how students respond to very recent translations. I explore the pitfalls students encounter when analysing poetry in translation and the ways educators, whether in high schools or universities, can help students negotiate these pitfalls and develop a more sophisticated understanding of literary translation. In particular, I discuss how a student’s level of familiarity with the Greek language affects the ways they analyse translations, and how educators can encourage students with little or no Greek to engage with translations successfully.
This Element discusses Heidegger's early (1924–1931) reading and critique of Hegel, which revolve around the topic of time. The standard view is that Heidegger distances himself from Hegel by arguing that whereas he takes time to be 'originarily' Dasein's 'temporality,' Hegel has a 'vulgar' conception of time as 'now-time' (the succession of formal nows). The Element defends the thesis that while this difference concerning the nature of time is certainly a part of Heidegger's 'confrontation' with Hegel, it is not its kernel. What Heidegger aspired to convey with his Hegel-critique is that they have a divergent conception of man's understanding of being (ontology). Whereas Heidegger takes ontology to be grounded in temporality, Hegel thinks it is grounded in 'the concept,' which has a dimension ('logos') manifesting eternity or timelessness. It is argued, contra Kojève, that Heidegger's reading (but not necessarily his critique) of Hegel is, in an important respect, correct.
The Introduction provides an in-depth exploration of how late antique Christian communities in the Mediterranean reconciled their Roman and Christian identities through baptismal art. It raises pivotal questions: did such art serve to confirm both Roman and Christian identities? Could this art reflect a form of Christianity less orthodox due to its Roman cultural influences? Various case studies are presented, each spotlighting a different aspect of Roman cultural affiliation in baptismal spaces – ranging from the absence of explicitly Christian imagery to the inclusion of ‘pagan’ iconographies and classical motifs. Whether in Numidia, Lusitania, or Ravenna, these communities reveal a complex relationship with their Roman heritage, often challenging ecclesiastical norms. Despite the political disintegration of the western Roman Empire, the chapter underscores the extensive interconnectedness of the Mediterranean world, pointing out the shared cultural elements in baptismal art from the East to the far West. The chapter argues that these artistic choices are not mere coincidences but are indicative of a shared Roman culture that transcends geographical and political boundaries.
‘The differences have become smaller and, especially among the young generation, they have actually completely vanished.’ In 2015, on the twenty-fifth anniversary of German unification, then German president Joachim Gauck described the situation of East and West Germans with these words. The president believed that the younger generation, those born after the fall of the wall in 1989, were completely alike, whether they were born in former West Germany or in the area which used to be the GDR. As has subsequently become apparent, the opinion of many young East Germans today differs from that of President Gauck on this point.
The chapter provides an in-depth examination of the Christian community in Cuicul (now Djémila, Algeria), with a focus on its baptismal complex dating from the late Roman Empire. The study explores the complex’s architectural layout, including a double church and baptistery, as a reflection of the community’s strong Nicene-Catholic identity. It argues that the adoption of Roman imagery, honorary titles, and even a pre-baptismal washing ritual indicates a conscious melding of Roman tradition with Christian practice. This fusion served to deepen the community’s identity, especially against the backdrop of religious dissension during the Donatist conflict. The chapter also raises questions about the limitations of allegorical interpretations of art and architecture, advocating for a nuanced approach that incorporates literal, cultural, and socio-political meanings. It concludes that Cuicul’s Christian community effectively harnessed the unifying power of Roman culture to reinforce its Nicene identity during a period of intense theological strife.
The chapter explores the varying iconographies of the personification of the River Jordan in Late Antiquity, particularly in the Orthodox and Arian baptisteries in Ravenna, focusing on how these depictions relate to biblical exegesis, and represent the standpoint of Ravenna’s Christian elite. Peter Chrysologus’s Sermon 160 is highlighted for its unique interpretation of the River Jordan, which, the chapter argues, has influenced the dome mosaic of the Orthodox baptistery by presenting the river as a converted, formerly pagan entity. In contrast to the previous case studies, the dome mosaic of the Orthodox baptistery openly condemns the Roman past as pagan but still acknowledges the pre-Christian classical heritage as relevant to Christianity. The Arian baptistery offers an alternative interpretation of the same depiction. The differences in the Orthodox and Arian representations of the River Jordan suggest that the attitude of Ravenna’s Arian clergy towards the Roman past was more positive than that of the Nicene clergy.
The chapter provides an in-depth analysis of the baptismal spaces at Henchir el Koucha (Tunisia), Myrtilis Iulia (now Mértola), and Milreu/Estói (Portugal), examining how each site incorporates pre-Christian elements into Christian contexts. At Henchir el Koucha, iconography associated with the Roman circus is ingeniously blended into a Christian framework. In the case of Myrtilis Iulia, the chapter explores a building with both palatial and baptismal features and makes suggestions about what might have motivated the representation of the mythological hero Bellerophon in baptistery. Milreu stands out for inserting a baptismal space within a pre-existing Roman monument, allowing the site’s mosaic frieze showing a marine thiasus scene to symbolize the salvific water of baptism. In each case, the incorporation of Roman elements wasn’t merely pragmatic but represented a conscious choice to articulate a multifaceted Christian identity that acknowledged and even celebrated its Roman cultural heritage. The chapter argues that these nuanced choices offer a flexible and inclusive model of Christian identity.