A Cultural History of Sport in Antiquity 9781350023963, 1350023965

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A CULTURAL HISTORY OF SPORT VOLUME 1

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A Cultural History of Sport General Editors: Wray Vamplew, John McClelland, and Mark Dyreson Volume 1 A Cultural History of Sport in Antiquity Edited by Paul Christesen and Charles Stocking Volume 2 A Cultural History of Sport in the Medieval Age Edited by Noel Fallows Volume 3 A Cultural History of Sport in the Renaissance Edited by Alessandro Arcangeli Volume 4 A Cultural History of Sport in the Age of Enlightenment Edited by Rebekka von Mallinckrodt Volume 5 A Cultural History of Sport in the Age of Industry Edited by Mike Huggins Volume 6 A Cultural History of Sport in the Modern Age Edited by Steven Riess

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A CULTURAL HISTORY OF SPORT

IN ANTIQUITY Edited by Paul Christesen and Charles Stocking

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BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA BLOOMSBURY, BLOOMSBURY ACADEMIC and the Diana logo are trademarks of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2021 Copyright © Bloomsbury Publishing, 2021 Paul Christesen and Charles Stocking have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as Editors of this work. Series design by Raven Design Cover image: Detail of the Torso from an ancient Roman copy of Discobolus by Myron © Getty Images All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. ISBN:

HB: Set:

978-1-3500-2396-3 978-1-3500-2410-6

Series: The Cultural Histories Series Typeset by RefineCatch Limited, Bungay, Suffolk To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

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CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

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SERIES PREFACE

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LIST OF CHRONOLOGICAL PERIODS

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LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

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Introduction Paul Christesen and Charles Stocking

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1 The Purpose of Sport Paul Christesen and Rose MacLean

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2 Sporting Time and Sporting Space Sofie Remijsen

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3 Products, Training, and Technology Christian Mann

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4 Rules and Order Sarah C. Murray

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5 Conflict and Accommodation Zinon Papakonstantinou

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6 Segregation, Inclusion, and Exclusion Peter J. Miller

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CONTENTS

7 Minds, Bodies, and Identities Charles Stocking

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8 Representation Nigel Spivey

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

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NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

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INDEX

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ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER 3 3.1

Plan of the gymnasium at Delphi

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3.2

Athenian red-figure krater by Euphronius, c. 500 BCE , found at Capua

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Bronze statuette of two wrestlers, second—first century BCE , found in Egypt (probably Alexandria)

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Drawing of the reconstructed starting gate (hyspl¯ex) at the stadium at Nemea

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Drawing showing the starting mechanism in the hippodrome of Olympia

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3.6

Stone jumping weight (halt¯er), c. 500 BCE , from Olympia

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3.7

Bronze strigil, found at Olympia

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3.8

Roman copy in marble of a bronze original by Lysippos (c. 330 BCE ), found at Rome

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Athenian black-figure Panathenaic amphora attributed to the Berlin Painter, c. 480 BCE

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3.3 3.4 3.5

3.9

CHAPTER 8 8.1

Marble statuette of an athlete, second—third century CE , from Roman York (Eboracum)

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8.2

8.3

ILLUSTRATIONS

Marble statue of the “Diadoumenos” type (partially restored), mid-first century CE , after a bronze original by Polykleitos c. 430 BCE

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Detail of a marble metope from the Temple of Zeus at Olympia, c. 460 BCE . Heracles takes the weight of the heavens while Atlas fetches the Apples of the Hesperides; Athena assists

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8.4

Sandstone relief of Hercules from the sanctuary of Hercules Salutaris at Deneuve (Meurthe-et-Moselle), second-third centuries CE 184

8.5

Detail of an Etruscan black-figure amphora attributed to the Micali Painter, c. 510—500 BCE , found at Vulci in Italy

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Official poster of the London Olympics, 1948, designed by Walter Herz

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Fragment of an Athenian black-figure dinos signed by Sophilos, c. 580—70 BCE , found at Pharsalus (Palaikastro, in Thessaly)

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“The Discobolus” (Discus-thrower): marble statue probably created in the first century CE , after a bronze original made by Myron in the mid-fifth century BCE

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Scene of hoplitodromia, “racing in armor,” upon an Athenian red-figure kylix attributed to the Dokimasia Painter, c. 500 BCE , found at Vulci in Italy

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8.6 8.7 8.8

8.9

8.10 Ball-players shown on a mosaic in the Villa del Casale (Piazza Armerina, Sicily), fourth century CE

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8.11 Detail of an Athenian red-figure stamnos signed by Smikros, c. 510 BCE , found in southern Italy

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8.12 Drawing from an Athenian red-figure amphora by Euthymides, c. 510 BCE , found at Vulci in southern Italy

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8.13 Drawing of an Athenian red-figure psykter (wine-cooler) by Euthymides, c. 510 BCE , found in Etruria

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8.14 Athenian red-figure stamnos attributed to the Polygnotan Group, c. 440—430 BCE , found at Vico Equense in Italy

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8.15 Detail of a marble votive relief from the Piraeus, Athens, early fourth century BCE

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8.16 Bronze figure of a victorious runner, first century BCE , found in the harbor of Aeolic Kyme (near modern Aliaga, Turkey)

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ILLUSTRATIONS

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8.17 Panathenaic prize-amphora attributed to the Euphiletos Painter, c. 530 BCE , found at Vulci in Italy

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8.18 Detail of a chariot-racing team from a marble altar in the sanctuary of Eshmun at Bostan-esh-Sheikh (Lebanon), fourth century BCE

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8.19 Athenian red-figured kylix attributed to the Carpenter Painter, c. 510–500 BCE

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8.20 “Kritios Boy” (or “Kritian Boy”: the title derives from a perceived likeness to the style of a sculptor called Kritios, and an age estimate of about fifteen years old); marble figure from the Acropolis in Athens, c. 480 BCE

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8.21 Fragment of a marble st¯el¯e representing a boxer from the Kerameikos in Athens, mid-sixth century BCE

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8.22 “Seated Boxer” (also known as the “Terme Boxer”): bronze statue found on the west slope of Rome’s Quirinal hill

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8.23 Detail of the “Seated Boxer”

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8.24 Detail of a Lucanian painted tomb (south slab of Tomb X, Laghetto cemetery), mid-fourth century BCE

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8.25 Detail of a mosaic from the Roman villa at Torrenova (Via Casilina) near Rome, early fourth century CE

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8.26 Marble relief from Halicarnassus in Asia Minor commemorating the honorable discharge given to two female gladiators, first—second century CE

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SERIES PREFACE

A Cultural History of Sport is a six-volume series reviewing the evolution of both the internal practices of sport from remote Antiquity to the present and the ways and degrees to which sport has reflected—and been integrated into— contemporary cultural criteria. All of the volumes are constructed in the same pattern, with an initial chapter outlining the purposes of sport during the time frame to which the volume is devoted. Seven chapters, each written by a specialist of the period, then deal in turn with time and space, equipment and technology, rules and order, conflict and accommodation, inclusion and segregation, athletes and identities, and representation. The reader therefore has the choice between synchronic and diachronic approaches, between concentrating on the diverse facets of sport in a single historical period, and exploring one or more of those facets as they evolved over time and became concretized in the practices and relations of the twenty-first century. The six volumes cover the topic as follows: Volume 1: A Cultural History of Sport in Antiquity (600 BCE –500 CE ) Volume 2: A Cultural History of Sport in the Middle Ages (500–1450) Volume 3: A Cultural History of Sport in the Early Modern Period (1450–1650) Volume 4: A Cultural History of Sport in the Age of Enlightenment (1650–1800) Volume 5: A Cultural History of Sport in the Age of Industry (1800–1920) Volume 6: A Cultural History of Sport in the Modern Age (1920–present) General Editors: Wray Vamplew, Emeritus Professor of Sports History, University of Stirling, UK, and Global Professorial Fellow, University of Edinburgh, UK John McClelland, Professor Emeritus of French Literature and Sport History, University of Toronto, Canada. Mark Dyreson, Professor of Kinesiology, Affiliate Professor of History, and Director of Research and Educational Programs for the Center for the Study of Sports and Society, Pennsylvania State University, USA x

CHRONOLOGICAL PERIODS

The time span covered in this volume is habitually divided into the following periods (with the important caveat that scholars frequently supply slightly different dates for many of these periods):

Period

dates

key events defining chronology

Early Iron Age

c. 1100–c. 700 BCE

End of Aegean Bronze Age (c. 1100 BCE ); emergence of the city-state (common on Greek mainland by c. 700 BCE ) Persian invasion of Greece (480–479 BCE ) Death of Alexander the Great (323 BCE ) Battle of Actium—Octavian defeats Mark Antony and becomes sole ruler of Rome (31 BCE ) Removal of last Roman emperor, Romulus Augusts (476 CE )

Archaic period c. 700–c. 480 BCE Classical period c. 480–323 BCE Hellenistic period 323–31 BCE

Roman period

31 BCE –476 CE

On the complications created by the current periodization of Greco-Roman antiquity, see the articles collected in Golden and Toohey 1997.

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ABBREVIATIONS

AB

Austin, C. and G. Bastianini, (eds.) 2002. Posidippi Pellaei quae supersunt omnia. Milan: LED.

CEG

Hansen, P.A. 1983–1989. Carmina Epigraphica Graeca, I-II. Texte und Kommentare vols. 12, 15. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.

CIG

Corpus Inscriptionum Graecarum. A four-volume corpus of Greek inscriptions and accompanying commentary published between 1825 to 1860, and later continued under the name Inscriptiones Graecae.

CIL

Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. A continuing series of volumes, the first of which appeared in 1862, that supply texts of and commentary on Latin inscriptions from Classical antiquity. See http://cil. bbaw.de/cil_en/index_en.html.

FGrH

Jacoby, F. 1923–1958. Die Fragmente der griechischen Historiker. 3v. in 14 vols. Berlin: Weidmann.

IAG

Moretti, L. 1953. Iscrizioni agonistiche greche. Rome: A. Signorelli.

I.Iasos

Blümel, W. 1985. Die Inschriften von Iasos. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 28. Bonn: R. Habelt.

I.Didyma

Rehm, A. 1958. Didyma, II. Die Inschriften. Berlin: Mann Verlag.

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ABBREVIATIONS

xiii

IEG2

West, M.L. 1992. Iambi et elegi graeci. 2nd ed. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

I.Ephesos

Wankel, H., C. Börker, R. Merkelbach, H. Engelmann, D. Knibbe, R. Meric, et al. 1979–1984. Die Inschriften von Ephesos. 8v. in 7 vols. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 11–17. Bonn: R. Habelt.

IG

Inscriptiones Graecae, Berlin. A continuing series of volumes, the first of which appeared in 1873, that supply texts of and commentary on Greek inscriptions from Classical antiquity. See http:// telota.bbaw.de/ig/.

IGR

Cagnat, R., G. Lafaye, J. Toutain, and P. Jouguet. 1906–1927. Inscriptiones graecae ad res romanas pertinentes. 4 vols. Paris: E. Leroux.

I.Kaunos

Marek, C. 2006. Die Inschriften von Kaunos. Vestigia. Beiträge zur Alten Geschichte 55. Munich: C. H. Beck.

IK Sestos

Krauss, J. 1980. Die Inschriften von Sestos und der thrakischen Chersones. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 19. Bonn: R. Habelt.

I.Magnesia

Kern, O. 1967. Die Inschriften von Magnesia am Maeander. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.

I.Priene

von Gärtringen, H. 1906. Inschriften von Priene. Berlin: G. Reimer.

I.Stratonikeia

Sahin, M.C. 1981–2010. Die Inschriften von Stratonikeia. 3 vols. Inschriften griechischer Städte aus Kleinasien 21, 22, 68. Bonn: R. Habelt.

Iscr. di Cos

Segre, M. 1993–2007. Iscrizioni di Cos. 2 vols. Monografie della Scuola archeologica di Atene e delle missioni italiane in Oriente 6.1–2. Rome: Bretschneider.

IvO

Dittenberger, W. and K. Purgold. 1896. Die Inschriften von Olympia. Olympia. Die Ergebnisse der von dem Deutschen Reich veranstalteten Ausgrabung, im Auftrage des Königlich Preussischen Ministers der Geistlichen, Unterrichts- und Medicinal-Angelegenheiten 5. Berlin: Asher & Co.

IvP (vol. 1-2)

Fränkel, M., E. Fabricius, and K. Schuchardt. 1890–1895. Die Inschriften von Pergamon. Altertümer von Pergamon 8.1–2. Berlin: Speaman.

xiv

ABBREVIATIONS

IvP (vol. 3)

Habicht, C. and M. Wörrle. 1969. Die Inschriften des Asklepieions. Altertümer von Pergamon 8.3. Berlin: Speaman.

MDAI(A)

Mitteilungen des deutschen archäologischen Instituts. Athenische Abteilung. Journal published annually by the Athenian section of the German Archaeological Institute.

MW

Merkelbach, R. and M.L. West, (eds.) 1967. Fragmenta Hesiodea. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Milet VI

Herrmann, P. 1998. Inschriften von Milet VI.2. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.

OGIS

Dittenberger, W. 1903–1905. Orientis graeci inscriptiones selectae. 2 vols. Leipzig: S. Hirzel.

P. Lond.

Kenyon, F.G. and H.I. Bell. 1893–1917. Greek Papyri in the British Museum: Catalogue, with Texts. 5 vols. London: Longmans.

P. Mil. Vogl. VIII 309

Gallazzi, C. and G. Bastianini. 2001. Posidippo di Pella. Epigrammi (P. Mil. Vogl. VIII 309). Milan: LED.

POxy

Oxyrhynchus Papyri. A continuing series of volumes, the first of which appeared in 1898, that supply texts of and commentary on Greek papyri from the site of Oxyrhynchus in Egypt. See http:// www.papyrology.ox.ac.uk/POxy/.

SB

Sammelbuch griechischen Urkunden aus Ägypten. A series of volumes, the first of which was published in 1915, presenting text and commentary for Greek inscriptions from Egypt.

SEG

Supplementum epigraphicum graecum. An annual publication collecting newly published Greek inscriptions and studies on previously known documents. See https://referenceworks.brillonline. com/browse/supplementum-epigraphicum-graecum.

Syll.3

Dittenberger, W. 1917–1920. Sylloge inscriptionum graecarum. 3 vols. Leipzig: S. Hirzel.

TAM

Tituli Asiae Minoris. A continuing series of volumes, the first of which appeared in 1901, that supply texts of and commentary on ancient inscriptions from Anatolia. See https://verlag.oeaw.ac.at/Reihen/ Ergaenzungsbaende-zu-den-Tituli-Asiae-Minoris.

Introduction PAUL CHRISTESEN AND CHARLES STOCKING

TERMINOLOGY AND METHODOLOGY This volume offers a collection of essays that explore the cultural history of sport in antiquity. In introducing those essays, we would like, in our role as editors, to begin by clarifying what we mean by “antiquity.” For the purposes of this volume, “antiquity” refers spatially to the areas inhabited by Greeks and Romans and temporally to the period between c. 800 BCE and c. 600 CE . Those boundaries are, in our view, unfortunate necessities. Unfortunate in the sense that sport has been an important activity in human societies from an early date all around the globe (Blanchard 1995: 95–128), and, despite the fact that all of that activity merits and rewards careful study, much, perhaps most, of the material that could conceivably be included in a cultural history of sport in antiquity is not addressed in the essays that follow. However, in our view the writing of cultural history brings with it certain commitments and concomitant restraints. As will become apparent, we are strongly of the opinion that the primary goal of a cultural history of sport is to place sport firmly in its broader social context in the service of examining what sport meant to the people who practiced it at any given time and place and how sport contributed to the construction of other categories of thought and practice. That approach calls for studies with considerable depth and detail, and it is impossible to present in a single volume anything resembling a nuanced cultural history of sport in antiquity when “antiquity” is understood as having broad spatial and temporal boundaries.1 Some limitations are, therefore, a necessity, and, insofar as this volume forms part of a series that focuses on sport in the Western world and that includes a separate volume on the period between 600 and 1450 CE , we have chosen a definition of antiquity that is consonant with the series as a whole. 1

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The upper temporal boundary of c. 800 BCE could well have been pushed back further as to include sport in the Bronze Age (c. 3000–c. 1100 BCE ) in the geographic regions covered in this volume. There is a considerable amount of relevant and evocative evidence, much of it from areas bordering the Aegean Sea (Rutter 2014). However, the social contexts of sport in the Aegean Bronze Age were in many ways fundamentally different than those of later periods, and hence writing the cultural history of sport in antiquity, defined as including the Bronze Age, would require more space than the present volume affords. Even with the aforementioned spatial and temporal limitations, there are non-trivial challenges to writing a cultural history of sport in antiquity. By the end of the seventh century BCE , Greeks had dispersed across much of the coastline of the Mediterranean and Black Sea basins, and, starting in the fourth century BCE , they settled in considerable numbers in communities across much of the Middle East; by the first century CE the Roman state stretched from Britain to Mesopotamia.2 And of course 1,400 years is a long span of time. Moreover, the Greeks and Romans had cultural traditions that differed in profound ways, and any cultural history of sport in antiquity (as defined here) requires a high degree of sensitivity to the divergences between the practice and meaning of sport among Greeks and Romans. At the same time, the Greeks and Romans were in close contact with each other from an early date, and they were deeply aware of and mutually influenced by each other’s sport, so the cultural history of sport among the Greeks and Romans cannot be neatly separated into two distinct strands. A further challenge springs from the fact that the relevant textual and material evidence is simultaneously lacunose and voluminous.3 Sport itself is an inherently transient phenomenon. Runners race, boxers throw blows, horses run their course. At the end of these and other sporting activities, victors may or may not be proclaimed. But if the events are not directly recorded and if they are not spoken of afterward, what remains? Even the rich array of evidence for sport in the present day captures only a small portion of our sporting activity. The evidentiary gaps for sport in antiquity are, by comparison to the modern world, large, and, in the textual sources, the execution and social import of sport are almost always assumed and seldom discussed directly. Just as the Greek poet Pindar once commented that the living human is ephemeral, the “dream of a shadow” (Pindar Pythian 8), so one could say the same about ancient sport itself. At the same time, the textual and material evidence for sport in antiquity is cumulatively impressive. Due in no small part to the extremely high value that Greeks and Romans placed on sport, that subject is mentioned literally thousands of time in the extant literary sources and inscriptions. In a similar vein, the Greeks and Romans regularly invested resources in representing sport in a wide range of art forms and in creating training and competition facilities, the remains of many of which survive to the present day.

INTRODUCTION

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The word “cumulatively” requires emphasis because the evidence for Greek and Roman sport is widely scattered. It can be found in Homer’s Iliad, traditionally dated to the eighth century BCE , and in Quintus of Smyrna’s Posthomerica, written in the fourth century CE . It can be found in inscriptions from Olympia honoring athletes from the fifth century BCE and in graffiti from Pompeii in the first century CE advertising upcoming gladiatorial combats. It can be found in the gymnasium at the Greek colonial settlement at Ai Khanoum in present-day Afghanistan and in the Roman hippodrome (circus) that has been excavated in the town of Mérida in Spain. It can be found in a vase painted by the Athenian artist Sophilos in the early sixth century BCE that illustrates the funeral games of Patroklos as recounted in the Iliad and in a mosaic of a charioteer that decorated a dining room in a Romano-British house built in the fourth century CE in what is now the town of Rudston in East Yorkshire. Scholars studying sport in antiquity have until recently tended to concentrate their labors on the Herculean task of locating and consolidating the relevant evidence and on using that evidence to try to reconstruct specific sporting events, sites, contests, and historical persons within the framework of broader chronological narratives. That approach—what might be called “event-oriented sport history”—was reasonable, indeed necessary, when our knowledge of ancient sport was limited.4 Such work was required in order for historians and scholars of the ancient world to “take sport seriously,”5 and the evidence available for the study of ancient sport is exponentially larger than it was even a few decades ago. However, most of the relevant body of evidence, which increases steadily but slowly, has now been carefully examined, and continued work on well-known sources along established lines has brought diminishing returns. The invaluable foundational work found in the extensive scholarship on event-oriented sport history made it possible for more recent scholarship to address bigger questions about the relationship between sport and society in antiquity. We are now, for example, in a position to use what we know about the involvement of Greek colonists in the Olympics to think about how sport helped Greeks who settled overseas, in places such as Egypt or Sicily, maintain a sense of cultural identity while living far from mainland Greece (innovative works along these lines include König 2005 and the essays in Hornblower and Morgan 2007). Increasingly sophisticated scholarship is looking at the significance of Rome’s varied program of entertainments—from the shows of the arena and circus to the acceptance and patronage of Greek athletics—for the ethnicity and self-representation of performers and spectators, as well as the sociopolitical dynamics of shows for elites and emperors (e.g., Beacham 1999; Fagan 2011). This volume participates in the turn toward exploring the relationship between sport and society in antiquity, but it does so through an emphasis on the study of sport as a form of cultural history. Broadly speaking, we conceptualize cultural history as primarily concerned with the patterns of

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thinking and practice that people in a given time and place use to make meaning, and how those patterns evolve over time (Trondman 2011). This is in opposition to the more traditional forms of history, such as military or political history, whose primary aim is to account for and reconstruct particular events in time. A critical underlying question throughout the essays in this volume is how sport in antiquity contributed to the shared systems and discourse of meaning, identity, and practices that ultimately comprised Greek and Roman culture. In addition, this volume aims to consider how sport contributed to changing conceptions of Greek and Roman culture over time. It is precisely this diachronic perspective that makes cultural history as a discipline unique from the synchronic treatments of culture found in anthropology and cultural studies. One might note that there is a considerable degree of overlap between cultural history and social history. If one were forced to make a distinction (and some scholars have argued extensively for such a distinction6), we might say that social history focuses more on the lived experience of the past through an emphasis on individuals and their interactions with social and political institutions, while cultural history concentrates on phenomena that can be generalized as shared experiences, meanings, discourses, and practices. At the same time, cultural history tends to take institutions and practices as a product of culture whereas social history tends to take institutions and practices as given or traces their origins to specific historical events and trajectories. Hence, because sport in antiquity is not simply a cultural phenomenon but is also extensively involved in social and political institutions, our approach to the cultural history of sport will necessarily include methods and perspectives from social history. Writing the cultural history of ancient sport ironically necessitates a return to the very origins of cultural history as a discipline. The nineteenth-century historian Jacob Burckhardt was not only largely responsible for introducing cultural history as an academic field of inquiry, but was also one of the first scholars to give sporting competition a central role in the study of ancient Greek culture in particular. In The Greeks and Greek Civilization, a lecture series that was published posthumously (in 1898–1902), Burckhardt writes that the task of the ancient Greek cultural historian is “to treat the history of Greek habits of thought and mental attitudes, and to seek to establish the vital forces, both constructive and destructive, that were active in Greek life” (J. Burckhardt 1998: 4). Above all other historical forces, he considered the Greek form of institutionalized competition, known as the ag¯on, to be the primary principle structuring ancient Greek culture. Nevertheless, although Burckhardt was the first to focus on sport and its relationship to a broader project of cultural rather than event-oriented history, there remain several difficulties with Burkhardt’s approach that should be clarified for the sake of this volume. First and foremost, it is clear that current approaches to cultural history are significantly different from its origins in nineteenth-century Kulturgeschichte.7

INTRODUCTION

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Burckhardt inherited a scholarly tradition, stretching back to Johann Winckelmann’s History of Art (1764), that was shaped by an impulse to find a trajectory of ascent, zenith, and decay in Greek culture.8 Winckelmann identified four stages in the development of Greek art, with ascent in the first two stages: the Older Style (placed roughly in the period from the eighth through the sixth centuries BCE ) and the Elevated Style (fifth century). This is followed by zenith in the third stage (the Beautiful Style, fourth century) and decay in the fourth stage (the Imitative Style). The decay that set in after the fourth century was understood as continuing thereafter, with the result that Roman art was characterized as unoriginal and derivative. Burckhardt’s view of Greek history had a similar structure, one based largely on the German ideology of the individual.9 Indeed, Burckhardt offered a periodized history of ancient Greek culture as follows: “Heroic kingship,” “Agonal Age,” “Fifth Century,” “Fourth Century,” and “Hellenistic Age.” These phases were described in direct relationship to the formation (Bildung) of the self-conscious individual, and for this reason Burckhardt dubbed the “Agonal Age” from the eighth to the sixth century BCE to be the high period of Greek cultural development—precisely because the ag¯on was responsible, in his view, for the development of the individual as such. In this regard, the ag¯on served as the basis for ancient Greek exceptionalism. Regarding the “Agonal Age” Burckhardt states, “Now individuality as such emerged, and it was this development that made the Greeks a nation different from any other” (J. Burckhardt 1998: 207). Following the Archaic period, according to Burckhardt, the flourishing of Greek culture in the fifth century precipitated an eventual decline. Thus Burckhardt exclaims, “The fifth century began brilliantly for the Greeks, but ended sadly” (J. Burckhardt 1998: 214), and this was to be attributed to a decline in the “spirit of the ag¯on.” As Burckhardt states regarding the fifth century: “Passing on from the Athenians to consider the Greeks in general, the first thing that demands attention is the falling off from the true spirit of the ag¯on” (J. Burckhardt 1998: 237). Burckhardt’s overall view was rightly criticized by another founding figure in the field of cultural history, Johan Huizinga. According to Huizinga, Burckhardt’s own education and his historical and cultural context did not equip him “to perceive the widespread background of the social phenomenon” known as the ag¯on (Huizinga 1980: 71). For Huizinga, the idea of the ag¯on in early Greek culture is better understood as part of a far more universal phenomenon of “play” that is common to all cultures in all phases of history.10 Indeed, for Huizinga the notion of agonism and of “play” more broadly was not simply a historical object of cultural study, but it was the idea of play itself that was constitutive of culture (Huizinga 1980).11 According to Huizinga, therefore, the task of the cultural historian was simply to map out the particular differences in the development of cultures under the broad rubric of play.

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Although Burckhardt and Huizinga’s treatments of sport have been essential for introducing cultural history as a non-narrative, non-event-oriented mode of historical analysis, in our view, neither Burckhardt’s idea that the Greek ag¯on was historically exceptional nor Huizinga’s universalist notion of play are particularly useful for fully appreciating the constant, but ever-changing significance of sport in Greece and Rome. The impulse to identify a pattern of ascent/ zenith/ decay has had a persistently pernicious effect on the study of sport in antiquity. More specifically, there has long been a tendency to see the Greek sport as reaching an acme in the Classical period (c. 480–323 BCE ), with corruption and a penchant for brutalist violence setting in thereafter and finding their natural extreme in the gladiatorial combats in Rome. For example, E.N. Gardiner, in his highly influential Athletics of the Ancient World, repeatedly comments on “the evils and corruption that too often degraded athletics” in the Roman period and claims that “the populace in the cities of Italy had long been brutalized by gladiatorial shows and craved an excitement which pure athletics could not give” (Gardiner 1930: 51, 49). Though this view in its strong form rarely appears overtly in recent scholarship, it continues to exert a subtle influence on research on Greek and Roman sport. However, contrary to the “rise and fall” of Greek sport proposed by Burckhardt and others, there is now good reason to believe that Greek-style competition reached its highest point of popularity and practice during the Roman era.12 Huizinga’s understanding of play as a universal phenomenon with specific manifestations within particular cultures has different but no less serious difficulties because it tends to obscure the degree to which the practice and meaning of sport evolves over the course of time within specific cultures and the extent to which sport is, within the bounds of any given culture, a site of conflict and contestation over norms and ideals. Following Huizinga, one could certainly be tempted to perform an analysis of typological differences between Greek and Roman sporting competitions. But one must be careful to not map such cultural differences onto a diachronic trajectory that moves from Greece to Rome. Ultimately, presentation of strict categorical difference in cultural practices between Greece and Rome does not speak to the cultural historical realities of Greek- and Roman-style sports, which were often practiced simultaneously in the same geographic regions of the Mediterranean over significant periods of time. Overall, this volume aims to be true to the origins of the study of ancient sport in cultural history as established by Burckhardt and Huizinga, while simultaneously taking into consideration the major developments in cultural history since then. Above all else, the main difference between the earliest treatments of the cultural history of sport and that of this volume has to do with the treatment of evidence. As already mentioned, the nature of the evidence for sport remains one of the largest difficulties for the ancient historian, but the

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scholarly work done in the last half-century has opened up new interpretive horizons. First and foremost, this volume gives pride of place to the historical and cultural context of the evidence. Just as an archaeologist must pay careful attention to the find context of any artifact that is excavated, so the cultural historian must pay equal attention to the “find context” of both textual and material objects of study. For instance, Burckhardt acknowledged that much of his evidence for reconstructing the “Agonal Age” of Archaic Greece actually came from the Roman Imperial period. Yet he consciously chose to ignore this fact in favor of his own historical scheme.13 Rather than simply consider the content of sources for Greek and Roman sport, this volume pays attention more precisely to the actual context of what is being said and when. For example, contrary to Burckhardt, authors in this volume consider how and why certain topics of Greek-style sport are being addressed by Roman-era authors and to what end. By paying attention to the context of the relevant evidence, new patterns and trends in the history of sport will emerge that dramatically differ from the old “rise and fall” trajectory of sport and culture in antiquity. Indeed, a contextually-oriented cultural history means that a continuous narrative for certain topics is simply not feasible. But perhaps the historical discontinuity that emerges from a focus on the evidence should be embraced. Such discontinuity can be seen in evidence for the issues of technology and practice (see Chapter 3), for rules of sport (see Chapter 4), and even with regard to issues of conflict and accommodation in sport (see Chapter 5). The fact remains that evidence for certain topics makes an evenly distributed historical narrative impossible, but that impossibility exposes our own impossible desire for a history of sport as a “continuous history.” As Michel Foucault has claimed regarding the problem of history more generally: The problem is no longer one of tradition, of tracing a line, but one of division, of limits; it is no longer one of lasting foundations, but one of transformations that serve as new foundations, the rebuilding of foundations. —Foucault 1977: 5 Sometimes, it is true that the ancient themselves insist upon foundations and seemingly linear trajectories of a common tradition (see Chapter 8), but that does not mean that historians should adopt those ancient tendencies in their own analytic practices. Ultimately, the impossibility of creating a continuous history of ancient sport undermines any attempt to make sport in antiquity serve as an “origin” or “foundation” for the history of sport writ large. Although this volume is labeled as the first in a series on the cultural history of sport, we make no presumptions that the volume’s diachronic priority should convey any type of vertical priority in a value hierarchy.

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In addition, this volume makes use of the evidence of ancient sport not in order to reconstruct the realia of sport, but to reconstruct how sport itself operated as a social construct—one that in turn contributed to the construction of other categories of thought and practice in Greece and Rome. Thus, chapters are dedicated to how the practice and discussion of sport contributed to notions of religiosity and the “sacred” (see Chapter 2), to issues of social identity, status and ethnicity (see Chapter 6), and to how the material and non-material aspects of the body itself was represented and understood in different periods of antiquity (see Chapters 7 and 8). In this regard, sport is understood as an object of social discourse and representation in antiquity that is continuously changing throughout Greek and Roman history. This volume thus describes, as thickly as possible, how the discourse and representation of sport in different phases changes, develops, and responds to earlier phases and other cultural practices. Finally, this volume does adhere to a basic tenet presented in Burckhardt and Huizinga that sees sport not merely as a supplement of culture, but as a practice that is constitutive of it. Of course, such a presupposition presents us with the eternal problem of how and what “culture” means. To be sure, both Burkhardt and Huizinga operated with a German notion of Kultur that is vastly different from the notions of “culture” in operation today, especially after the “cultural turn” in the humanities and social sciences during the twentieth century. Yet, in hindsight, what the cultural turn ultimately revealed is a refusal to adhere to any single narrowly defined notion of “culture.”14 As the cultural anthropologist James Clifford commented, “Culture is a deeply problematic concept I cannot yet do without” (Clifford 1988: 10). One could just as easily say the same thing about the very notion of “sport.” While efforts have been made to understand “sport” from both Greek and Roman perspectives (see Chapter 1), the volume as a whole ultimately shows how the modes of thought and forms of practice that are generally categorized under the topic of “sport” are also undergoing change throughout antiquity.

BACKGROUND: SPORT IN GREECE While we are strong advocates for employing cultural-historical approaches to the study of sport in antiquity, we also are cognizant of the continuing value of “event-oriented sport history.” It is in fact impossible to undertake the former without a firm understanding of the latter. In no small part this is because Greek and Roman authors assumed that their readers were familiar with the basic parameters of the sports to which they referred and hence felt no need to explain how those sports were played, any more than a modern commentator on a basketball game would feel obliged to explain the basic rules of that game. Rather than ask the contributors to this volume to provide the requisite eventoriented background in each essay, which would have created a great deal of

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repetition and compromised contributors’ capacity to focus on writing cultural history, we provide as part of the introduction to the volume a brief eventoriented history of Greek and Roman sport. At the beginning of the period under consideration here, the primary venue for competitive sport among the Greeks seems to have been games held at the funerals of prominent persons.15 Although there is some physical evidence for such games in the form of inscribed bronze cauldrons given out as prizes, by far the fullest and most informative source for funeral games can be found in Homer’s Iliad, which is traditionally dated to the second half of the eighth century BCE and which includes a detailed account (23.262–897) of games organized by Achilles in honor of his dead friend Patroklos.16 Eight contests (chariot-racing, boxing, wrestling, footrace, armed combat to first blood, weight throw, archery, and javelin) are held, and valuable prizes are given to multiple competitors in each competition. A passage from another section of the Iliad (22.158–64) suggests that less elaborate games with humbler prizes were also held, perhaps in association with recurring religious festivals. In Homer’s Odyssey the sons of elite families in the community of Phaiakia organize athletic contests and a dance display in order to entertain the visiting Odysseus (no prizes are given; Odyssey 8.97–255). That same work makes passing references to adult elite males casually throwing the discus and javelin prior to dining (4.625–7, 17.167–9). Although the use of the Homeric poems as a historical source remains the subject of lively scholarly discussion, it seems likely that they reflect (and certainly refract) the realities of sport in Greece in the ninth and eighth centuries BCE . Athletic contests may well have formed part of initiation rites in some communities at this early period, as they surely did later (Scanlon 2002: 64–120), but there is no positive evidence to prove that was the case. Over the course of time, religious festivals emerged as the key context for holding athletic competitions (Murray 2014: 313–15). The best-known and most important festival that included athletic competitions was the Olympics, which were held at the sanctuary of Zeus Olympios at the site of Olympia in the northwestern Peloponnese.17 The site of Olympia has been excavated extensively (Senff 2017), and the Greeks wrote at length about the Olympics; among other things they kept detailed lists of Olympic victors, some of which are extant (Christesen 2007). In the interests of brevity, the remainder of the discussion of Greek sport offered here will concentrate on the Olympics, primarily because the events held there were widely practiced throughout the Greek world. It is, however, important to bear in mind that there was a considerable degree of variation in local sport practices. As Jason König writes, “Underlying the shared, Mediterranean-wide athletic practice was a vast range of different local cultures, each with its own priorities and its own debates” (König 2010: 8). Furthermore, while female competitors (and possibly spectators) were

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rigorously excluded from the Olympics, and were in general given few opportunities to participate in sport (Kyle 2014b), some initiation rites for females did include athletic contests (Scanlon 2002: 98–120, 39–74), and females in the city of Sparta trained and competed in running and wrestling (Christesen 2018: 554–60). The Olympics were held every fourth year during the second full moon after the summer solstice (and hence in the late summer) (S. Miller 1975). Although it is common to cite 776 BCE as the starting date for the ancient Olympics, that date was disputed even in antiquity, and skepticism about its accuracy has been reinforced by modern scholarship. Moreover, the archaeological evidence from Olympia points to a major increase of activity in the sanctuary around 700; if there were athletic contests at Olympia prior to that time they were strictly local affairs with little wider importance (Christesen 2007: 146–60). The site of Olympia lay within the territory of the city-state of Elis, and the Olympics were administered by Eleian officials. Prior to the start of each Olympics, the Eleians dispatched heralds (spondophoroi) who visited Greek communities in order to proclaim a “sacred truce” (ekecheiria). Although the ekecheiria has frequently been described in modern scholarship as instituting a general cessation of hostilities throughout the Greek world, that was definitely not the case. The ekecheiria only guaranteed safe passage for athletes and spectators traveling to and from the Games and prohibited the entry of armed forces into the territory of Elis during the Olympics (and even the latter provision was violated on occasion) (Lämmer 2010). The ancient Olympics differed from their modern counterparts in a number of ways, among which is the absence of anything like national teams. Athletes decided as individuals whether they wished to try to compete in the Olympics, and those individuals who did so made an appearance at the city of Elis (about 35 kilometers northwest of Olympia) a month prior to the start of the Games in order to be vetted by Eleian officials (Crowther 1996). Regardless of one’s athletic talents, participation in the Olympics was limited to free Greek males: females, non-Greeks, and slaves were excluded (Mann 2014b). As Mark Golden has pointed out, the Olympics reflected and reified hierarchical dualities that were basic to Greek society: Greek/non-Greek, male/female, free/slave (Golden 1998). The athletes who were given clearance to compete were sorted into two age groups: boys (roughly 12–17 years old) and men (roughly 18 years and up) (Petermandl 2014: 241–3). Up through the middle of the seventh century BCE , most competitors (and presumably spectators) came from the immediate vicinity of Elis, but after that time the Olympics drew in Greeks from a progressively broader area (Morgan 1990: 26–105; Ulf 1997b). In the middle of the fifth century BCE , the Eleians built a new stadium at Olympia that held c. 40,000 spectators (Schilbach 1992), which likely gives some sense of the number of spectators who were in

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attendance at the Games. The Olympics were a key opportunity for Greeks from widely scattered communities to gather together at a single place at a single point in time and engage in activities—primarily sport and religious worship—that helped construct a sense of shared ethnic identity. In that sense, the Olympics were Panhellenic (literally “all Greeks”), though that did not mean that rivalry and ill-feelings were absent. Quite the contrary, Greek communities erected at Olympia hundreds of monuments to celebrate military victories, many of which involved defeating other Greek communities (Scott 2010: 256–64; T. H. Nielsen 2014). The program of competitions evolved over the course of time (Lee 2001), and information about what changes were made when can be found in work by a number of Greek and Roman authors, most notably the travel writer Pausanias (5.8.5–9.2), who visited Olympia in the second century CE . The accuracy of the information those authors provide about the events held at Olympia prior to the sixth century BCE is open to question, but it is likely to be correct for later periods (see table below; Christesen 2007: 16–17, 66, 476–8). It is unclear how many days the Olympics occupied in their early form; by the mid-fifth century they took five days, with the literal and figurative center point of the Games being a massive sacrifice of cattle to Zeus Olympios on the third day. Changes to the Program of Events at the Ancient Olympic Games

Event(s) (name in Greek) c. 200 meter sprint (stadion) c. 400 meter run (diaulos) distance footrace (dolichos) pentathlon, wrestling (pal¯e) boxing (pyx/pygmachia/pygm¯e) four-horse chariot-race (tethrippon) all-in wrestling (pankration), horseback race (kel¯es) boys’ stadion, boys’ wrestling boys’ pentathlon (discontinued immediately thereafter) boys’ boxing c. 400 meter run in armor (hoplit¯es/hoplitodromos) mule-cart race (ap¯en¯e) horseback race for mares (kalp¯e) ap¯en¯e and kalp¯e discontinued two-horse chariot-race (synoris) contests for heralds and trumpeters four-colt chariot-race two-colt chariot-race horseback race for colts boys’ all-in wrestling (pankration)

Year Added to Olympic Program 776 724 720 708 688 680 648 632 628 616 520 500 496 444 408 396 384 268 256 200

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Greeks distinguished between gymnikoi ag¯ones and hippikoi ag¯ones. Gymnikoi ag¯ones included the various footraces, the pentathlon, and combat sports such as boxing; hippikoi ag¯ones featured chariot-races and races for ridden horses. Whereas charioteers and jockeys competed fully clothed, athletes in the other contests were (at least after the seventh century BCE ) nude (gymnos) (S. Miller 2004a: 13–14). Modern scholars have found it useful to Anglicize the relevant Greek terms and to write about gymnic and hippic contests. One of the most popular gymnic contests was the stadion, a sprint that covered one length of the track. The length of Greek tracks varied from place to place, but most were in the range of 170–190 meters. Other footraces included the diaulos (two lengths/one lap of the track), the hoplitodromos (a one-lap race in which the competitors wore a helmet and carried a shield), and the dolichos (a longer race with the number of laps varying from site to site but typically in the range of 20–24, making the dolichos a race covering about 8,000 meters). There is no evidence, at Olympia or elsewhere, for longer footraces—the marathon race is a purely modern invention.18 The pentathlon (literally the “five competitions”) was so-named because it comprised five events: discus, javelin, long jump, stadion, and wrestling (S. Miller 2004a: 60–74). Like the stadion, wrestling was also held as an independent event and formed part of a triad of combat sports: wrestling, boxing, and pankration. Those three competitions were called the “heavy contests,” in part because there were no weight classes in ancient Greek combat sports, which meant that larger athletes tended to dominate. Also noteworthy is the absence of rounds in boxing; fighting continued uninterrupted until one contestant surrendered or was knocked out. The pankration was something like the modern sport of mixed martial arts in combining wrestling and boxing with few restrictions beyond a prohibition on gouging eyes and biting. The number of competitors meant that competitions in the combat sports went through multiple rounds, with victors having to make it through multiple matches in a single day.19 Although they do not regularly feature in modern descriptions of the ancient Olympics, the hippikoi ag¯ones were an integral part of the Games (S. Miller 2004a: 75–84). Racehorses were proverbially expensive to acquire, maintain, and train, so the hippic contests were largely the preserve of the rich. The hippic contests were very different from their gymnic counterparts in that prizes were given to the owners of the winning horses—not to the charioteer and jockey. Since owners did not have to be physically present at Olympia, females who owned horses could be and were declared Olympic victors; the first such victor was Kyniska (a member of one of the Spartan royal families) who won the four-horse chariot-race at Olympia in both 396 and 392 BCE and who erected monuments there to celebrate her victories.20 In addition to the four-horse chariot-race, the hippic contests at Olympia eventually came to

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include a two-horse chariot-race, chariot-races for teams of four and two colts, and horseback races for horses and colts. For a relatively brief period of time in the fifth century BCE , the hippic contests at Olympia included a race for mares in which riders repeatedly dismounted and remounted and a race for carts pulled by mules. The hippic contests involved considerable danger for the equestrian and human participants—collisions in the chariot-race were not uncommon (including head-on collisions since Greek hippodromes had no central divider)—and jockeys rode galloping horses without the benefit of stirrups. During the sixth century BCE , major athletic festivals were established at other sanctuaries on the Greek mainland. Three such festivals—those at Delphi, Isthmia, and Nemea—emerged as the most prestigious athletic competitions other than the Olympics. Over the course of time, those four sets of competitions came to form what the Greeks called the “circuit” (periodos), and they were scheduled in such a way as to ensure that they did not overlap. Athletes boasted of winning the same event at all four games (the rough ancient equivalent of the Grand Slam in tennis). It is worth noting that, although the program of events at the other periodos games were modeled on that at Olympia, there were also significant divergences. For example, whereas the Olympics included only gymnic and hippic contests, the Pythian Games at Delphi and the Isthmian Games also featured musical contests (Kyle 2015: 132–46). The periodos games are typically called “stephanitic” because prizes—given only to victors—consisted solely of wreaths (stephanoi). At Olympia, the wreath was made from branches from a sacred olive tree in the Sanctuary of Zeus. The other periodos games awarded wreaths made from trees and plants associated with the patron deity of the sanctuary in question (e.g. laurel at Delphi). That does not, however, mean that athletes competed solely for the (quite considerable) prestige that came with victory. It was a regular practice for victors’ hometowns to provide them with significant rewards, including substantial monetary grants (Instone and Spawforth 2014). Moreover, there were, in addition, to the stephanitic games, literally hundreds of athletic contests at which valuable prizes, such as silver cups or vases containing olive oil, were awarded. Most Greek communities held at least one such contest on a recurring basis, with the larger communities such as Athens in a position to offer richer prizes and to attract more and more talented competitors (T. H. Nielsen 2018: 11–168). There is irrefutable evidence that the talented athletes who competed at the periodos games also regularly competed at these local games and amassed considerable fortunes. The idea that Greek athletes were amateurs who never financially benefited from their victories is a myth created in the nineteenth century CE to justify regulations intended to exclude non-elites from emergent athletic competitions (Young 1984). Although the program of events at local games in many ways mimicked

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that at Olympia and Delphi, local games had a more strongly civic orientation, and there was a great deal of variation from place to place. For example, some contests were open only to citizens of the community sponsoring the festival, and in many cases featured team competitions (which were unknown at the periodos games). Frequently local games included contests that reflected local interests. A boat race formed part of the Panathenaic Games at Athens, a major naval power, and something like modern-day rodeo contests were held by communities in Thessaly, a region famous for livestock breeding (Gallis 1988; Zapheiropoulou 2004).

BACKGROUND: SPORT IN ROME Any discussion of sport in Rome must be prefaced by a consideration of what does and does not fall under the heading of sport. The key question is whether events built around staged violence (gladiatorial combats are the most obvious but not the only example) should be considered forms of sport. That question has been the subject of lively and continuing debate. Some scholars have argued that events built around staged violence fall outside the boundaries of anything that can be reasonably described as sport and that a distinction should be made between sport on one hand and spectacle on the other (with gladiatorial combats assigned to the latter category). Other scholars have pointed out that the Romans themselves made no distinction between sport and spectacle and that they perceived no categorical difference between gladiatorial combat and Greek athletic contests (which were held in Rome starting in the first century BCE ); they have argued on that basis that gladiatorial combats and other forms of staged violence should be considered as forms of sport.21 A relevant, potentially important consideration is that whereas the participants in most Greek sport competitions were free, typically high-status males, the participants in all forms of Roman sport and spectacle (if that distinction can be maintained) were either slaves or freed slaves—respectable Roman citizens played the role of spectators (Edwards 1997: 67–76). Rose MacLean suggests in Chapter 1 of this volume that, from the perspective of cultural history, it is the perceptions of the people involved that are of primary importance and that, for the purposes of this volume at least, all forms of Roman staged violence should be considered forms of sport. We are entirely persuaded by that line of thought, though in our role as editors we did not feel it within our remit to impose that view dogmatically on all of the contributors. With that in mind, the discussion of Roman sport that follows includes gladiatorial combats and other forms of staged violence. It will also be helpful to bear in mind that we are best informed about sport in the city of Rome, which will be the focus here, but that sport took place in sites across the entire territory ruled by the Roman state. Sport outside of the city of Rome was

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profoundly influenced by what took place at Rome itself, though at a much smaller scale and with considerable local variation. Finally, it is worth emphasizing that Greek-style sport continued to flourish, especially in the eastern half of the Roman empire, through the third century CE and beyond. The inhabitants of the city of Rome from an early date staged various forms of what they called spectacula (singular spectaclum), literally “things worth seeing” (Kyle 2015: 7–9). The audience for spectacula included not only the humans in attendance, but also the gods, who were understood as taking an anthropomorphized pleasure in watching them. Spectacula were in early periods frequently staged in times of crisis, when it was considered to be particularly important to solicit the benevolence of the deities worshipped by the Romans.22 Spectacula took a variety of forms, among which the most important of which were chariot-races (ludi circenses), drama (ludi scaenici), gladiatorial combats (munera), staged animal hunts (venationes), staged naval battles (naumachiae), and Greek athletic contests (athletae). On some occasions, all of these forms of spectacle were held during a single, multi-day event (see, for example, Suetonius Julius Caesar 37–9), but under normal circumstances particular forms of spectacula were presented separately or in particular combinations. One regular such combination was chariot-races and drama, which were typically held as part of public games (ludi). Ludi came into being when a highranking magistrate or general decided to organize a set of games, in many cases as a means of propitiating a divinity or offering thanks to the gods for a military victory. In some instances, the ludi in question were held just once; in other instances the ludi became a recurring event that was held annually. The earliest known ludi were held not long after the foundation of the Roman Republic (c. 509 BCE ), and it is possible that they occurred prior to that time. The funds to pay for ludi came from both the public treasury and from the private resources of magistrates who organized them (Zaleski 2014: 591–3). The single most important ludi, the ludi Romani, were dedicated to Jupiter Optimus Maximus and became an annual event sometime in the first half of the fourth century BCE (Bernstein 1998: 51–78). Starting in the third century BCE , as the territory under Roman control expanded rapidly, the resources available to the Roman state and Roman magistrates grew proportionally, which in turn facilitated the foundation of new ludi. By the end of the first century BCE , ludi held in the city of Rome took up well over 60 days per year, by the middle of the fourth century CE over 150 days per year (Veyne 1990: 399). Chariot-races were the earliest and arguably the most popular form of spectaculum in the city of Rome.23 The first such races in Rome were held well before the Republic came into being, and they remained a basic part of Roman

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life for well over a millennium. Whereas the entries in Greek chariot-races were funded by and belonged to wealthy, private individuals, chariot-racing in Rome was organized (by the fourth century BCE at the latest) around large, highly organized collective enterprises called factiones. Each faction was owned by a wealthy aristocrat and run by professional managers who oversaw a staff consisting of more than 200 slaves and freedmen and a large stable of horses (Potter 2010: 308–25). Each faction had at its disposal the full array of personnel and equipment needed to enter multiple chariots into races on a regular basis. There were four primary factiones, which were differentiated by the color of the clothing worn by their charioteers (white, red, blue, green), and chariotracing fans formed strong attachments to specific factions (Pliny Epistles 9.6). Star charioteers became famous in their own right, but those star charioteers, like modern athletes, sometimes changed teams. Factiones were thus similar in many respects to the professional sports clubs of the modern day. The organizers of ludi provided funds to factiones for supplying entries into chariot-races, and additional, substantial cash prizes were given to the factio of a winning chariot team. The charioteers themselves received palm fronds and cash awards as well as a percentage of prize money. Various forms of theater (ludi scaenici) were another major component of ludi.24 This form of spectaculum seems to have come to Rome in the fourth century BCE and evolved markedly over the course of time. Originally the performances were largely musical in nature, but by the end of the third century BCE the most popular forms of theater in Rome were adaptations of Greek tragedies and comedies (presented in Latin) and farces (fabulae Atellanae) featuring humorously boorish rustic characters. Shortly thereafter, other types of dramatic performances entered the Romans’ theatrical repertoire, including plays based on Roman history (fabulae praetextae) and plays based on everyday life in Rome (fabulae togatae). In the first century BCE , two new forms of Roman drama emerged. One was the mime (mimus), in which performers acted out scenes that were frequently much more risqué than those found in earlier forms of Roman theater. (The modern meaning of mime is misleading in this instance since the actors in mimus spoke.) The other new form of drama was the pantomime (pantomimus), which involved actors staging scenes typically drawn from Greek mythology with musical accompaniment provided by an orchestra. Although gladiatorial combats are inextricably linked with Rome in the modern imagination, they did not become part of the Roman program of spectacula until a relatively late date and were not a Roman invention.25 The first such combats, which were known as munera (singular munus, meaning “duty” or “gift”), were held in Rome in 264 BCE on the occasion of the funeral of Junius Pera (Livy Epitome 16, Valerius Maximus Memorable Doings and Sayings 2.4.7). The Romans adopted this practice from another ethnic group in

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Italy, either the Etruscans or the Campanians. Over the course of time the association of munera with funerals eroded, and they increasingly became part of ludi and, at the same time, the scale of fights increased noticeably. The first munus in Rome in 264 involved three pairs of gladiators; by the second century CE Roman emperors were staging munera that involved hundreds or even thousands of pairs of gladiators fighting over the course of days and weeks. Gladiators were organized into troops (familiae) that bore a considerable resemblance to the factiones in the circus. Familiae were owned by wealthy, elite Romans; eventually most of them fell under the direct control of the emperor himself. The day-to-day management of a familia was handled by trainers called lanistae, who seem for the most part to have been free men of low status. The gladiators themselves, like the performers in other types of spectacula, were generally low-status individuals; most seem to have been prisoners of war, slaves, or criminals.26 In some instances free men chose to fight as gladiators, primarily it seems in pursuit of financial rewards, and gladiators also enjoyed a certain status due in large part to the strong military ethos that permeated Roman society. The organizers of events such as ludi that included a munus would pay the owners of familiae to provide gladiators and would offer prize money. The victorious gladiators received both symbolic prizes (palm leaves, a crown) and part of the prize money (with the rest going to the owner of the familia to which the victorious gladiator belonged). Gladiators who entered a familia as a slave were in some cases manumitted, either by purchasing their freedom using accumulated prize money or as a reward for displaying exemplary skill or for extended service (Dunkle 2008: 30–40, 142–4). Gladiatorial combats were for the most part one-on-one fights that involved combatants who were equipped with specific combinations of weapons and armor (armatures) and who had roughly the same level of skill and experience. When an individual expected to become a gladiator was brought into a familia, he was trained to fight with a particular armature, with each armature representing a recognizable and named type of gladiator (Junkelmann 2000a: 43–128). It seems to have been widespread practice to create particular pairings of gladiator types, in some cases involving two combatants with the same armature, in others, combatants with different armatures. In the same vein, gladiators were given a ranking based on how much and how well they had fought (Potter 2010: 341–5). The overall goal was to provide an entertaining fight with an uncertain outcome rather than an obvious mismatch that rapidly ended in the slaughter of one of the combatants. Despite the violence inherent in munera, gladiatorial combats were structured, carefully supervised encounters that typically did not end with the death of either of the combatants (Dunkle 2008: 66–152). Matches were overseen by a referee (summa rudis) and, once under way, continued until a

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combatant was dead, incapacitated, or signaled submission by raising an index finger or dropping his shield. A gladiator who had submitted was understood as having requested missio (release) from the combat. The decision whether or not to grant missio was made by the organizer (editor) of the munus, with the editor typically relying at least in part on the general sentiment expressed by the audience. In most cases, a gladiator who had put up a good fight was given missio, whereas a gladiator who had displayed a noteworthy absence of courage or skill could be denied missio. In the event of the latter, the gladiator who had submitted was executed on the spot. Some gladiatorial combats were held under rules that forbade in advance any missio, but such combats were exceptional (Potter 2010), and they were eventually banned by the emperor Augustus. There were, in addition to munera, two other forms of violent spectacle in Rome: staged animal hunts (venationes, singular venatio) and staged naval battles (naumachiae). The first venatio in Rome was held in 186 BCE during a set of ludi held by the Roman general Marcus Fulvius Nobilior as part of celebrations of his military victories (Livy 39.22.1–4). The appeal of venationes lay not just in the violence involved, but also in the novelty of watching the killing of what were, to a Roman audience, exotic animals such as hippopotami and giraffes. Venationes could involve either combats between animals or between animals and a trained hunter (venator). A seemingly popular variation was to use large predators such as lions to kill condemned criminals (Epplett 2014a; Epplett 2014b). Naumachiae were held relatively rarely because of the logistical complexities and concomitant expenses involved. The first naumachia in Rome was staged in 46 BCE by Julius Caesar, who built an artificial lake for the event (Suetonius Julius Caesar 39.4). A naumachia held by Augustus in 2 BCE saw 3,000 combatants fighting on dozens of ships, large and small (Augustus Res Gestae 23). All of the known naumachiae were presented as re-enactments of past naval battles, real or imagined (Coleman 1993; Dunkle 2008: 192–201). The final form of spectaculum in Rome was Greek athletics. The ludi held by Marcus Fulvius Nobilior in 186 BCE , the occasion of the first venatio in Rome, also featured the first display of Greek athletic contests (what the Romans called athletae) in Rome.27 Those contests seem to have included the full array of gymnic competitions held at the Olympics. Whereas venationes seem to have been well received and were held regularly thereafter, athletae do not appear to have gone over particularly well with Roman audiences. The next known athletae were held by Pompey in 55 BCE , and then too the reception seems to have been lukewarm (Cicero Letters to His Friends 7.1.3). Part of the problem was that Roman audiences likely experienced a certain level of discomfort because of the nudity of the competitors (Crowther 1980–1981). By the first century BCE , however, athletae began to achieve a higher degree of popularity. It is noteworthy that Augustus, in writing an account of his

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greatest achievements (a work known as the Res Gestae), explicitly mentions having sponsored two athletae in Rome and includes athletae (along with munera, venationes, and naumachiae) among the spectacula on which he had spent lavishly (22, summary). Later emperors, most notably Nero and Domitian, showed a particular fondness for Greek athletics. Nero founded a set of contests, the Neronia, that were closely modeled on Greek athletic festivals and that included musical, athletic, and hippic competitions (Suetonius Nero 12.3). A few decades later, Domitian established a similar festival, the Capitoline Games, which were held through the third century CE . It was not until sometime in the fifth century CE that the practice of both Greek and Roman sport seems to have ceased entirely (on which see Remijsen 2015). Yet despite the end of sporting practice in Late Antiquity, it is clear that the discourse on ancient sport continued well into the modern era, a phenomenon that will no doubt appear in the subsequent volumes in this Bloomsbury series on the cultural history of sport. It was in the wake of various efforts to revive the practice of ancient Greek and Roman sport in the nineteenth century, seen most strongly with the Olympic revival, that the study of ancient sport itself also came into its own. In other words, from the nineteenth century onward, the importance attributed to the study of ancient sport continues to grow with the renewed importance placed on the practice of sport in modern society. Indeed, it could be argued from a world historical perspective that the practice of sport today has reached a level of involvement and significance that has not been paralleled since Antiquity. As sport continues to be ever more central to social and cultural life, we hope that the study of ancient sport from a cultural historical perspective may continue to serve as a useful sounding board for tackling some of the most pressing issues of the present.

NOTES 1. On the complex process of rejecting exclusionary discourses while recognizing practical limits on intellectual inquiry, see Fish 1989. 2. For a good, brief overview of Greek and Roman history, see Spawforth 2018. 3. The evidence for Greek and Roman sport is discussed in detail in the essays by Aldrete, Neils, Nicholson, Perry, Pleket, Martirosova Torlone, and Tuck in Christesen and Kyle 2014b. 4. On “event-oriented sport history” in the context of the study of ancient sport, see Kyle 2015: 1–7. For general overviews of the state of the field, see Christesen and Kyle 2014a; Toner 2014. One testament to the exponential increase in the study of ancient sport is the online bibliography published by the journal Nikephoros, edited by Z. Papakonstantinou and S. Remijsen: http://nikephoros. uni-mannheim.de. 5. This call to “take sport seriously” was a challenge posed to the field of American History, by the sports historians Elliot Gorn and Michael Orard (Gorn and Orard

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1995). Many of Gorn and Oriard’s complaints also ring true for the plight of ancient historians specializing in the study of sport even today. 6. On the interrelationship and distinctions between social and cultural history, see Hunt 1989; Fass 2003; Burke 2019, among others. 7. On Burckhardt’s notion of Kulturgeschichte, see Gossman 2000; Hardtwig 2013. On the transition from Kulturgeschichte to cultural history in the Anglophone tradition, see Burke 2019. 8. A full explication of Winckelmann’s theory of Greek art history is well beyond the scope of this introduction, but see, among others, Marvin 2008; North 2012; Harloe 2013. 9. The art historian E.H. Gombrich criticized Burckhardt for promoting a “Hegelian” model of Universal History in his specific interpretations, although Burckhardt himself often criticized Hegel and professed to not having read much of the philosopher (Gombrich 1979: 24–60; Hughson 2009: 6–7). A common train of thought between Hegel’s philosophic history and Burckhardt’s cultural history may be found in their view of the historical development or Bildung of the individual as such. For the history of German ideology of the individual, see Dumont 1986, Dumont 1994. 10. On competition as a subspecies of play in the Greek tradition, see Huizinga 1980: 30–1. 11. For an overview of the significance and contribution of Huizinga’s Homo Ludens to the field of cultural history, see Jardine 2015: 84–105; Burke 2019: 1–50. 12. See especially König 2005; Newby 2005; Pleket 2014; Remijsen 2015. 13. As Burckhardt states, “It is true that the coherent statements of this attitude which survive belong to the period of the Roman Empire; but we cannot fail to recognize in Plutarch and Lucian the echo of an old Attic way of thinking for which these authors are so often our indispensable sources. The tone they use is, as we shall see, one in which ancient, widespread and universally accepted convictions are usually uttered” (J. Burckhardt 1998: 193). 14. On the “cultural turn” and its relevance to cultural history, see especially Bonnell and Hunt 1999; Hunt 1989; Burke 2019. 15. The introduction to Greek sport provided here draws heavily on Kyle 2014a. Helpful studies of Greek sport can be found in S. Miller 2004a and Kyle 2015. For ancient textual sources bearing on Greek sport, see S. Miller 2004b. For a collection of essays, providing a general overview of Greek sport, see Christesen and Kyle 2014b. 16. The earliest of the cauldrons dates to c. 700, but most are dated to the end of the seventh or early sixth century BCE . See T. Perry 2014: 56–7. On athletics in Homer, see Perry 2014 and Stocking Forthcoming. 17. For good overviews of the ancient Olympics, see S. Miller 2004a: 113–28 and Kyle 2015: 91–131 and the sources cited therein. 18. On footraces at Olympia in particular and Greek sport in general, see S. Miller 2004a: 31–46. 19. On combat sports, see Poliakoff 1987; S. Miller 2004a: 46–60. 20. On Kyniska, see Christesen 2019: 98–100 and the sources cited therein.

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21. See Rose MacLean’s discussion of this issue in Chapter 1 for more detail and relevant bibliography. 22. The introduction to Roman sport provided here draws heavily on Dunkle 2014. Helpful studies of Roman sport can be found in Futrell 1997 and Kyle 2015. For ancient textual sources bearing on Roman sport, see Futrell 2006. For a collection of essays providing a general overview of Roman sport, see Christesen and Kyle 2014b. 23. On chariot-racing in Rome, see Humphrey 1986; Bell 2014. 24. On Roman theater, see Boyle 2006 and Manuwald 2011 and the articles collected in McDonald 2011 and Frangoulidis, Harrison, and Manuwald 2016. For a selection of the relevant texts, see Manuwald 2010. 25. The scholarly literature on gladiatorial combats is extensive. Good starting places can be found in Junkelmann 2000a; Dunkle 2008; Fagan 2011; Fagan 2014. 26. Virtually all known gladiators were male, though women did fight as gladiators in exceptional cases (Brunet 2014). 27. On Greek athletics in Rome, see Newby 2005; Lee 2014.

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CHAPTER ONE

The Purpose of Sport PAUL CHRISTESEN AND ROSE MACLEAN

INTRODUCTION “People know what they do; they frequently know why they do what they do; but what they don’t know is what they do does” (cited as a personal communication in Dreyfus, Rabinow, and Foucault 1983: 187). This quote from Foucault speaks to what we see as one of the major differences between cultural and social history—cultural history tends to focus on why people believe themselves to be doing what they do, whereas social history tends to focus on the larger ramifications of actions taken by individuals or groups. This essay explores the perceived purposes of sport, for those playing and watching it, in ancient Greece and Rome. Our attention throughout is focused on what Greeks and Romans believed the purposes of sport to be, and, as a result, we concern ourselves first and foremost with ancient textual sources and the historical background necessary to put those sources into context. Discussion of ongoing debates among modern-day scholars about the place of sport in Greece and Rome is, as a result, relatively minimal, not because those debates are unimportant, but because it is preferable within the bounds of this essay to let the Greeks and Romans speak for themselves. The establishment of Greek emporia and colonies along parts of coastline of the Italian peninsula starting in the eighth century BCE (on which see Boardman 1999: 161–224) and the Roman conquest of the Greek homeland in the third and second centuries BCE (on which see Waterfield 2014), among many other factors, brought the Greeks and Romans into meaningful and extended contact from an early date. Nevertheless, Greeks and Romans remained culturally distinct from each other throughout the period under consideration here. This 23

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essay is thus divided into two broad parts, one focusing on Greece from the eighth through fourth centuries BCE and the other on Rome in the third century BCE through the third century CE . In both cases, we will, in the interests of brevity, restrict ourselves to touching upon just a few of the more important features of a rich and complex array of cultural practices. Before proceeding, a couple of caveats are in order. First, it is important to bear in mind that Greek communities throughout the Mediterranean survived and indeed flourished during centuries of Roman rule and that sport continued to be a prominent part of life in those communities through the end of Classical antiquity. That part of the story of Greek sport, in which the purpose of sport became increasingly centered around expressions of Greek ethnic identity, is not told here but is ably discussed in Chapters 5 and 6. Second, insofar as this essay focuses on organized, competitive games that were typically performed in front of a public audience, it is worth noting that both the Greeks and Romans from an early period frequently engaged in informal sporting activity primarily for recreational purposes. Homer’s Iliad and the Odyssey (eighth century BCE ) contain multiple scenes in which people casually play sports for their own entertainment (Iliad 2.773–5; Odyssey 4.625– 7, 6.100–10, 17.167–9). Starting in the sixth century BCE , Greeks used gymnasia and smaller, frequently privately owned exercise facilities called palaistrai for daily exercise and for the physical education of young male citizens, most of whom never competed at a major athletic contest (S. Miller 2004a: 185). In the Roman world, those needs were served largely by bathhouses, which contained exercise yards called palaestrae, a transliteration of the Greek word. Bathing facilities, an essential feature of any Roman city, could be public complexes or private baths in the lavish homes of the wealthy (e.g. Pliny Epistles 2.17, 5.6; Newby 2005: 45–140). Both the Greeks and Romans played various ball games, and while the rules are obscure, it is clear that ball-playing rarely formed part of organized athletic contests, in stark contrast to the modern world (McClelland 2007: 71–3; O’Sullivan 2012). Hunting for sport was also a popular pastime in Greco-Roman antiquity, especially among elites who could afford to keep horses and hunting dogs (Green 1996; Barringer 2001).

SPORT AND DISTINCTIONS BETWEEN AND AMONG GROUPS IN GREEK COMMUNITIES Perhaps the single most important purpose of sport in ancient Greece was the creation of distinctions—distinctions between groups, on the basis of participation, and distinctions within groups, on the basis of competition. Regular participation in sport was in Greek communities almost always limited to free males. Females in Sparta were exceptional in that they took part in sport on a regular basis (Christesen 2018: 554–60), and there were a small number of

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athletic competitions for unmarried females in the first and second centuries CE (Lee 1988), but otherwise Greek females participated in sport only in the context of coming-of-age rituals (Scanlon 2008: 64–120, 39–98; Kyle 2014b). Likewise, unfree people, both males and females, were almost always strictly excluded from sport participation (Crowther 2004: 247–54). Sport was, as a result, inherently an activity that created distinctions between those who were at least potentially socially and politically empowered (free males) and those who were disempowered on both a de iure and de facto basis. Even within the restricted group of free males, sport participation tended to demarcate those who enjoyed full social and political privileges from those who did not (Golden 1998). The degree to which social and political power was dispersed among free males changed over the course of time, and hence it is necessary to approach the relationship between Greek sport and social distinctions in a diachronic fashion, starting with the situation in the eighth century BCE . Sport was, as will become apparent, strongly connected to sociopolitical dynamics, and hence it is impossible to discuss the purpose of sport in Greece without examining some aspects of Greek political history. Sport and Distinctions Between and Among Groups in Greek Communities in the Eighth Century BCE At the beginning of the eighth century BCE , small numbers of elite males, called basileis or chiefs, occupied the leading positions in the political, social, military, and economic hierarchies of Greek communities. The status and wealth of basileis set them apart from other members of their communities, and that distinction was reflected, reinforced, and reified by the fact that only basileis seem to have participated in sport in a regular and serious fashion. Our best sources of information about sport in eighth-century Greece are Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, which contain numerous descriptions of and references to athletic competitions.1 A particularly clear instance of limitations on participation can be found in an archery contest described in the Odyssey. Odysseus, upon returning home after having been gone for twenty years and being reckoned by almost everyone to be long dead, adopts the disguise of a beggar because his house is occupied by dozens of basileis competing to marry his wife Penelope (thought to be a rich widow). Penelope, at the prompting of Athena, proposes to marry whichever suitor wins an archery contest. The contestants have to string a huge bow and use it to hit a difficult set of targets. None of the suitors can string the bow, and when Odysseusas-beggar proposes to try, the suitors are incensed, and one of them says: Ah, wretched stranger, you have no sense, not even a little. . . . I announce great trouble for you . . . if ever you string this bow; you will meet no kind

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of courtesy in our group, but we shall put you into a black ship and take you over to King Echetos, one who mutilates all men; there you will lose everything. . . . —Odyssey 21.288–309, trans. R. Lattimore The mere idea of Odysseus-as-beggar taking part in an athletic competition alongside the suitors represents an intolerable violation of the boundaries between basileis and the rest of the community.2 Sport also created fluid distinctions within the group of basileis, who competed among themselves for tim¯e. There is no precisely equivalent term in English; it is frequently translated as “honor” but “respect” is closer to the mark. Tim¯e can be understood as consisting of public recognition of one’s skills and achievements in the form of esteem expressed by the members of one’s community. The Homeric poems leave no doubt that a goal of overriding importance among basileis was the pursuit of tim¯e (J. Burckhardt 1998: 160– 213; Ulf 2011). Some sense of the importance of tim¯e can be had from the fact that it drives the plot of the Iliad. A vicious dispute arises between Agamemnon, the commander of the Greek army, and Achilles, the army’s greatest warrior, over a matter of tim¯e; Achilles, angered by being treated with disrespect, refuses to fight until his tim¯e has been restored. The circulation of tim¯e was symbolized and actualized by and conceptualized in terms of the distribution of meat from sacrificial animals. The sacrifice of animals formed a regular part of cult rituals, and while some portions of those animals were reserved for the deity or hero being honored (typically by being burnt on an altar), most of the meat was parceled out among the humans present. The perceived status of and hierarchy among those present had a profound effect on who received the largest and most desirable cuts of meat and how the remainder was distributed; as Charles Stocking notes, “social competition [was] mediated through sacrifice” (Stocking 2017: 158; cf. G. Nagy 1979: 119–48). The ideal was that each individual involved, including the deity or hero being worshipped, received a portion of meat that was fair in the sense that it corresponded to and reinforced his or her tim¯e. Tim¯e was inherently relative, which is to say that it was not measured in absolute terms but in relation to that of other members of one’s community. The tim¯e enjoyed by an individual gave him a place in a status hierarchy that might be pictured as a ladder, with each person occupying a rung on the ladder. When someone did something that increased his tim¯e, he moved up the ladder—and other people necessarily moved down (van Wees 1992: 69–125; though see also the cautionary notes in Scodel 2008: 1–32). In order to win tim¯e, an individual had to demonstrate excellence (aret¯e) and by far the most prestigious way to demonstrate one’s aret¯e was displaying physical prowess on the battlefield. Battles were, however, by their very nature

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intermittent, and it was inherently counterproductive for males living in the same community to engage in violent conflict with each other on any sort of regular basis. Sport played an important role in Greek communities of the eighth century in large part because it gave basileis the opportunity to compete with each other in non-fatal displays of physical prowess that put their aret¯e on display, thereby making it possible for them to earn tim¯e. In that sense, sport served as a social substitute for war. In addition, whereas the chaotic conditions of the battlefield could make it difficult to establish the relative physical prowess of any two given individuals, particularly if they were fighting on the same side, head-to-head competition in, for example, a wrestling match made their relative aret¯e and hence relative tim¯e abundantly clear (Christesen 2012b: 120– 32). As a result, sport helped create continually shifting status distinctions among basileis. Insofar as earning tim¯e was a goal of overriding importance, the ability to demonstrate aret¯e in sport was a key trait of all ambitious basileis. In the Odyssey, during Odysseus’ visit to the Phaiakians, the local basileis arrange for their sons to compete in athletic contests for Odysseus’ entertainment. In the middle of those contests, two of the competitors, Laodamas and Euryalos, approach Odysseus and invite him to join them. Laodamas says: It’s fit and proper for you to know your sports. What greater glory attends a man, while he’s alive, than what he wins with his racing feet and striving hands? Come and compete. . . . —Odyssey 8.170–2, trans. R. Fagles When Odysseus demurs, Euryalos verbally attacks him, accusing Odysseus of being a merchant with no athletic talent or experience. That, in turn, enrages Odysseus, who retorts: Your slander fans the anger in my heart! I’m no stranger to sports—for all your taunts—I’ve held my place in the front ranks, I tell you. . . . I’ll compete in your games, just watch. Your insults cut to the quick—you rouse my fighting blood! —8.206–15, trans. R. Fagles Odysseus then grabs a discus and hurls it well beyond the longest throw of any of the Phaiakians, after which he goes on to boast about his skill in boxing, wrestling, archery, and spear throwing. It is noteworthy that Odysseus interrupts his boasts about his athletic talents to emphasize that he is an experienced warrior, thus highlighting the close connection between war and sport as venues where basileis earned tim¯e.

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Sport and Distinctions Between and Among Groups in Greek Communities in the Archaic and Classical Periods Participation in sport expanded considerably in most Greek communities after the eighth century, as sociopolitical systems and groupings evolved. By 700, the relatively informal governmental systems found in most Greek communities at the beginning of the eighth century had given way to more structured arrangements built around the polis (plural poleis) or city-state (M. H. Hansen 2006: 39–47). During what modern-day historians call the Archaic (c. 700–c. 480 BCE ) and Classical (c. 480–323 BCE ) periods, there were ongoing struggles throughout the Greek world between elites and non-elites over who would dominate any given polis. In considering that conflict and its results, it will be helpful to have a clearer sense of the composition of both groups. Due to the aforementioned changes in political systems, the term basileus went out of use. Starting in the seventh century Greeks seem to have divided the socioeconomic spectrum encompassed by the free population into three more or less distinct segments. Plousioi were people from households that were so wealthy and that had enough labor at their disposal from women, slaves, and hired dependents that their adult male members never had to work. Pen¯etes were people from households that were prosperous but not rich enough that their adult males were entirely free from labor. The vast majority of households in all times and places in ancient Greece supported themselves through agriculture, and the climate in most places where Greeks lived was such that farms required intense labor at some times of the year and relatively little at others. Adult men who were pen¯etes had to work hard on their farms for part of every year, but also had enough labor at their disposal from women, slaves, and dependents to enjoy a considerable amount of leisure during slack periods. Pt¯ochoi were people from households in which the adult male members had to work regularly, typically because they could not afford to buy slaves or hire laborers. The people in this category ranged from farmers who made a decent but not spectacular living to outright beggars (Markle 1985; Morris 2000: 109–54). The sociopolitical battles of the Archaic and Classical periods were fought largely between plousioi and pen¯etes. The pt¯ochoi were almost always largely excluded from social and political influence, and from sport.3 Over the course of time the pen¯etes gained the upper hand in most Greek communities, and more democratized sociopolitical systems gradually took shape in much of the Greek world. By the sixth century a new dynamic, in which pen¯etes regularly competed with plousioi on equal terms, had become widespread. That change eventually had profound political and social consequences and resulted in a great deal of democratization in many Greek communities. The plousioi probably represented roughly 4–5 percent of the households in any given town, pen¯etes 30–50 percent. The number of men in

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the dominant group in each polis thus became roughly six to ten times larger than it had been (Christesen 2012b: 140–5). This process of democratization was evident all over the Greek world and had profound consequences for sport because, as pen¯etes gained social and political privileges, they also began participating in sport. In later periods most Greek communities established clearly defined criteria for determining who and who did not, as the Greeks put it, “have a share in” the community’s formal deliberative and juridical institutions. In the sixth century, however, those criteria were informal and to a considerable degree had to do with lifestyle (Blok 2018; Duplouy 2018). One was unlikely to be included among those who had a share in the community’s governance unless one took part in certain kinds of homosocial activities. The strong, pre-existing connection between social and political privilege on one hand and playing sports on the other meant that sport rapidly became perhaps the single most important form of homosocial activity for establishing one’s membership in the newly-expanded group of adult males who enjoyed a privileged position in their community’s sociopolitical systems. Pen¯etes were thus strongly incentivized to take up the practice of sport when it became possible to do so. The result was a major upward shift in athletic activity that is evident in Greek communities starting in the first half of the sixth century BCE . During the seventh century, the Olympics was the only regularly scheduled athletic contest in Greece and was just beginning to develop a Panhellenic profile. (The Greeks called themselves Hellenes, and Panhellenic athletic contests were those that attracted competitors from all over the Greek world.) Occasional, informal, local competitions were common but were largely restricted to elites. Architectural spaces specifically dedicated to sport in the form of facilities for practice and competition could be found in neither sanctuaries nor cities. Athletic motifs appeared in art but with nowhere near the frequency that would later become the norm (Christesen 2012b: 153–4). All of this changed radically over the course of the sixth century. New Panhellenic athletic contests were founded at Delphi, Isthmia, and Nemea. Communities began to found their own local, regularly scheduled athletic contests such as the Panathenaia in Athens, and the number of such games multiplied rapidly. The earliest stadia, the first Greek architectural form specifically intended for competitive athletics, were built starting around 550. The earliest gymnasia, places set aside for everyday athletic training, were founded at roughly the same time. Individuals began to pour resources into highlighting their participation in sport and their athletic successes. Athletic scenes became common on Greek pottery, and athletic victors began to pay sculptors to carve statues of themselves and to hire poets to write epinikia (odes that were specially commissioned to celebrate athletic triumphs) (Christesen 2012b: 154–60; see also Pritchard 2003, wherein it is argued that, in Athens at

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least, sport participation remained the preserve of elites through much of the Classical period). The investment in commemoration of athletic victories is especially interesting, as it speaks to the continuing importance of tim¯e and the central place of sport in conferring tim¯e. This is perhaps most evident in epinikia (singular epinikion), which were composed by some of the most famous of Greek writers, including, most notably, Pindar (517–438 BCE ).4 In his epinikion for an Olympic victor named Alkimedon, Pindar writes: Well-wooded grove of Pisa beside the Alpheus [Olympia], welcome this victory-procession and the garland we bring to the victor; the man who is attended by your splendid prize of honor has great glory forever. —Olympian 8, ll. 9–11; trans. D. Svarlien As in the eighth century, tim¯e in Pindar’s time remained a matter of relative standing that was made manifest through sport. Hence, his epinikion for the victory in wrestling won by an athlete named Aristomenes at the Pythian Games at Delphi includes the following lines: You fell from above on the bodies of four opponents, with grim intent; to them no cheerful homecoming was allotted, as it was to you, at the Pythian festival; nor, when they returned to their mothers, did sweet laughter awaken joy. They slink along the back-streets, away from their enemies, bitten by misfortune.5 —Pythian 8, ll. 81–7; trans. D. Svarlien The close connection between sport and tim¯e is also evident in the existence of a small number of instances in which unusually successful athletes became the objects of hero cults and were worshipped, in some cases for centuries (Currie 2005; Christesen 2010; de Polignac 2014). Thus, participation in sport continued to reflect, reify, and reinforce distinctions between social and political groups in the Archaic and Classical periods, but over the course of the sixth century the group that exercised social and political dominance and that regularly played sports became more broadly based than it had been before. At the same time, it is important to bear in mind that sport continued to serve as a means of exclusion. Whereas males from families of plousioi and pen¯etes seem to have regularly participated in sport, pt¯ochoi did not. In part this was due to practical considerations relating to opportunity and means. Regular participation in sport required a considerable amount of free time, which boys and men from families of plousioi and pen¯etes had at their disposal during at least some parts of the year, but which was in much shorter supply among the pt¯ochoi. Regular participation in sport was also

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founded on competence developed through formal training provided by coaches called paidotribai, who were hired by individual families to teach their sons (Petermandl 2014: 238–40). The fees charged by paidotribai were within the financial reach of pen¯etes but would have stretched the resources of most pt¯ochoi. Another relevant factor was the habit of exercising and competing in the nude, which came into being at some point in the late seventh or early sixth century BCE . Athletic nudity reinforced the exclusionary capacity of sport because it made socioeconomic status apparent in bodily appearance. Regularly exercising in the nude gave athletes a smooth, all-over tan that was unique, because there were no other acceptable contexts for being fully nude on a regular basis. Men from poorer families typically spent much of their time outside working on farms while wearing a short tunic and as a result had the ancient equivalent of a “farmer’s tan.” Alternatively, they worked indoors, as craftsmen, and hence, were notably pale. These men could come to a gymnasium to exercise, but they had to strip down and in doing so immediately made their socioeconomic status evident to everyone present. That would have acted as a powerful deterrent that kept poorer men from participating in sport. It is probably not coincidental that there were specific Greek words for “white-rumped” (leukopygos or leukopr¯oktos) and “dark-bottomed” (melampygos) and that the first meant “cowardly and unmanly” and the second “brave like Heracles” (Christesen 2012b: 172–8; Christesen 2014). Moreover, there is reason to believe that some Greek males used cosmetics in the form of red ochre to try to mimic what was seen as a properly tanned appearance (P. Hannah 2004). The exclusionary aspects of sport were clear to and leveraged by people all over the Greek world. This is perhaps most apparent from Aristotle’s comments on measures taken by plousioi intended to limit sport participation in the hope of gaining control over individual poleis. Although pen¯etes in most Greek communities won social and political privileges during the sixth and fifth centuries, plousioi were frequently dissatisfied with sharing power, and the struggle between these two groups for preeminence was repeatedly replayed throughout the Archaic and Classical periods. Aristotle, writing in the fourth century, argued that when the rich seek to push everyone else in their communities out of power, they strove to establish a predominance in five different spheres of activity: The pretexts used . . . are five in number and concern the legislative assembly, the magistracies, the courts, the bearing of arms, and sport. —Politics 1297a14–17, trans. P. Christesen6 According to Aristotle, the rich set up systems in which they are given incentives to attend the assembly, hold magistracies, and participate actively in the legal

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system, whereas the less well-off receive no incentives to do any of these things. Aristotle then goes on to say: The rich legislate in the same manner about both possessing arms and participating in sport. For it is possible for the less well-off to not possess arms, but the rich not possessing arms are fined. And if the less well-off do not participate in sport, there is no fine, but there is a fine for the rich, so that the rich will, on account of the fine, take part in sport whereas the less welloff do not because they do not fear a fine. —Politics 1297a29–35, trans. P. Christesen The word Aristotle uses to denote participation in sport, gymnazein, specifically means “to exercise in the nude,” a reminder of the aforementioned importance of nudity to the exclusionary capacity of sport.

SPORT AS A MARKER OF GREEK IDENTITY IN THE CLASSICAL PERIOD Despite these limitations on participation, Greeks came to see relatively widespread participation in and a passionate dedication to sport as particularly Greek phenomena (T. H. Nielsen 2007: 12–17, 22–8). The sense that sport set Greeks apart was strongly reinforced by the practice of athletic nudity, which was in point of fact quite unusual. As a result, sport by the early decades of the fifth century BCE had become an ethnic marker that created, for Greeks, an important distinction between Greeks and non-Greeks (“barbarians”). One of the characters in Plato’s Symposium (written in the mid-fourth century BCE ) claims that among “the barbarians pederastic relationships, philosophy, and philogymnastia [a predilection for engaging in nude exercise] are considered bad,” (182b; trans. T. Nielsen) with the obvious implication that all of those practices found strong approval among Greeks. Similarly, Herodotus’ Histories (written in the mid-fifth century BCE ) includes a long excursus on Egyptian customs, which Herodotus sees as fundamentally different from those found among Greeks. In one passage (2.91), however, Herodotus notes with some surprise that the residents of the Egyptian community of Chemmis hold athletic competitions, which Herodotus concludes represents a custom that came to Egypt from Greece. As Thomas Nielsen has pointed out, this passage “reveals that Herodotus thought of athletic competitions as a distinctively Hellenic institution” (T. H. Nielsen 2007: 15). The role of athletic nudity in separating Greek from non-Greek is also evident in Thucydides’ claim that the Spartans invented the habit of nude exercise and that: Formerly, even in the Olympic Games, the athletes who contended wore loincloths; and it is but a few years since that practice ceased. And even

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now among the barbarians [non-Greeks], especially those in Asia Minor, who hold contests in boxing and wrestling, the competitors still wear loincloths. —1.6.5, trans. P. Christesen The connection between sport and Greek identity was particularly prominent at the Olympic Games. People from the Greek homeland (the southern end of the Balkan peninsula) starting in the eighth century BCE founded poleis on the coastlines of much of the Mediterranean and Black Sea basins. Each of those new communities was, from its foundation, politically independent. As result, Greeks lived in roughly 1,000 different, autonomous communities scattered over a space ranging from what is now the east coast of Spain to what is now the southern Ukraine (Boardman 1999; M. H. Hansen and Nielsen 2004). Due to their wide spatial dispersion and absence of anything resembling an organized government that united any significant fraction of Greek communities, being Greek was a matter of culture rather than geography or political allegiance (Hall 1997; Hall 2002). The Olympic Games were held once every four years at Olympia, which was located in the northwestern corner of the Peloponnese and hence in the Greek homeland (Kyle 2015: 107–31). The Olympics were an opportunity for Greeks from all over the Mediterranean to make a pilgrimage to the Greek homeland, to gather together in a single place, and to celebrate and renew their sense of belonging to a single cultural group by competing in sports in the nude, a custom that they understood to be peculiarly Greek (Roy 2013). The Panhellenic appeal of the Olympics is reflected in the origins of Olympic victors; in the period between 480 and 324 BCE , the extant (and incomplete) records show that winning athletes came from 65 different poleis located not just in the Greek homeland, but also in southern Italy, Sicily, northern Africa, and Asia Minor (T. H. Nielsen 2007: 59–62). The importance of Greek identity at the Olympic Games is most immediately evident from the fact that only Greeks were allowed to compete and that individuals who wished to take part in the contests had to prove their Greek identity to the satisfaction of the officials who ran the Olympics (Crowther 1996: 38–9; though see also the cautionary comments in Remijsen 2019). Those officials, who came from the nearby city-state of Elis, were originally called diaitateres (“arbitrators”), but their title changed to Hellanodikai (“judges of the Greeks”) sometime in the first half of the fifth century BCE (Christesen 2012a). Both competitors and spectators were protected by a truce, according to the terms of which anyone traveling to and from the Olympics had the right of safe passage (Lämmer 2010). That right of safe passage held good all over the Greek world even if an individual came from a state that was, at the time, at war with the state through which he was passing. The start of the truce was

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proclaimed by envoys from the city-state of Elis; those envoys, called spondophoroi (“truce-bearers”) or theoroi (“sacred envoys”) traveled throughout the Greek world and were supported, in each community they visited, by designated local residents called theorodokoi (“receivers of the theoroi”) (Perlman 2000: 63–6). Some sense of the number of people who made the journey to Olympia can be had from the fact that in the middle of the fifth century BCE , a new stadium was built at Olympia to hold more than 40,000 people, at a time when the city of Athens, the largest urban center in the Greek world, had a population of no more than 100,000 (Romano 1993: 17–24). At least some Greeks came to see the Olympics as an opportunity to foster not just a sense of a shared Hellenic cultural identity, but also some degree of harmony among all Greeks. The orator Lysias, speaking at Olympia in 388 BCE , claimed that the Olympics were founded just for that purpose: It is appropriate to commemorate Heracles for his many wonderful achievements, gentlemen, and in particular since he was the first to gather together this competition, because of his goodwill toward Greece. In those days, poleis treated each other as strangers, but . . . Heracles . . . established a contest of physical strength, a competition of wealth, and a display of wisdom in the most beautiful place in Greece, so that we should come together in the same place for the sake of all these things, to see some of them and to hear others. He believed that meeting here would be the beginning of friendship toward each other for the Greeks. —Lysias 33.1–2, trans. S. Todd A belief in Olympia’s role in promoting peaceful interrelationships seems to be reflected in treaties involving Greek communities that were put on display at the site; those treaties for the most part consist of declarations of peace and friendship (Alonso Troncoso 2012). Appeals for Greek unity could be tied to dichotomous statements about the opposition between Greeks and barbarians and the need for the former to unite against the latter. The orator Gorgias attended an iteration of the Olympics at some point in the second half of the fifth century BCE and delivered a speech that is now lost, but the content of which is summarized by a later Greek author, Philostratus: For seeing that Greece was torn by factions, Gorgias became a counselor of concord to them, turning them against the barbarians and convincing them to make as prizes of their weapons not each other’s cities, but the land of the barbarians. —Lives of the Sophists, 1.9.4, DK 82A1, trans. H. Tell

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SPORT AS A MARKER OF GREEK IDENTITY IN THE HELLENISTIC (323–31 BCE ) AND ROMAN (31 BCE –476 CE ) PERIODS Thus, by the first half of the fifth century BCE , sport had become a means not just of creating distinctions in Greek communities (between groups, on the basis of participation, and within groups, on the basis of competition), but also a means of distinguishing Greek from non-Greek. The role of sport as an ethnic marker increased noticeably as Greeks immigrated eastwards in significant numbers in the wake of the conquests of Alexander the Great (died 323 BCE ). For Greeks who sought to maintain a sense of Greekness while living in places where they represented a small percentage of populations with strong, preexisting ethnic identities of their own (e.g. in Egypt), participation in sport became an essential means of asserting and maintaining Hellenic identity (Remijsen 2014). The gradual imposition of Roman rule over Greek communities throughout the Mediterranean pushed that process further, as having a share in a long-established and prestigious Greek cultural tradition became an increasingly important point of pride (van Nijf 2001; Pleket 2014). As a result, Greeks continued to be ardent participants in sport straight through the fourth century CE . That very important part of the story of Greek sport is recounted in Chapters 5 and 6.7

DEFINING SPORT IN ROME Perhaps the first question to be answered in any discussion of sport in Rome is whether staged violence, particularly in the form of gladiatorial combats (munera), can be considered a form of sport or if munera belong to a different order of phenomenon, perhaps akin to human sacrifice, public executions, or modern circuses and zoos.8 Because “sport” is a modern term with no Latin equivalent, the decision to place munera under that rubric depends on how one defines sport in the first place. According to many sociologists and historians, sport is a form of play that is rule-based, competitive, and requires physical exertion (Guttmann 1978: 1–14). Gladiatorial combat meets these last three criteria but lacks the constitutive element of play, which theorists since Huizinga (Huizinga 1980) have understood to be both voluntary and an end in itself. Not only were most gladiators slaves or freed slaves who had entered the profession against their will, munera initially had the expressed purpose of honoring the dead. Even if some gladiators took pride in their work or enlisted by choice (auctorati), and the religious objectives of munera eventually gave way to political ones (Ville 1981; contra Futrell 1997), it is hard to accept gladiatorial combat as a form of play (Christesen 2012b: 19). A similar argument can be made with respect to chariot-racing (ludi circenses), since the games at which

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chariot-races were held, ludi, were fundamentally cultic festivals, and most charioteers were drawn from the servile orders (Meijer 2010: 82–4). Other definitions of sport do accommodate munera, although again there is room for debate. For example, understanding sport as physical competition with “criteria for determining victory that are different from those that mark success in everyday life” has prompted one historian to exclude gladiatorial combat, because the goal of killing one’s opponent is the same as that of actual warfare, but has led another to reach the opposite conclusion, since pardons were more frequent than is commonly assumed (Poliakoff 1987: 7; contra Fagan 2011: 189–92). One estimate for the first century CE suggests that only about one in ten matches resulted in death (Ville 1981: 318–25). Some gladiators are known to have entered more fights than they won or to have lived relatively long lives, and Augustus’s ban on matches that did not allow pardons (munera sine missione) indicates that this practice was deemed especially savage (Wiedemann 1992: 119–24). In response to the objection that gladiatorial combat was too violent to be perceived as a sport, one might also observe that contestants in the Greek pankration (a mixture of boxing and wrestling) and other combat sports risked serious injury or death, not to mention the dangers of chariot racing (Golden 1998: 72–4). Most importantly, at least for our purposes here, Roman spectators would probably have found this debate baffling and largely irrelevant to their understanding of ludi and munera. Ancient authors fail to separate athletic contests from related types of activity, including gladiatorial combat, according to the distinction between “civilized” Greek sport and brutal Roman spectacle that is common in the relevant modern scholarship (Kyle 2015: 7–17). The Latin word spectaculum (“spectacle”) encompasses a variety of performances, not just gladiatorial fights and chariot races, but also music, drama, and other forms of public display. The terms ludus (“game, festival, school”) and certamen (“contest”) cover a similarly broad range of meanings. Romans seem to have drawn distinctions based on the sites where spectacula were held and between certain types of competition. Cicero, for example, sets games held in circuses (the Roman name for horse-racing tracks) apart from musical shows in the theater (On the Laws 2.38); he further distinguishes “contests of the body”— namely running, boxing, and wrestling—from equestrian events, but understands both types to be ludi. In the case of munera, select shows are known to have integrated exhibitions of Greek athletics, and authors regularly associate these performances with each other, even if gladiators remained in a class of their own (Fagan 2011: 190–1). The willingness of Roman writers to place gladiatorial combat under the same broad heading that included athletic events strongly suggests that, from the perspective of cultural history, munera were indeed a form of sport. In keeping with this observation, our main concern here is not whether ludi and

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munera meet various modern definitions of sport, but rather what members of Roman society believed the purpose of their games to have been (cf. Scanlon 2014: 14–15). This question may seem straightforward, but the sources generate a range of possible answers that correspond to diverse social perspectives, ideological commitments, generic constraints, and rhetorical goals. By comparison, conducting a survey about the purpose of football in the contemporary United States is unlikely to produce a single, unified response, even within a select population.

SPORT, SEEING, AND BEING SEEN: THE ELITE PERSPECTIVE If we turn our attention to the question of what Romans from various backgrounds saw as the purpose of ludi circenses and munera, an oft-cited point of departure comes not from an adherent of the circus and amphitheater but from a trenchant opponent, the Christian theologian and polemicist Tertullian (c. 160–240 CE ). Tertullian’s observation that “no one going to a show has anything in mind but to see and be seen” is meant as a biting criticism of the games, part of his effort to dissuade other Christians from indulging in such “pleasure of the eyes and ears” (On Spectacles 1, 25). However, the efficacy of Tertullian’s rhetoric depends on his having a keen understanding of why people were drawn to the circus and amphitheater, and the importance of “seeing and being seen” in Roman sport is corroborated by textual and archaeological evidence, ranging from Latin poetry to the layout of the stands (Kyle 1998b: 3). The dynamics of spectatorship were not limited to the audience’s view of the action but included relationships between sponsors (editores), different segments of the crowd, and performers, among others. The motivations of elites who, as editores, spent heavily on staging ludi and munera, have traditionally been interpreted in the context of Roman political culture, particularly as it developed in the Late Republic and Empire (but cf. Welch 2007: 11–29). Having conquered the Italian peninsula and harnessed its vast human and natural resources, the Roman state expanded relentlessly overseas, adding Sicily as a province in 241 BCE and razing Carthage and Corinth in 146. The subjugation of Greece and the East channeled unprecedented wealth into the hands of elite Romans, who vied annually for the consulship and other elected offices. Competitive display, including the sponsorship of games, oiled the wheels of this system, since political success depended in no small part on winning the favor of voters (Yakobson 2006a: 387).9 Famously, in 65 BCE , Julius Caesar staged not only the ludi for which he and his fellow aedile were responsible by virtue of that magistracy, but also a lavish gladiatorial show to celebrate the memory of his father, who had already been dead for two decades (Suetonius Life of Julius Caesar 10; Plutarch Life of Caesar 5). The array of

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spectacula at the games held in conjunction with his triumphal military parade in 46 BCE included, in addition to gladiatorial fights, chariot races, a beast hunt, a mock battle, and other performances staged in the newly elongated Circus Maximus (Suetonius Life of Julius Caesar 39; Pliny Natural History 36.102; Humphrey 1986: 72–3). After a period of intense civil conflict that culminated in the Battle of Actium (31 BCE ), Caesar’s grand-nephew and adopted son, Octavian, assumed the name Augustus and established a monarchy headed by a princeps (“first citizen”). While territorial expansion slowed in the Principate, as this new political era is known, and popular elections quickly disappeared, Augustus and his successors maintained the institutions of the Republic (with magistrates largely shorn of power), while establishing their actual supremacy in part by monopolizing the celebration of military triumphs, public statues, and other demonstrations of civic honor in the capital (Eck 1984: 136–43). Magistrates drawn from among the elite continued to oversee ludi, but the aristocracy’s ability to compete for prestige by investing small fortunes in shows was severely curtailed (Wiedemann 1992: 8; Beacham 1999: 110). The emperor became the preeminent sponsor of spectacula of all kinds in the city of Rome, and the populace owed a burgeoning schedule of entertainments and facilities, including gladiatorial training schools (also called ludi, but not to be confused with the games) to emperors and their families. Set apart in special box seating in the Colosseum (dedicated in 80 CE ), the emperor demonstrated his power over life and death by granting or denying mercy to defeated gladiators, while, at the same time, responding to the collective voice of the crowd and presenting himself to his subjects (Edwards 2015: 53–5). Whereas during the Republic, games were one of several outlets through which the people might air their concerns (Cicero Pro Sestio 106), Imperial spectacula arguably became a kind of public assembly, albeit a largely pro forma one (Hopkins 1983: 16). The circus and amphitheater created public venues at Rome in which the community gathered to interact with its leaders and to strengthen or contest its shared values. These processes were mutually reinforcing, in the sense that they helped to solidify the social and political order, typically in the interests of the ruling elite (Gunderson 1996). The Younger Pliny (61–113 CE ) testifies to this fact when he compares entertainments that the emperor Trajan (ruled 98–117 CE ) sponsored to the transgressive shows of one of Trajan’s oppressive and disliked predecessors, Domitian (ruled 81–96 CE ): Next came a public entertainment—nothing lax or dissolute to weaken and destroy the manly spirit of his subjects, but one to inspire them to face honorable wounds and look scorn on death, by exhibiting love of glory and desire for victory even in the persons of criminals and slaves. What generosity went to provide this spectacle! And what impartiality the emperor showed,

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unmoved as he was by personal feelings or else superior to them. Requests were granted, unspoken wishes were anticipated, and he did not hesitate to press us urgently to make fresh demands; yet still there was something new to surpass our dreams. How freely too the spectators could express their enthusiasm and show their preferences without fear! No one risked the old charge of impiety if he disliked a particular gladiator; no spectator found himself turned spectacle, dragged off by the hook to satisfy grim pleasures, or else cast to the flames! —Panegyricus 33; trans. B. Radice As Pliny sees it, Trajan’s sponsorship gave him an opportunity to instantiate his qualities as a ruler, not only through liberality, but also through measured comportment, fair treatment of the audience, and preservation of social and spatial boundaries. In this ideal model, spectators are inspired by low-status performers to cultivate hallowed Roman virtues and are allowed to express openly their opinions, all while keeping a safe and predictable distance from the violent execution of state power taking place in the arena in the form of gladiatorial combats. In the same speech, Pliny lauds Trajan for sitting on an even plane with spectators at the Circus Maximus, thus allowing them “to see not just the emperor’s box, but their emperor himself, seated among his people” (Panegyricus 51, trans. B. Radice; Humphrey 1986: 80). Such acts of seeing and being seen worked together to correlate the virtues and will of the people with those of the emperor, who became not only the city’s main benefactor, but also a key producer of models (exempla) to guide the behavior of citizens (Kraus 2005; pace Langlands 2018: 226–57). In cities other than Rome, ludi and munera continued to be sponsored by local elites, who had somewhat different reasons for investing in the production of games. Their prestige rested both on their standing at home and on their participation in the processes of consensus-building that sustained the Roman empire (Ando 2000; Noreña 2011). Elites in cities such as Pompeii, which contains a wealth of evidence for the advertisement, performance, and commemoration of spectacula, were obligated as magistrates to finance public games, but also did so to enhance their own status (Jacobelli 2003: 39–45). One of Pompeii’s most eminent citizens in the first century CE , Cn. Alleius Nigidius Maius, sponsored munera during his term as duovir quinquennalis (55–56 CE ) without spending any public money; his popularity is confirmed by graffiti that wish him well and, in one instance, give him the title “prince of the games” (CIL 4.7990; Franklin Jr. 1997). In 2017, archaeologists working near the Porta Stabia in Pompeii unearthed a monumental tomb with a detailed epitaph that almost certainly commemorates Cn. Alleius Nigidius Maius (Osanna 2018). That epitaph recounts the benefactions of the deceased, including a public banquet, handouts, and a munus with over 400 gladiators to

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celebrate his becoming an adult and assuming the toga virilis (“toga of manhood”). Another section of this remarkable epitaph advertises Maius’ influence with the emperor Nero during the aftermath of a famous brawl between the Pompeiians and residents of the neighboring city of Nuceria at the amphitheater in Pompeii in 59 CE (Tacitus Annals 14.22; Jacobelli 2003: 71–3). The ability to win privileges or concessions for one’s city was a valued attribute of local politicians. On a more abstract level, local elites who sponsored games in the cities in which they lived reinforced their status by participating in a cultural practice that was intimately associated with the Roman state and, under the Principate, with the figure of the emperor. Many such sponsors were priests of cults dedicated to the worship of the emperors, which encouraged cohesion among the diverse populations that experienced Roman rule (Futrell 1997: 77–93; on the cult, see Price 1984; Fishwick 1987–2005). Amphitheaters and other structures, typically financed by individual benefactors, that housed Roman-style games created topographical markers of a city’s belonging to this imperial system (Dodge 1999). Although Rome supported the proliferation of spectacula, for example by including provisions for ludi in municipal charters, historians increasingly view local sponsorship as a form of active engagement with a central authority based in Rome and embodied in the emperor, rather than as forced compliance or assimilation (Carter 2003).

SPORT, SEEING, AND BEING SEEN: THE NON-ELITE PERSPECTIVE Elites in Rome during the period of the Republic (509–31 BCE ), emperors in Rome during the Principate, and prominent residents of smaller communities during both periods all capitalized on their visibility in the stands—as well as on the commemoration of their sponsorship in textual and visual media—to maintain hierarchies and values that would secure their ascendancy. However, their ability to achieve this outcome ultimately depended on the attendance of spectators from the poor (plebs) and middling orders, whose own understanding of the purpose of ludi and munera must be taken into account, despite serious gaps in the evidence. On the one hand, without underestimating the sophistication of ancient popular culture, one might rightly emphasize the importance of entertainment to the plebs, because the games offered a respite from work and a diversion from the daily struggle to survive in a pre-modern city. Ancient critics rail against the Roman people’s perceived addiction to “bread and circuses,” as Juvenal famously puts it (Satires 10.81; cf. Tacitus Histories 1.4), and there is no denying the profound appeal of the games to most inhabitants of Rome and Italy, not to mention the provincial cities where viewing Roman spectacula became part of the local culture.

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On the other hand, “entertainment” is a complex phenomenon, especially when it involves the degrees of violence and social stratification that were embedded in the events held in amphitheaters and, to some extent, circuses. One compelling analysis uses social psychology to examine the reasons why spectators in the Roman world flocked to gladiatorial shows, not just to watch the performers compete, but also to see and be seen by each other (Fagan 2011). Throughout history, people have been attracted to displays of violence, whether perpetrated against animals or against human beings, regardless of the immediate context. This drive to witness violence brings individuals together in crowds, which in turn facilitate the construction of social identities, such as belonging to a particular rank, legal status, or age cohort. While not as lethal as gladiatorial combat, chariot-races kept ancient viewers on the edge of their seats with highspeed turns around the central barrier (spina) and sudden changes of fortune, including catastrophic collisions against which drivers had little protection (Kyle 2015: 296). In addition to the thrill of these games, the sense of belonging inspired by crowd dynamics helped to fill the stands of the arena and circus with eager participants across the Roman empire year after year. Support for this argument comes in part from the segregated seating arrangements that began to emerge in the second century BCE (for a full discussion, see Edmondson 1996; Fagan 2011: 80–120; cf. Rawson 1987). In Roman amphitheaters, senators and (after 67 BCE ) members of the equestrian order (the top two sociopolitical classes in the highly stratified Roman system) received preferential accommodation at the front of the stands, as did the emperor in his box. These regulations not only provided elite spectators with an unobstructed view of the action, but also enhanced their collective visibility before the rest of the crowd. However, the line between the aristocracy and plebs was only one of many social boundaries. Among the common people, sitting with members of one’s gender, fellow professionals, townsmen, or even men of the same marital status, could effectively strengthen the forces that bound those subgroups together. Fragmentary inscriptions on benches in the Colosseum appear to reserve sections for categories such as tutors, clients, and residents of Gades (modern Cádiz), among others (CIL 6.32098a); this pattern recurs in amphitheaters throughout the empire (Fagan 2011: 105). The situation in the circus is less clear, but senators and members of the equestrian order enjoyed special seating in that venue from at least the time of Augustus, and the poet Ovid (43 BCE –18 CE ) portrays men and women mingling in the stands (Ovid Amores 3.2, Art of Love 1.135–64; Humphrey 1986: 76–7). Stipulations about seating were deemed so significant that they were periodically encoded in Roman law, and transgressors could incur heavy fines (Suetonius Life of Augustus 44; Lex Ursonensis §125–6). Roman sport encouraged socialization around the competitions themselves, both inside and outside the circus or amphitheater. The dedication of fans to

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particular chariot-racing teams (factiones) is especially suggestive of the potential for networks to develop through participation in the culture of spectatorship. These chariot-racing teams provided not only an organizational framework, but also magnets for the loyalty of spectators, sometimes at fanatical levels (Kyle 2015: 296–7). The Younger Pliny complains that, rather than appreciating the speed of the chariots and the skill of the drivers, rabid circus fans “show their support and affection for the color of the shirt and if, in mid-course, while the race was being run, the colors should be changed, then the enthusiasm and support of the crowd will be transferred” (Letters 9.6; trans. P. Walsh). Gladiatorial games did not inspire the same kind of organized fandom, but they did turn especially popular fighters into celebrities and required a moderate amount of specialized knowledge to follow different styles of combat or to place bets, all of which contributed to the excitement of arena sports (Fagan 2011: 149, 215–27). In Petronius’ Satyricon, the wealthy ex-slave Trimalchio has drinking cups embossed with the fights of Hermeros and Petraites and plans for the latter to be portrayed on his tomb (52.3 and 71.6; cf. the tomb of C. Lucius Storax at Chieti; on Trimalchio, see MacLean 2018: 81–6).

SPORT, SEEING, AND BEING SEEN: THE PERFORMERS’ PERSPECTIVE From the perspectives of elite sponsors and of the crowds who attended the games from year to year, century to century, spectatorship played an integral role in determining the purpose of sport. The viewpoint of performers, while difficult to recover, must have differed from that of the audience, even women and men of low status. The literary sources, none of which were written by gladiators or chariot-drivers, offer conflicting opinions. On the one hand, for example, the Stoic philosopher Epictetus (c. 55–135 CE ) says that some gladiators in the imperial ludi were eager to fight and became upset if they were passed over (Discourses 1.29.34–9). By contrast, the Younger Seneca (c. 4 BCE –65 CE ), also a Stoic, admiringly tells the story of a German beast-hunter (bestiarius) who asphyxiated himself with a sponge rather than fight in a show (Moral Letters 70.20). Both philosophers use the subjectivity of performers to convey a moral message, but neither furnishes reliable evidence for how the people who appeared in the arena and circus understood their own role in society. Monuments that commemorate chariot-drivers and gladiators give at least some indication of how these individuals may have wished to present themselves to posterity, especially when those monuments were commissioned by a family member, colleague, or the performer in his own honor. In the Latin West, gladiators’ epitaphs not infrequently cite the deceased’s place of origin, the number of times he appeared in the arena, and, most importantly, the number of fights he won. Such claims to victory could be complemented by iconography

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that emphasized virtus (“manliness, courage”), in some respects mirroring the military values of Roman soldiers of all ranks (Hope 2000; see also Chapter 3 in this volume). In the Eastern provinces, it has been suggested, terminology adopted from Greek sport helped to depict gladiators as competitive athletes (Golden 2008: 74–9), thereby implicitly conferring upon them the high status enjoyed by athletes within the bounds of Greek culture. Tombstones of highachieving charioteers, such as the renowned Diocles (CIL 6.10048), make bold claims to professional skill, fame, and the wealth that flowed from winning victory purses (Bell 2014: 496–8; inscriptions collected in Horsmann 1998). Although these monuments contain representations of what were essentially public personae, rather than testimonials of subjective experience, they nevertheless indicate the significance of Roman sport’s vocational structure to the lives of the performers themselves (Potter 1999).

SPORT, SEEING, AND BEING SEEN: SPECTATORSHIP FROM A DISTANCE Seeing and being seen at the games created a mechanism for political engagement, the inculcation of communal values, the maintenance of social hierarchies, and the reinforcement of individual and group identities, including those claimed by performers. That being said, inhabitants of the Roman world did not have to be physically present in the circus or amphitheater to feel the impact of spectacula, which were commemorated and critiqued in an array of media (see Chapter 8), and whose implications reverberated throughout the broader culture. One important phenomenon was the production of literary works by Rome’s leading authors (most notably Horace’s Carmen Saeculare, which Augustus commissioned for performance at the Secular Games of 17 BCE ) to mark select games; these works are often interpreted as constitutive of the regime’s ideology, if not as unalloyed propaganda (Putnam 2001; Thomas 2011: 10–13). We might also point to celebrations of the emperor Domitian’s ludi by the poets Martial and Statius. These poems were not always uniformly encomiastic, as illustrated, for example, by an insightful reading of the Saturnalian festival in Statius’ Silvae 1.6, part of a collection that prior generations of critics tended to dismiss as fawning and hyperbolic (Newlands 2002: 227–59). Like the dynamic between rulers and the crowd, literary commemorations of ludi and munera were active contributors to the processes they describe and, at least in some instances, could incorporate moments of contestation in the rhetoric of imperial praise.

CONCLUSION For the Greeks, the main purpose of sport was to create distinctions between relatively well-off free males who had the means and, consequently, the leisure

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to participate and other groups—such as women, slaves, and the poor—who suffered either categorical or de facto exclusion, at least most of the time. Sport also generated internal distinctions among the participants by furnishing a competitive framework for the demonstration of aret¯e. In the Homeric poems, which reflect conditions in eighth-century BCE Greece, sport supplements warfare as a mechanism for redistributing tim¯e within the elite. When the rise and democratization of the polis expanded the proportion of free men who could participate in sport, we find a concomitant proliferation of festivals, infrastructure, and artistic production dedicated to athletics. Starting in the fifth century BCE , sport became an essential means of establishing boundaries between Greek and non-Greek. The purpose of Roman sport, while essentially “to see and be seen,” would have been perceived differently by sponsors, attendees, and performers, among others. Members of the elite had strong political motivations for putting on games, whether to enhance their success in the Republican system or, in the case of the Roman emperors, to shape their personae before an assembly of their subjects. For municipal magnates, involvement in sport could be an effective source of prestige at both the local and imperial levels. Most spectators, however, belonged to the middling and lower orders of society. Violent spectacula offered these people a form of entertainment and a sense of belonging, whether to the broader civic community or to particular subgroups. For their part, chariot-drivers, gladiators, and other performers seem to have ascribed social value to their work in the arena and circus, despite its dangerous and generally compulsory nature. In these ways, Roman sport also produced and sustained distinctions, above all through the dynamics of spectatorship, and with participation serving as a mark of dishonor, as well as a means of displaying virtus and showcasing professional skill. The different purposes of sport for Greeks and Romans reflect fundamental differences in the sociopolitical systems of those societies. It is important to bear in mind that in the Archaic and Classical periods the Greek world consisted of over 1,000 autonomous polities and that both Greek and Roman sociopolitical systems evolved in important ways over the course of time. Generalizations about either the Greeks or the Romans thus need to be made with great caution. Nonetheless, it is possible to venture some observations about overarching features and trends. To begin with, it is probably safe to say that for the most part Greek sociopolitical systems incorporated a higher degree of egalitarianism and fluidity than did their Roman counterparts, whether under the Republic or in the Empire. This can plausibly be connected to the purpose of sport in that Greek sport emphasized direct participation by a substantial percentage of the free adult male citizens in any given community in physical competitions, the results of which shifted individuals’ standing in social hierarchies. There was, in

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other words, an expectation that citizen males would have equal opportunity to compete against each other in the context of sport in order to become unequal. The vicissitudes of competition produced a considerable degree of instability and mobility in social hierarchies. In Rome, on the other hand, participation in sport largely took the form of mass spectatorship, and the emphasis on seeing and being seen and the careful ordering of audiences meant that sport tended to reify and reinforce social hierarchies, rather than to redistribute status among freeborn male citizens. To be certain, Roman elites competed vigorously against each other in pursuit of social status, but the group of competitors was much more circumscribed and the competition took place primarily in military and political rather than sporting contexts. On the other hand, deeply rooted prejudice against slaves and freedpeople, as well as against arena and circus performers, undermined the ability of even the most successful gladiators and charioteers to acquire honor in Roman society. To speak in general terms, again with the caveats that entails, one might say that Greek sport was largely about achieving status, Roman sport about displaying ascribed status or, from another perspective, instantiating an idealized social order. It is not coincidental that Greek sport competitions typically took place at religious festivals that were funded by the state (see Chapter 2), whereas Roman sport competitions were typically funded by wealthy elites or by the emperor and his family; even when public monies were used, sponsors were expected to make their own contributions (e.g. Lex Ursonensis 71). Communal funding of Greek athletics made it possible for participants to compete on relatively equal terms. Shifting the burden of funding to unusually wealthy individuals put the small group of people capable of bearing the major expenses associated with sponsorship in a position to extend patronage on a massive scale and thereby stabilize and enhance their elevated social standing and power. At the same time, it is important to acknowledge that current scholarly views of the different purposes of Greek and Roman sport are to a great extent reliant on how Greeks and Romans imagined and presented themselves. The French linguist Émile Benveniste famously observed that the Greek word for citizen (polit¯es) derived from the word for city-state (polis), whereas the Latin word for citizen (civis) formed the basis of the word for a state (civitas) (Benveniste 1970). This suggests that for Greeks the community came before the individual, and that the reverse was true for the Romans. Elaborate analytical superstructures ought not be built solely on the foundation of those four words, but Benveniste’s observation speaks to an important divergence between Greeks and Romans: Greeks had a predilection for imagining their communities as harmonious, tightly knit, egalitarian groups of citizens; Romans a predilection for imagining their community as a properly ordered hierarchy. Hence, for example, official

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decrees of the Athenian polity from the Classical period highlight that the relevant decisions were made by “the Athenians” or “the people” (d¯emos) (Henry 1977). Romans, on the other hand, made much of the acronym SPQR (Senatus Populusque Romanus, “the Senate and the People of Rome”), which highlighted the dynamic between an elite, represented by the Senate, and the rest of the population, with the former exercising leadership over the latter (Beard 2015). The emic perspectives of Greeks and Romans are inevitably deeply embedded in the extant textual and material sources, and those perspectives have, for good reasons, had a major and enduring impact on how scholars understand Greek and Roman sport. We should, however, be cautious about accepting too readily how Greeks and Romans imagined and presented themselves, not least because the close, complicated, tense, sometimes openly hostile relationship between Greeks and Romans meant that, to some extent, their understandings of themselves were constructed in opposition to each other. An uncritical acceptance of the Greeks’ self-understanding can lead us to ignore the existence of oppressive hierarchies that excluded and disempowered large segments of all Greek communities, and we would do well to not let the Romans’ evident preference for hierarchy blind us to the many ways in which poor and seemingly powerless members of the Roman populus could exercise agency and even at times bend the rich and powerful to their will. The cultural backgrounds of Western scholars and their audiences in the present day are such that their own self-conceptions tend to align more easily with those of the Greeks than the Romans. As a result, there has long been a tendency to think in terms of Greek sport and Roman spectacle (Gardiner 1930: 118–19; Kyle 2015: 7–9). That entails taking the Greeks at their word and seeing Greek sport as an eloquent testament to and joyous enactment of the spirit of meritocracy and democracy. Roman sport, on the other hand, is frequently portrayed as nothing more than bloody spectacle aimed at appeasing a restless and disempowered mob, and as the manifestation of the Romans’ love for hierarchy propped up by brutality and violence. So, for example, in the late nineteenth century CE , Pierre de Coubertin, in search of a means of promoting world peace, chose to advocate for the re-foundation of the Greek Olympics, and argued that the International Olympic Committee should mandate amateurism in order to ensure that the Olympic athlete did not become what he called a “circus gladiator” (de Coubertin and Müller 2000: 301; Weiler 2004). Within the bounds of this essay, which intentionally sets out to illuminate Greek and Roman views of the purpose of sport, it is noteworthy that Greek sport is approached in large measure as a story of whole communities involved in a process of progressive democratization and developing ethnic consciousness, whereas Roman sport is approached in large measure as a continuing story of the different components of a hierarchical and imperialistic society consolidating

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their separate identities and finding ways to replicate or navigate status differentials. All of this goes to say that, while much of this essay has been devoted to exploring how Greeks and Romans understood the purpose of their sport, and while one of the more laudable features of cultural history is its focus on pursuing an emic perspective, we also need to be wary of letting the intersections of contemporary worldviews and those of the Greeks and Romans lead to misunderstanding and misinterpretation. As the Greek historian Herodotus (c. 484–c. 425 BCE ), whose account of the Persian invasion of Greece in 480 could reasonably be called a founding exercise in cultural history, observed about listening to and learning from what people had to say about themselves: “I am obliged to recount what I have been told, but I am not obliged to believe all of it” (7.152.3). That remains to this day good advice for anyone with an interest in cultural history.

NOTES 1. For a good overview of both Greece in the eighth century BCE and the Homeric poems, see Osborne 2009: 66–152. 2. On athletics in the Homeric poems, see T. Perry 2014; Stocking Forthcoming. 3. The reader should be aware that there is among modern-day scholars a wide range of perspectives on the history of the Archaic and Classical periods. The perspective articulated here is based on Raaflaub 1997; Donlan 1999; Morris 2000; and Raaflaub and Wallace 2007. 4. On representations of sport in Greek literature, see Nicholson 2014 and Chapter 8 in this volume. For an introduction to Pindar, see Stoneman 2014. 5. On this poem, see also the insightful comments in Chapter 7 in this volume. 6. For an introduction to and translation of the Politics, see Lockwood and Samaras 2015 and Everson 1996, respectively. 7. On the reasons for the gradual disappearance of sport in Greek communities after the fourth century CE , see Remijsen 2015. 8. For a cogent treatment of this debate, see Fagan 2011: 189–96, with bibliography. 9. The power of voters in Republican politics has been the subject of extended debate. Yakobson 2006b provides an excellent review of the issues; for a recent intervention, see Mouritsen 2017.

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CHAPTER TWO

Sporting Time and Sporting Space SOFIE REMIJSEN

INTRODUCTION Time and space are not just neutral dimensions against which the history of sport in Greek and Roman antiquity unfolded. Time and space are aspects of culture, just like sport. The ways they are experienced, conceptualized, ordered, and given meaning are influenced by and part of what Clifford Geertz defined as “the inherited system of conceptions, expressed in symbolic forms, by means of which men communicate, perpetuate, and develop their knowledge about and attitudes toward life” (Geertz 1973: 89). Already in the early twentieth century, Émile Durkheim argued that the ways in which we divide, measure, represent, or make value judgments of time and space are social constructs (Durkheim 1912: 14–17). Although the concept of “social time” was developed further by some sociologists, those few studies have been overshadowed by the enormous wave of scholarship on the social character of space across the humanities from the 1980s onward.1 In The Production of Space, one of the seminal works of this so-called “spatial turn,” Henri Lefebvre argued that space is not merely a physical vessel for the things in space, but also consists of the spatial practice of human actors, of the manifold relations between people and places, and of the abstract conceptualizations and images associated with spaces (Lefebvre 1991: esp. 32–3, 38–40). In the title of his book, space can be read to be both the product and the producer. This bidirectional relation nicely captures how space and time are understood today: not only as shaped by society, but also as shaping society in turn. 49

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This chapter deals with the relations between ancient competitive sports and contemporaneous conceptions of time and space. I define ancient competitive sports as publicly staged physical contests from the time period covered by this volume, held between two or more human competitors who were governed by a (sometimes loose) set of rules, and which ended with the proclamation of one of them as the victor. The most prominent type originating in the Greek world were the so-called ag¯ones (contests), in which not only athletes, but also horse owners and musicians competed against each other. Both gladiatorial combat and chariot-racing in the circus (horse-racing track) can be considered as Roman sports under this broad definition (see Chapter 1 for further discussion of this issue). The first section of the chapter will deal with time, the second with space. Both sections will start by introducing the typical sporting times and spaces of Classical antiquity, namely the festivals that involved sporting competitions and the architectural types that were developed especially for them. These sections do not aim at a complete overview of their features—which would be impossible within the framework of one chapter—but will address some questions about what the character of these times and spaces meant for the character of the sport, focusing in particular on the relation of sporting competitions with the sacred and with the civic community. The chapter intends to show that sport was culturally significant enough to (re)shape these times and spaces: festival dates were changed to accommodate practical concerns of sport, and—unlike in most other pre-modern cultures—monumental architectural types were specially designed for it. The final parts of each section will look at instances of how sport shaped the experience of time or space more generally, through an examination of the role of ag¯ones in the development of a universal system to structure history and through an examination of the role of sportsmen as key figures in networks that could shorten the distances ideas had to travel in the ancient world.

SPORTING TIME Religious Festivals as a Time for Competitive Sport Ancient sports competitions were not events by themselves; in the Greek as well as in the Roman cultural sphere, they constituted parts of festivals. The association between sport and ritual can be traced back to their early history; the earliest literary references to Greek athletic competitions situate them in the context of funerary rites, as seen in the Funeral Games of Patroklos in Homer’s Iliad. Throughout the Roman Republican period (509–31 BCE ), gladiatorial shows were likewise organized in the context of funerary rituals (Hopkins

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1983: 3–6). Looking at the whole history of Classical antiquity, however, religious festivals for the gods were the primary contexts in which Greek and Roman games were held. Sporting events did not just coincide with holidays, as they sometimes do in the modern world; they were an integral part of festivals. The most basic feature of a Greek festival was an offering at the altar of the god. Only some parts of the sacrificial animal were burned; the rest was prepared for a banquet for (parts of) the community. Depending on the scale of the festival, the offering and banquet could be accompanied by a procession, a fair, competitions, various shows, etc. (Slater 2007: 21–4). Roman public holidays were similarly celebrated with a public sacrifice in front of a temple accompanied by a banquet, and often by competitions and shows as well. This means that not all ancient festivals had sporting events, but where they did, it was one of their most prominent features. In Rome, for example, it is clear that the holding of chariot-races characterized a holiday as particularly important (Salzman 1990: 120). Greek contests were more consistently embedded in what we would call religious festivals compared to Roman games. The vast majority of the Greek ag¯ones were named after a god, an epithet of this god, or an emperor venerated as god; some agonistic festivals were named after local sponsors, but even those festivals were founded to honor a deity. In the Greek world, moreover, people tended to use the name of the festival as totum pro parte for the sporting event, whereas Romans more regularly used generic descriptions such as circenses (circus races) for sporting events. Many Roman chariot-races were, moreover, not connected to traditional cults. The so-called calendar of 354 CE , the latest and fullest of the known Roman calendars, records 63 public holidays with racing, typically with 24 chariot-races in a day. Although some chariot-races formed part of traditional religious festivals, such as the ludi Apollinares (held in July), which were instituted during the Second Punic War (218–201 BCE ), the majority of the holidays with racing celebrated ruling or deified emperors, in particular their military victories, birthdays, and accession dates.2 However, to insist on a distinction between religious festivals per se and more politically colored public holidays as occasions for sporting events is misleading, as it reflects a modern conception of religion as a separate sphere of life, which is not applicable to antiquity, where religion permeated all aspects of society, and no festival can be seen as strictly secular. The difference between “religious” and “public” ritual is, as a result, not significant when we look at the quality of sporting time in Classical antiquity. In the words of Geertz, chronological systems such as calendars cut time up into units “not in order to count and total them but to describe and characterize them” (Geertz 1973: 391). Marking a day as a holiday is imbuing it with a specific quality and meaning.

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According to Durkheim, the sacred and the profane are the two essential spheres of life that cannot coexist in the same place or unit of time.3 Although his theory is likewise overly dichotomous, Durkheim’s idea of “sacred time” is nevertheless useful to point out some characteristics of sporting time in antiquity, as competitive sports took place on holidays when normal business was interrupted.4 Choosing a Time in the Liturgical Calendar for Competitive Sport The observation that sporting time could be treated as sacred time leads to multiple questions that shed light on the nature of ancient sport. Perhaps the most obvious question is: how was the moment in the liturgical calendar for a festival with a sporting component chosen? In a few instances, a relation between a historical battle and its commemorative festival can be established. The Aktia, for instance, a festival which commemorated the victory of Octavian (who later took on the title of Augustus) over Mark Antony and Cleopatra at Actium in 31 BCE , started on the 2nd of September, the day of the battle (Pavlogiannis, Albanidis, and Dimitrou 2009: 90). In most cases, however, the question of why a specific date was chosen for a festival is impossible to answer. For contests going back to the Archaic (c. 700–c. 480 BCE ) and Classical (c. 480–323 BCE ) periods in Greece, the sources are typically exiguous at best. In order to determine the date of an ag¯on, we have to rely on the chance preservation of a literary or epigraphic reference to its date as well as on, often incomplete, reconstructions of local calendars. It is telling that even the debate on the timing of a festival as famous as the Olympics rests primarily on the interpretation of a scholion (a marginal note) written by an ancient scholar, perhaps during the Imperial period (31 BCE –476 CE ), on the text of a poem by the fifth-century BCE poet Pindar (Scholiast Pindar Olympian 3.35; S. Miller 1975). We are best informed about Athens and Rome, where the calendars are well known. The Athenian Panathenaic festival traditionally took place on the 28th of Hekatombaion (i.e. the month beginning with the new moon before the summer solstice) (Parke 1977: 29, 33), which, according to Callisthenes (fourth century BCE ), was seen as the birthday of the goddess Athena (FGrH 124 F52). However, as this source about the religious significance of the date is about two centuries later than the first iteration of the Panathenaic games (566 BCE ), we cannot determine whether the festival was celebrated on this date because of pre-existing beliefs about its significance or whether this dating of Athena’s birthday was inspired by the timing of the festival in her honor. Official Roman calendars conveniently recorded all public holidays recognized by the state and sometimes specified which holidays were celebrated with games (ludi). Here too, however, the rationale behind a date often remains

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unknown. The two main festivals of the god Sol, both added after the mid-first century CE , offer a good example (Salzman 1990: 127, 50). It is obvious that the Natalis Invictu, the birthday of the invincible Sun, was celebrated on the 25th of December because this was supposed to be the day of the winter solstice.5 This holiday was celebrated in the fourth century CE with a day of chariot-racing, and, every four years, with Greek-style sports contests, the ag¯on Solis. It remains unclear, on the other hand, why the grander ludi Solis were celebrated in October with three days of theatrical shows followed by chariotracing on the 22nd of the month.6 These few examples of festivals on the supposed birthdays of gods offer good evidence that festivals could be seen as re-actualizations of sacred events, but they cannot prove that the date was generally chosen out of religious considerations. The lack of information on the factors at play at the time of a festival’s establishment can be supplemented with the ample evidence for Greek festivals changing not only their name and purpose, but also their timing (Slater 2007: 30–1). For festivals with a sporting component, practical constraints were clearly a major factor in date changes. One such concern for contests with a large catchment area was finding a date that could be easily communicated to participants using different calendars. Most Greek cities had their own lunisolar calendars with different month names. Luckily, the months all roughly coincided, as throughout the Greek world, the new moon brought a new month. But communities decided independently when it was time to intercalate a thirteenth month to keep the length of the lunar year in balance with the solar year and the passing of the seasons (R. Hannah 2005: 40). This meant that cities had different dates for the beginning of the year and different lengths of the year; as a result, counting the months instead of naming them did not solve the communication issue. Problems surrounding the date of the Olympics show how this problem was solved. The Olympics were embedded in the calendar of the Greek city-state of Elis, which supervised the operation of the Games. Although the Eleian calendar is imperfectly preserved, we know that the Olympics were held on a full moon (i.e. the middle of a month) in the heat of summer. Texts explain that this full moon would fall on the 16th of either a month named Apollonios or of one named Parthenios, depending on whether or not the Eleians had already intercalated a month into the year in question. This means that the games were mobile within the local liturgical calendar of their organizers, which is extremely odd from a religious point of view, and it is unlikely to represent the situation of the early Archaic period. From a practical point of view, however, it makes sense. When the festival’s catchment area widened from the sixth century BCE onwards, the problem of communicating when the games started became acute. According to the best available reconstruction, by the fifth century BCE , if not before, the Olympics took place on the second full moon after the summer

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solstice (or the eighth after the winter solstice). In other words, the timing of the Olympics was no longer determined by the local new year, but from an internationally recognizable astronomical marker.7 Other observations of astronomical markers, such as the risings of Sirius and Arcturus in the night sky, could offer additional events to inform guests from around the Greek world when it was time to leave for the games (R. Hannah 2012: 86). From the first century CE onward, the use of such astronomical markers was no longer necessary as the Julian calendar offered an alternative point of comparison—perhaps via the synchronized Egyptian calendar, which was more schematic and widely known due to the Alexandrian influence in the sciences. In this period, however, the spread of ag¯ones throughout the eastern half of the Mediterranean had created new practical concerns: games across the Mediterranean occupied similar positions within the agonistic calendar and had to compete for athletes. As a solution to this problem, some festivals were moved from their traditional date and its (acquired) religious connotations to a more practical one. By the reign of Hadrian (117–138 CE ), the Nemean Games, one of the more important sets of athletic contests in Greece, had moved from the late summer to the late fall. The Panathenaia moved from the birthday of Athena in summer to the spring, perhaps to the month Anthesterion, when there was less competition with other agonistic festivals. These two examples are not outliers. A letter of Hadrian found in Alexandria Troas offers evidence for a systematic re-organization of the agonistic calendar under his reign (see Strasser 2010: 612–14, 21). The Impact of Sport on Time Reckoning Because festivals mark significant moments within specific years, they offer a structure that helps people to conceptualize the otherwise shapeless mass of time. Their reoccurrence marks out the course of the year, and the unique character of each iteration of a festival marks particular moments in the past. Today holidays still have a role in how we structure our individual past; a childhood memory, for example, can be dated before or after that Christmas when you got your first bike, or coincide with that summer you watched your hero win at the Beijing Olympics. In the Greek world, moreover, some festivals had a role in the structuring of collective memories because of the absence of more convenient, widely-shared systems of time-reckoning. Most of the systems used by the Greeks to quantify the passing of years were an invention of the fifth century BCE . The standard tool was an uninterrupted list of eponyms, individuals (usually magistrates) whose names were used for identifying a specific year. With the help of such lists, one could count the years between two events. One of the chronographic pioneers of the mid-fifth century BCE , Hellanicus of Lesbos, made use of the list

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of Athenian magistrates (archons), but also compiled lists of priestesses of Hera from the city of Argos and of victors in the Spartan Karneia (a festival with a musical competition). Eponyms were primarily used for local history, where the name of the eponymous individual could be remembered or was recorded in connection to an event. By the end of the fifth century BCE at the latest, Olympic victors had become established as eponyms. Thucydides twice (3.8, 5.49) dates events at Olympic festivals by referring to the victor in the pankration (a contest that involved a mixture of boxing and wrestling) in a particular iteration of the Games. His choice of athlete is no coincidence: pankration was one of the most beloved, and hence most memorable, events (Shaw 2003: 48–9; Christesen 2007: 8–10). As these were events in recent memory, he may not have needed to consult a list. The first list of Olympic victors was compiled toward the end of the fifth century by a contemporary of Thucydides, the Eleian scholar Hippias, as part of an attempt to systematize the local history of Elis. The widely cited date of 776 BCE for the first Olympics is ultimately based on Hippias’ list of Olympic victors, but we must be aware that for the period before the fifth century, Hippias could do no more than make conjectures on the basis of an incomplete and mostly undated epigraphic record and oral traditions. The date of 776 BCE is, therefore, at best an educated guess. Later elaborations of Hippias’ list allow us to reconstruct the contents of his work, which has not been preserved (Christesen 2007: 45–160). The chronographic potential of Hippias’ list was rapidly understood outside of Elis, and Olympic victors in the stadion (c. 200 meter footrace) eventually became a temporal grid used throughout the Greco-Roman world. One can identify two essential steps in the development from Hippias’ local project to the use of Olympic victors as a fundamental chronographic tool. Firstly, in the later fourth century BCE Aristotle created a kind of Olympic epoch, when he added numbers to the names offered by Hippias. By numbering the Olympiads, Aristotle greatly simplified temporal calculations based on Olympiads and helped establish the first Olympiad (dated to 776 BCE in our system of reckoning) as an epoch from which temporal distance was measured. Shortly afterward, Timaeus of Tauromenium compiled a synchronization table of Spartan kings and magistrates (ephors), Athenian archons, Argive priestesses of Hera, and Olympic stadion victors, which made it possible to translate dates found in earlier historical works to the Olympiad system (Christesen 2007: 170–3, 277– 89; only fragments of the relevant works by Aristotle and Timaeus are preserved). Timaeus’ table was later synchronized with Roman consuls. The preeminence of the Olympics in the area of time-reckoning reflects the importance of this festival as a symbol of Hellenic identity (Christesen 2007: 4–5). Olympic victors were among the few individuals who became known on a regular basis among all Greek communities. As the ancient world was

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characterized by a great diversity of local calendars and cults, primarily local rhythms shaped people’s conceptualization of time, but these could not be used for historiographical projects with a wider geographical scope. Although the time-reckoning systems of particularly influential cities such as Athens and Sparta were comprehensible to non-locals, a system that transcended political sensitivities was better. The major games were something all Greek city-states (poleis) shared in. Even if relatively few people actually attended, the major ag¯ones did not pass unnoticed, because official local delegations were sent out by many Greek communities to attend those ag¯ones, and victors were publicly celebrated when they came home. The Olympics were the most prestigious contest of all, and conveniently the only major contest for which a victor list was created early on. In Late Antiquity, the symbolic relevance of the Olympic victors disappeared, but the Olympiad epoch outlived the games: the seventhcentury Chronicon Paschale counts to the 352nd Olympiad (628–31 CE ). It should be noted that the Olympics followed, like many other ag¯ones, a quadrennial rhythm. This may at first glance seem impractical for connecting to local systems based on annual eponyms, but it actually offered an additional level of organization that provided more structure and enabled faster calculations. In the historiographical tradition only the Olympic Games mattered, as even non-Olympic years could be expressed in Olympic terms. For example, 70 BCE was not an Olympic year, but Greeks designated it as the third year of the 177th Olympiad, in which Hekatomnos of Miletus won the stadion. Moreover, in the perception of the people, each year was characterized by its own contests. 70 BCE was, for example, also a year in which an iteration of the Pythian Games (the second most important athletic contest in the Greek world and held at Delphi every fourth year) took place. Finally, it should be asked why stadion victors, who were often of lesser renown compared to victors in the combat sports, ended up as universal markers of time. The reason for this is practical. Lists of Olympic victors typically cataloged the winners at each Olympiad in the order in which contests were added to the program of events at Olympia. The habit of ordering the names in this way and the conventional dates for when the events were added to the program can be traced back to Hippias. As noted before, these dates are conjectural for the events supposedly added in the eighth and seventh centuries. The stadion was, according to Hippias, the oldest discipline and thus the only one for which he listed victors in the first 13 Olympiads. They were therefore all that a scholar such as Timaeus, who used them for purely chronographic purposes, needed to extract from Hippias’ list (Christesen 2007: 66). The role of other ag¯ones in the ancient conceptualization of time is illustrated by an exceptional object, known as the Antikythera mechanism. In 1900, divers discovered a shipwreck off the coast of the island Antikythera in Greece, and many important artifacts were excavated from this ship, which sank c. 70 BCE .

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One of them was a kind of analog computer in the form of a bronze clockwork device that traced various astronomical cycles and could in this way predict eclipses. Some of its gears traced cycles that helped regulate daily life, such as the local month names and the biennial and quadrennial cycles of various ag¯ones. The so-called “games dial” on the Antikythera mechanism is divided into four numbered quadrants, each inscribed with two names of contests. Year 1 is, for example, that of the Isthmian Games (held in spring) and of the Olympic Games (held in summer). Four of the names on this dial are not surprising: the quadrennial Olympics and Pythia and the biennial Isthmia and the Nemea were undisputedly the top games, and hence known from the Hellenistic period (323–31 BCE ) on as the periodos, that is the “cycle.” Of course, the Greeks did not need an elaborate mechanism to tell them the date of these contests, so the purpose of this dial was largely symbolic (Jones 2017: 93). The other two contests on the dial, the Naia at Dodona (the site of an important religious sanctuary in the region of Epirus in northwestern Greece) and the Halieia in Rhodes, present a more interesting case. Although these contests did attract athletes from outside their own region in the Hellenistic period, they were far less prestigious.8 Recent studies point out that the mechanism was designed for the latitude of Rhodes but adapted to a different calendar used, among other places, in Epirus (Iversen 2017). The rhythm of these two contests was hence written on the dial because of their importance in the local calendars of the manufacturer and commissioner. In the Roman world, sport could likewise be a factor in the individual experience of time, but it did not have the same impact on supra-local time reckoning systems. This can be explained both by the far lower societal status of victors (Edwards 1997), which disqualified them as potential time markers, and by the political dominance of the city of Rome, which imposed its own system of time reckoning on others.

SPORTING SPACE Monumental Sporting Spaces Because of the link with festivals, many early sporting competitions took place on a suitably flat area in the vicinity of a ritual site, such as an altar, tomb, or temple. The links with this sacred space became looser when a string of adaptations to playing fields led to the development of architectural types designed for specific types of competitions: the stadium, the amphitheater, and the circus. In Greece, running tracks became permanently recognizable as sporting spaces in the sixth century BCE (Romano 1993). From that time on, stone starting and finish lines delineated the conventional distance of 600 feet (a

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stadion), and earthen banks were raised for the spectators where the natural relief did not allow enough viewing points. In the Hellenistic period, the stadium developed fully as an architectural type; features such as mechanical starting gates, a semi-circular embankment or sphendone on one of the narrow sides of the track to provide greater visibility for more visitors, and a stone entrance tunnel for athletes to make dramatic entrances became standard features (Dimde 2016b: 266–80; see also Chapter 3 in this volume). The amphitheater, which served primarily as a venue for gladiatorial combats and staged beast hunts, represented one of the most distinctive types of buildings in the Roman architectural tradition. The oval shape of the amphitheater probably originated from temporary wooden stands erected in the oblong Forum Romanum in Rome that were used to create a seating area for gladiatorial games (Welch 2007: 41). The first stone amphitheaters were constructed in Italy in the first century BCE , and in the first and second centuries CE , the building type spread quickly, especially in the western provinces (Welch 2007: 72–101). Amphitheaters were architecturally far more complex than stadia, as they often had an underground system of rooms and elevators to bring up human and animal participants in the games, and were typically equipped with a cloth awning to provide shade (I. Nielsen 1996: 620). The circus was likewise a Roman building type; Greek hippodromes were never monumentalized and standardized. Because of the size of the space needed for chariot-races, circuses were often located at some distance from the sanctuary or city. The Circus Maximus in Rome, the prototype for all later circuses, started as a suitably flat area at a cult site for, among other deities, the old Roman god Consus. The Consualia, dedicated to Consus, is the earliest recorded festival with chariot-racing in Rome (Humphrey 1986: 61–2). The circus’ location within the Servian walls of the fourth century BCE shows that the area was already reserved for this purpose at a time when the city of Rome was still quite small. Some constructions in the circus, such as wooden starting gates, turning posts, a stone arch, and stone eggs indicating the number of rounds were added in the Early and Middle Republic (509–133 BCE ), but the canonical circus shape with two symmetrical semicircular ends only came into being during the time of Caesar and Octavian/Augustus (first century BCE — early first century CE ). During that period, a drainage ditch was dug around the race track at the Circus Maximus, a wall surrounding this ditch was erected to keep the spectators safe, uninterrupted rows of seats (in stone close to the track, but still in wood higher up) were added, and the first obelisk was installed on the (presumably still wooden) barrier in the middle of the track. The underground altar of Consus, located within the track, was eventually incorporated into the turning post. The Roman prototype started to be copied in Spain even before the wooden parts of the Circus Maximus were replaced by stone under Trajan (ruled 98–117 CE ) (Humphrey 1986: 67–76, 293).

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These three building types were designed with a particular type of games in mind, but it should be noted that they were not used exclusively for one type. Although Greek-style athletic contests spread to Italy and Northern Africa, stadia did not, as the existing entertainment buildings sufficed to stage the new games—circuses in particular, but also theaters for the Greek combat sports such as wrestling. Similarly, amphitheaters remained fairly rare in the eastern parts of the Roman world, despite the local popularity of both gladiator games and beast hunts, because existing venues were instead adapted for those sports. Circuses, on the other hand, did spread in the East from the second century on, especially in cities that did not have stadia. However, the most important contests held in these circuses were at that point still Greek-style ag¯ones (Humphrey 1986: 71–2, 439–40; Mann 2011: 73–5). The architectural spaces for ancient sports were among the largest monumental structures in the ancient landscape. As such they are unparalleled in other pre-modern cultures. In each case, the gradual additions to spaces created to facilitate sport improved the visibility and comfort of an expanding crowd and created a more dramatic setting for sport. Each of the aforementioned architectural types placed a large audience in an inner-facing circle, an architectural shape that allows everyone to see at the same time both the event taking place and the reactions of everyone in the audience (Chwe 2001: 20–1; Williamson 2014: 89). The monumentality of the buildings underlines, in other words, the character of Greek and Roman competitive sports as spectator sports. Sport and Sacred Space The first steps in the development of a dedicated sporting architecture happened at cult sites. Nevertheless, one cannot claim that ancient sport took place in “sacred spaces.” Most of the great festivals were held in the middle of a city. For many games in Archaic and Classical Greece, the marketplace (agora) doubled as running track; it was the temporal and not the spatial setting that defined the character of this place as an area for sports. From the fourth century BCE on, dedicated stadia were built in the vicinity of gymnasia or theaters (Höcker 1996: 888). By the mid-third century BCE gladiatorial games in Rome were similarly held in the marketplace (the Forum Romanum) and were no longer ritually connected to tombs (Welch 2007: 30–1). Sporting infrastructure was primarily an urban phenomenon, since the creation of monumental sporting architecture was typically only possible in urban centers, where such expensive infrastructure could be used for more than one festival. Extra-urban sanctuaries did continue to house the most famous Greek contests, but even here, the development of a sporting architecture brought with it a break with sacred space. In Olympia, the earliest formal stadium and

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its successor (Stadia I and II, built in the sixth and fifth century BCE , respectively) were not yet separated by a wall from the Altis, the sacred heart of the sanctuary. However, Stadium III, built in the fourth century BCE , was closed off from the Altis (Mallwitz 1972: 121, 80–5; Schilbach 1992), and this was not an exception. During the Hellenistic period, newly-constructed stadia were typically located further from the core of a sanctuary than their predecessors, as increasingly elaborated stadia required more space. The changing way in which stadia were used, moreover, underlines this gradual break with the temple. During the Classical period (c. 480–323 BCE ), stadia typically had starting blocks on either end of the race track out of religious considerations; the final length of the race was run toward the temple so that runners of a stadion race (a single length of the track) used the blocks opposite the temple as a starting line, while for the diaulos race (two lengths or one lap), the finish line doubled as starting line. From the second century BCE , however, the installation of expensive mechanical starting gates on one side of track meant that there was only one starting line, ending the religious orientation of the race (Valavanis 1999). But, as has been rightly noted by Dimde, these changes were the result of practical concerns, so it would be wrong to assume that this reflects an intentional disconnection of the temple from an activity seen as too profane (Dimde 2016b: 265–6, 77–83). Even if, because of its historical development, monumental sporting infrastructure did not belong in “sacred space,” these buildings were nevertheless connected to it in multiple ways. Small religious shrines could be found within stadia, amphitheaters, and circuses, though usually not for the deity honored in the festival (who had a grander temple). On the north side of the stadium of Olympia (a sanctuary dedicated to Zeus Olympios), for example, there was an altar to Demeter, and many amphitheaters contained small sanctuaries to Nemesis (I. Nielsen 1996: 620). A physical link with the sacred space of the god of the festival could, moreover, be recreated by means of a procession, which was a standard feature of ancient festivals. In the case of extra-urban games, these processions could be quite long, as they connected the organizing city with a sanctuary, sometimes located on the edge of its territory. Such processions made a symbolic claim to control over the extra-urban sanctuary and the land between sanctuary and the main urban center of the polity. The Olympic procession, for example, followed a c. 58 km long “sacred road” across the Eleian plain and would have taken most of two days (T. H. Nielsen 2007: 47). Processions also took place within urban centers. A typical example of this kind of procession is the pompa circensis, the procession in Rome that transported divine statues of all the gods from the sacred heart of the city to the circus, where statues “watched” the games from a special block of seating, the pulvinar. This ritual was repeated for all the major festivals, and on those days, all heavy

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traffic was forbidden on the route. The procession started on the Capitoline hill, which housed an enormous temple for Jupiter and, perhaps connected to this sanctuary, a building for the tensae or processional carts that carried the statues to the circus. The person sponsoring and organizing the games headed the procession with a large entourage, including all the performers in the games. The charioteers paraded with their chariots and horses, dressed in the color of the racing team (factio) to which they belonged (Latham 2016: 1–5, 232–4). Given the current popularity of spatial approaches in history, it is not surprising that the itinerary of processions has received considerable scholarly attention. A procession did not necessarily follow the shortest route but rather wended its way through the urban fabric in the course of visiting a series of meaningful locations. The path chosen to go from the temple to the location of the festivities can thus be seen as a spatial narrative that creates an idealized image of the city (Latham 2016: 6). The circus procession in Rome went through the monumental core of the city: from the Capitoline hill to the Forum Romanum and from there along the ancient street known as the Vicus Tuscus to the Forum Boarium and the Circus Maximus. The meaning of this route changed with time. Passing through the Forum Romanum would have constituted a very different experience in the Republic, when it was the political heart of the city, than under the emperors, when its role was more symbolic. Its meaning could, moreover, be adapted by deviations from the route and building activity along the route. In the Imperial period, for example, the path of the pompa became dotted with temples for the cult of the emperors and triumphal arches (Latham 2016: 69 (map), 72–3). Throughout its history, however, the procession “strung together some of the most prominent pathways, districts, and landmarks of ancient Rome” and therefore, according to Latham “might have played a part in urban way-finding” (Latham 2016: 236). Spatial Divisions and Social Hierarchies Sporting spaces were designed to be able to hold a substantial portion of the population of any given community. During the day or days set apart for the festivals, many people simultaneously ceased work and came together in a stadium, amphitheater, or circus to watch the games. They did not take a seat randomly, however. Everyone was expected to sit in his or her proper place. By limiting the access of specific groups to certain parts of the seating area—or by banning them from entering the building completely—sporting spaces made visible and reinforced social rules and hierarchies. By this means the design and use of sporting spaces contributed to a typical function of festivals, namely the consolidation of society.9 Whereas the itinerary of processions reproduced an idealized vision of the space of the city, seating arrangements reproduced an idealized picture of civic society.

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Social hierarchies could be visualized by regulating the seating row by row: the closer to the stage, the more important the spectator. The very best seats were those that offered the best viewing point. Already in Classical Greece the right to proedria (front row seating at various public gatherings) was granted only to certain functionaries and benefactors to the city, including, for example, Olympic victors (Gauthier 1985: 93–5; Shear 2011: 141). In the Roman Empire, there were regulations for certain rows. The best-known example is the Colosseum in Rome. Here, the first rows were reserved for the senators, the following rows for the equestrians, then followed citizens and freedman, and, in the highest area, furthest away from the arena, all others were allowed. The part of the front rows with the best visibility was monumentalized to house the imperial box (reserved for the emperor and his entourage), both in the Colosseum and the Circus Maximus.10 In smaller towns, the few residents important enough to serve as senators in Rome shared the front rows with the city councilors. Within this spatial hierarchy, people belonging to the same association often sat together. Inscriptions document, for example, the seating area of professional associations, of civic associations such as the iuvenes (Roman clubs of youth of the higher classes), and of religious groups. But membership in the same group was no ground to ignore status regulations. The religious group of the Arval brethren, for example, occupied three different areas within the Colosseum: one for its 12 priests and their families among the senators, one for the lower functionaries such as secretaries more toward the middle, and one for their slaves at the top (Kolendo 1981: 300–4; Rawson 1987). The regulation of the seating area could also be used to reflect more equal divisions in society. Allocating seats to groups that were seen as being on the same social level could be done by allocating places by cuneus, a wedge-shaped division of the seating area separated by stairs, to equal divisions of the population, such as phylai (tribes). In the city of Hierapolis in Asia Minor and at other sites, the cunei of the theater were specified as being reserved for a specific phyl¯e (Kolendo 1981: 304–15). In circuses in the eastern Mediterranean during the early Byzantine period circus (fifth and sixth centuries CE ), the population was divided according to their partisanship for the Green and the Blue factiones. Although nothing suggests that the whole crowd was divided into a Green and Blue half, the most active partisans of both groups certainly had parallel seating areas near the finish line and across from the imperial box (Safran 1993: 415–17). All inscriptions documenting highly regulated seating stem from the Imperial period (after 31 BCE ), the era in which most monumental sporting infrastructures were constructed. However, the distribution of local coins over the stadium at Nemea has been used to suggest that the spectators of the Nemean Games were already seated according to a coherent system by 300 BCE . Finds of coins

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minted by the city of Kleonai (which played a key role in the organization of the Games) center around the seats immediately opposite the entrance through which the athletes appeared on the race track; coins minted by communities near Kleonai cluster on both sides of the Kleonai fan block; and coins from the cities of Sicyon and Corinth (further from Kleonai and historic rivals with it) are concentrated in the western seating area, where the athletes could not be seen arriving through the tunnel (Dimde 2016b: 274). In this example, the allocation of seats embodied not an ideal picture of a civic community, but rather the relations of various cities at an acceptable traveling distance to the sanctuary of Nemea and its games. Unfortunately, we have no similar evidence for the stadium at Olympia, which attracted visitors from much further away. Here, the assembled crowd was simply seen as representative of the Greek world as a whole.11 We do know, however, that women (or at least married women) were excluded from this symbolic representation of Greece. Their exclusion from the Olympic Games was both spatially and temporally defined: they were not allowed beyond the Alpheios river during the Olympic festival.12 The people assembled and seated in their proper places in the amphitheater or circus not only reproduced an ideal picture of the city, but also of the whole empire. In the later Imperial period, the circus could even be seen as a representation of the cosmos. This is clearest in the epigram On Circus Races (Latin Anthology 188) that explains how the 12 starting gates or carceres in the Circus Maximus symbolize the months and the signs of the zodiac, the four horses of the four-horse chariot represent the four seasons, the four colors of the circus factions symbolize the four natural elements, the turning posts stand for the rising and setting of celestial bodies, the barrier down the center of the track (euripus) symbolizes the ocean, the seven laps in the races represent the seven planets, etc. In this allegorical interpretation of the circus, space and time come together. Despite the often rowdy reality of spectator behavior, the circus became a symbol of the well-ordered world. In the ancient context it indeed made sense for a sporting space used for political communication and demonstrations of imperial power to be associated with cosmic order. This cosmological interpretation of the circus appears first in sources from c. 200 CE , but it appears particularly frequently in texts from the sixth century, which, despite some extremely bloody circus riots, was the heyday of the circus as a political instrument (Meier 2009: 211–23).13 Sporting Networks and the Densification of Space Thus far, we have primarily looked at sporting spaces within their local context, in particular at how they were designed to improve the spectator experience and how they were used to project idealized images of the city. However, sport

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affected not only the urban landscape, but also the integration of places within a pan-Mediterranean network. Compared to many other groups in the population, the competitors in ancient sport show a remarkable degree of mobility: athletes and, to a lesser extent, gladiators and charioteers traveled to compete, sometimes over large distances. Hence, they are an ideal subject for social network analysis, an increasingly popular methodology that involves studying individuals as nodes in a network by quantifying and/or evaluating the quality of their ties to each other in order to examine the spread of ideas or knowledge.14 This approach can help unveil the role of sport in the cultural unification of the ancient world. When several nodes are sharing the same ties, as in a family or a local community, or—to take examples from the world of sport—in a gladiator school, circus faction, or group of athletes training with the same coach, these ties are considered “strong.” It has been shown, however, that “weak” ties, representing sporadic contacts shared by only one or a few individuals, are crucial for the spread of ideas, as these represent the shortcuts between otherwise separate local networks.15 Traveling competitors formed such weak ties to multiple, sometimes distant, local networks, often through local representatives active in the organization of games. Therefore, they contributed to what we could call a densification of space in the ancient Mediterranean. Network theory promises great advances in the field of ancient sport, as the many extant inscriptions that catalog victories, combined with inscriptions documenting the movements of official representatives of communities (such as theoroi), who attended festivals to participate in cultic rituals, attest to an enormous number of ties between cities. A large-scale study of agonistic networks in the period 300 BCE to 300 CE is currently directed by Onno van Nijf.16 It aims to show how Hellenistic festival networks helped to accommodate and internalize emergent political realities, and in particular Roman political hegemony, in traditional Greek terms, and how the further expansion of these networks under the emperors contributed to the globalization of civic culture in the Roman empire. In a pilot study, van Nijf and Christina Williamson map, for example, the ties created by the participants of the Amphiaraia festival between Oropos (the site of the festival) and their hometowns. This festival was reorganized as Amphiaraia Rhomaia in the second or early first century BCE and thereupon gained a considerably larger catchment area than its antecedent, at least partially due to strategic use of Roman patronage. Visualizations of the ties show that the Amphiaraia at this time became part of a more integrated network of festivals in Greece and Asia Minor (van Nijf and Williamson 2016: 53–8). In the Imperial period, the gradual global integration of local festival networks was consolidated by the emergence of an internationally operating synod of athletes. In particularly the xystarchs, representatives of the synod who were present at each athletic festival and who often attended more than one festival

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in any given year, structurally embedded weak ties into the entire system (see further Fauconnier 2017: 451–4). The type of quantitative analysis that is part of the aforementioned project is less feasible for earlier periods. Although the number of contests in the Classical period has recently been shown to be far higher than traditionally assumed, the detailed epigraphic career overviews of athletes as we know them in particular from the Imperial period are not available for the Archaic and Classical periods, and hence the best evidence for reciprocal relationships between cities is missing.17 There are studies of the catchment area of the major contests, however, and looking at these data from a network perspective can likewise be informative. The rise of Panhellenic sentiments after the Persian wars (480–479 BCE ) is a central event in Classical Greek history, but only a limited number of communities actually fought on the Greek side in these wars, so other factors must have contributed to the definition of the Greek world. The network formed around major contests such as the Olympics, and the erection of monuments at this sanctuary by a multitude of actors, definitely played an important role in the unification of the Greek world.18 In the field of Roman sport, participants in the games also show a high degree of mobility, which could be studied from a spatial perspective. The first appearances of gladiators at sites outside Rome often seem linked to the presence of the Roman army, so these too can be studied in the context of the cultural unification in the Roman world, and they are indeed often studied in the context of an ongoing scholarly debate on Romanization (Mann 2011: 80). The considerable difference between Greek and Roman sport, however, also opens the way for different questions that can be answered by means of a spatial analysis. Gladiatorial mobility is, for example, linked to trading networks. Unlike athletes, many gladiators did not have control over when they went where. Only highly successful gladiators who became liberated from an attachment to a given gladiatorial troop could rent themselves out independently. The extent of gladiatorial mobility was, moreover, limited by the shorter average duration of their career. Nevertheless, many gladiators traveled considerable distances. Their careers can best be reconstructed from funerary inscriptions, which often record their place of origin, place of death, and occasionally places where they fought (Mann 2011: esp. 68–71, 107–8). If gladiators had moved from peripheral areas to important urban centers, this teaches us about how the slave trade affected this peculiar sport. If a gladiator performed in various cities, this teaches us about the performative network of the gladiatorial troop that owned him, or about his own network if he was independent. The gladiator Phoibos, for example, came from Cyzicus in Asia Minor and fought in Asia, Thrace, Macedon, and Thessaly (SEG 32.605; Mann 2011: 188 #14). The order in which these regions are given in the relevant inscription suggests that he was

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not spontaneously recruited because of his fame but traveled from city to city in a south-westerly direction, perhaps making contacts along the way. In Late Antiquity, the endemic character of urban riots linked to sport forms a central problem that could benefit from a spatial approach. Besides famine and disputes over the succession of bishops, rivalry between the two major groups of chariot-racing fans, the Greens and the Blues, was a major factor in the outbreak of such riots (Cameron 1976: 271–96; see further Whitby 2006). The movements of charioteers and other actors from the circus could perhaps even be linked to the spread of violence between chariot-racing fans. Porphyrius, the most famous of the Late-Antique charioteers, originally came from Libya before he spent most of his career in Constantinople, but he also performed in other major circuses. In 507 CE he visited Antioch and played an important role in an outbreak of anti-semitic violence there. A possibly fictional autobiographical account (The Teaching of Jacob) of a Jew named Jacob (who ostensibly lived in the first half of the seventh century CE ) portrays Jacob as stirring up violence between fans of rival circus factions in Constantinople, Antioch, and Rhodes (Cameron 1976: 150–1). In both instances there seems to be a clear link between the circuses of Constantinople and Antioch. The lack of evidence for factional violence in the large and important city of Alexandria may indicate that activity in that city’s circus was not strongly linked to the two others (Whitby 2006: 447–9). Unfortunately, however, there are relatively few sources to reconstruct the careers of circus performers, so a full spatial analysis of their networks may not be feasible as a means to illuminate patterns in the outbreak of violence.

CONCLUSION Sporting times in the ancient world were strongly influenced by the traditional link between sport and religious ritual: throughout the whole period under discussion in this volume, sporting competitions took place during festivals. During most of this period, these festivals included religious ritual. However, the association with festivals did not put constraints on the organization of competitions. The logistical needs of the contests could be the rationale for choosing a particular date for the whole festival, or for moving the festival to a different date. The choice of location was also determined primarily on practical grounds. In a few rural Panhellenic sanctuaries, there is a clear link to sacred space, but stadia, amphitheaters, and circuses were primarily urban buildings. The monumental design of ancient sporting spaces reflects a different feature of ancient sports, namely their character as spectator sports. Festivals played an important role in consolidating communities and reinforcing social hierarchies. The design of the sporting infrastructure was significant in that regard. Seating areas could be and were divided into various

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wedge-shaped blocks holding equal parts of the community, as well as into ascending rows visualizing the social ladder. The development of a dedicated infrastructure left a highly visible mark on the ancient cityscape. The processions leading up to them helped shape how this cityscape was experienced. Regular competitions provided, moreover, anchor points in the inherently shapeless mass of time. In a world where local time reckoning systems proliferated, the quadrennial rhythm of the Olympics became a chronological framework that could connect local histories across the Mediterranean. Finally, competitors also connected people across the whole Mediterranean. Because of their mobility, they represented shortcuts between sometimes far removed local networks, and, in this way, they made the GrecoRoman world a smaller one.

NOTES 1. Sorokin and Merton 1937 offer the first systematic discussion of “social time.” For a review of the most important theoretical discussions from the twentieth century, see Nowotny 1992. On the “temporal turn” in the twenty-first century, see Rothauge 2017. On the spatial turn, see Kingston 2010; Kümin and Usborne 2013: 305–10; and Scott 2013. 2. An online edition of the calendar can be found at: http://www.tertullian.org/ fathers/chronography_of_354_06_calendar.htm. For a commentary on the games, see Salzman 1990: 118–76. The latest edition of this calendar (part of a larger codex referred to as the Chronograph of 354) is Divjak and Wischmeyer 2014: 216 (for December). 3. Durkheim 1912: 49–58, 437–41. Temporal separation is just one of the many ways highlighted by Durkheim in which the domain of the profane is closed off from the sacred. See Zerubavel 1981: 101–5 for an introduction to sacred and profane time. 4. Whereas “sacred” can be a useful concept to understand Greek religion, and in particular the special character of festivals compared to everyday life, “profane” is much more problematic as a category, as there are few aspects of Greek life that religion did not permeate. See, for example, Rudhardt 1957: 7, 20–1 (who also sees “sacred” as problematic because there is no dichotomy in related Greek concepts) or Bremmer 1998: 30, who similarly argues that the Greeks had no term for “profane,” but only different types of “sacred.” Scullion 2005: 112–19 is more positive on the usefulness of a non-absolute distinction between sacred and profane for the Greek world. 5. With the calendar reforms of Caesar and Augustus, the winter solstice was supposed to fall permanently on 25 December. It had in reality already moved to 21 December by the early fourth century, due to the imperfections of this calendar. The 21st remains the day of the winter solstice today as the Gregorian reform restored the situation at the time of the council of Nicea in 325 CE . 6. For the chariot-races, see the Calendar of 354 (n. 2 above). Sol was particularly popular in the fourth century CE , so on both occasions there were more than the

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usual 24 races. Ago ¯ nes were not annual public holidays and are therefore not mentioned in Roman calendars, which has created considerable confusion regarding the date of the ago ¯ n Solis (October or December), despite an explicit confirmation of the latter in Julian Orations 4.156c. See Remijsen 2015: 133 n. 22. 7. Scholiast Pindar Olympian 3.35 attests the alternation between these two months. Scholiast Pindar Olympian 3.33 speaks of the eighth month after the winter solstice. Scholars have long been surprised about this mobility, see, for example, Weniger 1905: 19, 22–30, 16–35, who explains it as a way to create a balanced relation with the Heraia festival, which he presumes to be older than the Olympics and to have been held on the first of Parthenios. A standard study on the timing of the Olympics is S. Miller 1975, who argued convincingly that it must have been held during the second full moon after the summer solstice. The reconstruction of R. Hannah 2005: 37–41 (which does not engage with Miller’s reconstruction) treats the change of month merely as a consequence of the use of a local, eight-year intercalation cycle. 8. For the Naia, see IAG 40 (victor from Sicyon, mid-third century BCE ), IAG 51 (Athenian victor, c. 130 BCE ), I.Priene 234 (Hellenistic victor from Priene). The Hellenistic Halieia are epigraphically much better attested, but mostly in Rhodian inscriptions celebrating Rhodian victors. IAG 50 documents a victor from Kedreai, which was in the Rhodian sphere of influence in Caria (on the mainland of Asia Minor). The geographical spread suggests that the Naia were more prestigious than the Halieia (and not the other way round as suggested by Iversen 2017: 144). 9. Many studies on this function focus on other aspects, such as the distribution of meat after the sacrifice or on inclusion and order in processions. Zuiderhoek 2017: 94–105 offers a good introduction to this approach. 10. Elkins 2004 argues that the imperial box was constructed on the north side of the Colosseum. 11. See, for example, the epigrams in Ebert 1972: #20, 37–8, 56, 59, 65, 67, 69, 73, 81. 12. Pausanias 5.6.7: “The Eleians have a law that women are cast down from this mountain when they are caught coming to the Olympic festival, or even just crossing the Alpheios, on the days prohibited for them” (trans. S. Remijsen). For further discussion, see Chapter 6 in this volume. 13. The association between the hippodrome, violence, imperial power, and cosmic order is clearest in John Malalas 7.4–6. 14. The literature on Social Network Theory is today endless. Well-regarded introductions are Wasserman and Faust 1994 and Yang, Keller, and Zheng 2016. For a brief introduction aimed at ancient historians, with references to further literature, see van Nijf and Williamson 2016: 45. 15. The standard article on weak ties is Granovetter 1973. 16. See http://www.connectedcontests.org. 17. For the number of contests in the Classical period, see T. H. Nielsen 2018: 11–168. For the importance of reciprocity in reconstructing a network, see van Nijf and Williamson 2016: 51. 18. See, for example, the tables in Scanlon 2002: 44, 50, 57, 61, 63 for the geographical distribution of Olympic victors and studies such as T. H. Nielsen 2007 or Scott 2010 for the development of notions of Greekness at Olympia.

CHAPTER THREE

Products, Training, and Technology CHRISTIAN MANN

INTRODUCTION And why are your young men doing all this, Solon? Some of them, locked in each other’s arms, are tripping one another up, while others are choking and twisting each other and groveling together in the mud, wallowing like swine. Yet, in the beginning, as soon as they had taken their clothes off, they put oil on themselves and took turns at rubbing each other down very peacefully—I saw it. Since then, I do not know what has got into them that they push one another about with lowered heads and butt their foreheads together like rams. And see there! That man picked the other one up by the legs and threw him to the ground, then fell down upon him and will not let him get up, shoving him all down into the mud; and now, after winding his legs about his middle and putting his forearm underneath his throat, he is choking the poor fellow, who is slapping him sidewise on the shoulder, by way of begging off, I take it, so that he may not be strangled completely. Even out of consideration for the oil, they do not avoid getting dirty; they rub off the ointment, plaster themselves with mud, mixed with streams of sweat, and make themselves a laughing-stock, to me at least, by slipping through each other’s hands like eels. —Lucian Anacharsis 1, trans. A. Harmon These words form the opening of a fictional dialog written by Lucian of Samosata (second century CE ) in which a Scythian (i.e. non-Greek) wise man 69

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named Anacharsis makes a visit to Athens in the time of the famous Athenian lawgiver Solon (an actual statesman who lived in the sixth century BCE ). Anacharsis expresses his consternation about the activities in a Greek gymnasium. According to Anacharsis, Greek athletic training is silly, unaesthetic, disgusting, and dangerous. His partner—or better opponent—in the dialog, Solon, explains the benefits of the actions they are watching. When exercising in the gymnasium, Solon declares, young men learn to fight hard for glory, they strengthen their bodies and minds for military purposes, and in general they become better citizens. But Anacharsis is not convinced at all and counters every argument Solon puts forward. This exchange has a strong comedic element in that the proverbially prudent Solon, one of the “Seven Sages,” is not able to succeed in a debate with a barbarian (i.e. non-Greek). Nevertheless, the arguments that are put forward by the two speakers direct our attention to essential aspects of Greek athletic training, which was embedded in multiple discourses about ethnicity, masculinity, social hierarchy, and the qualities of good citizens. Even though modern scholars of ancient sport tend to focus most of their attention on competitions and spectacles, Lucian’s Anacharsis reminds us that a majority of one’s sporting life was dedicated not to competition but to the training itself. Indeed, the critiques found in Lucian’s Anacharsis are based on a strictly functional and practical perspective, which renders so many aspects of sport quite ridiculous: who would endure the torment of training for the sake of a mere olive wreath that one would receive at the Olympics? Why spend so much time in training when the chances of victory are close to nil? Although Lucian’s Anacharsis was most likely a work of irony, it nevertheless speaks to a basic idea that runs throughout Greek and Roman sport history, namely that training in sport was always embedded in various modes of cultural expression that cannot be disentangled from its more functional objectives. One can observe this unique combination of the culturally symbolic and the functional aspects of physical training in the origin and development of the gymnasium as a location for training from the Archaic (c. 700–c. 480 BCE ) through to the Roman Imperial period (31 BCE –476 CE ). Similar entanglements between the cultural and functional can be observed in the status and significance accorded to athletic trainers, in training regimens, and in the highly symbolic value attributed to actual training equipment and technologies such as jumping weights, the strigil, armor, and the olive oil applied to sporting bodies. Lastly, there were often significant financial expenditures for the sake of training and competition that could never be justified from a strictly economic perspective. In short, even though training and its products were ostensibly organized for the sake of brief moments of competition and spectacle, they always retained an enduring cultural value that underwent own changes in significance at various periods in Greek and Roman history.

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THE ORIGINS OF THE GYMNASIUM (SIXTH AND EARLY FIFTH CENTURY BCE ): NOT WAR BUT BEAUTY The institution of the gymnasium (from gymnos—naked) arose in the sixth century BCE . The early gymnasia were not buildings, but loose ensembles of running tracks, places filled with sand for practicing combat sports such as wrestling, sheds for equipment, and altars for Heracles and other gods. It was in the fourth century BCE that they became an architectural type, characterized by a rectangular courtyard (palaistra) surrounded by rooms on all sides (see Figure 3.1).1 The architectural changes corresponded to a multiplication of functions: the gymnasium developed into the center of Greek education, including reading and writing, music, rhetoric, and philosophy. But sport remained a key activity in gymnasia throughout antiquity. The reasons for the emergence of the gymnasium remain the subject of lively scholarly debate. For some decades, a military explanation, which was developed in a major study on the gymnasium (Delorme 1960: 21–6), was favored. Jean Delorme argued that the military developments (in the form of the emergence in Greece of large, dense military formations of heavily-armored infantrymen called hoplites) in the seventh century BCE made it necessary to provide military training for peasants, who had not been important in battle before, and therefore gymnasia were erected as places for paramilitary sport. At first glance this idea seems convincing as it corresponds to some modern developments; for example, the German gymnastics movement, connected with the name of Friedrich Ludwig Jahn (1778–1852), was motivated by the objective to create strong young men to fight the French (Neuendorff 1934; Guttmann 1994: 141–56). In Greece during the Archaic period, however, the case was different. To begin with, it is not clear that individual sports like running or wrestling were appropriate preparation for a hoplite battle (Krentz 2013). More importantly,

FIGURE 3.1: Plan of the gymnasium at Delphi. The earliest remains shown on the plan date to the fourth century BCE . Courtesy of Paul Christesen.

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the ancient evidence clearly speaks against Delorme’s idea. It is correct that many Greek authors, beginning with Homer, draw parallels between the qualities of good athletes and good soldiers—but they do so on a psychological rather than a functional level. Before the fourth century BCE , there is no evidence that Greeks regarded sport as preparation for warfare. On the contrary, the gymnasium and sport in general were associated with terpsis, the aristocratic world of enjoyment. Bacchylides, a fifth-century BCE poet, praises times of peace, when young men have leisure to go to the gymnasium while “sharp-pointed spears and double-edged swords are subdued by rust” (F4.66–72; trans. D. Campbell). An anecdote told by Herodotus (also fifth century BCE ) points in the same direction. Before the Battle of Thermopylae in 480 BCE , Xerxes, the Persian king, sends a scout to the Greeks’ camp in order to collect information about their preparations. The scout is astonished by the activities of the Spartans: some are combing their hair, others are practicing exercises like in the gymnasium (gymnazomenous). The scout then reports to Xerxes, who responds as follows: “When Xerxes heard his story, he could not conjecture from it the actual truth: that these men were making their preparations for being killed or killing others . . . Xerxes thought that what the Spartans were doing was something absurd” (Herodotus 7.209; trans. D. Grene, modified). Xerxes only achieves some understanding of the Spartans’ behavior when his Greek companion Demaratos explains the peculiar bravery of these men. The historicity of the anecdote is doubtful, but the important thing is that Herodotus, like Bacchylides, did not regard sport as appropriate preparation for warfare. What the Spartans do is astonishing because, on the eve of the battle, they do not train for it. The connection between athletic training and hairstyling in Herodotus’ anecdote is symptomatic as it points to the most important aspect of the early gymnasium: it was the beautiful body that mattered. That is what the literary sources tell us, and that is what the images show us, for in the sixth and early fifth centuries BCE , gymnasium scenes are very frequent in Greek vase paintings (Vanhove 1992; Goossens and Thielemans 1996; see Figure 3.2). We see strong and beautiful bodies in different movements; hair and beards are carefully coiffed. Young men are shown anointing themselves with oil, or at least oilflasks hint at this custom. Sometimes flute-players are depicted in the company of the athletes. All those features show athletic training as part of a lifestyle of leisure and delight. It does not come as a surprise then that the gymnasium was also an important place for homoerotic contacts (Lear 2014). In the very first mention of the gymnasium in Greek literature, Theognis of Megara (sixth century BCE ) praises the delights of athletic training and enjoying the company of a beautiful boy afterward (lines 1335–6). The athletic training that took place in gymnasia when they came into being in the sixth century cannot, therefore, be regarded as functional in a military

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FIGURE 3.2: Athenian red-figure krater by Euphronius, c. 500 BCE , found at Capua. Athletes training in a gymnasium: figure on far left is preparing for training while being watched by an attendant; figure in center practices discus with coach looking on; figure on far right hands or takes clothes to/from attendant. Ht. 35 cm. Berlin Staatliche Museen F2180. Photograph by Hermann Wagner. D-DAI-ATHDiversa-0105_146974.

sense. Instead, it was functional with regard to social stratification. Because beauty, terpsis, and an elegant lifestyle were most important for Greek aristocrats as “markers” of social superiority, the gymnasium might have emerged as an aristocratic institution (Poliakoff 1987: 112–15; Mann 1998).

THE GYMNASIUM AS A SITE FOR EDUCATION AND MILITARY TRAINING IN THE CLASSICAL AND HELLENISTIC PERIODS During the Classical (c. 480–323 BCE ) and Hellenistic (323–31 BCE ) periods, the gymnasium underwent fundamental changes not only on the architectural, but also on the social and functional levels. It developed into the most important educational institution of the Greek polis (city-state), and it became open to all male citizens. In the course of this process, athletic training took on a military function. In fourth-century BCE Athens, the ephebeia was instituted, a two-year period for young men (aged about 18–20) that was intended as a transition from childhood into the world of the adult male citizen. One of the most important components of the ephebeia was the training of good soldiers who were able to fight for the city-state (L. Burckhardt 1996: 26–75).

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In the Hellenistic period, a number of inscriptions document the military function of the gymnasium. One example is the honorary inscription for a certain Menas of Sestos (a Greek community in Asia Minor), who had twice been in charge of the local gymnasium. Menas is praised for having cared for the military education of the young men. He had inspired eagerness for hard exercise by staging competitions in running and javelin-throwing, which were traditional forms of athletic competition, and also in archery. So Menas had made, according to the inscription, an important contribution to the safety of the city during times of military trouble (c. 133 BCE ) (IK Sestos 1.53–72; Albanidis 2015).

ATHLETIC TRAINERS Athletic training, thus, had many different functions, and the most obvious one should not be forgotten: it served as preparation for competitions. An inscription from the city of Miletus in Asia Minor states that athletic trainers in civic gymnasia were allowed to accompany their best pupils to the most important athletic competitions such as the Olympics (Syll³ 577. 54–6, c. 200 BCE ). This practice clearly shows the connection between the gymnasium and athletic contests. Yet many of the best athletes did not attend the public gymnasia, instead hiring private trainers. There is only exiguous information about athletic trainers during the Archaic period, but we are better informed about the situation in the fifth century BCE , thanks to Pindar and Bacchylides’ epinician odes (poems written to celebrate a victory in an athletic or equestrian contest). Those poets give us the names of some athletic trainers, among the most important of whom are two Athenians who instructed young men from the island of Aegina in combat sports: Menander (Pindar Nemean 5.49; Bacchylides 13.190–2) and Melesias. The latter is called “the charioteer of hands and strength” and is said to have led athletes to 30 victories at major athletic contests (Pindar Olympian 8.54–66; Nemean 4.93; Nemean 6.65–6). The fact that trainers are honorably mentioned in the epinician odes, which focused on the athlete, his family, and his city, underlines the recognition trainers enjoyed and their contribution to athletic victory.2 Melesias belonged to a noble Athenian family, and he was the father of Thucydides, a well-known Athenian politician of the mid-fifth century BCE (Wade-Gery 1932; Figueira 1993: 197–230). He is presented as the athlete’s friend, not his attendant. We also find trainers who were held in high esteem in later periods. A wrestler of the third century BCE , after winning a victory at Olympia, persuaded the Olympic Council (on which see Chapter 4) that not only his own statue, but also his trainer’s should be erected in the sanctuary (Pausanias 6.3.6). And centuries later, a trainer in Hermoupolis in Egypt proudly claimed that he had instructed the young men of his town how to avoid falling in wrestling competitions and

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thereby was in large part responsible for the victories subsequently won by those young men (Bernand 1969: #22, second century BCE ). An inscription from the same town informs us that an official of an important athletic association, who was obviously a high-ranking individual, had reserved a place for his trainer in his family tomb (Hermoupolis 4, third century BCE ). Athletic trainers and physicians appear as rivals in many texts (König 2005: 274–300), but the beginning of systematic training might have had connections to medicine. It is worth mentioning that the city of Croton in southern Italy was, around the turn from the sixth to the fifth century BCE , both the hometown of the most successful athletes and of the most famous physicians (Mann 2001: 164–91). Due to the scarcity of sources, the connection between these phenomena remains unclear. A later example from elsewhere in the Greek world can be found in Herodicus of Selymbria, a famous physician (fifth century BCE ), who is said to have been one of the founders of sports medicine. Herodicus was not the last physician to have been involved in athletic matters. Galen of Pergamum (second century BCE ), a famous physician and author, gave advice on the best methods of athletic training (Nieto Ibáñez 2003). (For further discussion of Galen, see Chapter 7.) Philosophy, too, influenced athletic training. Iccus of Taras was an Olympic victor in the pentathlon in the 444 BCE . He subsequently became an athletic trainer and the author of a treatise on athletic training. Iccus was also a devoted adherent of the school of philosophy associated with Pythagoras and probably brought tenets of his philosophical beliefs about the nature of the human body to bear on his training methods. For example, he is said to have abstained from sexual intercourse during his athletic career.3 Men like Iccus, who developed training theories based on medical and philosophical considerations, were mostly called gymnastai (sg. gymnast¯es) in Greek texts, while the term paidotrib¯es (pl. paidotribai) was attached to those trainers who were actually working with the athletes. Sometimes the word aleipt¯es (pl. aleiptai) appears in the sources; the difference between aleiptai and paidotribai is, at this distance, not immediately apparent.4 Whatever their training, all participants at the Olympic Games had to swear they had been preparing for ten months, and they had to arrive one month before the competitions to exercise under the eyes of the Hellanodikai, the umpires of the Olympic Games. The purpose of this regulation was to ensure that only the most talented athletes competed at the Olympics, but it might also have excluded athletes who were not wealthy enough for such a long stay away from home (Crowther 1991, with references).5 Trainers also played an important role in the Roman world. In general, gladiators were well-trained because Roman spectators expected to watch skillful fighters, not just a slaughter (for gladiatorial combat as “sport” see Chapter 1). For the Roman poet Martial (first century CE ), the best gladiator of his days

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excelled through his ability to “win without wounding” his opponents (Epigrams 5.24.7). To ensure the quality of the gladiators, trainers (called doctores) were employed. Most of these trainers seem to have been recruited from former fighters who had survived the arena, and gladiators’ training probably lacked the scientific background associated with the training given to athletes. Yet there is evidence for specialization: gladiators were trained to fight with specific combinations of weapons and armor (armatures), and at least some trainers worked only with gladiators learning how to fight with a specific armature (Carter 1999). The importance of expertise in gladiatorial combat is apparent in the existence of a ranking system that placed individual gladiators on a scale based on their level of experience and record in the arena (Carter 2003: 89–98).

ATHLETIC TRAINING REGIMES Ancient authors mention treatises written by athletic trainers, and the extant textual sources provide a considerable amount of information about athletic training regimes. A fragment of a wrestling manual (first–second century CE ) describes several sequences of moves; for example: “You throw your foot forward. You take a hold around his body. You step forward and force his head back. You face him and bend back and throw yourself into him, bracing your foot” (POxy III.466; Poliakoff 1987: 51–3). (See Figure 3.3 for a contemporary representation of Greek wrestling.) Some of the descriptions end with “Fight it out!,” which echoes the command given by trainers to athletes. The only fully preserved treatise on athletic training is the Gymnasticus of Flavius Philostratus (second–third century CE ).6 This text is part of the literature of the “Second Sophistic,” an intellectual movement of this time, and Philostratus himself was certainly not a trainer. Nevertheless, he seems quite well-informed about sport, so his text should be taken as a good source for the history of sport (König 2005: 301–44). At the beginning of the Gymnasticus, Philostratus claims that what the gymnastai are doing is an “art” (sophia) not inferior to any of the other “skills” (technai). He names glorious athletes of the past, among them mythological figures such as Theseus and Heracles, as examples of individuals who benefited from athletic training. By his own time, however, Philostratus complains, athletic training had degenerated, to the detriment of the athletes themselves and of all lovers of sport. Philostratus declares his intention to reverse the decline: “I have decided to teach the causes of this degeneration and to contribute for trainers and their subjects alike everything I know, and to defend nature, which is criticized because the athletes of today are inferior to those of former times” (Gymnasticus 2, trans. J. Rusten and J. König). Training in four-day-cycles (tetrads) is a particular source of ire for Philostratus. In this system, the first day is for preparation, the second for

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FIGURE 3.3: Bronze statuette of two wrestlers, second–first century BCE , found in Egypt (probably Alexandria). Sometimes identified as Heracles wrestling Antaeus. Athens National Archaeological Museum 2548. Ht. 17.8 cm. Photograph by Hermann Wagner. D-DAI-ATH-1975-0617 600986.

maximum performance, the third for recreation, and the fourth for moderate training. Philostratus illustrates the problems of a rigidly applied cycle with an athlete who felt unwell after a victory and a subsequent celebration but was forced to train hard by his trainer because it was the second day of the tetrad; the result of this strict regime was the athlete’s death (Gymnasticus 54).7 In contrast to the rigid tetrad system, Philostratus advocates flexibility. A trainer should pay attention to the physical and mental states of his protégés. For example, he is required to strengthen the confidence of anxious athletes (Gymnasticus 53) and to incite their eagerness to win (Gymnasticus 21). Moreover, Philostratus calls for trainers to specialize in instruction in particular disciplines: “No one could lay claim to the whole of athletic training together. For the trainer who knows about running will not understand the expertise associated with wrestlers or pankratiasts, and the trainer who trains

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the heavy events [the combat sports] will be inexpert in the other parts of the art” (Gymnasticus 15; trans. J. Rusten and J. König). Philostratus argues that athletes, too, should specialize; trainers are urged to direct young men to the disciplines that match their body type best. Pentathletes should be tall and slim, and also muscular, but not too much so; long legs and large hands are important for the discus and javelin throw (both part of the five contests that together comprised the pentathlon). Boys with long, thin legs and strong neck muscles are well-suited to compete in long-distance running. Good boxers need large hands, strong forearms and shoulders, and a long neck (Gymnasticus 31–5).

TRAINING VERSUS TALENT The importance of trainers depended heavily on the event in question. Runners could train effectively with minimal assistance, but in combat sports, especially in the technically demanding wrestling competitions, the aid of experienced trainers constituted a decisive advantage. It is no wonder, then, that our sources mention far more trainers in combat sports, beginning with the epinician odes mentioned above. The various complex moves wrestlers needed to know were collectively considered to be a techn¯e—a skill that could be learned and taught (Poliakoff 1987: 33–53). In a metaphorical sense, wrestling throws served as models for the sophists who, starting in the fifth century BCE , developed the art of rhetoric. As on the wrestling ground, they taught, speeches were fights between opponents who wanted to win, and the outcome of the competition depended on technical skills. Protagoras (fifth century BCE ), one of the most important sophists, gave his books on rhetoric the titles About Wrestling and Throwing Down (Sextus Empiricus Adversus Mathematicos 7.60). Plutarch (Pericles 8.4) compares the debates between Pericles and Thucydides in the Athenian assembly in the fifth century BCE to wrestling matches. The use of wrestling metaphors clearly indicates how deeply-rooted sport was in the imaginary of the Greeks for centuries.8 But not everybody was happy with the idea that the superior use of techn¯e should be decisive in determining outcomes—either in politics or in sport. Some insisted that the natural talent of the individual was most important, not the level of instruction. A third-century BCE epigram for Damagetos of Sparta is instructive in that regard: I am no wrestler from Messene or from Argos; Sparta, Sparta famous for her men, is my country. Those others are skilled in art [techn¯e], but I, as becomes The boys of Sparta, prevail by strength [bia]. —Greek Anthology 16.1; trans. W. R. Paton, modified

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The poet constructs an opposition between two ways of prevailing in a wrestling competition. Other contestants—Messene and Argos were among Sparta’s most hated enemies—fight in a scientific way, while the Spartan way of wrestling works without instructed skills because it is based on natural physical strength. This idea of winning without techn¯e was attached particularly to the Spartans, as several anecdotes recorded by Plutarch (Moralia 233e) point out. Others, however, glorified superior techn¯e; an inscription from the fourth century BCE about a wrestler from Elis claims that he had won “not by my body weight, but by my techn¯e” (Ebert 1972: #34). Here we find exactly the reverse valuation of bia and techn¯e. And the aforementioned Olympic victor who was permitted to erect a statue of his trainer next to his own, Pausanias writes (6.3.6), had excelled by his techn¯e, and that was the reason why the Olympic Council gave him this privilege. Interestingly, the discourse about bia and techn¯e was also applied to gladiators when Roman sport spread to the Greek world. A grave inscription from Alabanda in Asia Minor explains why the gladiator lost his last fight: he was not conquered because of an inferior techn¯e, but because he was older and therefore no longer as strong as his opponent. In another inscription we read that the reason for defeat was “only” the strength (bia) of the adversary. While techn¯e appears as the most honorable way of winning in these texts, in others it is the other way round; some gladiators claim that their strength (bia) was the basis for their victories, and one denounces the fighting style of an opponent who “danced” in the arena instead of fighting honestly (Mann 2011: 164–6 (with references)).

TECHNOLOGY: STARTING GATES Although in the world of the Greek ag¯ones (competitions), techn¯e was valued, technology was of relatively minor importance. For example, the Greeks did not use clocks to measure the performance of runners. Of course, ancient methods of chronometry were less precise than modern ones, but that is not the reason why they were not used in the stadium. Water meters like the klepsydra common in Athenian jury courts would have been precise enough to decide if the winner of the dolichos (long-distance run, c. 3,800 meters) had been faster or slower than former champions. But there were no such devices at Olympia, and likewise referees did not record distance records for the discus, javelin, or long jump. Greeks compared—even spanning many centuries—which athlete had gained the most victories. They registered when an athlete had gained a peculiar combination of wins on the same day, or when a wrestler had beaten all his opponents without having been thrown even once (Young 1996). That was the Greek idea of athletic record: remembering peculiar performances and always focusing on the competition among the athletes present at a single event. In contrast to modern sport, the Greeks did not care if the latest Olympic victor had run faster or slower than his predecessors four, eight, or one hundred years ago.

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When we talk about the absence of technology in Greek ag¯ones, however, we have to mention one important exception: complicated starting mechanisms. From the fourth century BCE onward, in many stadia and hippodromes starting gates (hyspl¯eges, sg. hyspl¯ex) were constructed (Valavanis 1999; S. Miller 2004a: 38–43).9 Before the beginning of a race, runners lined up behind cords that were supported by wooden posts. In order to begin a race, an official pulled a rope that started a mechanism that slammed the posts and the cords they supported flush to the ground, thus releasing the runners (see Figure 3.4). The mechanism worked with torsion; the same principle and materials were used for catapults—newly-developed military technology that rapidly found its way into the stadium. Due to the rapidity of the torsion, all runners were released at exactly the same moment. Another advantage of this system was that one man was enough to set the machinery in motion. Even more elaborate was the starting mechanism in the hippodrome of Olympia. There are no traces left, but Pausanias’ description gives precise

FIGURE 3.4: Drawing of the reconstructed starting gate (hyspl¯ex) at the stadium at Nemea. University of California Berkeley, Nemea Excavations Archives # PD 93.51. Drawing by Ruben Santos, from S. Miller 2004a: 41 fig. 55, reproduced courtesy of Stephen G. Miller.

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information about its appearance and function (and is the basis of the reconstruction provided in Figure 3.5): Passing out of and over the stadium at the point where the umpires sit, you come to the place set apart for the horse-races, and to the starting-place of the horses. The starting-place is shaped like the prow of a ship, the beak being turned toward the course, and the broad end abutting on the colonnade of Agnaptos. At the very tip of the beak is a bronze dolphin on a rod. Each side of the starting-place is more than four hundred feet long, and in each of the sides stalls are built. These are assigned to the competitors by lot. In front of the chariots or race-horses stretches a rope as a barrier. An altar of unburnt brick, plastered over on the outside, is made every Olympiad as nearly as may be at the middle of the prow. On the altar is a bronze eagle, with its wings spread to the full. The starter sets the machinery in the altar going, whereupon up jumps the eagle in the sight of the spectators, and down falls the dolphin to the ground. The first ropes to be let go on each side of the prow are those next to the colonnade of Agnaptos, and the horses stationed here are the first off. Away they go until they come opposite the chariots that have drawn the second stalls. Then the ropes at the second stalls are let go. And so it runs on down the whole of the chariots till they are all abreast of each other at the beak of the prow. After that it is for the charioteers to display their skill and the horses their speed. —Pausanias 6.20.7; trans. J. Frazer In light of the general lack of technology in Greek sport, the Greeks’ interest in building complex starting mechanisms tells us what they considered to be important. On a functional level, the purpose of a hyspl¯ex was to guarantee equal chances to all participants. The hyspl¯ex ensured that all competitors started at precisely the same moment, and no one got an unfair head start. In the hippodrome it was not possible to line up all the chariots in a straight line like runners in the stadium, so the organizers found a solution in a sophisticated

FIGURE 3.5: Drawing showing the starting mechanism in the hippodrome of Olympia. Drawing by (and reproduction here courtesy of) Catharina Flämig.

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system of staggered starting. The aim of the starting machinery in the hippodrome at Olympia is quite clear from Pausanias, who stresses that the race will be decided by the quality of drivers and horses, not by their starting positions. These, as Pausanias and other authors indicate, were assigned by lot; it is a strong indication of the equality of the positions that we do not find in our sources any complaints from runners about having lost a race due to an inferior starting place, while we find many complaints in combat sports about misfortune in the sortition of opponents (which was an important issue because combat sports competitions had multiple rounds, with some competitors receiving byes in some rounds; Mann 2017). Starting mechanisms were also important for adding an element of spectacle to athletic competitions, an aspect that grew more and more important during the Hellenistic period. We can deduce this trend from the development of the hyspl¯ex into a kind of architectural structure. At stadia at Epidaurus, Priene (both second century BCE ), and other places, archaeologists have discovered constructions similar to colonnades. Starting mechanisms were built into those colonnades such that the runners were hidden from the view of spectators. It was only when the hyspl¯ex was activated and the competitors dashed onto the track that they came into view (Dimde 2016a: 69–71). In a similar vein, the operation of the starting machinery in the Olympic hippodrome was a show in itself: as the barrier fell, an eagle flew upwards and a dolphin dove downward. In a similar vein, starting in the late fourth century BCE , vaulted entrance tunnels were introduced into the architecture of Greek stadia (S. Miller 2014: 290–1). The athletes were hidden in the tunnels from the spectators’ view, and their sudden emergence into the stadium had a dramatic effect. These tunnels are among the earliest known instances of the arch in Greek architecture and show that the use of technology to enhance sport (at least for spectators) extended beyond starting gates. For the Romans, the display of splendor and the high art of engineering was a very important part of public games. In the Circus Maximus, the primary venue for chariot-racing in Rome, the starting-gates were opened simultaneously, by means of a mechanism quite similar to the hyspl¯ex. There were also famous lap-counting devices on both sides of the barrier down the middle of the track: seven eggs on the one side, seven dolphins on the other (Humphrey 1986: 260–5). In the first building phase of the Colosseum, it was possible to fill the arena with water and stage a naval battle. Later on, substructures were built beneath the arena; wild beasts and probably also gladiators waited there, out of the view of the spectators, until they were lifted by cranes and “disgorged” into the arena (Beste 2001). Sport and spectacle, as Donald Kyle (Kyle 2015) has demonstrated in his impressive book, went hand in hand, in the Greek world as well as in the Roman.

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PRODUCTS The (Generally Minimal) Equipment Needs of Greek Athletes In contrast to modern sport, Greek athletes did not need much equipment for their competitions. Sportswear was unnecessary as they exercised and competed nude and barefoot. Most Greek athletes could play their sport of choice without any equipment. Pentathletes, who competed in five events (wrestling, sprint, jump, discus, javelin), were exceptional in that respect. For the long jump, the Greeks used halt¯eres (jumping weights) made of bronze, lead, or stone (see Figure 3.6). The exact function of halt¯eres remains unclear because scholars disagree on how the ancient long jump actually worked—some prefer a scenario with one single jump, with or without run-up, others a series of jumps (Lee 2007; Mouratidis 2012). Javelins had a leather thong (ankyl¯e) wrapped around the shaft with a loop at one end, through which the athlete inserted one or two fingers. The thong increased the leverage the athlete could exert on the javelin and, as it unwrapped, gave it a spin, with the result that the use of the thong increased both distance and accuracy (S. Miller 2004a: 68–73). Competitors in the footrace known as the hoplitodromos wore a helmet and carried a shield on their left arm (S. Miller 2004a: 32–3).

FIGURE 3.6: Stone jumping weight (halt¯er), c. 500 BCE , from Olympia. The inscription (SEG 11.1227) reads, “Akmatidas the Lakedaimonian [Sparta], having won the five [the pentathlon] without dust [akoniti], dedicated [this].” The exact meaning of akoniti here is unclear but likely indicates that Akmatidas won the first three events in the pentathlon and was therefore declared the victor on the spot, thus making the wrestling contest (possibly the fourth of the five contests in the pentathlon) unnecessary—hence Akmatidas won without getting dusty. 25 cm long, 6.7 cm wide, 10 cm. high; wt. 4.629 kg. Olympia Archaeological Museum Λ189. Photograph Hermann Wagner. D-DAI-ATH-Olympia-0800_222496.

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Participants in the Olympic Games had to use standardized equipment stored in the Temple of Zeus (Pausanias 5.12.8: shields) and in the Treasury of the Sicyonians (Pausanias 6.19.4: discuses). The main effect of this standardization was, of course, to guarantee equal opportunities to all competitors, but the place of storage also provided the equipment with a divine aura. In many cases, victorious pentathletes dedicated a discus or a halt¯er to the god of the sanctuary where the contest had taken place (e.g. IvO 241). The boxing glove saw a transformation through the centuries. Originally, Greek boxers used long strips of leather wrapped around their hands. In the Hellenistic period, a new form appeared, with an inner glove protecting both hand and forearm and a piece of hard leather covering the knuckles (Poliakoff 1987: 68–79; Lee 1997). These later gloves were called himantes oxeis (“sharp thongs”) as they augmented the effect of a blow and could cause severe injuries. (See Figure 8.22 on page 208 for an image and a discussion of a famous ancient statue of a boxer wearing the himantes oxeis.) For training sessions, Greek boxers used softer gloves called sphairai (“balls”) that were intended to mitigate the force of blows (Plato Laws 8.830b). Greek Athletes and Olive Oil Two products that had great practical and symbolic importance for athletes in all events were olive oil and strigils. All over the Greek world, from the Archaic to the Roman Imperial period, it was a common custom for athletes to anoint themselves with oil before training and, afterward, to clean their skin with a strigil, a curved blade (typically metal but other materials were used) with a handle (see Figure 3.7). When finished exercising, athletes bathed and anointed themselves again. Olive oil was used for many purposes in antiquity, for example as food or as fuel in lamps, but its use in sport was a Greek peculiarity. The reasons why Greek athletes were so assiduous in their use of olive oil remain unclear. Greek authors give different explanations (Ulf 1979; Kennell 2001): some refer to hygienic purposes, others to the tactical advantages that came with making one’s body slippery, but this advantage would have been limited to wrestlers. According to other sources, olive oil served as protection against heat or cold and made the body stronger or the muscles suppler. Magical explanations were also given. Whatever the original purpose might have been, anointing and scraping were shared practices of the Greeks and symbols of ethnic identity. Roman writers transformed olive oil into a symbol of decadence. According to Pliny the Elder (first century CE ): Olive oil has the property of imparting warmth to the body and protecting it against cold, and also that of cooling the head when heated. Those parents

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FIGURE 3.7: Bronze strigil, found at Olympia. For the use of the strigil, see Figures 3.2 and 3.8. Length (straight line drawn from tip of handle to other end) 30 cm. Olympia Museum. AKG Images #166669. @ AKG Images.

of all the vices, the Greeks, have diverted the use of olive oil to serve the purpose of luxury by making it a regular practice in their gymnasia. —Natural History 15.19; trans. H. Rackham The Romans, who willingly introduced Greek sport in Italy but nevertheless referred to it in discourses on ethnic differences (Mann 2014a), drew an opposition between athletes and soldiers. According to the Roman author Quintilian (first century CE ), athletes who were accustomed to the regular application of olive oil on their bodies could not stand the toils of long marches on military campaigns (Institutions 11.3.26). For the Greeks themselves, however, olive oil and strigils were icons with positive connotations as they referred to Greekness, to manliness, and to superior status. Beautiful young men anointing themselves or scraping off appear frequently in sculptures and on Greek vases (Neils 2014: 85–7; see Figure 3.8). Oil-flasks and strigils on tombstones indicate that the deceased belonged to the group of respected citizens who regularly exercised in a gymnasium. Oil was a symbol for sport; when the oil was solemnly taken away at the end of the Olympic Games, the time of the competition was over. The

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FIGURE 3.8: Roman copy in marble of a bronze original by Lysippos (c. 330 BCE ), found at Rome. Lysippos’ original was widely copied and imitated, and this statue-type was called the “Apoxyomenos”—literally “He Who Scrapes Himself (with a Strigil).” Ht. 2.05 m. Rome Vatican Museum 1185. Museum. AKG Images #166669. @ AKG Images.

word aleipt¯es (“anointer”) was synonymous with “trainer;” hoi aleiphomenoi (“the anointed ones”) was synonymous with “athletes.” As one would expect, athletes consumed large quantities of olive oil. An inscription from Sparta (IG 5.1.20; early second century CE ) quotes the amounts needed for one day during a local athletic competition: c. 182 liters for men, 136 for youths, and 91 for boys. The gymnasiarchs, officials who oversaw gymnasia, were expected to look after the supply of oil; this was their most important duty. Usually athletes had to buy it, but gymnasiarchs who aspired to civic honors paid for the oil themselves. If one considers the high costs involved, it is no wonder that these generous gymnasiarchs are praised enthusiastically in

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honorary decrees. For example, a man from the city of Magnesia on the Maeander in Asia Minor was applauded for having provided oil not only during daytime, but also at night (I.Magnesia 163). (For further discussion of benefactions consisting of olive oil, see Chapter 5.) The Greeks had a special word for the mixture of oil, dirt and sweat the athlete scraped off his skin: gloios (Kennell 2001: 128–33). Gloios was collected and sold; the procedure is described in an important gymnasiarchic decree from Beroia in Macedonia (S. Miller 2004b: #185). It was used for medical purposes, e.g. for the treatment of hemorrhoids. The connection with the much-praised world of sport was certainly responsible for believing in the healing effect of the gloios. Crowns as Prizes at Greek Athletic Competitions The most iconic product of Greek sport, however, was the crown. The prizes given at the most prestigious athletic contests in the Greek world—the Olympic, Pythian, Isthmian, and Nemean Games—consisted solely of crowns made from trees and plants (though many victors also subsequently received valuable emoluments from their home communities). Those games were, as a result, known as “crown games.” At Olympia, the twigs for the victors’ crowns were cut from an olive tree in the holy precinct of Zeus. Thus, the prize indicated the connection between athlete and the god in whose sanctuary the competition took place. During the contests, the crowns were presented on a table made of gold and ivory (Pausanias 5.20.1–3). At the victory ceremony on the last day of the festival they were given to the champions. At the Pythian Games, the victory crown was made of laurel, at Nemea of wild celery, at Corinth of pine (Decker 2012: 34–49). The absence of monetary value in the prizes at the crown games was a source of both mockery and pride. In one of the comedies written by Aristophanes (Wealth, first staged in 388 BCE ), the personification of poverty claims that Zeus must be a poor man: “If he’s wealthy, then why is it that when he holds the Olympic Games, where every fourth year he gathers all the Greeks together, he heralds the victorious athletes by crowning them with wild olive? If he’s wealthy, he should crown them with gold” (583–6; trans. J. Henderson). On the other hand, Herodotus (fifth century BCE ) writes that when the Persians invaded Greece in 480 BCE , they were astonished to discover that the only prize at the Olympics was an olive wreath. That discovery prompts one of the Persians to remark, “What kind of men did you lead us here to fight, who compete not for money but for excellence alone?” (8.26.3; trans. A. Purvis). Herodotus here uses the Greeks’ willingness to compete without the prospect of immediate monetary reward as an indication of the valor that will make it possible for the Greeks to defeat a vastly numerically superior Persian army.

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The crowns given to athletic victors served as powerful symbols of physical prowess, achievement, and fame. It is difficult to prove that, as Leslie Kurke has suggested (Kurke 1993), the Greeks even ascribed magical power to athletic crowns, but beyond doubt they had great social significance. However, in Pindar’s and Bacchylides’ epinician odes, it is a common motif that the victor “crowns” his city, which means that he shares his athletic fame with his fellow citizens, expecting appreciation for his achievement. Here the transfer of a crown is a metaphor, but it could also be turned into real action; a decree from Teos stipulates that citizens who won a crown contest and returned to the city had to go to the market-place, crown the statue of the Seleucid king Antiochus III, and make a sacrifice (SEG 41.1003.46–50; 204/3 or 197/6 BCE ). The city demonstrates its loyalty to the king by sharing its athletic fame with him. The crown became a general symbol of excellence, and giving a crown was a means of honoring someone that was widespread in the Greek world. Cities sent crowns to Hellenistic kings and, later, to Roman emperors; citizens crowned generous men in the theater. The symbolic meaning of the crown thus transcended the sphere of sport and gained an important place in public interaction in Greek culture (Blech 1982: 63–267). Prizes Other than Crowns at Greek Athletic Competitions Crowns were not the only athletic prizes, however. Many ag¯ones offered winners valuable prizes, such as tripods or hoplite shields. Live animals and a special share from the sacrificial meat are also attested (Pleket 1975; Mann 2018). And, of course, there were also cash prizes. The number of competitors in any given event who received a prize varied considerably. At the crown contests, only victors received a prize. Other ag¯ones gave prizes not just to victors, but also to the athletes who came in second or third place. Of great importance for our understanding of Greek athletic prizes are the large clay vessels (amphoras) filled with olive oil that were given out as prizes at the Panathenaic Games in Athens (Kyle 1996). Those amphoras (see Figure 3.9) have survived in large numbers (Bentz 1998, with catalog), and extant inscriptions tell us precisely how many of these amphoras filled with olive oil were given as prizes (Shear 2003). According to an inscription of the early fourth century BCE (IG II².2311), the winner of the men’s wrestling competition got 60 amphoras, the runner-up 12. For the men’s stadion race (c. 200 meter sprint) the prize was 120 amphoras. In the boys’ contests, the prizes were half of the men’s. Because the capacity of these Panathenaic amphoras was more or less standardized (c. 40 liters), it is possible to estimate the amount of olive oil a victor received. David Young has tried to convert the value of the Panathenaic prizes into dollars (Young 1984: 115–27), but even without such methodologically problematic calculations it is quite clear that the large quantities of high-quality olive oil awarded to victors were worth considerable sums of money.

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FIGURE 3.9: Athenian black-figure Panathenaic amphora attributed to the Berlin Painter, c. 480 BCE . One side shows Athena between two columns on top of which stand roosters. The inscription running along the left-hand column reads “From the Games at Athens.” The other side shows two wrestlers with a referee looking on from the left. The depiction of wrestlers on this vase indicates that this vase formed part of the prize given to a competitor in the wrestling competition at the Panathenaic Games at Athens. The winner of the men’s wrestling competition (there were also competitions for boys) won 60 such vases, the runner-up 12. Ht. 62 cm, diam. 40 cm. Hood Museum of Art at Dartmouth College C.959.53. Gift of Mr. and Mrs. Ray Winfield Smith, Class of 1918. @ Hood Museum 2020.

The government of the city of Athens provided these prize amphoras, which propagated the fame and greatness not only of the athletes, but also of Athens itself. The images on Panathenaic amphoras were regularized and highly symbolic. On one side was a depiction of the event for which the amphora in question was given as a prize. The other side was dominated by a depiction of Athena Promachos, the city goddess of Athens, in her typical warlike appearance. Sometimes the name of the chief magistrate of the Athenian state is written on the amphora, and there is always an inscription pointing out where the amphora comes from: “one of the prizes from Athens.” So, both image and text refer explicitly to Athens, the prize is civic and self-declaratory (Kyle 1998a: 119–20). Panathenaic amphoras traveled large distances. They have been found in Italy, in Egypt, in the Black sea region, and many other areas. Some were used as dedications in religious sanctuaries, some served as funerary objects, others as decoration inside a house (Mann 2018: 299–301). Wherever they stood, they were easily recognizable as coming from Athens, thereby projecting an image of a wealthy, powerful, divinely protected Athens into the wider Greek world.

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Victors were not in every instance able to do whatever they wished with the prizes they were awarded. For competitions at the sanctuary of Apollo Triopios in Asia Minor, Herodotus (1.144) informs us that the winning athletes received bronze tripods but were not allowed to take them home. Instead, they had to dedicate them to Apollo. Once a victorious athlete from Halicarnassus broke this rule, which led to the exclusion of his polis (city-state) from the games. The rule sounds strange—what is a prize worth if the winner is obliged to give it back? But it makes sense if we consider the peculiar nature of this competition. It was not open to all Greeks, but restricted to the six Doric poleis in this region.10 The games at Apollo’s sanctuary formed the central festival of this Hexapolis (Pentapolis after the exclusion of the Halicarnassians), a kind of “tribal” cult. In contrast to the Panathenaic amphoras, these prizes were not intended to spread into the world, but to stay put. By giving a tripod—an object strongly connected with Apollo—to successful athletes, who then returned it to the god, the authority of the sanctuary as the cultic center of this association of poleis was strengthened.11 Gladiatorial Arms and Armor Victorious gladiators also received prizes—palm branches and cash prizes are well attested. But the tools of the gladiators’ trade, weapons, became the most meaningful objects in the amphitheater. Gladiators (or their masters) did not just choose the equipment they preferred, instead there were fixed combinations (armaturae) of offensive and defensive arms that defined various types of gladiators (Junkelmann 2000a: 43–128). The retiarius (“net-fighter”), for example, was armed with net, trident, and dagger; the murmillo with helmet, sword, and a large rectangular shield; the “Thracian” with helmet, small shield, and a short sword with a curved blade. Pairings were also to some extent standardized: gladiators with some types of armaturae fought identically equipped opponents, but fights between gladiators with different armaturae were particularly popular. The retiarius, for example, always fought the secutor, the thrax always fought the murmillo, and so on. Despite the asymmetric character of these pairings, the Romans tried to ensure the equality of chances. All gladiatorial helmets had a brim except that worn by the secutor, who regularly fought retiarii. The trident carried by retiarii was devastatingly effective against a helmet with a brim, so, in order to ensure balanced combats, secutores were given helmets without brims. The armaturae were loaded with meaning. First, some of them referred to peoples subdued by the Romans (the “Thracian,” the “Gaul,” the “Samnite”), so that contests in the arena represented a kind of stage performance of Roman superiority. Second, the armaturae represented different styles of fighting. Some, like the retiarius, had only light weapons but were superior in agility,

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while others, like the secutor, had much better protection but were less mobile due to their heavy equipment. Not only single gladiators, but also armaturae had their fans, and the spectators discussed which style of fighting was the better. Third, the armaturae represented certain features of the human character. An astonishing interpretation of the symbolic power of the armaturae is expressed in the book on the interpretation of dreams written by Artemidorus (second century CE ). If you have a dream about fighting as a gladiator, he declares, it is a prophecy concerning the woman you will marry. His catalog, however, does not offer a pleasant view of marriage: For example, if one should fight with a Thracian, he will acquire a wife who is rich and devious and fond of being first. Rich, first, due to the Thracian being covered in armor, and devious due to his not having a straight sword, and fond of being first due to his advancing technique . . . And if one should fight with a secutor, he will acquire a wife who is both lovely and rich and who puts much stock in possessions and insults her husband on this account and is a cause of many bad things. . . . And if with a retiarius, he will acquire a wife who is poor and lusty and who wanders from man to man and readily has intercourse with whoever is willing. —Artemidorus Interpretation of Dreams 2.32; trans. D. E. Harris-McCoy

THE ECONOMIC DIMENSIONS OF TRAINING AND ANCIENT SPORT From our contemporary perspective it comes as a surprise that the organizers of Greek ag¯ones or Roman gladiatorial games, despite the popularity of these forms of sport, did not make money. They (frequently if not invariably) spent money. For the Greek world, a variety of methods of financing ag¯ones is attested (Migeotte 2010). The money came from the treasury of a sanctuary, from the revenues of a polis, or from benefactors (kings or wealthy citizens) who in many cases served as the organizers of the games in question. In addition, contributions of participating poleis or the athletes themselves are attested. The amount needed for the prizes differed heavily from festival to festival. The olive crowns at Olympia, for example, required no outlay at all by the organizing polis of Elis, while the prizes that were given to the victors of the Panathenaic Games had immense economic worth. The costs for the preparation of the athletic facilities were relatively low, as we can deduce from a document from Delphi (246 BCE ), which records the work done by and the amounts that were paid to the craftsmen who prepared the athletic facilities for the Pythian Games. A certain Eucharos was paid one stat¯er and one drachma for roping off the peristyle, Agazalos got 18 stat¯eres and

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one drachma for digging and leveling the running-track and the peristyle, and so on (Corpus des inscriptions de Delphes II 139 = S. Miller 2004b: #81). Even if we consider that the expenses for the starting mechanisms were higher, the amounts of money the sanctuary had to spend were very low in relation to the prestige of the Pythian Games. In contrast, staging gladiatorial fights was a much costlier task for three reasons. First, the spectators expected not only good combats, but also a visually impressive show that included splendid armaments. Examples from Pompeii (Lipták, Dozio, and Eckert 2013) prove the high quality of gladiators’ weapons, which were, as a result, expensive. Second, the architecture was magnificent. Nero had a wooden amphitheater built for his games of 57 CE , for which precious materials were employed, among them the longest tree that was ever used for buildings in ancient Rome (Pliny Natural History 16.76). Calpurnius Siculus (Eclogae 7) praises this construction as a symbol of the emperor’s magnificence. Third, the gladiators themselves had their price. Organizers of Greek-style ag¯ones did not have to pay for the competitors (apart from the prizes for the victors), while organizers of gladiatorial fights did. Gladiators, whether volunteers, criminals, or prisoners of war, belonged to troops called familiae and trained for many months before they first entered the arena (Junkelmann 2000b: 32–4). Those who wanted to stage gladiatorial fights made a contract with the manager (lanista) of a familia, in which the rental price for each gladiator was specified. In case gladiators died or were permanently maimed during the fight, the rental contract was automatically transformed into a purchase contract, according to the principle “you break it, you buy it.” This procedure is well documented in juridical texts (Gaius Institutions 3.146; for a reconstruction of the procedure, see Carter 2003). The costs for gladiatorial fights were huge. A senatorial decree of 177 CE (CIL II.6278) abolished, among other measures, taxes on gladiatorial fights and beast hunts. The text estimates the tax income from those types of sport to be 20–30 million sesterces, with the tax amounting to a third or quarter of the total cost of any given set of games (lines 5–8). We can therefore deduce that the yearly expenses for such sport in the Roman Empire at that point in time were between 60 and 120 million sesterces (Carter 2003: 232–4), the great imperial games at Rome not included. (A legionary’s yearly pay, for comparison, was 1,200 sesterces in this time.) The imperial games were paid for from the emperor’s treasury, while in the cities of Italy and in provinces, local magistrates paid the bills. For these local elites, the games were a most welcome option to demonstrate their generosity and their willingness to spend their money for the pleasure of the citizens. And gladiatorial games were popular, even in the Greek provinces in the eastern part of the Roman Empire, and the games were a platform for the

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exchange of money and honor in the ancient city. Mentions of entrance fees in the ancient sources do not refer to citizens, but to foreigners. Those who did not participate in the city’s institutions could not reimburse the generous organizer with honors, so they had to make their contribution with money (Chamberland 2007). Ancient sport, ag¯ones as well as gladiatorial fights, was connected to the ancient city-state, so it is no surprise that both declined when the city-states faced severe problems and finally came to an end during late antiquity (Remijsen 2015).

CONCLUSION Overall, one can see that a complete or continuous history of training, products, and technologies for Greek and Roman sport is nearly impossible. In large part this impossibility is a function of the scattered nature of the evidence. But the somewhat sparse and discontinuous nature of the evidence does not mean that training and its related products and technologies were not highly significant and valuable in the ancient world. Because training itself is a form of practice, one might suggest that the significance of training was conveyed primarily through its performance, with little need for additional publicity by way of written testimonia. The very development of the gymnasium in Archaic Greece and its centrality in nearly every ancient city attests to this overall value, a value that went beyond preparation for war and sport competition. And similar value is indicated by the elaborate structures built for Roman-style spectacles. Literary and inscriptional evidence for training certainly increases during the Roman Imperial period. That shift could be a function of the unique interaction between cultures in the Roman Imperial period. This is clearly seen in Lucian’s Anacharsis, with which we began, but it is also found in the writings of Galen and Philostratus, who are equally concerned with the uniquely “Greek” aspects of sport training. The increased evidence of training in the Roman Imperial period may also be a function of the genres of literature in question and the ways in which Greek cultural heritage is often invoked as a form of symbolic capital for the Roman Imperial present. And finally, such increased evidence in later stages of Antiquity may simply be a matter of historical accident regarding what does and does not get preserved. Regardless of one’s views on causation, it is clear that we cannot use the amount of evidence for training, and the distribution of that evidence, as an indication for changes in its cultural value, at least not in practice. It may very well be the case, however, that the value of training did increase in terms of discourses about sport. In addition, the cultural and symbolic value of training in Greece and Rome is further conveyed by the material evidence for training and its find contexts. As we have seen in this chapter, training equipment is often found either as grave goods or as deposits for the gods in sanctuaries. In

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both cases, the equipment itself becomes a marker of value and identity for the trained individual, whether that individual was Greek or Roman, athlete or gladiator. It is true that from a spectator’s perspective, whether ancient or modern, the question of training is more often than not taken for granted, especially when dealing with one’s own culture. But in Lucian’s Anacharsis we see that the significance and purpose of training is not necessarily self-evident. What Lucian’s Anacharsis shows is that the significance and value of training must always be explained and defended (however poorly). And so, with the critiques of Anacharsis in mind, scholars of ancient sport must look for more actual evidence of ancient sport training with a view to its broader historical and cultural value.

NOTES 1. For the architectural development of the gymnasium, see S. Miller 2004a: 176–85; Trombetti 2013. 2. According to Nicholson 2005: 119–210, the contribution of trainers to athletic victories was skillfully downplayed in the epinician odes. It would have been easy for the poets and patrons, however, to ignore them completely in those odes. 3. For the origins of training science, see Jüthner 1909: 8–22. A comprehensive study of trainers in ancient sport is lacking. For an overview see Golden 2008: 23–39 and Lehmann 2009. 4. For terminological questions, see Lehmann 2009: 188–92. 5. These provisions are known only from Roman-era sources; it is commonly assumed that they were in place in earlier periods as well, but that is less than entirely certain. 6. The fullest treatment of this highly interesting text is still Jüthner 1909, though see now also König 2005; Rusten and König 2014; Stocking 2016. 7. Stocking 2016 offers an explanation of the tetrad, with parallels to modern non-linear models of training. 8. The same discourse can be traced back to the Iliad (23.306–48) when Nestor advises his son Antilochos to use m¯etis rather than bi¯e (a dialectal variant of bia) to prevail in the chariot-race. For further discussion, see Detienne and Vernant 1991: 11–16, 21–2. 9. A reconstruction of an ancient hyspl¯ex has been built in the stadium at Nemea; see http://nemeangames.org/nemea-stadium/hysplex.html. 10. By the fifth century BCE , there were three distinct sub-groupings (Dorians, Ionians, Aeolians) among Greeks. Those sub-groupings were defined in large part on the basis of the dialect of Greek that was spoken and by certain social, religious, and political customs. There is lively debate among scholars about when those subgroupings took shape and how important the boundaries between those groupings might have been in practice. See Mac Sweeney 2013: 21–2. 11. An athletic victor might also have expected to benefit by setting in motion a cycle of reciprocal giving that was initiated by dedicating the tripod to Apollo, with hopes that the god would provide future benefits to the victor.

CHAPTER FOUR

Rules and Order SARAH C. MURRAY

INTRODUCTION While the study of rules and order in the context of Greco-Roman sport has often centered on technical questions—what were the rules and how did competitions proceed—the purpose of this essay is instead to interrogate the relationship of the rules that governed sport in antiquity with the broader social and political arena of Greco-Roman cultures. I treat rules and regulatory structures not as arbitrary sets of restrictions on the conduct of sport, but as an evolving set of institutions that establish a stable structure for interaction within the bounds of sport (North 1990: 6). Sport and sport competitions cannot exist without rules, since the rules and administration of physical activities, at a basic level, distinguish sport from play (Wilson 1994: 17–19; Christesen 2012b: 197, 211). The rules, in turn, are not arbitrary, but usually have important interfaces with many elements of the culture that constructs them. They draw upon cultural understandings of display and the elements of superiority; assumptions about the body, time, space, and social groups; and the political structures that govern ideas about public and private behavior. Rules do not, in other words, “emanate naturally” from athletic activities (Wilson 1994: 13). They are built based on decisions made by agents functioning within preexisting social and cultural norms. We can therefore expect rules and order to be quite revealing when it comes to the cultural history of sport.

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THE BEGINNINGS OF GREEK SPORT AND RULES AND ORDER: THE EIGHTH CENTURY BCE The organization and ordering of sport require human input in the form of collective decision making. How will teams be formed, if team sports will be conducted? How will events be scheduled, and in what order should competitions proceed? How will the victor be decided, and what are the stakes of the competition? While there are some indications that public displays of physical prowess may have been a part of Bronze Age societies in the Aegean (Rutter 2014), our earliest explicit evidence for sport in Greco-Roman antiquity comes from the Homeric epics, the Iliad and the Odyssey. In the epic tradition, athletic activity governed by rules and order takes the form of competitions at funeral games and in the context of extraordinary events, such as festivals or weddings. The Homeric epics were heavily influenced by an oral poetic tradition dating back to the last part of the Aegean Bronze Age (c. 1600–c. 1100 BCE ), but their content probably primarily reflects the world in which the Homer and his audiences lived (Morris 1986). While we need not equate the action in the Homeric poems with real events that took place in early Greece, it is reasonable to contend that the kinds of social, political, and cultural institutions embedded in the narratives in the Iliad and the Odyssey might have resembled real-world institutions from the eighth and seventh centuries BCE . While often described as informal, athletic competitions in epic poetry depend on a shared set of assumptions about how such contests should function. The first such shared assumption governs the appropriate context for sport— apparently organized physical contests featuring winners and losers were suited especially to the commemoration of a hero’s death. In Greek epics, the death of a great hero seems to demand the celebration of attendant funerary games in honor of the deceased (Willis 1941: 397; Decker 1982–1983; T. H. Nielsen 2018: 15–22). In addition to the famous funeral games for Patroklos, Nestor alludes to his prowess at the funeral games of Amarynkeus (Iliad 23.629–31), Euryalos is said to have won the boxing at funeral games for Oedipus (Iliad 23.679–80), and the ghost of Agamemnon tells Achilles about the latter’s funeral games (Odyssey 24.85–92). Existing work on the development of funeral games in ancient Greece suggests that the games may have had some relationship to the ritual sacrifice of energy to the dead (Burkert 1985: 94–5; Sansone 1988: 63– 72; Murray 2014: 312). From a more pragmatic point of view, it may be plausible to reconstruct a scenario in which physical contests served as a mechanism for the orderly distribution of the possessions of the deceased. Much of the conflict at the center of the Iliad centers around the problematics of distributing the material gain accruing to the army from successful raids and military victories, insofar as an Homeric individual’s social worth was closely tied to physical manifestations of that worth. In a combat scenario, absent a clear set of juridical institutions governing the disposal of assets, the funerary

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games may have served as a suitably straightforward mechanism for dealing with the problem of divvying up Patroklos’ material goods, as explored by Benjamin Brown (B. K. M. Brown 2016: 171–89). (For further discussion of the significance of funeral games in the Iliad, see Chapter 7.) Homer’s description of games makes clear that there were rules for the way that events should be organized. A clear example of the formality and sometimes perplexing specificity of these rules is the procedure for the archery contest at the funerary games of Patroklos (Iliad 23.850–83). The procedure for that contest dictates that a dove be tied to the top of a tall pole, analogous to a ship’s mast. Contestants take turns shooting at the dove. First prize is awarded to the archer who hits the bird, but a second prize is promised to the man who severs the string that keeps the dove from flying away. One can only imagine that this second prize was devised after some archer accidentally took a shot that resulted in the string being cut, then another archer felled the newly freed bird in an impressive display of improvised shooting. Was this a standard set of practices for archery contests, or simply a surprise outcome conjured by the poet to add interest to the funeral games? In either case, the episode demonstrates that Homeric contests, while informal, were governed to some extent by procedural standards. Another example of this comes from Iliad 23.352, in which lots are cast in order to determine the starting positions for the chariot race, and an umpire is selected (an elderly man named Phoenix) and tasked with “announcing the truth” of the running. Disputes over sporting outcomes were arbitrated by the person presiding over the games in question. The primacy of the presider in the running of Homeric athletic contests is representative of the overall political structures apparent in the Homeric poems, in which a chief (basileus) controls his followers and largely dictates the actions of the community, provided that the community feels that the basileus is looking out for its interests (Qviller 1981; Cairns 2018). A representative example can be observed in the case of the governance of the chariot race in the funeral games of Patroklos. In that race, Antilochos gets the better of Menelaos by driving past him through a poor part of the track where it was too narrow to accommodate two chariots, causing Menelaos to check his horses (Iliad 23.425). Eumelos, who had crashed his chariot, finishes in last place (Iliad 23.534–8). Nonetheless, Achilles regards Eumelos as the best charioteer. Because, he says, “it is proper,” he awards the second-place prize to Eumelos, despite his last place finish. Antilochos lodges a complaint, arguing that if Achilles wishes to award a prize to Eumelos, he ought to choose for Eumelos a different prize, and give the second prize to the secondplace finisher, Antilochos. Achilles agrees with this, and awards Eumelos a corselet instead of the second-place prize (a pregnant mare). Menelaos then lodges a complaint, arguing that Antilochos does not deserve second place, because he attained the position by deceit. He appeals to the “leaders and rulers

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of the Argives” to “judge rightly” between the two. He then demands that Antilochos stand by his chariot and “swear by him who holds and shakes the earth that not of your own will did you hinder my chariot by guile.” Antilochos demurs to swear falsely, apologizes to Menelaos, and offers to give him the mare in addition to other gifts from among his own possessions. Menelaos, however, cedes the mare to Antilochos because the latter was contrite. Menelaos reasons, “I . . . will give you the mare, although she is mine, so that everyone here can see that my heart isn’t arrogant or vindictive” (Iliad 23.610–11; trans. S. Mitchell). By reading between the lines of this episode we can see both formal and informal tenets by which order was kept in these kinds of contests. Although it may have been customary to select an umpire to judge the proceedings, Phoenix never becomes involved in arbitrating the dispute between Menelaos and Antilochos. Although Achilles as presider seems to have had ultimate authority about how prizes were distributed and to whom, Menelaos appeals not to Achilles but to everyone present to witness and judge the winner. This may indicate that while the presider of the games had total control over the distribution of prizes, in cases where a result was unclear or contested, the wider community was involved in determining the order of finish. A distributed authority of this nature is consistent with a general model of Homeric society whereby the chieftains are on a relatively level footing with one another in a constantly shifting hierarchy and depend on group recognition to establish social order. As scholars including Louis Gernet and Zinon Papakonstantinou have pointed out, the episode can be plausibly identified as evidence for the early development of notional trials in Greek legal thought (Gernet 1955: 11– 12; Papakonstantinou 2008: 21). Another striking issue regarding rules and the result of the chariot race is that although Antilochos evidently admitted outright that he had broken the perceived rules of the contest (he apparently was unwilling to swear falsely that he had not in front of the gods), he could nevertheless take the prize (Dickie 1984). That athletic victories earned by devious strategies were not entirely illegal and happened with some regularity is likewise evident from Homer’s description of the wrestling contest, where Odysseus “forgot not his guile” and struck Aias in the knee from behind, but was awarded a prize nonetheless (Iliad 23.724) (on guile as a common and viable strategy in Homeric contests, see Vernant and Detienne 1978: 11–26, 227–9). As far as sporting rules are concerned, a key question is always related to the participants: who can compete and on what terms? In the context of a culture that awards significant social, monetary, or status benefits to successful athletes, access to competitive arenas serves as an important gateway and inflection point, where undesirables can be excluded from opportunities, and those with privilege reserve special rights to compete against those against whom they feel

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appropriately matched (Wilson 1994: 79). Limits on access to sport participation can also serve to reduce unnecessary conflict within the bounds of competition, since competitors with similar assumptions about how the world works may be less likely to disagree about outcomes or desirable conditions for competition. Certainly, participation in athletic contests is, within the bounds of the Homeric epics, the basis of considerable social approbation, and victories are recalled with pride by participants at various points in the epics (Iliad 23.630–42, 679– 80; Odyssey 24.85–92). While rules for the participants in Homeric sport are nowhere specifically delineated, it is clear from the narrative contexts and the identities of the participants that this was an activity reserved for elite male chieftains and warriors—in the Odyssey the competitors in King Alkinoos’s games are “many noble youths” (8.109), and we should expect that this was the standard cohort of competitors at any athletic event in early Greece. That others were not expected to be proficient in the rules and technical parameters of sport is made especially clear from Odysseus’ interaction with the Phaiakians. During athletic contests held during Odysseus’ visit to Phaiakia, the hosts mistake Odysseus, at that point an anonymous guest and somewhat the worse for wear due to his travels, for an itinerant merchant, and conclude therefore that he should not be expected to “know contests” (Odyssey 8.146). In sum, while athletic competitions in Homeric epic are relatively informal in an institutional sense, there are plenty of customary rules and mechanisms for generating order within the context of competition. In the world of Homer, sport revolved around the elite chieftains and their immediate families, and these powerful individuals likewise occupied most of the managerial and judiciary roles associated with organizing and determining the outcome of physical contests.

RULES AND ORDER IN GREEK SPORT: THE ARCHAIC AND CLASSICAL PERIODS At some point, perhaps during the eighth century, the context of athletic competitions began to change. Instead of taking place in the context of an aristocratic funeral, these events increasingly became associated with communal religious festivals organized by state or state-affiliated officials (see Chapter 2), although funerary games did continue (T. H. Nielsen 2018: 15–24). The most famous of these festival contests, the Olympic Games, seems to have begun at some point in the eighth century (Christesen 2007: 18–21) and subsequently provided a model for athletic festivals at Delphi, Isthmia, and Nemea. In the context of the eighth century, the increase in investment of wealth in votives and architectural projects at sanctuaries like Olympia, and the concomitant decline in wealthy tombs at some sites, speak to an overall cultural shift away from emphasis on great men (or their clans) and their accomplishments toward

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the community and its strength as a collectivity (Morgan 1990: 26–105; Polignac 1995: 128–49). It is likely that the growing importance of athletic festivals at the expense of aristocratic funeral games can be ascribed to that same cultural shift, and the same can be said of another noteworthy development in sport: the delineation of more official and formal rules governing all aspects of athletic competition during the Archaic (c. 700–c. 480 BCE ) and Classical (c. 480–323 BCE ) periods. The Nature of the Evidence The nature of the evidence for the rules governing Greek sport in the Archaic and Classical periods creates serious interpretive challenges. Although there is a substantial body of textual material that discusses sporting practices during the Archaic and Classical periods, the extant accounts outlining regulatory features governing athletic competitions in the Greek world date to the Roman Imperial period (31 BCE –476 CE ), with the exception of some scattered epigraphic attestations that date primarily to the Classical and Hellenistic (323– 31 BCE ) periods. In the context of a cultural history of ancient sport, it is worth briefly considering the ramifications of the nature of the evidence for rules in Greek sport during the Archaic and Classical periods. To some extent, the absence of evidence from those periods about rules governing sport reflects the simple fact that the vast majority of text produced by ancient Greeks has irretrievably vanished. Greeks undoubtedly produced written rules for sport, starting in the sixth century at the latest. The earliest known such rules are preserved on a fragmentary bronze tablet from Olympia dating to 525–500 BCE ; they forbid wrestlers from breaking their opponents’ fingers and state the penalties for doing so (Minon 2007: 38–47; Papakonstantinou 2019a: 89). If we had at our disposal a substantially larger percentage of the textual sources produced during the Archaic and Classical periods, we would surely have more material like the tablet from Olympia. At the same time, one must acknowledge that the substantial collection of extant texts from the Archaic and Classical period have much to say about sport, but relatively little to say about rules governing its practice. That gap to some extent reflects choices made by individuals over the course of centuries about what texts were and were not worth preserving, but it likely also reflects an original imbalance that, in turn, suggests a relative lack of interest in producing formal athletic rules and the concomitant absence of discourse regarding those rules during the Archaic and Classical periods. That lack of interest may be related to the relative homogeneity of cultural backgrounds of those participating in sport during those periods, as opposed to the more cosmopolitan nature of sport during the Hellenistic and Roman periods. As

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noted in the introduction, rules are effectively institutions: “systems of social factors that conjointly generate a regularity of behaviour” (Grief 2006: 30). Like all institutions, rules can exist as formal dictates, such as laws, but they can also function within society as informal, customary behaviors that are simply followed as a matter of course among individuals who share an understanding of those behaviors and a desire to interact in an orderly manner (North 1990: 36–45). Rules and institutions are highly variable over time, but it is likewise true that the nature of behavior-constraining institutions is not fixed across cultural or state borders (Kehoe, Ratzan, and Yiftach 2015). This lack of social fixity in institutional environments makes engaging in environments across cultural boundaries inherently fraught. It may be helpful to think of the difficulty inherent in analysis of social activities across cultural boundaries using Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of the “field of practice” (Bourdieu 1990: 52–65). According to Bourdieu, who also discussed human interactions in terms of a regulated game, when a transactor is operating outside of a known cultural context, she is comparable to a fish out of water, therefore increasing the sense of anxiety and uncertainty involved in any given set of circumstances. In such contexts, the presence of fixed, clearly articulated rules governing behavior may be highly desirable, to assuage the inherent information asymmetries among the parties interacting in unfamiliar circumstances. By the opposite logic, individuals who already share an understanding of the rules of a game are more likely to abide by invisible, customary institutions, in the absence of formally articulated dictates. From the point of view of institutional thought, then, it may be plausible to reconstruct a scenario in which the relatively culturally circumscribed group of participants in earlier Greek sport shared an understanding of rules and order that enabled them to engage each other in sport without extended discourse about the rules, whereas the increasing quantity of sources regarding rules in the Hellenistic and Roman periods came about in direct proportion to the widening of the geographic, social, and cultural net of sport participation (on which see Chapters 5 and 6). An alternative view might relate a general increase in a fixation on rules and order under the Roman empire to the overall importance of rules and order in the success of the Roman state. As discussed elsewhere in this volume (see Chapter 1), and briefly below, Roman spectacle was generally characterized by a high degree of hierarchy and ordering among both spectators and participants. It is thought that this order and hierarchy served an ideologically important purpose in reifying the orders and hierarchies that bound the empire together. A general fetishizing of orderly governance and regulation during the Roman period might have provided an environment in which conversations about the nature of rules, rule-following and rule-breaking practices, and exemplary cases of orderly or disorderly conduct were of cultural interest in ways that did not pertain in a different institutional environment during preceding periods.

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Another possibility is that the seeming increase of interest in rules and order in literature during the Roman Imperial period is a matter of genre. Many of the extant anecdotes from texts produced during the Roman Imperial period that discuss the rules governing sport in the Archaic and Classical periods were composed by authors operating in an intellectual movement called the Second Sophistic, which was focused on turning to the Classical past in order to develop lines of inquiry and styles of expression (Whitmarsh 2005: 4–5). Authors such as Philostratus and Pausanias may have sought to demonstrate their erudition and sophisticated understanding of Classical Greek sport through the development of detailed or paradigmatic narratives about a sort of practice, elaborate religious sporting festivals, that was closely associated with Classical Greek culture overall and that emphasized the manliness of intellectuals who were often subject to charges of effeminacy (Gleason 1995). These anecdotes may contain quite a lot of detailed evidence about procedures and practices concerning sport of the Greek periods as part of a particular posture of cultural expertise and rhetorical style. In the current context, it is not possible to explore fully all of these possibilities, but suffice it to say that an institutionally-, political-theory- or genre-attuned history of rule-writing and rule-discussing trends in GrecoRoman antiquity might prove to be a fruitful area of investigation in the future. In the meantime, it remains true that a great deal of information from sources dating to the Roman Imperial period that has been leveraged in scholarship on the ordering of ancient Greek athletic competitions is arguably of dubious value for reconstructing any of these institutions as they existed during the Archaic and Classical periods. Administrative Bodies and Officials Rather than ad hoc organization by a person or persons of means, sporting contests in the Archaic and Classical periods were governed by officials charged with administering religious or political institutions. At several organized contests, the officials in charge of organizing and administrating events were known as Hellanodikai, “judges of the Greeks.” According to Pausanias (5.9.4), Iphitos (a legendary king of the Greek community of Elis in the northwestern Peloponnese) and his descendants ran the Olympics from their founding until the fiftieth iteration of the games, when leadership passed to two Eleians appointed by lot. According to the (much later) sources, those Eleians took on the title of Hellanodikai in the aftermath of the Persian Wars (Ebert and Siewert 1999; Christesen 2012a). The number of Hellanodikai at Olympia eventually increased to nine and twelve before settling in the long term at ten. Though the judges were originally chosen by lot from among the Eleians, eventually these became appointed positions (Pausanias 5.9.4–6). The Hellanodikai, once chosen,

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were trained in the rules of the games by the nomophylakes, or rule-protectors, whose identity is not entirely clear, and decisions of the Hellanodikai could be appealed to the ultimate authority of the Olympic Council (Papakonstantinou 2019a: 89–120). It is important to note that hardly anything in this extant narrative about the history of the Hellanodikai can be reliably sourced beyond Pausanias (second century CE ), and there is little reason to believe that he had good access to information about events in the Archaic period. Suffice it to say that reconstructing the early history of oversight at Olympia is extremely challenging; whatever the inspiration or ethnic affiliation of their original iteration, these overseers are a consistent feature of modern discourse regarding the rules governing behavior at Olympia throughout its history. The governance of the Olympics was thus the responsibility of a complex bureaucracy charged with sustaining the rules and order needed to ensure that the proceedings went on without major conflict or interruption. The Hellanodikai had many responsibilities beyond judging the eligibility of competitors and contested outcomes. These included dividing the participants, both human and equine, into adult and juvenile, and into reasonable pairings for the combat sports (Romano 2007). The Hellanodikai were split into groups, each of which had oversight over particular events or groups of events. In these events, the Hellanodikai were tasked with resolving disputes over victors. There are late indications that their authority extended to administering whippings against trainers of athletes who did not follow their dictates, or even expelling them from the games entirely (Philostratus Gymnasticus 54; Lucian Hermotimus 40). Individual city-states presided over games in the context of local festivals, a practice that seems to have become popular in the sixth century (T. H. Nielsen 2018: 11–168). Many such festivals are attested, and they seem to have been characteristic of virtually every Greek community, perhaps along the same lines that high-school or locally organized sporting events occupy a prominent place in many or most communities in the United States in the present day. Due to the limitations of the available source material, the rules and order of many of these local games are obscure to us. Given that the large majority of textual evidence surviving from ancient Greece comes from Athens, it is not surprising that the clearest picture of local sport administration comes from Athens. While the protohistory of Athenian civic athletics is not entirely reconstructible, it seems likely that games and sport in early Athens were organized around clans or aristocratic families, and that the reforms of the early statesman Solon (archon in 594/3 BCE ) were in part intended to disintermediate nobles from sport administration through increased state control of agonistic festivals (Ruschenbusch 1966: 74–5 (F 18a–b); Papakonstantinou 2019a: 36–7, 69–71). In the history of Athenian sport, we can observe a move away from personal and clan-based involvement in the organization of contests toward an institutionalization of sport in the Classical period (Kyle 1987: 155). One

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example of this sort of evolution is observable in the context of the Theseia, a festival founded under the stewardship of the Athenian general Cimon to celebrate the removal of the bones of Theseus, a legendary Athenian hero, from the island of Skyros to Athens in either 475 or 469 BCE (Deubner 1956: 22–46; Parke 1977: 81–2). While the Athenian statesman Cimon clearly aimed to advertise his connection to Theseus and gain political traction by way of his personal association with these games, by the end of the Classical period the games had come under the governance of ag¯onothetai, probably appointed by the state. Likewise, the state took over the duty of enacting funerary games in the Archaic and Classical periods, including a new, collective festival celebrating the state’s war dead (the epitaphios ag¯on) ([Aristotle] Constitution of the Athenians 58; Demosthenes 60.36). The role of the state in managing athletic contests at Athens is relatively welldocumented (Kyle 1987: 36–45). In particular, the Aristotelian Constitution of the Athenians provides a comprehensive description of the organization and structure of the governance of the Greater Panathenaic games in honor of Athena, which took place every four years and which, from the sixth century onward, included a program of games ([Aristotle] Constitution of the Athenians 60.1, 62.2; Lysias 21.2.4; [Xenophon] Constitution of the Athenians 3.4; see commentary at Kyle 1987: 36). The games at the Panathenaia included typical contests in running and horse-racing, but also integrated several unusual, particularly Athenian events, such as a beauty contest for young men (called the euandria; see Crowther 1985), the apobat¯es race (which involved mounting and dismounting moving chariots; see Reed 1990; Neils and Schultz 2012), and contests for team dance (Plato Laws 8.833a–b; IG II2 2311.72–81). The games were organized and conducted by a group of commissioners, known as athlothetai (literally “setters of prizes”), probably working in subordination to or at least in cooperation with the hieropoioi, officials in charge of the Panathenaic festival overall (B. Nagy 1978; Mikalson 2016: 73–4, 213–15, 30–9). One commissioner was chosen by lot from each of the ten Athenian tribes to serve a four-year term. In addition to the athlothetai, state officials’ involvement in various aspects of the games was prominent—the citizen council (the Boul¯e) governed the management of prizes, and the archon basileus (a kind of chief executive of Athens’ many official religious activities) himself was in charge of the torch race ([Aristotle] Constitution of the Athenians 49.3, 57.1). The title of the officials overseeing Athenian athletic contests seems to have shifted over the course of time from ag¯onothetai to athlothetai, and it is interesting to consider what kinds of cultural shifts may have precipitated the structural reordering of authority from the ag¯onothetai, who manage the ag¯on (“contest”), to the athlothetai, who manage the prizes—an increasing interest in a professional sport whereby material gain was emphasized over symbolic supremacy may be related to the shift.

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Beyond the great Panathenaic festival, civic games at Athens regularly constituted parts of greater ritual celebrations, at the heart of which were animal sacrifices, processions, feasts, and prayers to the relevant god. While many of these games seem to have been organized by smaller communities within the Athenian state during the Archaic period, increasingly the programs of events of many formerly local festivals, including athletic contests, came under the governance of the Athenian state (Kyle 1987: 40–53). Aristotle indicates that, at least in the fourth century BCE , the games at Eleusis (a site on the western edge of the territory controlled by Athens) were under the control of the same athlothetai that managed the Panathenaic contests (Clinton 1979), and a similar process of state appropriation of local festivals can be inferred from evidence regarding local games at Marathon (a site on the eastern edge of the territory controlled by Athens) ([Aristotle] Constitution of the Athenians 54.7). Constraints on Participation For most major athletic competitions in ancient Greece, participation was limited in some fashion. At some local games, participation was probably circumscribed within the community, with citizenship of the city or state a prerequisite (T. H. Nielsen 2018: 89, 92). At the major games at Olympia and Delphi, the rules of the contests dictated that participation was limited to Greek citizen males of free birth, at least during the Classical period (Kyle 2015: 114; cf. the cautionary comments in Remijsen 2019). One immediate cultural insight to draw from the rules about participation at the Greeks’ most important athletic contests is that females were generally not permitted to compete. While there were women’s contests in the context of specifically gynocentric religious festivals, such as the Heraia games at Olympia (Pausanias 5.16.4; Scanlon 2008) and initiatory girls’ races at the site of Brauron (near Athens) (Kahil 1977; Scanlon 2002: 139–74), these events were conducted separately from and in the absence of male spectators (Arrigoni 1985). Sparta was an exception to this rule, but the situation at Sparta was sufficiently complex and distinct from the rest of the Greek world that it cannot be treated fully in this context (see Christesen 2018). The exclusion of women from competition reflects a wider Greek attitude about the role of women in society, but also gives us important insights into the social role of sport in Greece, which may in part have served to encourage fitness for military service and to sort citizen males for the purpose of allocating political clout and social status. Since women were expected to participate neither in the military nor in political life, their participation in athletic contests would not have fit logically into the governing principles of Greek sport (Golden 1998: 123–40; Mann 2014b). Other social groups excluded from participation often included non-Greeks, slaves, and the lower classes (Pleket 1992). While there is some evidence that

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slaves were intermittently allowed to participate in athletic events, at least in Athens (Demosthenes The Erotic Essay 23), there were probably significant obstacles to their doing so on a regular basis (Crowther 1992b: 37). The most obvious of these would have been that the time necessary to train for and travel to games, not to mention access to gymnasia, the normal training grounds for athletes, which were not widely or regularly available to slaves. An inscription from Beroia in northern Greece dated to the second century BCE explicitly prohibits slaves, drunks, madmen, craftspeople, and criminals from exercising in the gymnasium (SEG 27.261, 43.381; see Gauthier and Hatzopoulos 1993; cf. Aristotle, Pol. 1264a20–2 on regulations barring slaves from gymnasia in Crete), although these restrictions did not endure through the entire history of athletic competition in Greco-Roman antiquity in all regions (for discussion, see Papakonstantinou 2019a: 99–103). In this sense, the limitation for participation in sport to individuals of higher classes should be seen as an epiphenomenon of larger inequality in access to leisure time and infrastructures of education and socialization rather than a set of explicitly proscribed limitations. Some official rules barred access to sport for the poor, but in indirect ways. Although any qualified male could register to compete in the Olympic Games, the pool of competitors was winnowed down to a manageable number of individuals through the course of a month-long, mandatory training period during which athletes were required to be present at Olympia. During this period, the Hellanodikai monitored the progress of athletes and eliminated those judged to be unfit for competition (Crowther 2004: 27–9, 66–8). Moreover, athletes were required to swear under oath to Zeus that they had been in training for ten months prior to the onset of the games (Pausanias 5.24.9). It is unlikely that a poor farmer with a small plot of land, or a herder with a large flock to nurture, dependent on his own labor to sustain the life of his household, would have been willing or able to neglect agricultural work for athletic pursuits, both prior to and during the arduous trip to Olympia (Kampakoglou 2014: 16–22). Rules and Procedures The basic procedure of games and contests in ancient Greece was usually bound up with ritual processes. For example, at Olympia a sacred oath would be sworn by the athletes at the statue of Zeus in the Bouleuterion on a slab of sacrificed boar meat (Pausanias 5.24.9); substantial sacrifices to Zeus and to the local hero Pelops always had to precede the onset of competition (Pausanias 5.13.8). This was followed by the official business of the Hellanodikai who performed the dokimasia (separating men from boys and colts from horses). During the Classical period, the Olympic festival lasted for five days. The order of events

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changed over time but was apparently fixed in a standard form during the early fifth century BCE and involved the separation of events for men and boys (Pausanias 5.9.3; Lee 2001). One of the most exceptional and surprising personal constraints on conduct for the contests at Olympia (at least from the point of view of cultural history) is the fact that athletes were required to compete naked. Scholars continue to debate the cultural function and origin of athletic nudity in ancient Greece (McDonnell 1991; Christesen 2002: 18–23; Christesen 2014). The rule about nude competition was clearly not well-understood by the Greeks themselves. Explanations for the practice posited by ancient Greek authors range from the implausible (Isidore of Seville Etymologies 18.17.2: to prevent athletes from tripping over their loincloths) to the ridiculous (Philostratus Gymnasticus 17: to ensure that women do not sneak into the proceedings). It seems probable that the costume of nudity at the Olympics served to mark the competition, and is likely related to the origins of the festival in liminal contests for young men which required special dress in the form of nudity. Paul Christesen’s suggestion that nude athletics in Greece in general persisted over time because the costume of nudity forced athletes to compete under the supervisory, Foucauldian gaze of society, therefore engendering obedience and subservience to the needs of authorities, should be considered in this context as well (Christesen 2012b: 241). At the very least, we can conclude from the widespread acceptance of complete nudity in practice and competition that the ancient Greeks lacked the sorts of moral approbations about the nude body that inculcate the modern mentality and preclude the widespread practice of nude athletics today. Determining Victory In some contests, identifying the victor would have been relatively straightforward. However, when judgment calls were necessary or the outcome was contested, determining the victor in Greek athletic contests often fell to the judgment of the Hellanodikai or equivalent officers. It is clear that these decisions were not always uncontroversial and were themselves subject to oversight and regulation (Crowther 1997). The judges at the Olympics were Eleians, and, like the athletes, they took an oath to swear that their judgments and decisions would not be duplicitous or corrupt. The existence, or sense of a need for, this judges’ oath may have stemmed from known disputes either among the Hellanodikai or between competitors or spectators and the judges. One such instance supposedly occurred in 396 BCE , when two judges declared Eupolemos, an Eleian, as winner of the stadion race, but the third thought that a man called Leon of Ambrakia had beaten Eupolemos to the line (Pausanias 6.3.7). Although the judges who had cast their votes for their countryman were fined, it is Eupolemos’ name that is recorded in the victor list. From this point

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we can extract some cultural insight—although it was considered poor form and a finable offense for a judge to show preference for someone from one’s own community, the decisions of the judges were unlikely to be overturned. After 372 BCE , all judges were prohibited from entering events, presumably and most logically because they could not be trusted to adjudicate winners fairly while competing (Golden 2008: 126). While in some events the rules of competition and standards for excellence have probably changed little since antiquity, some peculiarities of the rules regarding competition and the determination of victors in certain events are worth noting. In ancient Greek wrestling, victory did not depend on “pinning” an opponent to the ground (Poliakoff 1987: 23–54). Competitors started from a standing position, their configuration to one another described as “the way that rafters lock” (Iliad 711–12). The goal was to throw the opponent to the ground using leverage, with the victory awarded to the first to complete three successful “throws.” From the point of view of the argument made in this essay, that the rules of a sport cannot be disentangled from their cultural context, we might take this example as an opportunity to reflect upon the relationship of these specific rules, or even the existence of this sport, to society as a whole. The genesis of the specific format of many events in ancient Greek sport has been positioned within the context of a strategy for encouraging the development of stylized and formalized skills related to those needed for success in warfare (e.g., Pritchard 2013: 165–76). The relationship of events such as the javelin throw, the Homeric archery contest, or the hoplitodromos (a race run in full or partial armor) to prowess in combat is relatively straightforward. In the case of wrestling, it seems likely that raw, hand-to-hand fighting between two individuals may have been likely to take place in the midst of the chaos of battle at close quarters, where the spear carried by most Greek infantrymen would sometimes have been useless. Knocking one’s opponent to the ground may, in that context, have been sufficient to escape or win the victory by delivering a fatal blow to a prostrate opponent. Lying on top of another soldier on the ground in order to achieve a pin would not have been a logical strategy in this context. From another point of view, one can imagine that being able to stay on one’s feet in such straits would have been a valuable tool for survival. Making and Keeping Records The Greeks did not keep metric records of impressive athletic performances and indeed did not have a word that would be the equivalent of the term “record” (Young 1996). The reason has often been considered a technological one—without accurate time-keeping devices or precise measuring tools, maintaining a record of the best performances and supreme athletic feats would have been challenging (Tod 1949: 105–6). At the same time, we know that

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Greeks could measure time with some accuracy using water clocks, etc., and that the precise measurement of distances would have been necessary for the construction of architectural monuments like temples, so it would be incorrect to attribute the lack of official “world records” or something similar for ancient athletes to pure technological determinism. Yet, the fact that the Greeks were utterly uninterested in questions that preoccupy modern record-keepers is incontrovertible. We should therefore consider the possibility that the nature of Greek competitiveness and notions of what it meant to be the best were substantively different from our modern ideas about those matters in ways that might explain the lack of quantitative record-keeping in the ancient past. The kinds of records that were kept and considered to be important are revealing in this regard. The most important record of an ancient athletic event was the name of the winner. Although some local games and civic contests awarded prizes for second and third place, the goal of Greek athletic competitions was straightforwardly victory. It is important to note that there was little appreciation of participation or effort for their own sake in the ancient games (e.g. Pindar Pythian 8.70–94). The extreme importance of winning should be understood as a result of the ritual and religious context in which sport took place in the ancient world—the apportioning of divine kudos, or favor, was thought to have a prominent role in determining the victor in games (Kurke 1993). The winner was therefore considered to be in possession of vaguely superhuman power. The degree to which celebration of the victor dominated the aftermath of athletic contests is evident in rules regarding the commemoration of victors at Olympia: only extremely accomplished (i.e., multiple) victors could be commemorated with statues at Olympia, and these statues had to remain under life-size (Pliny Natural History 34.16). If the measure of the athlete was in victory, the best way to distinguish oneself in terms of records was to pile up many victories, especially at the most important or prestigious contests (Brunet 2010). Ancient texts show a keen interest in recording how many times great athletes were able to win victories. Theagenes of Thasos, a famous Classical pankratiast, boasted two Olympic, three Pythian, ten Isthmian, and nine Nemean victories, an impressive resumé by any measure, although Doreius of Rhodes is claimed to have bested him, winning 36 times at those sites (Pausanias 6.7.4; Golden 2004: 51, 163). Leonidas, said to be the most famous of all ancient runners, won three running races at each of four separate Olympiads in the second century BCE (Philostratus Gymnasticus 33). Another way that athletes could gain renown or set precedents was to win without much resistance or with particular flawlessness (Golden 2004: 6). Victory monuments also express an interest in proclaiming primacy or originality in qualitative ways—so a victory was not always only just a victory, but could be a landmark for a particular city-state or community. Questions

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that are largely unanswerable are how such records were kept, how athletes were aware of the primacy of their achievements, and whether truth in such claims was a concern, though the presence of many lists concerning athletic victories suggests that records that might prevent exaggeration of athletic achievements were probably widespread (Moretti 1957; Brunet 2010: 121–2, n. 19; for Olympic victor lists as a genre see Christesen 2007). Disqualification, Cheaters, and Punishment Many ancient athletes wanted to win victory at any cost. The high social and political value of victory in the games often led athletes to pursue crooked paths to achievement (Pausanias 5.21.2–17; Philostratus Gymnasticus 45). Attested fouls, cheating, and illegal behavior in ancient sport included technical faults, sleight-of-hand, and the offering and acceptance of bribes (on cheating in general, Forbes 1952; J. S. Perry 2007). Anecdotal evidence, artifacts, and extant regulations from ancient Greece, in turn, demonstrate attempts by the organizers of athletic events to disincentivize behavior that was thought to be unfair or disadvantageous to the successful and orderly conduct of sport. Greeks took seriously the notion that obedience to the rules was an important indicator that their society was functioning correctly and that it was distinct from the unruly societies of non-Greeks. Hence, in Xenophon’s Memorabilia, Pericles is reminded that the Athenians are not entirely wicked because of “how well they obey the umpires in athletic contests” (3.5.18). Likewise, the description of a fictional confrontation between the legendary Greek hero Polydeukes and Amykos, a non-Greek, clearly betrays the notion that one characteristic of civilized men is their obedience to the rules governing sport (Theocritus Idyll 22; Brophy 1985: 188). Unsurprisingly then, breaking the rules at the Olympics, and presumably at games throughout the Greek world, was grounds for disqualification. Furthermore, physical punishments in the form of blows from a rod or whip were meted out in certain circumstances to athletes who committed a foul or who broke other rules (Arrian Discourses of Epictetus 3.15.4, 3.22.52). For a free Greek citizen used to exercising nude in the gymnasium, the mark of the whip would have been a visible and embarrassing reminder of having been treated like a slave (Dionysius Halicarnassus Art of Rhetoric 7.6). Thus, the punishment of the lash was not merely a disincentive because of the physical pain it might render or because it eliminated the athlete from the competition, but should also be considered as a lasting blow to the honor and self-worth of the cheater. Olympic athletes in particular were disincentivized to cheat or take bribes (probably a very common problem) by the considerable monetary penalties imposed on those found to have done so. Bronze statues of Zeus (called zanes) that lined the path through the sacred grove into the stadium at Olympia were paid for with the fines levied from cheaters, and would have

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served as a powerful reminder to athletes that the price for breaking the oath was a significant one (Pausanias 5.21.2–4; Bengtson 1974: 190–207). Unregulated Practices and Unofficial Norms From a twenty-first century point of view, the seeming lack of official rules in some areas of Greek sport is surprising. To begin with, there was a general lack of regulation of equipment, including equipment used during competition. For the long jump, athletes held specially shaped weights when competing, but these were apparently not standardized at all in terms of shape or weight (Gardiner 1910: 298; S. Miller 2004a: 63–5; see Chapter 3). Likewise, it is not clear whether a single discus would have been used by all competitors at an event, but throughout the Greek world archaeologically attested discus weights vary widely (Gardiner 1910: 316, Table 1). One might note in the same vein that events were not limited to a particular duration—the competition could go on for as long as it took for a victor to emerge or be declared. This would have been most apparent in boxing and the pankration, in which a competitor had to be knocked out or surrender before the contest was over (Poliakoff 1987: 68–88). Indeed, the boxing match between Kreugas and Damoxenos (which ultimately proved fatal to the former) went on until evening, when the two combatants determined that they should bring the proceedings to a conclusion by taking turns hitting each other without defense until one emerged victorious (Pausanias 8.40.3–5; Brophy 1978: 367). This anecdote also suggests that contestants had some leeway to modify the nature of the competition ad hoc midway through the event. Other areas of practice in Greek sport that were not officially governed include the weight of athletes entering the combat sport events or jockeys for horse-racing; the dietary regimen of the athletes, including regulated substances; and the state a given athlete could represent (i.e., athletes could represent adopted hometowns instead of native ones). One related point of particular importance is the notion that Greek athletes were supposed to be amateurs: while this idea formed the basis of some modern athletic regulations, David Young (Young 1984) has shown convincingly that there was no distinction between amateur and professional in ancient Greek sport. If anecdotal evidence from Pausanias is to be believed, Greek athletes occasionally “followed the money” (Pausanias 6.13.1; 6.3.11; 6.3.11; 2.7.4), competing to bring glory to new states when offered favorable terms and rewards, and states actively sought out successful athletes to compete under their banner in prestigious games (Pausanias 6.2.7). For example, in the fifth century BCE , Astylos won multiple Olympic victories in footraces as a resident of the city of Croton before accepting considerable emoluments to move to Syracuse. When he won further victories at Olympia, he was announced to the crowd as a Syracusan. The Crotoniates expressed their displeasure with Astylos’ behavior by tearing down

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a statue erected in his honor and turning his former home into a prison (Golden 2008: 18). While effort was not explicitly regulated in Greek sport, athletes were expected to commit fully to competitions, to the extent that a poor performance was cause for great censure, community embarrassment, and occasionally serious social or physical consequences. In Sparta, punishment for cowards included exclusion from competition in wrestling and ball games, presumably because cowardly behavior in those contexts was considered unacceptable in Spartan society (Xenophon Constitution of the Spartans 9.3–5). Philostratus preserves two anecdotes that reinforce the idea that Greeks took behavior in the sporting arena seriously as a litmus test for the worth of an individual and therefore expected athletes to behave with courage and fortitude because of social norms rather than official rules. The first recounts with approbation the story of a trainer at Olympia who murdered an athlete with a sharpened strigil (a bronze implement that athletes used to clean their skin after exercise) because he was not working hard enough. Philostratus concludes: “let the strigil be a sword against worthless athletes, and let the trainer at Olympia rank in some respects above the Hellanodikai” (Gymnasticus 18; trans. J. Rusten and J. König). (For further discussion of strigils, see Chapter 3.) Likewise, another trainer exhorts a competitor to fight to the death if necessary by shouting “what a fine funeral shroud, not to give up at Olympia” (Gymnasticus 21). The point in both cases seems to be that, in the absence of enforceable rules designed to punish weakly committed athletes, extra-institutional stigma against poor performance circumscribed the proliferation of such behavior, even when pursuit of performative excellence had deleterious effects on the health of the athlete himself (Stocking 2016).

GREEK SPORT AFTER THE CITY-STATE: THE HELLENISTIC AND ROMAN PERIODS Athletic competition in general tends to be fairly conservative. Current iterations of modern sports would be easily recognizable by their original practitioners, even after hundreds of years of social and technological developments have fundamentally transformed many other aspects of cultural practice. The conservatism in sport is evident in the relative stability in the program of games at major festivals in ancient Greece through the several centuries of Archaic and Classical practice recorded in the available sources. While much has been made of the derogatory attitude toward Greek sport evident in Roman literary sources (e.g., Cicero Tusculan Disputations 4.70; Tacitus Annals 14.20; Tertullian On Spectacles 5), it is clear that athletic contests were a major feature of life in hundreds of cities throughout the Roman empire and that their fundamental form was remarkably similar to the basic Classical one (see, e.g., Arnold 1960;

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Crowther 1983). Greek-style athletic contests in the fourth century CE still had the same traditional sports, including the same running races, pentathlon, and combat sports as those present in the fourth century BCE , and maintained the traditional division of boys and men in the age classes. Despite the remarkably thoroughgoing and durable changes in society, sporting culture that would have been recognizable and relatively familiar to a Classical Greek remained a part of Greco-Roman life well into the middle of the first millennium CE . However, the major cultural, economic, and political changes that occurred in the Mediterranean throughout the Hellenistic and Roman periods did not fail to impact the mechanisms for organizing and structuring the games. City, State, and Empire in Sport Governance With the conquests of the Macedonian king Alexander in Egypt, Asia Minor, and the Near East, the subsequent rise of the successor kingdoms, and the ultimate unification of the Mediterranean under a Roman imperial regime highly influenced by the ideals of Greek culture, the Hellenistic and Roman periods saw an explosion in the number and geographical spread of officially recognized athletic contests (Remijsen 2011: 101; Pleket 2014). While Roman authors sometimes cast aspersions on the value of Greek sport, the appearance of major athletic festivals in Rome, Naples, Antioch, and many major cities throughout Asia Minor, Egypt, North Africa, the Levant, and Italy attest to the appeal that participation in and watching of Greek sports had for Roman elites throughout the Mediterranean (van Nijf 1999; van Nijf 2001). Greek cities in the east saw the establishment of games as fundamental to their status as members of a larger Hellenic community, while local elites used participation in the foundation or conduct of Greek-style sport as a tool for ingratiating themselves with an increasingly Hellenocentric view of the world (see Chapter 5 for further discussion). Perhaps as a direct result of the larger number and greater variety of contexts for athletic competition in post-Classical times, the nature of administration and financing of these festivals increased in concomitant variety. In Hellenistic cities, the establishment of new athletic contests was typically the result of the donation of an ambitious or wealthy individual or family who was then expected to have the leading role in determining the timing, schedule, name, and prizes for the games. However, civic bodies retained leadership over iterated contests in the long term, and the position of ag¯onothet¯es persisted well into the Roman period, although the Hellanodikai at Olympia were eventually replaced with an imperial officer called the alytarch, also charged with paying the wages of the sites’ guards (Remijsen 2015: 80; Papakonstantinou 2019a: 130–68). Ultimately, in order to be successful, local games needed both administrative support in the form of recognition of the status of the games from some wider political community (in the Imperial period, from the emperor himself) and

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long-term financial planning in the form of an endowment or a special designated civic fund. Games were both expensive to stage and wildly popular among the public, and so it is not surprising to find that, whereas athletes formerly sought personal gain through excellence in athletic competition, elites in the Hellenistic and Roman periods often used athletic financing as a tool of self-promotion instead (e.g., CIG 4015, 4045; I.Ephesos 621). The outcome was a richly vibrant, highly varied, and quantitatively abundant era of sport culture, far from the picture of decline wrought by the end of amateurism after the Greek period that figures in extant narratives on Classical sport history (e.g., Gardiner 1910: 103–6; Harris 1972: 40). During the Roman Republican period (509–31 BCE ), games were often organized by generals returning from successful campaigns; these events would not have been entirely dissimilar from a Homeric funeral contest, intended to honor and, in part, to redistribute a massive pile of spoils for an accomplished military hero (Livy 39.22; Appian Civil War 1.99; Suetonius Julius Caesar 39.1–4). Through the mechanisms of contests sponsored by triumphant generals and liturgical donations, the organization of games in the Hellenistic period became arguably more important as an avenue for elite agonism than participation in the events. Under the Roman empire, official decisions regarding the status of games were adjudicated by the emperor himself. While the first imperially affiliated Greek games in Rome (the agon capitolinus) were not established until the reign of Domitian in 86 CE , the first emperor, Augustus, in 30/28 BCE founded contests to commemorate his victory at Actium. Thus, games for or sponsored by emperors were a feature of imperial reigns from the beginning. The emperor could occasionally attend festivals and dispense the prizes himself, or decree honors for particularly popular or accomplished victors (CIL VI.10153; Malalas Chronicle 12.38.44). Available documentary evidence makes clear that cities hoping to establish new athletic contests were required to obtain imperial permission (Millar 1992: 449, 51). The imperial interest in these matters reflects the fact that polities holding major athletic contests and the victors at certain important games received significant official privileges and benefits (e.g., Theodosian Codex 15.5.4). Athletic Associations The increasingly large number and geographically wide range of athletic competitions, along with the bureaucratic rewards associated with these contests, created a need for official mechanisms enabling the transmission of information about calendars of events, the management of records and official lists of victors, and the protection and advocacy of the interests of professional athletes. The first century BCE saw the establishment of a formal international association of athletes (Forbes 1955: 239; Remijsen 2015: 231). Our understanding of the nature of this association and its development over time

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is not particularly clear due to the limited nature of the sources. However, it is clear that the official organization of athletes, known as the Xystic Synod after the ancient Greek name for a racetrack (xystos), ultimately had a headquarters at Rome (in a building called the curia athletarum) where the archival records of the Synod were kept, and whence the officials of the Synod (retired athletes) could lobby the Roman leadership for the rights and privileges of professional athletes. For example, a letter to Mark Antony from the Synod requests the confirmation of privileges for victorious athletes, and the addition of new benefits, such as exemption from military service and quartering imperial officials in their home (Forbes 1955: 239–40; SB I 4224). Beyond advocating for the rights and privileges of athletes, the Synod supported athletes by serving as a kind of informational clearinghouse: athletes could count on the officials of the Synod to help them be aware of opportunities and festivals within the officially sanctioned agonistic circuit, to assist them in traveling to competitions, and to prove their accomplishments with official documentation. Finally, the Synod supplied each festival with a xystarch, an official (usually a retired victor of renown) in charge of ensuring the timely presence of athletes, assembling competitors for local officials, and seeing that adequate medical care was provided for participants in each games (Newby 2005: 34–5). Tension between the Synod and the imperial government is apparent in extant regulations regarding the privileges afforded to victors. Emperors may have appreciated the value of athletes as instruments of public entertainment and as a means of fostering a sense of belonging among far-flung elites, but they sought to limit the advantages that athletes could leverage from their special status as public figures. In addition to his ultimate jurisdiction over the naming of new sacred games, the emperor exercised control over the Synod because the head of the organization was nominated by imperial edict. An edict of Diocletian (ruled 284–305 CE ) restricting the privileges of sacred victors to those who won at least three times in certain, mostly old Greek festivals, suggests that the multiplication of Greek-style sporting events eventually began to spread exemptions around a bit too widely for imperial tastes (Malalas Chronicle 23.38.44; Spawforth 1989: 194). Rules and Procedures Most late sources for Greek sport record the achievements of individuals rather than detailed information about rules and regulations governing the games, perhaps because these did not change dramatically over time (Tod 1949: 109). The Sebasta/Augustalia games at Naples (the full name: Italica Romaea Sebasta Isolympia) described by Strabo and documented in several inscriptions had the same basic structure as the Olympics, as one might expect from the use of the term Isolympia in the event’s name (Strabo Geography 5.246c; IG II2.3169–70;

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III.129; IV.591; VII.49; XIV.737, 746, 748, 754, 755, 1102, 1114). Athletes were required to appear at the grounds one month before the games began, and were fined or beaten if they did not enroll properly with the ag¯onothet¯es. The contests involved two divisions, boys and men, and began with the standard athletic events followed by equestrian contests. The addition of the apobat¯es race, popular in Athens but never part of the Olympics, may suggest an increasing emphasis on spectacular events and a concomitant cultural shift away from games as sacred events designed to encourage meritocratic competition among citizens and toward spectator events designed to entertain. Along the same lines, one day of the festival was devoted to a variety of musical and artistic competitions. Prizes for the athletes were vegetal crowns (wheat), although cash prizes were allotted to the actors (3,000 drachmai) and dancers (4,000 drachmai). The fact that ambiguities surrounding victory likewise continued to characterize athletic competition in the Imperial period is attested in the form of a regulation stipulating that the crown should be deposited in the gymnasium if a victor was not determined (Geer 1935: 210). Punishments for cheaters suggest, likewise, that problematic behavior on the part of athletes did not wane over time. According to Ammianus Marcellinus (28.1.8, 28.1.29), an athlete named Asbolius was accused of attempting to poison his opponent and was thereafter killed by heavy blows from a lead object. Dio Chrysostom complains (34.12) that smaller pankratiasts were allowed to get away with far more than their larger counterparts. Much of Philostratus’ treatise on athletic training, the Gymnasticus, contains lamentations about the dereliction of moral righteousness apparent throughout the sporting world in his time, the second century CE . Indeed, there is a general sense in the literary evidence that cheating, corruption, and behavior that would fall outside the zone of fair play became increasingly common among Hellenistic and Roman athletes, perhaps an inevitable result of the increasingly valuable financial and legal incentives accorded to vaunted athletes. On the other hand, this may be another case in which the sources mislead, and may thus be a manifestation of the tendency of Roman sources to laud the Greek past while disparaging a Roman present seen to be inferior to or at odds with the Hellenic ideal (König 2005: 18–19, 95, 305).

GLADIATORIAL CONTESTS DURING THE ROMAN PERIOD (31 BCE –476 CE ) While most historical treatments of ancient sport consider Roman spectacle as a separate cultural phenomenon from Greek sport, the cultural institution of arena sports at Rome represent an important branch of sport from antiquity and should be treated at least in brief in the current context. (See Chapter 1 for further discussion.) Contrary to the popular image of Roman arena spectacles

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as no-holds-barred, violent encounters designed to provide entertainment for a bloodthirsty crowd, Roman sport operated according to a clear set of rules and procedures, similar in kind if different in nature from those that governed Greek athletic competitions. Beginning with the reign of Augustus, the state and its agents took over much of the responsibility for organizing, funding, and administering official festivals within which sport competitions were held (Potter 2010: 348–9), although wealthy officials in the provinces could also bestow games upon their communities. In some cases, there is evidence that the establishment of particular rules for a set of contests and games was officially within the purview of the emperor himself; for example, a poem written by Martial suggests that the emperor Titus had established a particular rule concerning the decision over the life or death of competitors (Martial Spectacles 31.4–5). Participation in gladiatorial contests, chariot races, etc. was largely circumscribed within a closed group: in this case, professional contestants often originating in marginal populations such as slaves and prisoners-of-war. Spectators, likewise, were governed by rules that ensured the organization of fans in the arena would mimic the structure of Roman society overall (Fagan 2011: 80–120). An Augustan legal decree, the Lex Julia Theatralis laid out rules for seating at spectacles, with the front row reserved for senators, privileged seats given to social and political elites, and separate sections of the stands reserved for other groups of society, such as soldiers and young boys (Rawson 1987). Women, with the exception of the Vestal Virgins, were required to sit in the nosebleed seats. (See Chapter 2 for further discussion.) In terms of the action itself, arena combats were governed by rules and standards to ensure that the martial skill of the combatants was determinative of success or failure and that the contest would be both reasonably lengthy and rarely fatal (Welch 1994: 61–5; Potter 2010: 314–16). Officials (the summa rudis and seconda rudis) equipped with long rods were present in the arena with gladiators in order to signal fouls and to ensure that the gladiators behaved according to expectations (Robert 1982: 262–3). The officials also seem to have been responsible for determining when the contest should end, i.e., when an opponent had officially surrendered (Carter 2006–2007: 102–3). Surely there were instances in which gladiators broke the rules or engaged in dirty tactics, as suggested by a passage in Petronius’ Satyricon (45.12) wherein a character expresses a desire to see more such tactics in the arena. However, in general it seems that the purpose of these matches was to provide a demonstration of martial skill and tactics within a regulated environment; that it was often so is suggested by Quintilian’s comparison of skillful oratory to the elegant attacks of a gladiator (Quintilian Institutes of Oratory 5.8.54, 9.1.20). The rules governing Roman arena sports seem intended to provide a cogent encapsulation of an idealized vision of Roman society overall, with order

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imposed by a beneficent leader exercising complete control over life’s chaos (including over life and death), with a clear distinction between Roman spectators and non-Roman combatants and with every cog in the vast machinery of the empire situated in its correct position in the social order (Hopkins 1983: 16). The appreciation of military virtue at the center of the gladiatorial contests likewise fits logically within a society that valued and relied upon military dominance for the creation of political order, and it may be that sport in this context played a crucial cultural role in emphasizing the values attending martial bravery and skill (Carter 2006–2007: 112).

CONCLUSION: READING BETWEEN THE RULES IN ANCIENT SPORT The purpose of this essay has been to demonstrate that the regulation and ordering of sport in the ancient world were closely related to the cultural history of Greece and Rome. Four major cultural trends stand out, along lines we could designate as rule rationality, rule rhetoric, rule enforcement, and rule following. Why make rules for contests at all? In the Homeric period, highly flexible but recognizable rules serve a basic function: to create some systematic measure for adjudicating the distribution of prizes. In athletic contests of the Archaic and Classical periods, explicit rules existed for a variety of different reasons: to regulate and circumscribe participation, to ensure the fairness of contests, to punish misbehavior, and to regularize the arbitration of disputes. As athletic culture expanded and became a pan-Mediterranean phenomenon in the Hellenistic and Roman periods, rules gained new functions to suit the new cultural landscape of sport: they served at once to protect the interests of athletes and to limit the rewards that could be conferred upon victors. As these rules became more instrumental to the functioning of sport across cultural boundaries in an increasingly complicated world, a culture of rule-rhetoric arose, perhaps as anxieties about interacting among groups and individuals without a shared cultural understanding created an interest in institutions as a feature of regular, daily practice, or as the result of an intellectual environment wherein creating detailed descriptions of Greek athletic culture was fashionable. Who should enforce the rules? The relationship between athletes and regulatory structures likewise evolved recognizably over time. Homeric sport, like Homeric society overall, revolved around the decision-making and physical merits of local chieftains. During the Archaic and Classical periods, processes of state formation eroded the primacy of elite leaders as unquestioned sources of order in society and replaced them with civic and religious institutions. These institutions also overtook the role of athletic governance, which was then passed back to kings and king-like figures in the Hellenistic period. Finally,

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while rules were regularly broken throughout antiquity, unspoken standards of behavior based on shared notions of morality and fair play may have arisen at some point between the composition of the Homeric poems and the emergence of states in the Archaic period. Athletes in the Classical period were expected to seek excellence and community approval through the upright pursuit of athletic achievement, and cheaters were publicly shamed through mechanisms that seem designed to stigmatize the offender in the public eye. Are rules followed? The emergence of a rule-following culture seems likely to be tied to the level of social order required for communities that function or fail to function purely based on the ability of relatively equal male citizens to trust one another’s adherence to shared rules about decision-making, political organization, and military action. Therefore, we might imagine that statesponsored athletic contests in Classical Greece served both to create and reinforce the notion that order was a desirable aspect of society. It may be that ancient perceptions of the degradation of order in sport after the Classical period rely on an unrealistic and hagiographic understanding of the past, but it seems plausible to suggest that shared ideals of fair play and respect for the rules likewise declined as the function of sport changed under the Roman empire.

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CHAPTER FIVE

Conflict and Accommodation ZINON PAPAKONSTANTINOU

INTRODUCTION Sport is an innately competitive activity that can incite passions, antagonisms, and even violence. It can exclude and integrate, unify and divide. In the ancient Greek world, from the beginning of the Archaic period (c. 700 BCE ) to the Greek-speaking communities of the late Roman empire, excitement about sport was invested with additional layers of symbolism and signification. That was because sport was a culturally embedded feature of Greek life at a scale that has rarely been replicated. States and wealthy elites eagerly sponsored athletic ag¯ones (contests) and then proudly advertised and commemorated their investments as beneficial to the entire community. For athletes and spectators, sport was ubiquitous and intertwined with the most salient aspects of their participation in the communities in which they lived. It therefore comes as no surprise that the impact of sport, including the opportunities it afforded for generating conflict and brokering accommodation, was far-reaching in time and space. Many conflicts in and around sport in the Greco-Roman world centered on issues of elitism and exclusionary practices.1 With regard to Greek sport, when one traces the history of conflict and accommodation, one finds that elitist practices and sport-related social conflicts in the Archaic period (c. 700–c. 480 BCE ) gave way to greater accommodation in sport for a much broader range of participants both socially and economically in the Classical Period (c. 480–323 BCE ). In the Hellenistic (323–31 BCE ) and Roman Imperial (31 BCE –476 CE ) 121

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periods, athletes hailing from the social elite continued to dominate at the highest level of interstate competitive athletics. There is also evidence of sporting practice and participation in training and competitive athletics at the local level (ephebeia; themides) by non-elites. Despite these examples of accommodation from the Archaic to the Roman Imperial periods, the imprint of elitism and the conflicts that arise out of status differentiation remained constant features of Greek sport throughout its history.2 Finally, this chapter includes a specific case-study from the ancient city of Stratonikeia in Asia Minor during the Roman Imperial period in order to provide readers with a more palpable feel for how later stages of ancient sport negotiated between the two sociopolitical poles of conflict and accommodation within a uniquely Greco-Roman hybridized context.

CONFLICT IN AND OUTSIDE OF SPORT, TO THE END OF THE CLASSICAL PERIOD (323 BCE ) The first and most important conflict around sport in the ancient world pertained to the very right to practice sport. Sport is by definition hedged by rules that govern how it is played. Such rules can be decided ad hoc by players and be adapted as a particular sport develops. In cases where sport is popular and widely practiced, technical rules to which athletes must conform are frequently decided in advance and sometimes published in written form. For many sport historians, the articulation of a clear set of regulations and a wider bureaucratic framework are perceived as critical turning points for the emergence of organized/institutionalized sport (Guttmann 1978, with the response by Hubbard 2008; see also Chapter 4). Equally important are the frequently informal but culturally conditioned (and hence chronically enduring) rules that dictate who can play or be excluded from sport as well as the social/ religious/educational contexts that are deemed acceptable for the practice of sport (Papakonstantinou 2019a: 62–120). Both formal/technical rules and cultural prescriptions concerning access to sport can be documented starting with the early stages of Greek sport. Infractions of the former could at times lead to interpersonal or even interstate conflicts— witness, for instance, the conflict between Athens and the Olympic authorities in 332 BCE over the punishment of the Athenian pentathlete Kallipos and the ensuing boycott of the games by Athens (Pausanias 5.21.5; Weiler 1991). Here is a case where individual conflict with the authorities over sport expands into a broader level of conflict at the interstate level. Interpersonal disputes and conflicts between individual athletes are also attested; for example, curse tablets (mostly written on thin sheets of lead and deposited underground in wells, graves, etc.) contain vitriolic verbal attacks on athletic opponents and invoke supernatural forces in order to harm them, a practice that suggests a

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very acrimonious relationship between many athletes (Jordan 1985: 213–22; Tomlin 2007).3 However, the greatest conflicts and disputes about sport in antiquity revolved around the civic and educational value of sport. These debates and conflicts took place on several levels, e.g. by intellectuals, civic authorities, and the engaged citizenry, in literature, institutional contexts, and interpersonal interactions. The echo of these conflicts can be detected in, among other things, the statutory or social regulation of sport as practiced by wealthy elite males, non-elite males, women, children, the elderly, and people of subaltern legal statuses. What sport, and especially athletic victory, meant in all these contexts and for all these groups was, for the Greeks, an evolving field of bodily performance, contestation, and negotiation. Donald Kyle aptly described participation in Greek competitive sport as being governed by the “oily trinity”: free, Greek, and male (Kyle 2015: 114). (Greek males habitually stripped down and put olive oil on their skin prior to working out or competing—hence Kyle’s “oily” (Kennell 2001 and Chapter 3 in this volume).) Those who did not conform to these fundamental underpinnings of Greek hegemonic masculinity had very limited opportunities to practice sport, especially during the Archaic and Classical periods. But even within the restricted group of adult males with full-citizen rights, access to sport could be limited for many due to elitist prejudice and lack of financial resources. In the games described in the Homeric epics (eighth century BCE ), on the occasions of the funeral of Patroklos in Troy (Iliad 23.257–897) and the visit of Odysseus in Phaiakia (Odyssey 8.97–255), a tacit social exclusion mechanism prohibited anyone that was not a member of the ruling elite to take part (see the essays of Christesen and Miller in this volume for further discussion). A comparable situation can be observed in c. 570 BCE in connection with the athletic contests held for suitors competing to marry Agariste, daughter of the tyrant Cleisthenes of Sicyon (Herodotus 6.126–30; Papakonstantinou 2010). A common denominator in the aforementioned athletic contests is that they were one-off events hosted by prominent members of the social elite. By organizing these contests in a manner that excluded middling and lower-class community members, and by communicating the narratives of these contests through literature, ruling elites aimed at preserving competitive sport as an exclusive mode of social distinction. Seen from this perspective, athletic skill and the right to practice sport at the highest level were part and parcel of the cultural capital of Archaic Greek elites. For these elites, athletic ability was on par with other innate and divinely endowed character attributes that set them apart from the masses, including the capacity to rule and the skills necessary to succeed in the battlefield and other endeavors. Most of these elitist worldviews were challenged by other segments of Greek society, sometimes with an intensity that led to ideological and factional conflict

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(Morris 2000). In the field of sport, we can detect the beginnings of “democratization,” i.e. the opening up of sport to a wider cross-section of the male citizen group, already in the late Archaic period. It has been estimated that by the Classical period the number of regular sport participants increased somewhere between six to ten times. That means that on average somewhere between a third and a half of a community’s households were directly engaged with sport (Christesen 2012b: 159–60; see also Chapter 1 in this volume).4 This engagement included not only competition in formal ag¯ones, but also training of boys in sport in the city’s gymnasia. As a result of the addition of athletic contests to civic festivals and communal funding of athletic training spaces in the form of gymnasia, sport increasingly came to be perceived as a civic activity by the late Archaic period. The increasing role of the community in promoting sport, along with the trend toward wider participation of male citizens in sporting activities, must have made the attempts of the wealthiest elites to implement exclusive access to some sporting events stand out as incongruous. Successful elite athletes adapted by shifting their sport victory narrative to include explicit references to the community and the glory it derived from the athlete’s achievements. This new discourse of elite sport victory commemoration is apparent in epinician poetry (poems written to celebrate athletic and equestrian victories) as well as in inscribed victor monuments, primarily statues, that were displayed in Panhellenic sanctuaries such as Olympia and the victor’s city.5 In other words, even though elites, because of their control of plentiful financial resources and leisure time for training and travel, continued to have an edge in top-tier sport, during the late Archaic and Classical periods it became increasingly more difficult for them to assert success in track and field or combat events as exclusively intertwined with social status. That role was now fulfilled by equestrian competitions, a truly exclusive sport that required ostentatious financial outlays beyond the reach of the overwhelming majority of Greeks. The way late Archaic elites perceived equestrian sport is aptly illustrated in an episode involving the patriarchs of two powerful Athenian families, Cimon the Elder and Peisistratus (Herodotus 6.103.1–4). Cimon won his first Olympic victory in the four-horse chariot-race (tethrippon) in 536 BCE , while in exile from Athens at a time when Peisistratus was firmly in control of Athens as tyrant. Before the Olympic Games of 532, Peisistratus and Cimon came to an agreement according to which the Athenian tyrant would be announced as the owner and winner of the event if Cimon’s horses once again won the Olympic tethrippon. Cimon’s team was indeed victorious, and Peisistratus was recorded as Olympic victor. As a result, Cimon was given permission to return to Athens, where he continued to pursue horse-breeding and racing and won another Olympic crown in the tethrippon in 528. The private arrangement between Peisistratus and Cimon over the Olympic tethrippon victory of 532 was

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symptomatic of a perception of equestrian sport victories as individual achievements, i.e. devoid of any strong connection to the community at large, and as privileged possessions of social elites (Papakonstantinou 2013). The exorbitant amounts spent on equestrian sport in the late Archaic and Classical periods, when the dominant trend in politics, in some cities at least, was toward egalitarianism, created ambivalent attitudes toward that form of sport among non-elites. That was despite the fact that sport was indisputably popular and that athletic victors, including those who hailed from the social elite, were by and large respected and admired. However, in the case of Classical Athens, the aversion to the excesses of equestrian sport at times bordered on enmity and ideological conflict. A well-documented case concerns Megakles, a member of the powerful Alcmaeonid family and a public figure who was exiled in 486 and again in 471 BCE . Megakles was a keen horse breeder and racer with a victory in the tethrippon at the Pythian Games at Delphi; that victory was celebrated in an epinician ode (Pythian 7) written by the renowned poet Pindar. If we are to believe ostraka (pottery sherds used to record votes to decide if a prominent citizen, seen as a potential threat to the community, should be exiled) unearthed in Athens, Megakles also had the reputation of being avaricious and a flamboyant womanizer. But it was his horse breeding that numerous ostraka single out as evidence for his unsuitability for public life (Brenne 2002: #T 1/101–5, 12–14).6 Besides these ostraka, other sources confirm the impression that during the fifth and fourth centuries BCE Athenians maintained a love–hate relationship toward chariot-racing. Even in public discourse, a relatively reliable bellwether on public opinion, success in equestrian sport could be presented either as an asset or a liability, a reflection of the ambivalent attitudes of the Athenian public toward elites who participated in equestrian contests (see, for example, Demosthenes 21.145; Hypereides 1.16; Lycurgus 1.139–40; Lysias 19.63).7

ACCOMMODATION IN THE HELLENISTIC AND ROMAN PERIODS The expansion of Greek sport culture starting in the Hellenistic period and continuing through the Roman Imperial period was a turning point in the history of Greek sport that helps illuminate how sport could operate as a medium for inclusion and accommodation. In the wake of Alexander’s conquest of much of the Middle East (in the years 334–323 BCE ) and the subsequent movement of large numbers of Greek speakers into that area, the geographic range of Greek culture expanded considerably. In addition, as the Roman Empire spread east and incorporated the Greek world, Greeks and culture filtered into regions that had remained largely closed to them before. Greeks brought sport with them wherever they went, so the geographic

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expansion of the Greek world resulted in the concomitant expansion of the areas in which sport was played regularly and seriously (van Nijf 1999; van Nijf 2001). This expanding Greek sport culture in the Hellenistic and Roman periods can be measured in three, interrelated ways: a) the emergence of agonistic benefaction as a means of social distinction for civic elites, a process that fueled the growth of competitive sport and gymnasium training at the local level; b) strong interest by elites in competing successfully in the growing number of local athletic contests; and c) the heightened visibility, in the epigraphic record as well as in the material remains of ancient cities, of sport-related institutions (e.g. the ephebeia) and venues (gymnasia, stadia) that served in part as venues for inclusion and accommodation. Nevertheless, conflict and elitism in sport continued in the Hellenistic and Roman periods. Equestrian sport retained its prominence as an iconic elite status-marker until the second century BCE but gradually faded out of the main stage of Greek competitive sport during the late Hellenistic and Roman Imperial periods. Even though victors in equestrian events are attested in major games such as the Olympics during the Roman Imperial period, equestrian events are rarely documented in local games. This clearly indicates a lack of interest, but not necessarily material deprivation, by civic elites. These elites continued to be interested in sport as a token of social distinction, but the shift of interest away from equestrian sport suggests that fundamentally this was a question of representation. Elites, in other words, were interested primarily in engaging in sport or sport-related activities that most effectively demonstrated to their communities their assertion that they were best suited for the positions of social and political power that they enjoyed. In the late Hellenistic and Roman Imperial periods, such claims were best articulated through agonistic benefactions, manifested mainly through the sponsorship of civic gymnasia and local games. Elites willing to underwrite the expenses for such activities were endowed with civic titles (e.g. gymnasiarchos, ag¯onothet¯es) and showered with honors, including proclamations, symbolic crowns, and publicly displayed statuary. This movement toward elite funding of sporting contests and athletic training facilities took place during a time marked by a stark reversion of the trend toward social and political egalitarianism that can be documented for preceding centuries.8 In addition to agonistic benefactions, civic elites of the late Hellenistic and Roman periods turned to competition and victory in local contests (themides), many sponsored by the same elites or members of their families, to further consolidate their hold on power and influence. The penchant of civic elites for athletic victories in local games was especially prominent in cities of Asia Minor. Organizers could easily adapt the program and participation requirements for these local games to ensure that their social peers had a better chance to achieve

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a victory. For instance, many of these local contests included only a handful of events in their program—usually combat events and sometimes one or two running events. Moreover, many of these local contests, especially those in smaller and less-cosmopolitan cities, were open only to citizens. These factors, combined with the low-value material prizes offered to the victors of these games, significantly reduced the chances of top-level athletes competing there.9 Even though it appears that organizers often did encourage citizens to compete, the set-up certainly favored the wealthy elites who had the time and resources to invest in training. An honorary inscription of the second or early third century CE from the city of Xanthos in Asia Minor commemorates the victory of Pankalos son of Moukianos in the men’s wrestling in the first iteration of a local themis sponsored by the estate of the deceased local benefactor Kassianus Agrippa (TAM II.301). Pankalos had to compete for nine rounds to achieve his victory, a fact that suggests a field of at least 257 competitors, an astonishing number for a contest of this caliber (Crowther 1992a: 69).10 Pankalos, as the inscription prominently records, was the son of a distinguished man who had held many civic offices; he was, in other words, a member of the office-holding civic elite. Honorary inscriptions from Xanthos suggest a similar pattern of extensive elite participation in the themis mentioned above, and attest the dominance by those elites in the commemoration of their victories in those contests (see TAM II.303-5, with TAM II.302 and 306 possibly commemorating victories of non-elite athletes). Xanthos was not an isolated case. The epigraphic commemoration of victories in local themides during the Roman Imperial period strongly suggests that accentuating entrenched social divisions between the elites and the remainder of the community was one of the unspoken objectives of these games. The Meleagria games, a themis held from c. 158 CE in the city of Balboura in Asia Minor, was in principle open to all citizens of Balboura, but in effect the contest was dominated by the local ruling elite. Moreover, and contrary to Xanthos, it is likely that the pool of contestants was very small, in which case the athletes of elite backgrounds would have had an additional advantage. A victory monument for Troilos celebrated his victories in the wrestling and the stadion race in two iterations of the Meleagria (Milner 1991: #5; dated c. 180 CE ). Troilos’s brother Mousaios won the pankration and the stadion race in the following celebration of the Meleagria (Milner 1991: #6; dated c. 190 CE ), and his son Aurelius Simonides was victor in the men’s wrestling in the same games (Milner 1991: #8; soon after 212 CE ). In their victory monuments, all three are identified as men “from the most honorable among us.” Identification with the elite is deliberate and conspicuous in the extant monuments for victors in the Meleagria. A Mousaios, hailing from a different family from the one just discussed, won the men’s wrestling in the fourth iteration of the Meleagria in c. 170 CE (Milner 1991: #3). Six lines of

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his twenty-line victory inscription are taken up by a description of Mousaios’s distinguished pedigree, stretching back several generations. It is difficult to gauge how non-elites perceived and dealt with the blatant efforts of local dignitaries in Greek and Hellenized communities under Roman rule to use sport in order to validate a strict hierarchical model of social organization. There can be no doubt that local and interstate athletic competitions enjoyed considerable popularity until the end of the third century CE and in some cases beyond that. Some evidence suggests that citizens could use public occasions such as processions, agonistic festivals, and entertainments for voicing their concerns and even their opposition to the status quo (Papakonstantinou 2019b). But it appears that any such incidents were spatially isolated, episodic, and ineffective in changing the big picture. As far as opportunities for competition are concerned, any talented athlete of non-elite background who wished to enter the world of professional athletics would have had to secure funding through a combination of sponsorship and victories in games that offered monetary prizes. Regarding sponsorship, there are some telling examples from the early Hellenistic period concerning athletes from Ephesos and Ptolemaic Egypt (P. Lond. VII 1941; I.Ephesos 1416 and 2005). The emergence of circuits of local games, especially in Greece and western Asia Minor, offering monetary prizes must have facilitated somewhat the efforts of talented athletes who needed to raise the money necessary for a professional career. This strong element of exclusiveness in sport in the Hellenistic and Roman periods was, to a certain extent, counterbalanced by heightened degrees of permeability in terms of access to sporting venues. Athletic training and competition venues had been prominent features of the civic landscape of Greek cities since the late Archaic period (Romano 1993; Trombetti 2013; see also Chapter 3 in this volume). During the Hellenistic and Roman Imperial periods, these sites retained their primary function, but also gradually became more integrated in the public and ceremonial life of their city through festivals and other civic performances. Even small communities had a stadium and some games. Gymnasia were also ubiquitous and centrally positioned in the urban landscapes of Greek cities. The mid-size city of Iasos in Asia Minor, for instance, had four gymnasia (I.Iasos 84), while the city of Pergamon had seven (IvP III.37). Even though it is not always clear whether such references to multiple gymnasia refer to different venues or training groups, the sense of athletic effervescence is inescapable. In many cases gymnasia were formally named after donors or dignitaries—in the case of Iasos we are aware of the Ptolemaion (I.Iasos 98, 36) and the Antiocheion gymnasia (I.Iasos 93, 22), both named after monarchs who ruled kingdoms set up after Alexander’s conquests. These venues accommodated the training needs of different age-groups of citizens, as suggested by the fact

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that different gymnasiarchs (magistrates in charge of gymnasia) for the young men (neoi) (I.Iasos 122–3; 248; 250; 255) and the elderly (I.Iasos 87, 3–4; 245–6; 250) are attested.11 This pattern was widely replicated in Greek communities of the Hellenistic and Roman periods (see, for example, (MDAI(A) 32 (1907) 257, 8, l. 49, Pergamon, late Hellenistic and I.Didyma 286, Didyma, Imperial period). Eligibility to train in the gymnasium was often extended to non-citizens of free status, including at times Romans. Non-citizens are in many cases attested among the participants in the civic and military training system for young males known as the ephebeia (e.g. MDAI(A) 35 (1910) 422, 11, Pergamon, late Hellenistic) or as contestants in games held in gymnasia (e.g. IG XII.9.952, Chalkis, late second century BCE ) in honor of Hermes and Heracles, i.e. games that were normally open only to young male citizens and other trainees in a local gymnasium. The fact that select non-citizens often had the right to train in a city’s gymnasia is also indicated by the fact that during the Imperial period some gymnasiarchs were designated as “for the citizens” (I.Didyma 253, 258, Imperial; SEG 4.425 Miletus, Imperial; IvP II.467 Pergamon, Imperial; IGR 3.833, a-b, Iotape, mid-second century CE ), suggesting that, in certain years, the expenses for the non-citizen trainees were covered by the city or a different benefactor. The picture regarding the social background of the habitués of Greek gymnasia during the Hellenistic and Roman eras is far from clear. In terms of opportunities for the non-elite to practice and compete in sport, recent studies have suggested that the ephebeia was in general more inclusive than once thought, as it admitted not only the scions of the richest families, but also boys from middling social backgrounds (Hin 2007; Laes and Strubbe 2014: 104– 20). But were members of the lowest socio-economic orders and subaltern groups encouraged by civic authorities and private benefactors to train in a gymnasium? A first-century CE list of participants in the upper gymnasium in the city of Thespiai near Athens includes, among others, a woman, a tanner, a painter, and one Euelpistos, described as d¯emosios (a slave?) (IG VII.1777). In general, however, the evidence that exists about this issue is ambivalent. In the city of Kaunos in Asia Minor, a Quintus Vedius Capito served four times as gymnasiarch for people of “all age-groups and social classes” (I.Kaunos 139, IIIc, ll. 4–5, second century CE ; cf. I.Stratonikeia 281, 295b, 309, 705). Should we read this literally and infer that non-elite citizens regularly trained in the gymnasia of Kaunos under the sponsorship of Capito? Or was this merely a periphrastic way of denoting Capito’s boundless generosity, and hence one should not draw specific conclusions regarding the social composition of the trainees in the gymnasia of Kaunos? On another occasion, we even hear in an inscription from the city of Dorylaion in Asia Minor of a gymnasiarch “for the free and slaves” as well as a

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gymnasiarch for women (OGIS 2.479, first or second century CE ). One has to distinguish at this point between the regular daily activities of a gymnasium, i.e. training for ephebes and athletes, and the special-occasion activities, e.g. banquets (Mango 2004) and comprehensive donations of olive oil (Kennell 2001; Fröhlich 2009), that occurred during major civic festivals. Although a case can be made that, in a small number of Greek communities, members of subaltern groups, such as workers in manual low-prestige professions, women, and even slaves, could to some extent partake in the regular activities of the gymnasium, in most cases their association with the main training venue of their city was restricted to special-occasion activities.12 It is likely therefore that in the case of Dorylaion, the references to gymnasiarchs for women and slaves probably allude to the temporary privileges, documented in other Greek cities of the Roman Imperial period, regarding access to the gymnasium and the use of olive oil granted to women and slaves during civic festivals or other celebrations.13 All these examples paint a picture of the Hellenistic and Roman gymnasium that was habitually frequented, for the purposes of training or as part of a festival, by citizens of all ages and select non-citizens as well as, on special occasions, women and slaves. Greek gymnasia during the Hellenistic and Roman periods, in other words, were places where potential conflicts arising out of status differences could be temporarily accommodated in order to create relatively inclusive social spaces. In the remainder of this paper, I will further explore, through a case study, this role of the gymnasium as a social space and as a setting for enacting integration and accommodation. More specifically I will examine the epigraphic evidence for the festivals for Zeus and Hekate in the city of Stratonikeia in Asia Minor, with a particular focus on the process of integrating women, slaves, and other subaltern groups in the activities of the local gymnasia. I will also survey instances of hybridization of Greek and Roman sport cultures in Stratonikeia and other cities in the Greek-speaking east during the Roman Imperial period.

INTEGRATION AND ACCOMMODATION BY MEANS OF SPORT IN STRATONIKEIA14 In ancient Greece, agonistic festivals were popular occasions of communal worship, camaraderie, and leisure. For Greek cities these festivals, especially the ones that attracted audiences from beyond the borders of the host city, were also an expedient means through which to articulate and represent to residents and the outside world critical constituents of their shared values and community history. In addition to their role as training venues and sites of memory, during those festivals, the gymnasium and other athletic facilities became the focus of special events aimed at presenting an image of co-existence and integration

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between the civic elites and other social groups, including those of lower status. This function of agonistic festivals in general, and of the gymnasium in particular, is well illustrated in a rich epigraphic dossier, mostly of the Roman Imperial period, from the city of Stratonikeia in Asia Minor. Stratonikeia, a city located in the interior of Caria, was founded in the third century BCE , and its territory gradually grew so that by the mid-second century BCE it comprised surrounding villages with their sanctuaries, including those of Hekate in Lagina and Zeus in Panamara, located on opposite ends of the territory of the city-state. Even though other cults and sanctuaries are attested for Roman Stratonikeia, the sanctuaries and festivals for Hekate and Zeus were clearly the most important.15 These festivals were conducted in a manner that engaged and connected, through processions and other rituals, the respective sanctuaries, the countryside, and the urban center of Stratonikeia. In addition to the large number of inscriptions dealing with most aspects of the festivals for these two deities, the centrality of Zeus Panamaros and Hekate in the religious life of Stratonikeia is also suggested by the fact that, in the Imperial period, civic authorities established a daily ritual of procession and hymn-singing to these two deities by a choir of 30 noble boys (I.Stratonikeia 1101, early third century CE ). The majority of the extant inscriptions illuminating the operation of festivals in Stratonikeia honor local elites that had served as priests in one or both of the major sanctuaries. During the Roman Imperial period the priesthoods of Hekate and Zeus became the main avenue for the performance of civic benefactions. As a result, wealthy men and women who served in the priesthoods of Zeus or Hekate were eager to record their service and enumerate the diverse benefactions they bestowed on the city. The epigraphic record makes evident that already by the second century BCE the festivals celebrated in these sanctuaries were major regional events. These festivals also had international pretensions: during the Hellenistic and Imperial periods civic authorities systematically attempted to establish a network, involving as many states as possible, of recognition of the inviolability of the sanctuaries and of the Panhellenic status of the games in these festivals. Such attempts to promote an interstate festival usually occurred in the immediate aftermath of its establishment or during a formal overhaul, which at times also included re-naming, that aimed at upgrading the status of the festival in the eyes of the outside world.16 In the case of Stratonikeia, we are well informed about the successful attempts to re-launch and rebrand the festival of Hekate during the first century BCE . Following a grant of new territory to Stratonikeia as well as a grant of inviolability to the sanctuary of Hekate by Rome in 81 BCE , the festival of Hekate was re-organized and celebrated as a penteteric (held every fourth year) festival that was shared between Hekate and the goddess Roma. The Hekatesia-

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Romea included an athletic contest (ag¯on), and the new arrangement was approved by over 65 cities, most of them located in mainland Greece and Asia Minor (I.Stratonikeia 507–8). The priests for the cults of Zeus and Hekate served for one year and usually in male/female pairs, often consisting of husband and wife. Even though priests could act in a supervisory capacity for any aspect of the festivals under their remit, especially during the Imperial period the provision of the necessary financial resources for the organization and conduct of the festival was clearly the main requirement/expectation of the position. Particularly important in that regard were the agonistic and recreational aspects of the festivals. Civic benefaction was a competitive process, and the social capital a benefactor accrued was usually commensurate to their spending. Non-elites living in provincial cities like Stratonikeia had limited opportunities to engage in communal leisure activities, especially if they were not willing to travel far outside their city. Hence when such opportunities presented themselves, inhabitants much appreciated, and as time went on came to expect, that their civic leaders put up a complete package of entertainment with games, theatrical and musical performances, banquets, and distributions of olive oil, food, and money. Although not many details survive regarding the athletic games held at the Stratonikeian festivals of the Hekatesia and Panamareia, comparative evidence suggests that these games must have been a major attraction. As far as the Hekatesia is concerned, during the late Hellenistic period the festival appears to have had a full athletic program with contests for different age-groups, a fact that tallies with the diplomatic efforts of Stratonikeians, discussed above, to promote these games.17 It is likely that the Panamareia as well had a program with diverse athletic competitions and that other established contests existed.18 Priests, hailing from the ruling elite, usually acted as ag¯onothetai (contest organizers) and covered most or all of the costs for these athletic contests. An example of such an all-around benefactor of sport and popular entertainments in Stratonikeia was T. Flavius Aeneas, a local notable active in the second century CE , who had served as ambassador to Rome and was selfstyled as “loving his country” and “son of the city.” Both were common addedvalue titles that indicated a record of civic service and elevated social standing (I.Stratonikeia 1025.1–7). Among his numerous benefactions, Aeneas served as priest of Zeus Panamaros and financed the athletic contest ek t¯on idi¯on, i.e. he shouldered the totality of the expenses without any contributions from another benefactor, an established endowment, or the civic treasury (I.Stratonikeia 1025.21–3). The same Aeneas also funded gladiatorial shows and beast-hunts while serving as high-priest of the imperial cult (I.Stratonikeia 1025.11–13). On yet another occasion Aeneas financed akroamata, i.e. musical and theatrical performances that were held during a major festival (I.Stratonikeia 210.9). Such performances were a familiar and popular occurrence in local festivals

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during the Imperial period; hence priests-benefactors were often eager to sponsor them as well. A significant fraction of the funding provided by the priests was directed toward activities in the city’s gymnasia. The gymnasia were in fact so deeply integrated into the fabric of the festivals that priests very often assumed the title and responsibilities of gymnasiarch for the duration of the most important festival of their priesthood. These were, in other words, short-term gymnasiarchiai that lasted only a few days but that were prominently recorded by members of the elite serving as priests because of the exorbitant expenses involved.19 Oftentimes these festival gymnasiarchiai were extended beyond the duration of a festival as the priests stretched their generosity. The Panamareia festival, for instance, lasted ten days and many priests served as gymnasiarchs for its entire duration (I.Stratonikeia 202.24–7; 218.4–5; 316.5–7). Claudius Ulpius Aelius Asclepiades and his wife Ulpia Aelia Plautilla proudly declared that they were the first to extend their Panamareia gymnasiarchia from ten to thirty days (I.Stratonikeia 309.17–18). Sometime later, another pair of priests of Zeus Panamaros provided entertainments, gifts, and services for a total of 34 days on the occasion of the Panamareia (I.Stratonikeia 310.16–17). For the festivals of Hekate and Hera (I.Stratonikeia 224.8), we hear of gymnasiarchiai taken on by the priests of these cults lasting 22 days (I.Stratonikeia 311.19–20), and on another occasion a pair of priests for Hekate served as gymnasiarchs for 32 days (I.Stratonikeia 1446.8). The language used for describing these gymnasiarchiai is indicative of the expectations that the festival participants had of these wealthy donors, as well as of the nature of the services provided to the community. But what exactly did these festive gymnasiarchiai consist of? The provision of abundant quantities of olive oil (used by athletes and non-athletes alike for a variety of purposes including as a skin lotion) was a priority. Ideally, priests/gymnasiarchs strove to supply an uninterrupted supply of oil in the city’s gymnasia and baths during day and night. Hence Publius Aelius Hekatomnos, a priest of Zeus Panamaros and gymnasiarch for the Panamareia, is described as providing unlimited quantities of fine-quality oil in basins that were continuously accessible during both day and night (I.Stratonikeia 247.15–19). On occasion, and in addition to oil, priests also made available unguents (e.g. I.Stratonikeia 203.14–15; 205.16–17) and perfumes, i.e. scented oil (e.g. I.Stratonikeia 202.31–2; 242.19–20; 281.11). Who had access to the oils, anointments, and perfumes that these priests/ gymnasiarchs so liberally donated? According to the honorary inscriptions, civic elites performed their duties as priests and gymnasiarchs to the benefit of all individuals regardless of age, social position, or legal status (πσ λικ  κα τχ; e.g. I.Stratonikeia 192; 199; 222; 224; 281; 309; 310–11; 527). In practical terms that meant that virtually everyone who attended the festival could walk into a gymnasium or other designated locations (usually the baths

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or a temple) and avail themselves of free olive oil and other kinds of donations. That included a host of individuals who would not normally have access to the gymnasium. Hence, in addition to males of citizen status of all ages, visiting foreigners, residents of nearby communities, and even women and at times slaves, were the recipients of these benefactions.20 Honorary inscriptions are particularly forthcoming in providing details for the gifts and distributions provided to women and slaves, undoubtedly because benefaction that was customized toward these groups was unusual and occurred only on special festive days. In one case Tiberius Flavius Aeneas and Flavia Paulina made available at the Heraion (a sanctuary dedicated to Hera) oil and perfumes to all women, invited all free and slave women to a feast with abundant wine, and gave to each of them three drachmai of coined money (I.Stratonikeia 202.30–8). In most cases women received the oil donated by priests in the female baths (e.g. I.Stratonikeia 205.17–19; 311.21–2). As in other cities, we also hear of a gymnasiarch for women in Stratonikeia (I.Stratonikeia 242), a term that denotes the official who underwrote all the expenses related to the provision of oil, banquets, and other related gifts to women during festivals. Of special note are the banquets held for women, as well as for men, in a very inclusive manner that reflected the principles behind the distributions of oil and gifts. While serving as priest of Hera and annual gymnasiarch, T. Claudius Kyrinas provided an all-women banquet at the Heraion for citizens, Romans, visiting foreigners, residents of nearby communities, and many slaves (I.Stratonikeia 172.9–10). The same priest-gymnasiarch also provided a banquet in the Komyrion temple for males from those same groups. On other occasions, men and women dined together, as the wording in some honorary inscriptions suggests that some of these banquets accepted individuals of all genders and social classes (I. Stratonikeia 344.1–3). The gymnasia of Stratonikeia, with their spacious courtyards, were ideal venues for hosting banquets. We are in fact aware that during festival days gymnasia sometimes doubled as dining halls for community banquets (I.Stratonikeia 170.7–8; 1025.17–20). Depending on the arrangements made by the benefactors and the civic authorities, women were sometimes also invited to join the banquets hosted in gymnasia (I.Stratonikeia 181.14–17). The major agonistic festivals of Stratonikeia were therefore comprehensive civic performances that afforded to their audiences the opportunity to savor diverse entertainments and receive gifts. All residents and visitors, including those of lower social and legal statuses, were encouraged and expected to partake actively in the festivities. The gymnasia, the venues of athletic training, took center stage in these proceedings especially through the distribution of oil, a practice that was almost synonymous with their operation. In other words the gymnasia of Stratonikeia, venues that as comparative evidence suggests normally enforced strict admission rules, were transformed for the duration of the major agonistic festivals from venues of restricted access to free civic spaces in which

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intermingling and interaction between individuals of diverse genders, ages, and social standings were the norm. These days of collective civic merriment and interaction were accomplished, according to the emphatic and eulogizing tone adopted by honorary monuments, under the aegis of the munificent civic elite. We will never know what people at the receiving end of this elite generosity thought of the temporary civic accommodation and suspension of certain rules that civic festivals afforded them. We have no reason to disbelieve that women, slaves, village-dwellers as well as other individuals of subaltern status actually looked forward to festivals and enjoyed some leisure time filled with games, banquets, and gifts. But the fact that individuals of subaltern statuses exercised their personal agency and took advantage of these occasions could not disguise the everyday conditions in which they lived, and these short-lived handouts may have highlighted their inferior position that made them beholden to their elite benefactors. Be that as it may, honorary monumental inscriptions, produced at the command and to the liking of the same elites that expended their resources in benefactions, portray the Stratonikeia games, gymnasia, and festivals in a manner that glosses over all conflicts and grievances that, as comparative evidence suggests, must have existed in the implementation of such complex programs of rituals and entertainments. The honorary narrative reflected a set of carefully crafted and staged civic performances that presented a particular image to residents of Stratonikeia and to the outside world. Cult and sport, two inextricable and powerful Greek cultural signifiers, were in this case employed to promote and represent, to a certain extent misleadingly, to contemporaries and future readers of the commemorative inscriptions a pious, prosperous, effectively-governed, and socially harmonious community.

A HYBRID GRECO-ROMAN CULTURE OF SPORT A parallel development to the proliferation of games and festival-based benefactions in the Greek-speaking world of the Eastern Mediterranean during the Roman Imperial period was the emergence of a hybrid Greco–Roman culture of sport in much of the same area. Due to conditions of social organization and choices of representation discussed in previous sections, especially in connection with the dominance of civic elites in agonistic benefaction, the hybridization of Greek and Roman sport is abundantly attested, particularly in Asia Minor and mainland Greece. Broadly, this process of hybridization involved a partial de-contextualization of Roman sport and its subsequent investiture with local meanings, i.e. its re-contextualization in the Greek world. The result was the emergence of an intercultural space within which meanings and identities articulated through sport were negotiated from both a Greek and a Roman perspective.21

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We have already encountered T. Flavius Aeneas, a Stratonikeian benefactor of the second century CE , whose honorary inscription records, in addition to a long list of public services, his sponsorship of gladiatorial shows and beast hunts while serving as high-priest of the imperial cult (I.Stratonikeia 1025.11–13). This is, in many respects, a typical case of how members of the civic ruling elites approached and represented gladiatorial munera and beast hunts (venationes), the two most popular forms of Roman sport in the Greek-speaking east under Roman rule. Roman-style sport was usually (although not exclusively) an integral part of the imperial cult, and so it was a relatively late addition, in comparison to Greek-style games, to the agonistic and performative life of Greek cities. Moreover, and again similar to Aeneas from Stratonikeia, it was quite common for civic benefactors to be active in sponsoring and representing in honorary monuments, with all the symbolism that these acts entailed, both Greek and Roman-style games and venues. Additional symptoms of the gradual hybridization of Greek and Roman sport in the eastern Mediterranean included the overlapping tropes of commemoration of athletes active in Greek or Roman sport as well as in many cases the sharing of venues of performance, which were usually architectural cross-breeds of Greek stadia and Roman arenas. In Stratonikeia itself, these patterns are well-documented. We hear, for instance, of a pair of priests of Zeus Panamaros and Hekate who served as gymnasiarchs during the celebration of the relevant festivals, but who also sponsored gladiatorial combats (munera) and staged beast hunts (venationes) in honor of their parents, i.e. ostensibly on the occasion of their funerals (I. Stratonikeia 303). The fact that Roman-style sport was integrated in Stratonikeian civic life is also suggested by funerary monuments of deceased gladiators who fought and died locally (I.Stratonikeia 1015–16). Another case study that exemplifies these trends concerns Claudius Rufrius Menon and Baebia Magna, a husband and wife pair of benefactors from Thessaloniki (in the region of Macedonia in northern Greece). In the years 252–260 CE , three inscriptions were erected in the marketplace (agora) of their city with the objective of advertising future gladiatorial munera and venationes sponsored by the pair on three different occasions.22 Rufrius Menon was a prolific benefactor in Roman Macedonia, and by the time he co-sponsored Roman-style sport, he had held various religious, civic, and governmental positions, including ag¯onothet¯es for life for the Alexandreia games of the confederacy (koinon) of Macedonians, as well as ag¯onothet¯es for the Caesareia Pythia. In addition to these Greek agonistic benefactions, Rufrius Menon and Baebia Magna sponsored in the year 252 CE three days of gladiatorial fights and beast hunts in Beroia, the capital of the Macedonian koinon (SEG 49.815). The performances included 18 pairs of gladiators as well as staged hunts of various kinds of local animals (18 of each kind). The pair also sponsored Roman-style

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sport in Thessaloniki in 259 and 260 CE (SEG 49.816–17). The inscription for the games of 260 CE is better preserved, so we can gauge some details of logistics. Not having the stature of Beroia, the games offered in Thessaloniki were of a reduced scale: they lasted only one day, comprising two pairs of gladiators, six imported animals (leopards, hyenas, and perhaps a lion) as well as four of each from the category of local animals. The attention to detail in that inscription, especially regarding the munera and venationes organized in Thessaloniki, was symptomatic of the novelty and exoticism that such games still represented for the inhabitants of a city of that size. In administrative centers with a stronger Roman presence, e.g. Ancyra, Roman-style games were more regular and popular events, as suggested by their magnitude. For instance, there is evidence for 30 and in another instance 50 pairs of gladiators performing on a single occasion of gladiatorial munera held in Ancyra.23 Venationes are also frequently mentioned among the services performed by the priests of Augustus in Ancyra.24 Among the same class of priests, and in addition to the public commemoration of their sponsoring of gladiatorial munera and venationes, many explicitly advertised their involvement in the organization of Greek-style ag¯ones and the provision of copious amounts of anointing oil for extended periods of time.25 To complicate the picture of cultural hybridity even further, most of the priests of the imperial cult in Ancyra who sponsored munera and venationes appear to have been of Celtic origin, and some had taken up Greek names.26 At the height of Roman presence in the Greek-speaking world Roman games vied with Greek ag¯ones in popularity and even though, from a quantitative point of view, overall more resources were expended for the latter, honorary monuments for benefactors suggest that for civic elites and audiences the sponsorship of Roman-style sport could elicit the same social distinction as the funding of Greek games and gymnasium activities. The key in explaining this development was representation in Greek cultural terms: by the second century CE , most of Roman sport practiced in the Greek-speaking east was embedded into the long-established tradition of Greek civic festivals with strong athletic components and hence was thoroughly re-contextualized.

CONCLUSION Starting in the early Archaic period Greek sport served as an agent and a catalyst of differentiation and homogenization, conflict and accommodation. Civic elites invested in sport participation and benefaction as a means to promote their public profile and to consolidate a set of values that favored hierarchical social stratification. Such ideological exploitation of sport was more difficult to sustain after the end of the Archaic period, when trends toward political and social egalitarianism emerged in parts of Greece. Participation in athletic

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training and competitive sport widened, although many were still de facto or de iure excluded from playing sport. During the Hellenistic and Roman Imperial periods, a time of multicultural empires and centralization of power in the hands of few families at the city level, residents of subaltern social and legal statuses were often allowed to access and participate in activities of the gymnasium (but rarely, it seems, in training) during special occasions, mainly civic festivals with international pretensions. The elites who financed these festivals and civic authorities systematically portrayed this temporary integration of those normally excluded from the gymnasia as contributing to and reflecting a stable and peaceful polity that flourished, according to the narrative espoused in honorary inscriptions, under the guidance of the benevolent ruling class. The introduction and gradual hybridization of Greek sporting traditions and Roman-style sport also took root during the Roman Imperial period. The same civic elites that promoted and sponsored Greek games were behind the production of Roman-style sport as well. Organization, benefaction, and competition in Roman sport were, as a result, by and large integrated into the material conditions and discourses of Greek athletic commemoration.

NOTES 1. In our ancient sources, direct criticism and conflict by those excluded from sport are often muted and difficult to reconstruct, but see Papakonstantinou 2014 and Mammel 2014 for overviews of the range of criticisms of sport in the ancient world. 2. With regard to Roman sport, such issues are more directly tied to the specifics of Roman identity politics, and so one may consult Peter Miller’s chapter in this volume for further discussion. 3. For more examples, see Tremel 2004. 4. Regarding participation in sport in Classical Athens, see also Fisher 2011, who argues against the thesis by Pritchard, deployed in many articles and summarized in Pritchard 2013. 5. See e.g. the emphatic references to the victor’s city in Ebert 1972: #5 (end of sixth century BCE ); 6 (end of sixth century BCE ); 11 (first half of fifth century BCE ) and IAG 14 (c. 460 BCE ). See also Ebert 1972: #12 (early fifth century BCE ), for the image of a victorious athlete crowning his city; Ebert 1972: #15 (after 472 BCE ), an Olympic victor bestowing kleos on his city; Ebert 1972: 19 (470s or 460s BCE ), an athlete crowning his city (restored). For the victor and his community in epinician poetry, see Kurke 1991: 163–94. 6. See cf. also Brenne 2002 T 1/158, an ostrakon for the same Megakles, bearing an illustration of a horse rider. For other ostraka for Megakles as well as a discussion of the circumstances of his ostracisms, see Forsdyke 2005: 152–60, especially 55–6. 7. For attitudes toward equestrian competition in Classical Athens, see Golden 1997. 8. There is an extensive and growing literature on agonistic benefactions in the Greek world (especially Asia Minor) in the Hellenistic and Roman periods. Some of the more important relevant pieces of scholarship include Quaß 1993; Camia 2011;

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van Nijf 2012; and Papakonstantinou 2016 as well as the articles collected in Piérart, Curty, Codourey, and Piérart 2009 and Le Guen 2010. 9. In the Imperial period local games in smaller cities constituted “second-rank” regional circuits that were less appealing, in terms of the prizes offered or the prestige of victories won. These regional circuits contrasted to the circuit of top-rank games that included the periodos as well as games in major cities such as Athens, Ephesos, and Pergamon. 10. The highest possible number of competitors in a wrestling competition with nine rounds was 512. 11. For the term neoi collectively denoting the ephebes and young men in their twenties, see Kennell 2012: 232. For the neoi, see also van Bremen 2012. 12. In a law regulating the activities of the local gymnasium from Beroia in Macedonia, SEG 27.261 ll. 27–8, slaves and freedmen are expressly forbidden from training in the gymnasium. For a discussion of other evidence regarding the accessibility to the gymnasium by subaltern groups, see Kobes 2004. 13. For other sources related to women and the gymnasium during the Hellenistic and Roman Imperial periods, see Mantas 1995; Tsouvala 2015. 14. For a more detailed discussion of sport and popular entertainments in Imperial Stratonikeia, see Papakonstantinou 2019a: 158–63. 15. For the festivals of Stratonikeia, including those of Zeus and Hekate, see Debord 2007. For the technical terminology and other aspects of benefaction in Stratonikeia, see Laumonier 1937; Laumonier 1938a; Laumonier 1938b; Laumonier 1958; Aubriet 2013. For the priests and festivals of Stratonikeia and their role in the formation of civic identity, see Williamson 2012 and Williamson 2013. 16. For the best-documented case of this practice, see Rigsby 1996: 179–279 on Magnesia on the Maeander. Cf. also the discussion of the wider implications for the standing of a city vis-à-vis the rest of the Greek world in Ma 2003. 17. See Iscr. di Cos EV 203 (= IGR IV.1065), early first century BCE (before 81 BCE ); and I.Stratonikeia 547 (after the re-organization of 81 BCE ). 18. I.Stratonikeia 1005 refers to a penteteric ag¯on, but the context is not clear. 19. See e.g. I.Stratonikeia 185; 217–18; 244–5. 20. Visiting foreigners and Romans, e.g. I.Stratonikeia 172; 205; 244–5; 247–8; 310–11; 527; 663. Women, e.g.: I.Stratonikeia 172; 192; 205; 244; 248; 309; 352; 663; 706. Residents of nearby communities: I.Stratonikeia 172; 663; 1428. Slaves, e.g. I.Stratonikeia 15; 172; 202; 246; 255–6; 663. 21. For a more extensive analysis of this process, see Papakonstantinou 2019a: 175–82. 22. Velenis 1999. For text and commentary, see also SEG 49.815–17. The three inscriptions can be accurately dated to 252, 259, and 260 CE , respectively. 23. 30 pairs: Bosch 1967: #51, IV and XIV. 50 pairs: Bosch 1967: #51, IX. 24. Bosch 1967: #51, IV-VI; IX. 25. Greek-style ag¯ones: Bosch 1967: #51, VI; oil provision: Bosch 1967: #51, VI, VIII, IX, X, XI, XII, XV. 26. Mitchell 1993: 107–12.

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CHAPTER SIX

Segregation, Inclusion, and Exclusion* PETER J. MILLER

INTRODUCTION In a dialog from the second century CE , Lucian imagines the quasi-legendary Scythian wise man and philosopher Anacharsis visiting Athens and watching the activities in a gymnasium. The Athenian statesman Solon (a historical figure from the sixth century BCE ) explains the exercises and competitions to the bewildered foreigner (Anacharsis 7). Anacharsis is astonished that Greeks strip naked, oil themselves up, wrestle, box, run, and jump, all for the sake of a symbolic prize (Anacharsis 9). Solon is amused; the exercises, he says, strengthen the body and the soul; they prime the body for war and the mind for politics (Anacharsis 15). As Christian Mann has noted earlier in this volume, the Anacharsis may be seen as an ironic treatment of sport, but the dialog as a whole remains a useful source for writing the cultural history of Greek sport. Lucian’s Solon presents sport as intrinsic to the ancient Greek way of life, politically, socially, and culturally, and it is evident from this and other sources that sport in the Greek world was deeply implicated in marking identities of various kinds. For instance, a passion for athletic competition was, in the view of the Greeks themselves and in the view of modern scholars such as Jacob Burckhardt (J. Burckhardt 1998), a defining characteristic of Greek identity: participation in sport separated Hellenes (Greeks), who were athletes, from barbaroi (non-Greeks), who were not. For Greeks from Herodotus to Lucian and beyond, sport delimited the possibilities of social identity. 141

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In contrast to the situation in the Greek world, in Rome, social and political status were largely coterminous with a lack of participation in sport (with some exceptions, explored below). Nonetheless, sport in Rome was similar to that in Greece in that attendance at sporting events in amphitheaters and horse-racing tracks (circuses) was one of the constituent elements of Roman social identity, both in the view of contemporary Romans themselves and of modern scholars (Wiedemann 1992: 1).1 Cicero, for instance, considered the response of Roman citizens at the games a mirror of their political sensibilities: “for the opinion and feeling of the Roman People in public affairs can be most clearly expressed on three occasions: at a political gathering, at a meeting of the legislative assembly, at a gathering for games and gladiatorial shows” (Pro Sestio 106; trans. R. Gardner, modified). The seating areas of amphitheaters and circuses correlated to those public spheres in which Roman citizens used their political authority; politics and games were both contexts in which Romans enacted their identity as citizens. Sport in Greece and Rome was thus at one and the same time a reflection of identity and a performative space for its very creation. Various forms of restrictions on participation in and spectatorship of sport were, as a result, powerful means of instantiating inclusion and exclusion for both Greeks and Romans.2 This chapter begins with a brief discussion of the vexed notion of social status and ancient Greek sport before turning to two aspects of identity that were closely linked to sport in ancient Greece and Rome: political identity and gender.

SOCIAL STATUS AND SPORT IN GREECE In the Homeric poems (eighth century BCE ), some of the earliest textual sources for the period under consideration in this volume, social status and participation in sport are closely connected. In Book 8 of the Odyssey, the Phaiakian prince Euryalos mocks Odysseus for not participating in athletic contests staged in his honor and suggests that Odysseus is not suitable to participate because he is a merchant sailor, whose thoughts are focused on profit and cargo (8.158–64). Odysseus, of course, proves him wrong with a superlative discus throw, and therefore it is in the sporting act itself that a particular social status is defined and demonstrated. Sport itself is a venue for the demonstration of a putatively essential status, and one that, at least in the case of the Phaiakian Games, is a precondition for taking part in competitive sports. (See Chapters 1 and 8 for further discussion of this episode.) Any assessment of the nature of the connection between status and sport in later periods of Greek history is complicated by the fact that there is little evidence for status-based restrictions on access to sport, with the exception of late evidence forbidding slaves from competing at Olympia (Golden 2008: 42;

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cf. Xenophon Anabasis 4.8.27 where captive boys do participate in athletic games), and some evidence for restricted access to gymnasia (e.g. a secondcentury BCE inscription from Beroia in Macedonia which forbids, among others, slaves, freedmen, and “those engaged in commercial craft” from the gymnasium; Golden 2008: 40). Even these sources are complicated by a lack of comprehensive and early evidence for the existence of hierarchical social statuses—based on anything other than wealth—in ancient Greek poleis (city-states) at least beyond the critical distinction between free and slave.3 There is, however, some reason to think that in at least some poleis, citizenship was widespread among free-born males, even though participation in sport may still have been constrained to certain groups. The connection between social status and participation in sport has been a divisive issue in the contemporary reception of ancient sport. At the birth of the Modern Olympic movement, ancient athletes were understood as elites, “amateurs,” who did not earn money from their participation in the games, at least until the “vulgarization” of athletics that commenced with the introduction of so-called professionals in the Hellenistic period (323–31 BCE ) (Gardiner 1930: 99–116). While this modern myth has been debunked, the social class of ancient athletes continues to be debated. David Young argues that the elite status of ancient athletes is a mirage of sources and modern bias; he contends that progression, whereby victories in boys’ contests provided money for further training and travel, was possible even for poorer athletes (Young 1984: 158). Christian Mann regards Young’s theory as a reaction against the previously prevailing views of E. Norman Gardiner and others, who anachronistically retrojected nineteenth-century “amateurism” into antiquity (Mann 2001: 13– 20). Harry Pleket points out that sport remained tied to elite ideology and, in any case, prosopography supplies evidence for mass participation by elites (Pleket 1992: 141; cf. Kyle 1987 on Classical Athens). Regardless of specific participants, the prevailing ideology of Greek sport was predicated on elite definitions since sport was a contest of individuals that was connected with the martial exploits of epic heroes (Golden 1998: 161). As Mann suggests, the competitive drive to distinguish oneself is part of a particularly elite self-perception in Greece in the Archaic (c. 700–c. 480 BCE ) and Classical (c. 480–323 BCE ) periods (Mann 2001: 35–7); the pursuit of glory was characteristic of elites, whether in their athletic or political pursuits (Mann 2001: 14). Across decades, therefore, the same evidence has been interpreted in different ways, leading to something of a scholarly impasse, even as Classical scholarship influenced the organization of modern sports festivals. (For further discussion of the connection between social status and sport, see Chapters 1 and 5.) The paucity of evidence will continue to make the study of social status and ancient Greek sport contentious. In the remainder of this chapter, I focus

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instead on how status and political identity and status and gender intersected. Political identity and gender were central characteristics that delimited access to sport; moreover, status—most notably wealth, but also social standing and prestige—permitted access to sport even for those whose political identity or gender would otherwise restrict them. Therefore, an intersectional approach, one that recognizes how social status, wealth, gender, and political identity combined to allow access to sports, is a productive method in the face of otherwise ambiguous evidence.

SPORT AND POLITICAL IDENTITY Greece: The Olympics At the Olympic Games, but perhaps also at other Panhellenic festivals, participation was restricted to those athletes who could prove their Hellenic credentials by establishing (among other things) that they were members of a Greek community.4 Therefore, ancient Greek sport was highly politicized, since civic identities were implicated in the very rules of participation and competition. Olympia the sanctuary was not as exclusive as the Games themselves (Hall 2002: 159; see pp. 95–7 of that same work on the lack of ethnic exclusion at other sanctuaries); non-Greeks could visit at Olympia, but participation in the Olympics was severely curtailed. Herodotus’ story of the marriage of Agariste (set in the sixth century BCE ) connects Hellenic identity with the Olympic Games specifically. The tyrant of Sicyon, Cleisthenes, chooses the Olympics to announce a contest of sorts for the right to marry his daughter. Herodotus lists the suitors from across the Greek world (6.127), remarks that Cleisthenes inquired about each man’s lineage (6.128), and then concludes the story with the eventual selection of Megakles as Agariste’s husband (6.130). The correlation of the Olympic Games and the inquiry into descent and lineage in this story demonstrates that sport and the Olympics were the place to claim ethnic and political identities (Hall 2002: 156; Papakonstantinou 2010). Hellenic exclusivity at the Olympics is perhaps most evident through the presence at Olympia of the Hellanodikai, the “judges of the Greeks,” who, as Herodotus makes clear, were responsible for deciding whether or not a potential participant was Greek (5.22.2; cf. Pausanias 5.9.5; Christesen 2012a). The story of Alexander of Macedon underscores that ethnic identity could be challenged at Olympia—and proven. Herodotus (5.22) informs us that sometime in the first half of the fifth century BCE , King Alexander of Macedon (a region located on the northern edge of the Hellenic cultural sphere on the Greek mainland) came to Olympia to compete in the stadion race, but his eligibility to do so was challenged by the other competitors in the race on the

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grounds that he was not a Greek. Alexander argued that because his ancestors came from the impeccably Greek city of Argos he was in fact Greek; the Hellanodikai “judged him to be a Greek” and allowed Alexander to compete. As noted above, competitors at the Olympics had to be citizens of a community recognized by the Hellanodikai as Greek, and perhaps even more stringently, of a community that had accepted the ekecheiria (Olympic truce) and hosted the officials, theoroi, from the city-state of Elis who announced that truce (T. H. Nielsen 2004b: 107). Starting at least in the fourth century BCE , this hosting was institutionalized in the form of the theorodokos, an individual, probably from the upper-classes, whose function was to house the theoroi and mediate between them and the polis. The involvement of civic authorities, whether sending out ambassadors or hosting them, emphasizes the early politicizing of sport (T. H. Nielsen 2004b: 108). If participation in sport signaled the Hellenic credentials of oneself and one’s city, victory offered a way to memorialize a claim to ethnic and political identity. When the outcome of an athletic contest at Olympia and elsewhere was announced to the assembled crowd, the herald proclaimed the name of the victor as well as his father’s name and the name of his hometown; that announcement (the angelia) tied individual, familial, and political identities together (Wolicki 2002). (Prizes in the form of crowns were awarded to victors after all of the contests were concluded.) In the same vein, inscriptions on monuments commemorating athletic victories offered a record not only of victory, but also of political identity. Epigrams on statue bases gained some of their potency through the metaphorical transportation of audiences back in time to an unreal conflation of competition, proclamation, and coronation—all combined into one material form (Day 2010: 199). The intertwined connections between sport on one hand and ethnic and political identity on the other were arguably clearer at Olympia than anywhere else. Olympia was a potent and meaningful landscape in mythology and religion: the hill of Kronos, looming over the site, was named for the father of Zeus, supposedly by Zeus’ son Heracles (Pindar Olympian 10), and Heracles was said to have brought the first sacred olive trees (from which Olympic victors’ crowns were made) to the Sanctuary of Zeus at Olympia from the mythical land of the Hyperboreans (Pindar Olympian 3). Panhellenic sanctuaries, especially Olympia, had mundane importance as well since they were one of the few places in which an individual from any given Greek community could meet a diverse collection of people from across the Greek world. Finally, the scattering of victory dedications throughout the Sanctuary of Zeus and the primordial importance of sport and victory at Olympia—already regarded in antiquity as the most ancient of athletic sites—connected the site at a visceral level with a shared culture. At a site with so many powerful resonances, epigrams and their accompanying statues could tap into a heightened sense of time and history and the implicit

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meaning of every aspect of local geography. An epigram for an athletic victor named Tellon, for example, found reasonably intact at Olympia, utilizes Olympic geography to buttress its claims to the political importance of the small town of Oresthasion. The epigram was originally inscribed shortly after Tellon’s victory in 472 BCE , but it was re-inscribed in the first century BCE . The text, as far as can ascertained, remained the same: Tellon the son of Daemon a boxer dedicated this, an Arcadian Oresthasian [Arkas Oresthasios] and boy . . .5 While the epigram records Tellon’s polis identity as Oresthasian, an Olympic victor list found on a papyrus in Egypt (POxy II.222) identifies him as Mainalian (col. i, line 29); Mainalos was one of the tribal federations (ethn¯e) in the region of Arcadia in the fifth century BCE .6 The composer of Tellon’s epigram seems to have regarded the boy as Arcadian (note the use of the ethnic Arkas) even though no pan-Arcadian political entity existed at the time, and the term Arkas was typically used by non-Arcadians to refer to Arcadians. The locale of this declaration of Oresthasian and Arcadian identity should not be overlooked. Tellon’s epigram preserves a representation of his identity that stresses his Arcadian ethnicity and, simultaneously, the polis status of Oresthasion. In inscribing Oresthasion, the epigram implicitly preserves a history of visits by the Eleian theoroi to that small community, theoroi who would necessarily have been hosted in Oresthasion in order for Oresthasians to participate in the Olympics. In other words, the site of Tellon’s epigram reinforces both Tellon’s ethnic identity and Oresthasion’s polis identity: only at Olympia could such a bold claim to ethnic and political identity be established through so few words. This critical connection between identity (on multiple levels) and epigram may explain the re-inscription of Tellon’s epigram in the first century BCE , long after any descendant could conceivably have cared about the victories of a distant relative. This type of ethnic and political act of identification continued to have relevance, even as the Greek athletic world expanded in scope. In Egypt in the Hellenistic period, for example, there were only three poleis (Naucratis, Alexandria, Ptolemais), but athletes from Egypt who did not live in one of those three poleis regularly used the polis from which their forefathers had emigrated as a mark of ethnic identity (Höbl 2000; Remijsen 2010: 100). Thus, athletes who were actually living in Egypt and whose families had, in some cases, been there for several generations, may appear in the inscriptional or literary record as citizens of an older Greek polis. Most if not all of the athletes from Egypt who entered the contests at Olympia and elsewhere in the Hellenistic period were likely ethnic Greeks, as the names in the Olympic victor lists suggest (Remijsen 2010: 107). Still, even in a context when athletes from Egypt were

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likely Greco-Egyptians, ethnic and political identity could play a role. Polybius, for example, reports on the details of a boxing match at the Olympics in 212 BCE when the audience at first supported the Alexandrian competitor, only to be chided by the boxer from Thebes (a city in mainland Greece), who claimed that he was “fighting for the honor of Greece, Aristonikos [the Alexandrian] for that of King Ptolemy” (Polybius 27.9; trans. E.S. Shuckburgh). Old identities tied to place could be reactivated in an athletic context and used, if not to exclude, at least to denigrate opponents. Even as the Greek political situation changed dramatically and the geographic reach of Greek sport expanded, athletic practice remained tightly tied to “Hellenic” identity—itself a malleable ethnic and civic construct. Participation and victory in sport continued, therefore, to act as markers of a supposedly essential identity. Rome: Gladiators Roman sport, in many ways, simplified the interaction of social and political status with performance. In general, the Roman perspective was that performance separated Romans from non-Romans—but in a way that was diametrically opposed to the situation in the Greek world: respectable Romans were spectators of, not participants in, sport. This division could be literalized in the form of the amphitheater’s podium wall, which simultaneously separated spectators from performers and Romans from non-Romans (Edmondson 1996: 83). Nonetheless, this barrier was not impermeable, and the divisions it helped to create were not completely discrete. For a variety of reasons, performance remained, despite civic and legal rejoinders, attractive to a cross-section of Roman citizens. Gladiatorial combats (munera, sg. munus), thanks to the triangulation of people involved—performers, audience, and sponsor—provide a productive way to access Roman conceptions of sport and social inclusion and exclusion.7 Gladiatorial combat was a widespread phenomenon in the Roman world: it endured for centuries (from the first attested match in 264 BCE to the last, likely in the fourth century CE ) and took place throughout the Roman state (from Britain to Asia Minor). The sheer number of amphitheaters (more than 250 examples are known; Golvin 1988: 275–7) testifies to the scope of the phenomenon. While the Colosseum resonates in the contemporary imagination, less grandiose amphitheaters were still much larger than was necessary for simple duels (Köhne, Ewigleben, and Jackson 2000: 34), and the size of amphitheaters attests to the central role of the audience in gladiatorial battles (Wiedemann 1992: 21–3). Watching and being watched map onto a host of social identities, and in their predilection for spectatorship over participation, Roman audiences most clearly distinguished their sporting practices from those of the ancient Greek tradition.

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While an interest in gladiatorial combat unified the Roman populace as Romans regardless of wealth or gender, gladiators themselves were also, despite diverse ethnic origins, unified by an abject identity as infames (individuals who had been deprived of a wide range of legal and social privileges). By binding themselves through oath “to be burned, to be bound, to be killed by the sword” (Seneca Letters 37.1; cf. Horace Satires 2.7.58–9; Petronius 117.5), they agreed to endure penalties that were beyond the bounds of those inflicted on Roman citizens (Köhne, Ewigleben, and Jackson 2000: 37). Of course, most gladiators would have only had a token opportunity to swear this oath “voluntarily,” since so many gladiators, especially in the Republican period, were slaves or prisoners of war. Nonetheless, the existence of auctorati, freeborn or freed Roman citizens who chose to take the gladiatorial oath and enter a gladiatorial troop (familia) to undergo training to fight in the arena, points to the possibility of transit across the social barrier of the podium wall (Wiedemann 1992: 108–10). Despite the dangers of and social disapprobation attached to fighting as a gladiator, Roman authorities had difficulty controlling elite access to the arena. Even while slave gladiators were plentiful, other Roman citizens—probably poor ones—chose the gladiatorial life. More strikingly, perhaps, given the abuse that gladiatorial performance entailed, elite Romans were eager to fight. If legal prohibitions are any indication, Roman elites were chomping at the bit: in a period of 25 years, three bans were enacted by the Senate (46, 38, and 22 BCE ). The ban was lifted in 11 CE only because of its continual breach by members of the senatorial and equestrian classes (the top two tiers in the Roman sociopolitical hierarchy). Another partial ban followed in 19 CE , but elite access to the arena floor, despite the desires of the Roman administration, was never completely cut off. One Senatus Consultum decree, known from an inscribed copy found at Larinum (on the Adriatic Sea) and dated to c. 19 CE , gives a good idea of the prohibitions and how they were conceived.8 The prohibition is designed to prevent members of the senatorial and equestrian classes from appearing in the games or on stage as “contrary to the dignity of their order” (5). Indeed, the decree notes that such behavior was contrary to prior bans and therefore also “diminished the dignity of the senate” (6). From there, the decree goes on to delineate the prohibited people: That it pleased them that no one should bring on to a stage a senator’s son, daughter, grandson, granddaughter, great-grandson, great-granddaughter, or any male whose [father or grandfather], whether paternal or maternal, or brother, or any female whose husband or father or grandfather, whether paternal [or maternal, or brother] had ever possessed [the right] of sitting in the seats reserved for the equestrians . . . —7–11; translation from Levick 1983, modified

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The language is explicit and extensive: no one related in almost any way to a senator or an equestrian should descend to the arena floor, regardless of maternal or paternal ancestry. Aside from the emphatic prohibition, it is striking that the orders themselves are defined by the seating arrangements of the (amphi)theater. In other words, the decree from Larinum makes clear that the difference between watching and being watched encoded a comprehensive social and juridical distinction. If entering the arena was a criminal as well as a social violation, what was it about the gladiator that made Roman elites not only want to watch gladiatorial matches, but also to enter as contestants?9 Much scholarship has focused on the meaning of gladiators to Roman audiences and the supposed heroism of gladiatorial duels (Köhne, Ewigleben, and Jackson 2000: 68). By taking the gladiatorial oath, gladiators were imagined to have transformed the involuntary to the voluntary, imbuing their actions with a sort of honor (Barton 1993: 15). The conceiving of the gladiator’s actions as honorable connected gladiators to the Roman army. Although there was never a gladiatorial type based on the legionary, early gladiators sometimes wore the armor of Roman soldiers (Köhne, Ewigleben, and Jackson 2000: 36); the distinction was therefore discursive, not material. Attending a munus could be a unifying experience for a crowd. The wall between the seating area and performance space in an amphitheater separated Roman citizens from their inferiors, and even the lowliest of the plebeians could take comfort in their role.10 When one gladiator struck another with a particularly effective, frequently fatal, blow, spectators as a group cried habet, hoc habet (“he’s got it!”), and thus all participated in the victorious performance (Köhne, Ewigleben, and Jackson 2000: 132). For lower-status Romans (with less and less political power in the Empire and subject to more and more humiliating punishments; Coleman 1990: 55), this could have an intoxicating effect. Since some gladiatorial types (e.g. Thraex, Hoplomachus, Samnis) imitated Rome’s defeated enemies, arena audiences may have had the additional experience of unity as Roman citizens and as conquerors of the world.11 Roman reaction to the disastrous Battle of Cannae (216 BCE ) may ultimately lie behind the dual nature of gladiators—abject and admired (Kyle 1998b: 48). As Livy reports, slaves were enlisted in the Roman army after Cannae in order that they might offer an example of valor to Roman soldiers (22.57.9–12). Slaves, therefore, were for the first time imagined as able to take an oath and transform themselves, voluntarily, into something approaching Roman legionaries. Moreover, when slave voluntarism is compared with Roman disdain for Romans who became prisoners of war (Livy 22.59.1), the implication of oath-taking and honor, and the concomitant utility of slaves taking oaths as a lesson to Romans, offer a suggestive background to later philosophical discussions of the value of gladiators. The dazzling spectacle of the munus created gladiatorial superstars, and the heightened atmosphere, aided by music, prizes, the presence of the emperor,

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and thousands of ardent supporters, transformed the amphitheater into a stage like no other. Despite the legal and social penalties attached to gladiatorial combat—and performance generally—the stage was difficult to resist. By demonstrating martial skill and voluntarily placing themselves in danger, gladiators were imagined, especially by philosophers, as models of Roman virtus (martial masculinity). Seneca, for instance, located in the person of the gladiator a model of Stoic courage for the audience: I hold that one is braver at the very moment of death than when one is approaching death. For death, when it stands near us, gives even to inexperienced men the courage not to seek to avoid the inevitable. So the gladiator, who throughout the fight has been no matter how fainthearted, offers his throat to his opponent and directs the wavering blade to the vital spot. —Epistles 30.8; trans R. Gummere The eagerness with which Roman elites approached gladiatorial combat demonstrates the blurring of the lines between the infamous and the acceptable, and the changing concept of Roman masculinity in an empire where political participation and martial success were increasingly outside of the experience of everyday—and even elite—Roman citizens.

GENDER AND SPORT Greece The earliest evidence for ancient Greek sport already indicates that sport was a masculine pursuit. Indeed, throughout antiquity, gender was a defining characteristic of the athlete. In the Iliad, only male heroes take part in the Funeral Games of Patroklos (23.257–897); only male heroes toss the discus in front of the camp of Achilles’ Myrmidons (2.773–5). In the Odyssey, during the informal competitions held by the Phaiakians, only male princes and the sons of leading men compete (8.97–255). One exception to the overwhelmingly masculine sport in Homeric epic is the ball-tossing game of Nausikaa and her handmaidens on the beach in Phaiakia (Odyssey 6.100–10). Another early exception to the male-only athletic world of legend is Atalanta, a mythical female athlete and warrior (e.g. Hesiod Catalog of Women FF 73, 75–6 Merkelbach-West; S. Miller 2004a: 151–2). Early material evidence generally supports the notion that sport was a male pursuit: amphoras depicting chariotraces from the late eighth century show what appear to be male charioteers; inscribed vases from historical funeral games list male victors (T. Perry 2014). The masculinity of the ancient athlete appears most strikingly in the way in which sport measured and displayed the athletic body, which was, for the

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ancient Greeks, almost always male, and always naked.12 Sport was, for spectators, deeply erotic, since naked, physically fit male bodies could be attractive to male and female audience members alike (Steiner 1998: 126; cf. Steiner 2001: 222–4). At Olympia in particular, gender prefigured not only the participants, who were male, but also the audience, which was mostly restricted to men (Pausanias 5.6.7).13 Women, however, even if largely absent from the literary and material record, did compete in sport throughout ancient Greek history. Gender is therefore crucial to any evaluation of access to sport in the ancient world, since there were sporting opportunities and occasions for both men and women. Where these occasions diverged was not in the fact of sporting events in and of themselves (though female sport tended to have a more limited program), but in the value attached to sport, the ethos of competition, and the elaboration of a complicated system of festivals. Large-scale festivals that permitted female athletes did not exist until the Hellenistic period, and female athletes were not even somewhat common until the Roman era (Dillon 2000: 462; Scanlon 2008: 180). Whereas the sporting festivals of male athletes were expansive occasions, where sports, display, and power were intertwined, opportunities for women to participate in sport were limited in scale and may have retained their primary meaning as components of rites-of-passage.14 One early exception can be found in the Olympic victories in the four-horse chariot-race (tethrippon) won by Kyniska, a Spartan princess, in 396 and 392 BCE . Those victories were possible because the victors in equestrian competitions were not the charioteers or jockeys but the owners of the horses. Kyniska, enriched by an inheritance from male relatives, turned to the raising of horses, a typically elite activity. In this case, therefore, her wealth permitted her inclusion in sports competitions, whereas her gender would normally have restricted her access. Her first victory was commemorated with a verse inscription on the base of a statue of chariot and horses that was erected at Olympia: Σπρτας μν βασιλες μο πατρες κα δελφο , ρμασι15 δ’ !κυπ#δων %ππων νικ&σα Κυν σκα ε(κ#να τνδ’ )στασε, μ#ναν δ’ μ φαμι γυναικ&ν Ἑλλδος κ πσας τ#νδε λαβε-ν στφανον.16 .πελλας Καλλικλος π#ησε (CEG 820) Spartan kings were my fathers and brothers, but I, Kynsika, having won with a chariot of swift horses, set up this statue. And I declare that I alone of women from all Greece seized this crown. Apelles the son of Kallikles made (it).

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When Kynsika won her first victory, the area in front of the Temple of Zeus was populated by statues of male victors, many of which, inscribed with epigrams, boasted of their sporting success and advertised their names, those of their fathers, and their home poleis.17 In one way, then, Kyniska’s dedication was deeply rooted in the sporting grammar and iconography of Olympia: she declares her name and city, she obliquely signals her father, and her statue was likely similar in form to other representations of chariot victors (Serwint 1987: 432– 3). Despite these formal similarities, Kyniska’s representation was a challenge: her statue stood out by virtue of her gender, and her boast specifies the unique nature of her achievement. Kyniska therefore demonstrates the exclusive nature of ancient sport as an activity largely restricted to males, but also the inclusive possibilities—or at least the insurgent desires—of female competitors.18 The recently recovered epigrams by Posidippus (P. Mil. Vogl. VIII 309) and Callimachus’ elegy “The Victory of Berenike” (both poets were active in Alexandria in the third century BCE ) demonstrate the continued prestige associated with equestrian victories, and the continued access to sport by wealthy women, especially in the Hellenistic period.19 From the outset, Ptolemaic royals were interested in equestrian competition. One of Posidippus’ poems (AB 78), for example, a long epigram composed in the voice of Berenike Syra (c. 275–246 BCE ), celebrates several Olympic victories won by her grandfather (Ptolemy I Soter), grandmother (Berenike I), and father (Ptolemy II Philadelphus).20 Berenike Syra also won a Nemean equestrian victory, which was celebrated in another epigram by Posidippus (AB 79), while Callimachus’ “The Victory of Berenike” celebrates a victory at Nemea by Berenike II (c. 267–221 BCE ), the wife of Ptolemy III Euergetes.21 AB 87, one of the most striking of Posidippus’ poems for royal—and female—victors, returns to Kyniska’s victories as foil to the Olympic victory won by Berenike I (c. 340– 279/268 BCE ) (the poem is composed in the voice of the winning horses): When we were still mares we gained an Olympic crown at Pisa for Macedonian Berenike, which holds a glory of great repute, with which we snatched away the long-lasting fame of Kyniska in Sparta.22 This poem, therefore, makes clear that Kyniska’s victory was well-known and had contemporary relevance. Moreover, given that the epigram ignores female victors between Berenike I and Kyniska (e.g. the Spartan woman Euryleonis: Pausanias 3.17.6), it also demonstrates that an intersectional status—female and wealthy and royal—was the prerequisite in this transhistorical and discursive competition. For Berenike I, competition and fame are only important when one competes, even across time, with other women of equal status (see Fantuzzi 2005: 254–61; Stephens 2018).

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While elite women could access a limited version of sporting competition through equestrian competitions, competition in athletic contests such as footraces and the combat sports at Olympia and the other Panhellenic sanctuaries remained highly restricted. Among the exiguous evidence for particularly female sport of that type, the Heraia stands out. These games, which were dedicated to Hera at Olympia, are mentioned only by Pausanias (5.16.2–6), who describes a ritual dedication and the specifics of a sporting event (a footrace in Olympia’s stadium over a distance slightly shorter than the men’s stadion, on which see Golden 1998: 131–2). The Heraia probably attracted competitors from outside the region of Elis and was likely founded around the same time as a great number of male-only contests came into being, such as the Pythian, Isthmian, and Nemean Games (Scanlon 2008: 194). Regardless of the probable significance of the Heraia to competitors, the competition seems to have privileged an initiatory element (Serwint 1993; Golden 1998: 132). The strictly unmarried status of the competitors, who were split into three groups based on age (Pausanias 5.16.2), distinguishes the Heraia from the Olympic Games with its two age groups, and even from the rest of the Panhellenic festivals, where marital status was not a component of athletic identity. The Heraia is best compared to Spartan sport. At Sparta, sport for unmarried girls and boys was quite similar (Scanlon 2002: 121–2), and the athleticism of Spartan women was famous throughout antiquity (among others: Xenophon Constitution of the Spartans 1.3–4; Plato Laws 7.805E–806A).23 Indeed, since female sport at Sparta was restricted to unmarried women, it may well have been integrated into a system of education, commensurate with the educational system for boys, that served as part of a complex system of initiation.24 One of the limited number of pieces of evidence for competitive female sport at Sparta supports this claim: Pausanias reports that eleven women, called “daughters of Dionysus,” participated in a footrace (3.13.7). Pausanias has nothing concrete to say about the age of these women, though Dionysus’ role as a divinity of adult women suggests that this race was an initiatory and transitional rite (Calame 2001: 185–91). For ancient Greek men, then, sport was an activity typical of their gender and status; sport was integrated into a set of beliefs, especially, about a putatively essential masculinity. In contrast, while female athletes were present from the early mythical imaginings of sport—and throughout actual ancient Greek history—femininity and athleticism were never connected in the same way. Female sport remained a venue to which status, and above all wealth, permitted access. Thus, female participation in sport reinforces the notion that, at least ideally, sport in the ancient Greek imagination was an elite affair. Rome Insofar as respectable Romans were, normatively at least, spectators rather than participants at sporting events, many of the issues standing at the intersection

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of sport and gender have to do with attendance and seating. Roman writers and politicians oscillate between condemnation of female attendance at or participation in games, and outright acceptance. Sport and gender at Rome were configured, at least in part, around the effect of spectatorship on women, especially elite women. In a pithy piece of evidence, Ovid names circuses (sites for chariot-racing) as a primary locus for finding a lover: Nor let the contest of noble steeds escape you; the spacious Circus holds many opportunities. No need is there of fingers for secret speech, nor need you receive a signal by means of nods. Sit next to your lady, none will prevent you; sit side by side as close as you can; and it is good that the rows compel closeness, like it or not, and that by the conditions of space your girl must be touched. —Ars Amatoria 1.136–42; trans. J.H. Mozley This advice points to the mixed-gender audience of the circus at the same time as it focuses on spectatorship as the fundamental activity of Roman citizens at the games. Mixed gender audiences at Rome did not mean that gender did not structure Roman sport. The Lex Julia Theatralis, passed by Augustus between 20 and 17 BCE , forced women to sit in the upper section of the amphitheater (Suetonius Augustus 44.2). Although the law only mentions theaters, theatrum and theatralis were used to refer to the amphitheater as well, both before and after the Colosseum was constructed (Rawson 1991: 512). Seating in any sort of theater was highly regimented by this law: status, gender, ethnicity, and occupation all mandated different seating arrangements, from slaves in the upper echelons to equestrians near the arena itself, and senators with the best seats (Rawson 1991: 514–31). While money played a role, seating arrangements were tied specifically to status since equestrians made poor by conflict during the late Republic were still allowed to sit in their privileged position (Suetonius Augustus 40.1). Women’s attendance at sporting events was complicated by the erotic appeal of competitors. Gladiatorial combat and the amphitheater could be imagined as dangers to Roman citizen women; the sight of gladiators was believed to arouse women and thereby make them prone to give in to sexual temptation, even at the risk of losing their social status. In Juvenal’s Satire 6 (first century CE ), for example, a newborn baby’s appearance belies the supposed fidelity of the mother since the child resembles a gladiator (“the child looks like a murmillo,” 6.81). Juvenal’s story of Eppia is even more scandalous; in a parody of Sappho 16, she abandons her family, spouse, sister, and crying children to flee east with gladiators (6.82–7) (P. A. Miller 2015: 278). Her paramour, the gladiator Sergius, is deformed and suffers the consequences of years of brutal combat

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(105–9). The erotic appeal of the gladiator, however, trumps all norms: “but he was a gladiator. That makes them Hyacinthos” (who was in Greek mythology famed for his beauty) (6.110). Although women were imagined to have no interest in the martial “lessons” of the arena, the erotic appeal of gladiators was nonetheless rooted in the quality that most closely aligns them with the Roman masculine ideal: their display of virtus. Virtus was perhaps central to the allure of gladiators at Rome and the intersection of gender and status in the person of the gladiator. While early Rome had been a militaristic society where Roman men habitually served in the army and had intimate contact with martial violence, in the Imperial period, fewer and fewer of the inhabitants of Rome participated in warfare directly, though violence still permeated Roman society (Kyle 1998b: 80; Fagan 2011: 22–38). Gladiators thus became a way for male audience members to “learn” a central characteristic of Roman masculinity. Paradoxically, just as the abject status of slaves heightened the appeal of the gladiator as a cypher for male Roman citizens, so too did the rare appearance—or possibility—of female gladiators emphasize masculine ideology. A few literary references discuss female gladiators: some upper-class women fought in the arena under Nero, though the degradation of these events was driven as much by status as gender (Dio Cassius 61.17.3–4; Brunet 2014: 479); women were employed as venatores—beast hunters—at the inauguration of the Colosseum in 80 CE (Dio Cassius 66.25.1–2; Martial Spectacles 7–8). A marble relief from Halicarnassus in Asia Minor and now at the British Museum depicts two female gladiators named “Achillia” and “Amazon” (BM 1847, 0424.19; cf. Petronius Satyricon 45; for an illustration see Figure 8.26). “Achillia” alters the name of Achilles and thus transforms the Iliadic hero into a fantasy female version. Although female gladiators were likely never common, the emperor Septimius Severus banned women from participating in gladiatorial combat— even if the particular circumstances are unclear. Dio Cassius stresses that the status of female performers was the main issue (76.16.1). The relief from Halicarnassus indicates that those who staged combats with female gladiators wanted the event to be remembered, probably because of the novelty involved. Just as slaves could transcend their status and demonstrate virtus to a male audience, so women—usually abstracted from displays of physicality altogether—of the proper status could also serve as reminders to Roman male audiences of their own essential masculinity (Brunet 2014: 486). Gender, therefore, played a crucial role in access to sport in antiquity, in the cases of both participants and observers. Ancient Greek and Roman reflections on female access to sport demonstrate the anxiety produced by sport. Far from worrying about the erotic appeal of athletes, ancient Greek women were assumed to find erotic potential in victorious athletes; the relative exclusion of

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non-elites from ancient Greek sport, at least ideally, meant that the men performing were suitable potential husbands to spectators. In Roman sport, however, roles were reversed, and the apparently unavoidable erotic appeal of the athlete (perhaps prefigured by partial nudity or physical development, or both) threatened Roman elite control of elite women.

CONCLUSION To return, now, to Solon’s comments in Lucian’s Anacharsis, we can see that sport was, as that text implies, a central component of Hellenic self-identity. However, since this text dates to a period of increased interest in just what constituted Hellenic identity, especially within a Mediterranean world dominated politically and militarily by the Roman Empire, the seemingly selfevident importance of sport as an ethnic marker may, in fact, cloak a subtle argument. Indeed, the connection between sport and Greek identity had long been a point of contestation. Writers, artists, intellectuals, and athletes themselves attempted to circumscribe participation by means of apparently essential criteria (male, freeborn, Greek), which were themselves inventions and which were threatened or violated constantly. As such, through the evidence across the breadth of Greek history, sport emerges not so much as a self-evident characteristic of Greek identity, but as a place to contest—and as a method through which to argue—that very identity. In the Roman context, while Cicero categorizes Romans as audience members in three gatherings that define Roman citizen identity, this delineation is challenged by history and law. Despite the idea that the arena wall separated citizens from non-Romans, throughout the history of gladiatorial combats, Roman citizens from all social classes performed in the arena. While spectatorship was an important component in the self-identity of Romans, the performance of a gladiatorial identity, whether actualized or not, was a powerful symbol of masculine and martial virtus. For the ancient Greeks and Romans, therefore, sport was far from a simple diversion. Even as modern scholarship for much of the twentieth century dismissed sport as beyond the pale of proper historical research (Gorn and Orard 1995), ancient Greek and Roman texts, images, and inscriptions reveal that, for the likes of Lucian and Cicero, sport was a central arena for the contestation of status, the delineation of gender roles, and the performance of the apparently essential qualities that defined ancient social identity.

NOTES *

Thank you to Paul Christesen and Charles Stocking for the invitation to participate in this project. Further gratitude is owed to Mark Golden†, Carla Manfredi, and

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Thomas Scanlon, all of whom read this chapter in draft and offered valuable feedback. Any remaining infelicities or errors are, of course, my own. 1. Gladiatorial combats and staged beast hunts are here taken to be forms of sport; for discussion, see below and Chapter 1. 2. MacClancy 1996: 2–3 points to this aspect of modern sport. 3. Status hierarchies and elite groups clearly existed in Greek communities; however, whether these groups were “aristocracies,” in the European sense, has recently come into question. For recent scholarship on this issue, see the essays in Fisher and van Wees 2015. Ancient Sparta may be a case where social statuses were more stratified and hierarchical, though the evidence from Sparta is difficult to interpret and complicated by later interpreters in antiquity. On this issue, see most recently P. Davies 2018. 4. On that and other traits required of competitors at Olympia, see T. H. Nielsen 2007: 18–21. How “Greekness” was tested remains a mystery, and Nielsen points to the fact that we have no evidence for an athlete ever being denied admission as a result of his ethnic identity (T. H. Nielsen 2014: 136). Participation at the Olympics, therefore, may be evidence of “Greekness” even above and beyond ethnic, linguistic, or religious characteristics. See Remijsen 2019 for a skeptical assessment of the importance of Greek ethnicity among the criteria determining eligibility for participation in the competitions at Olympia. 5. On the re-inscription of the epigram and for a full apparatus criticus, see P. A. Hansen 1983–1989: ad loc. For further interpretation of this epigram in the context of Arcadian political organization, see P. J. Miller Forthcoming. For a drawing, see Ebert 1972: #14. 6. On ethn¯e, see Strabo 8.8; T. H. Nielsen 2004a: 508. On Olympic victor lists, see Christesen 2007. 7. Gladiatorial combat has long troubled Classicists and sports historians (Scanlon 2014: 14–21), but whether we condemn it or not, gladiatorial combat—complete with fans, attention to a balanced contest, rules, etc.—qualifies as a sport. In contrast are the public executions at midday (the meridianum spectaculum), in which all combatants, even the victors, were killed (Kyle 1998b: 91–5). 8. For textual analysis and initial publication, see Levick 1983. A Senatus Consultum (“decision of the senate”) was the advice of the Senate to magistrates and carried with it de facto authority. 9. Even emperors did so, most notoriously Commodus (Cassius Dio 73.16–17). 10. The Roman population was at an early period divided into two groups, a nobility called patricians and everyone else (and hence the vast majority of the populace) who were called plebeians. The originally sharp distinction between those two groups eroded over the course of time, but always retained a certain importance for delineating social classes and hierarchies. See Forsythe 2006: 157–66. 11. In this context, the disappearance of most ethnically-derived types of gladiators in the early Imperial period may reflect the institutionalization of Pax Romana. For example, the later murmillo and secutor types derive from the Samnis (Köhne, Ewigleben, and Jackson 2000: 37). Among other reasons for the popularity of violent sport in ancient Rome (prevalence of death and pain, etc.), Fagan points to the utility of the games for “strengthening social and political control” for individual emperors (Fagan 2011: 33).

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12. Theories of the meaning and origin of athletic nudity abound: see, for example, Bonfante 1989; Golden 1998: 65–9; Crowther 2004: 135–40; Christesen 2014: 226–9. 13. At 6.20.9, Pausanias states that parthenoi (“virgins”) could attend the Olympic Games, while at 5.6.7 he mentions a prohibition against female attendance (presumably married women). At the Panathenaic Games, among other festivals (Dillon 2000: 457–9), women certainly attended (Pindar Pythian 9.97–100). On the debate about female access to the Olympics and Olympia, Kyle argues that Pausanias’ parthenoi refers to the female priestesses of Demeter (Kyle 2007: 141), whereas Scanlon takes Pausanias’ acceptance of the attendance of parthenoi at the Olympics at face value (Scanlon 2008: 184–92). 14. The lack of evidence and the masculine perspective of our sources have no doubt contributed to this perception. See the salutary warning of S. Miller 2004a: 159. 15. Nobili defends ρμασι as found in the Anthology (Nobili 2013: 77) by pointing to the fact that the plural for the singular is poetic (cf. Iliad 24.14; Pindar Pythian 1.32–33) and that Spartan epigrams in general evince poetic qualities. 16. I cite my own version of the text, following Ebert for )στασε and Nobili for ρμασι; translation is my own. The fragmentary text was found at Olympia; for full epigraphic apparatus and lengthy discussion, see Ebert 1972: 33 and CEG 820. 17. On victor statues at Olympia, see Herrmann 1988. The best collection of agonistic epigrams remains Ebert 1972, though see, for some Athenian examples, Kaczko 2016. 18. The precise interpretation of Kyniska’s victory has proven divisive, see further Ducat 1999; Pomeroy 2002: 21–2; Kyle 2003: 187–90; Fornis 2014; Paradiso 2015; Millender 2018; Millender 2019. 19. In 2001 the papyrus used to wrap a mummy from Egypt was found to preserve the text of 112 poems by Posidippus, only two of which had been previously known from other sources. 17 of those 112 poems celebrate equestrian victories (Gutzwiller 2005). 20. On the identification of the people in this poem, see Thompson 2005: 273–9. 21. On “The Victory of Berenike,” see Fuhrer 1992; Fuhrer 1993; Harder 2012. For a useful narrative of Berenike II’s life, along with her interest in equestrian competition, see Clayman 2014: 121–58. 22. Greek text from the edition by B. Acosta-Hughes, E. Kosmetatou, M. Cypers, and F. Angiò; available at https://chs.harvard.edu/CHS/article/display/1343. Translation is my own. 23. Plutarch reports that Lycurgus instituted sporting activities for women (Moralia 227d) and that Spartan women paraded through the town naked, like men (Moralia 227e). On Spartan female athletic nudity and more ancient evidence, see Christesen 2018: 557–8. He concludes sensibly that costume likely changed on different occasions and that while Spartan women generally wore short tunics while exercising, there may have been occasions when they were completely nude. A related question is whether Spartan girls and boys exercised together. Again, Christesen suggests that in most cases sex segregation ruled in sports, with perhaps some exceptions for ritual activities (Plutarch Lycurgus 14.3; Christesen 2018: 559). 24. Anecdotal evidence from antiquity characterizes Spartan education as a system designed with eugenic purposes: consider Gorgo’s famous saying, that “only Spartan women give birth to men” (Plutarch Moralia 240e; also cf. Plutarch Lycurgus 14.2).

CHAPTER SEVEN

Minds, Bodies, and Identities CHARLES STOCKING

INTRODUCTION The topic of mind–body dualism has long been understood as a strictly philosophic problem in the history of Western thought, beginning perhaps in the Archaic period (c. 700–c. 480 BCE ) but most fully articulated in the works of Plato in the fifth century BCE .1 The construction of “mind” and “body” as oppositional categories within ancient philosophic discourse depends largely on the articulation of the psych¯e (soul/mind) as something other than the “mere shadow” of the person represented in Homer and other Archaic Greek poetry. Instead, the psych¯e becomes the site of one’s mental and emotional processes and is therefore synonymous with a unified notion of self. At the same time, any attempt at separating “mind” and “body” requires not only a unified notion of self as “soul” or “mind” associated with psych¯e, but also a unified notion of “body” as non-self. Such a concept of “body” as non-self may be traced back to the concept of s¯oma from Hippocratic medical texts, where the physical body is observed and treated as a passive site of disease in humans (Holmes 2010a; Holmes 2010b: 29–37 and passim). Thus, just as the psych¯e has a history in Greek thought, so too does the s¯oma. Indeed, medical discourse does much to help us fully appreciate in greater detail how and why the discourse of mind– body dualism arose in fifth-century Greece. Yet philosophy and medicine alone cannot fully account for mind–body discourse in antiquity, since medicine is not the only acknowledged form of ancient bodily knowledge. In the Gorgias, for instance, when Plato seeks to 159

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articulate a difference between two types of expertise or technai, one for the psych¯e and another for the s¯oma, he separates the latter into two subtypes of what he calls “care of the body” (s¯omatos therapeia): medicine (iatrik¯e) and physical training associated with sport (gymnastik¯e) (Plato Gorgias 464b). Expertise in the body is referred to in this dual capacity not just in the Gorgias, but throughout the works of Plato (Critias 47b; Gorgias 504a; Phaedrus 248b; Republic 389c, 406a–b). And yet, despite Plato’s own comments, sport has received very little attention as a form of ancient bodily knowledge among Classical scholars. The very fact that Plato cites both physical training and medicine as two forms of care of the s¯oma in opposition to that of the psych¯e requires that we consider in greater detail how and to what extent a careful analysis of ancient sport contributes to the history of mind–body discourse in antiquity. As this chapter will argue, sport was in fact an extremely productive cultural context for mind–body discourse throughout antiquity. One can observe the beginnings or pre-history of this dialectic associated with sport in the Archaic period, and such associations continue well into the Roman Imperial period (31 BCE –476 CE ) and beyond. In fact, shifts in the history of debates on the problem of mind, body, and identity can be shown to present near exact parallels with specific transformations in ancient sport as a cultural practice throughout Greek and Roman history, from before the fifth century BCE to after the fifth century CE .2

EARLY GREEK SPORT: INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY BEFORE MIND–BODY DUALISM One of the earliest cultural contexts for Greek sporting practice and competition, after the Bronze Age, was funeral contests in honor of elite warriors and community members. Homer’s Iliad (eighth century BCE ) provides one of our earliest and most detailed descriptions of such an occasion, namely, in the Funeral Games of Patroklos in Iliad 23. It is in the context of the funerary rites and games for Patroklos that we find one of our earliest articulations of the problem of mind, body, and identity. In general, Homeric poetry is the starting point for debates on mind–body dualism precisely because of the ways in which the physical and non-physical aspects of a person are represented. Scholars have long noted that Homeric language does not present the simple binary “body and mind” or “body and soul,” typically glossed as s¯oma and psych¯e from the Classical period (c. 480– 323 BCE ) onwards. In Homer, we find instead a multiplicity of terms and specifications for operations and specific subsections of the body, along with many different terms and usages reflecting later concepts of “mind” including psych¯e, thumos, and noos.3 Perhaps most significant is the fact that the two

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primary terms for later mind–body dualism, s¯oma and psych¯e, both relate strictly to mortuary and eschatological contexts in Homeric poetry. Psych¯e seems to stand for both the life-breath of a person at the moment of death as well as the “shadow” of the person which goes to the Underworld, while s¯oma stands for the corpse that has not yet received burial rites.4 From a historical semantic perspective, therefore, the terms for later “mind–body” dualism, psych¯e and s¯oma, may be viewed as a complementary pair in Homer, representing death and non-identity of the person in opposition to an individual’s animate life and social identity. Nowhere is this opposition between animate life and death more fully expressed than in the episode of the funeral of Patroklos in Iliad 23. As Achilles laments for his fallen friend, the psych¯e of Patroklos appears to him and requests burial. Achilles agrees and reaches out to embrace his companion. But the psych¯e of Patroklos disappears like smoke, and Achilles exclaims: “Oh my, there is something in the house of Hades, spirit and image [psych¯e and eidolon], but there is no sense [phrenes] to it” (Iliad 23.103–4) (all translations are my own). And Achilles then further comments on the psych¯e’s “likeness to the very self ” of Patroklos (Iliad 23.107). The precise meaning of Achilles’ words are debated, but the general significance remains clear: there is a form of living embodiment that constitutes the identity of the Homeric warrior, and such active identity stands in contrast to both the intangible psych¯e and the inanimate s¯oma of the deceased. It is not insignificant, therefore, that Achilles’ comment on identity and embodiment would come just prior to a full display of living embodiment as demonstrated through the sporting competitions of the funeral games themselves. The issue of living embodiment and sporting practice is further reflected in a unique exception to the funeral games, when Achilles gives a prize after the chariot race to the elderly Nestor, even though Nestor himself had not competed. Nestor, in his gratitude for the unexpected prize, laments the passing of his physical prowess, uttering the formula “Would that my force were fixed [bi¯e de moi empedos ei¯e]” (Iliad 23.629). In this episode, therefore, we find a basic analogy between the passing of embodied force that occurs with old age, and the permanent loss of force through death, as in the case of Patroklos. The athletic prize or athlon simultaneously acknowledges the living force of the athletes who compete and serves as a memorial, a mn¯ema, for the loss of force that occurs for the aged and deceased (see Iliad 23.619). Thus, sport stands in direct opposition to the psyche-s¯oma pair that is predominantly associated with death. That is to say, sport in Homer may be seen simultaneously as a means of overcoming death and as a compensation for it.5 If this double function of sport as a response to and compensation for death is only indirectly indicated in the poetry of Homer, it is stated outright in the poetry of the early fifth century BCE poet Pindar. Much like Homer, Pindar

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seems to understand the s¯oma as a strictly mortal object. Thus, in one fragment, Pindar states that “days are immortal for men, the body [s¯oma] mortal” (F94.14–15). In that fragment, the antidote to mortality is family (F94a.16–20; Kurke 1991: 63–5). In his epinikia, poems written in praise of victorious athletes, Pindar insists that victories in sport and poems celebrating those victories compensate for the mortal condition. Thus, for instance, in a poem written in praise of a young wrestler, Pindar describes how the victorious athlete “fell upon the bodies [s¯omata] of four opponents with mal-intent” (Pindar Pythian 8.81–82), and the losers, unlike the young victor, are deprived of a joyful homecoming, a nostos. Here, the use of s¯oma to describe the body of the loser is highly marked. As in Homer, the athletic ordeal itself may be understood as an analogy for a life and death struggle, which results in life for the victor, and a symbolic death for the loser. Yet Pindar further explains in the same poem that even for victors, the “life” one attains through victory is not permanent: “In a short time, the joy [terpnon] of mortals increases, then it falls to the ground” (Pindar Pythian 8. 91–2). The very emotions of the victor thus parallel the embodied movement of the loser, “falling to the ground” (Burnett 2005: 235). And the action of falling to the ground is the indexical activity of death, both in Homer and after.6 Finally, Pindar concludes Pythian 8 with the gnomic exclamation “Creatures of a day! What is anyone? What is anyone not? Man is the dream of a shadow [skias onar]. But when god-given brilliance comes, there is a shining light for men and a sweet lifetime” (95–7) The term skia “shadow” here may be a synonym for psych¯e, indicating the spirit of the deceased (Lefkowitz 1977: 266; G. Nagy 1990: 195). And such an association is further indicated by the metaphysical question “What is anyone [ti de tis]?,” which parallels Achilles’ exclamation in Iliad 23, that “There is something [ti estin] in the house of Hades,” though it is not the person proper. What both Homer and Pindar comment upon is the impermanence of identity in the face of death, where such impermanence is represented by both “spirit” and “body”—psych¯e/skia and s¯oma. Pindar thus insists that such impermanence may be momentarily counteracted for the athlete and his family through the event of victory. But ultimately, it is praise poetry itself that lends a degree of permanence to the athlete’s victory through the memory and reputation conveyed by such poetry. Between the time of Homeric poetry and that of Pindar, there were enormous transformations in the practice of sport competition itself. The small-scale, occasional competitions that prevailed in the eighth century BCE had, by the fifth century BCE , developed into large scale, permanent features of regularly recurring religious festivals at sanctuaries that took on Panhellenic status (Christesen 2012b: 145–59). Yet, despite these changes, there remained a fairly consistent poetic discourse in which the practice of sport stands in contrast to

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death. Embodied movement and the praise that comes with it, whether symbolized by material prizes or poetry, stand in opposition to the traces of the person, both the “shade” and “corpse,” psych¯e and s¯oma that that constituted an Archaic individual’s non-identity.

CLASSICAL GREEK SPORT: MIND, BODY, AND THE POLIS With the increased popularity of sport in ancient Greece (seen especially in the development in the sixth century BCE of three major sport competitions at Delphi, Isthmia, and Nemea as complements to the Olympics),7 one may also observe a corresponding emphasis on physical training in individual Greek citystates or poleis. This increased popularity is most readily signaled by the development of Greek gymnasia—structures initially designed for physical training, which later became centers of education more generally from the Classical period (c. 480–323 BCE ) onward.8 It is within the context of the Greek gymnasium that one is also able to observe a distinct transformation in the discourse of mind and body. Where the precursors of “mind” and “body,” psych¯e and s¯oma, were previously understood simply as signifiers of death, notions of psych¯e and s¯oma in the Classical era are more substantively developed and associated with issues pertaining to the relationship between physical training and the civic good of education and expertise more generally. The civic value of sport was already being queried in the Archaic period. This is seen most clearly in an elegiac poem by the philosopher Xenophanes of Colophon (F2). In that poem, after Xenophanes lists the civic honors that one would receive from winning at a Panhellenic sport contest, he asserts “For my knowledge [sophia] is greater than the strength of men or horses” (ll. 11–12), and further laments that it is not “just [dikaion] to judge strength above noble knowledge [agath¯es sophias]” (ll. 13–14). Such sentiments continue well into the Classical period, and are most clearly articulated by the figure of Socrates in Plato’s Apology. When Socrates is asked what he should receive as punishment for corrupting the youth and not believing in the gods of the city, he declares that he deserves meals in the dining facilities used by magistrates, at public expense, one of the rewards granted by Athens to prize-winning Athenian athletes (Plato Apology 36d). From the Archaic to the Classical period, therefore, there is a tradition that sets the civic good of intellectual activity in opposition to that of sport.9 And this very opposition may anticipate the parameters of psych¯e-s¯oma dualism in the Classical period. Yet it must be noted that the criticism of sport and its contrast with intellectual activity in both the Archaic and Classical periods must in itself be understood as a direct response to the popular assumption that sporting practice was a civic good. Such an assumption is most readily observed in Aristophanes’ Clouds,

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first performed in 423 BCE , which offers an attack on the figure of Socrates. In that play there is a contest between Just and Unjust Speech, Dikaios Logos and Adikos Logos. The Dikaios Logos commands Athenian youth to spend time in the gymnasium, “well-oiled and blooming,” and further explains that “if you apply your mind [noos] to these things, then you will always have a stout chest, clear complexion, broad shoulders, a small tongue, large glutes, and a small penis” (Aristophanes Clouds 1010–14). In other words, there is an assumed correlation of intellectual ability (noos), physical aesthetics, and a type of moral temperance. To be sure, this is a comedic play, but the humor of the episode only works if the correlation between mind and body is already assumed. And so we may take the episode from the Clouds as an indication of a more general view. Far from being set in opposition to each other, mental and physical training seem to have been considered a complementary pair within the context of traditional civic education in the gymnasium. Such correlation between physical and mental training, as it pertains to gymnasium education, is most clearly expressed in the fourth century BCE in the works of the orator Isocrates.10 Thus, in a treatise titled the Antidosis, which functions in some sense as an apologia for Isocrates’ work as an educator of rhetoric, he asserts that everyone agrees that human nature (physis) comprises two parts, the psych¯e and the s¯oma (Antidosis 180). He goes to explain that earlier generations gave expression to two forms of expertise or technai, one for the s¯oma, called “child training” paidotribik¯e, of which one part is gymnastik¯e or naked athletic training, and one for the psych¯e, which he calls philosophy (Antidosis 181). Furthermore, Isocrates insists that such methods of training are parallel and complementary rather than oppositional. Just as trainers teach certain positions (sch¯emata) for competition, so do philosophers teach their students all the forms (ideai) that an argument (logos) may use (Antidosis 183). In Isocrates’ view, it is the dualist perspective on physis that gave rise to these two educational forms. Yet, as we have already seen, the dualist conception of human nature has its own history, one that was not part of earlier Archaic conceptions of the living person. Thus, it not an eternal duality of human nature that gave rise to educational practices including physical training. Rather, it seems more likely that causation ran in precisely the opposite direction, and that the cultural practice of sport itself followed by more abstract forms of education helped produce and shape the discourse of mind–body duality in the Classical period. Plato above all others is considered to be the primary proponent of psych¯es¯oma dualism in the Classical period.11 There are various types of relationships between psych¯e and s¯oma articulated by Plato throughout his corpus, whether the body is the tomb or prison-house of the psych¯e, its object of possession, or simply that psych¯e and s¯oma are two parts of the whole self, with psych¯e taking precedence. As noted in the introduction to this chapter, it has been argued in

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the past that the dualist perspective on human nature in Plato was influenced by medical discourse.12 Yet, it must be emphasized that a great number of occurrences of the psych¯e-s¯oma pair in the Platonic corpus make explicit reference not just to medicine, but also to physical training and competition. For instance, in the Theatetus, the figure of Socrates insists that both psych¯e and s¯oma require motion (kin¯esis) for health, and that physical training, gymnastik¯e, provides that movement for the body, while learning (math¯esis) provides such motion for the soul (Theatetus 153). One of the main dialogs for the dualist perspective on the living human is the Gorgias, in which Plato describes the need to establish the “good condition” (euexia) of both psych¯e and s¯oma. For the psych¯e, such condition is achieved through what he defines as “political expertise” (politik¯e techn¯e), which is subdivided into legislation and justice. For the s¯oma, Plato offers a single, but unnamed techn¯e of the body, which is subdivided into physical training (gymnastik¯e) and medicine (iatrik¯e). Training and legislation help to establish the good condition for both s¯oma and psych¯e, while medicine and justice help to restore that condition (Gorgias 464b–e). In this sense, Plato offers a slightly more complex picture of a basic model of education and expertise also articulated by Isocrates. That is to say, in the Gorgias and other dialogs, Plato already assumes the primacy of sport training as a form of education, and this primacy serves as the principle analogy for Plato’s larger project dealing with the “care of the soul” as both a philosophic and civic undertaking. The primacy of sport to the larger Platonic arguments on psych¯e–s¯oma dualism is reflected not just in content, but also in the context of his dialogs and their agonistic form. In the Hippias Minor, at the commencement of the dialog, Socrates praises Hippias of Elis for his exploits at Olympia pertaining to the psych¯e as superior to the accomplishments of Olympic athletes (364a). However, Socrates then goes on to challenge Hippias’ arguments, thus perpetuating the agonistic analogy. Indeed, throughout the corpus, the figure of Socrates equates his own method with sporting activity, especially wrestling (Plato Cratylus 421d; Euthydemus 277b, 278b, 288a; Philebus 41b; Protagoras 339e; Theatetus 169b). And finally, the gymnasium itself is often the dramatic site of Socratic dialog.13 The historical development and popularity of the gymnasium marked a major shift in the function, significance, and social value of sports in the Classical period. The gymnasium was not just a place for sport and physical training, but one in which citizens had to train naked (gymnos). This very fact may have led to a greater democratizing effect of sport as a civic good, one in which greater social cohesion was achieved through communal self-exposure and testing (Christesen 2012b: 164–78). It is the uniquely civic role of sporting practice in the gymnasium that seems to have influenced the development of psych¯e–s¯oma dualism in the Classical period. Philosophy, as a form of mental

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agonism, made use of themes of “exposure” and “testing,” and therefore appropriated the civic aspect of sport for its own purposes. The very re-categorization of the human, from Homeric multiplicity to psych¯e-s¯oma duality, might very well be viewed as an effect of the efforts of public intellectuals in the Classical period to establish philosophy, in its various modes, as a form of education that was equal if not superior to physical training. This is perhaps why psych¯e–s¯oma dualism is so often invoked in the context of sport training. Indeed, the increased popularity of the “psychic” aspects of education can be observed historically in the fact that the main public gymnasia of Athens, the Academy and the Lyceum, eventually became the sites of the schools of philosophy for Plato and Aristotle respectively.

SPORT AND PHILOSOPHY IN THE HELLENISTIC AND ROMAN PERIODS: ASKE¯ SIS OF MIND AND BODY In the Classical period, the civic activity of the gymnasium was often defined not just in the abstract as education or paideia, but also as a form of physical training or ask¯esis.14 In the Hellenistic (323–31 BCE ) and Roman (31 BC –476 CE ) periods, ask¯ esis took on profound philosophical implications as a type of individualized training and formation of the psych¯e, not just the s¯oma (see especially Finn 2009: 9–33). In the Classical period, the psych¯e was generally interpreted as a non-material aspect of the self, a counterpart to the s¯oma, which took precedence over the s¯oma. In later philosophical movements, the psych¯e–s¯oma discourse itself underwent a dramatic transformation. Rather than representing two opposing aspects of self, in Hellenistic and Roman philosophical movements, one finds a fairly uniform argument that psych¯e is s¯oma.15 This change appears to have been the result of the influence of materialist philosophers and physicians. As a result, the physical training involved with sport was no longer simply a parallel practice to the non-physical training of the psych¯e. Instead, physical training was understood as having very real, material implications for the private formation of the psychic self. There is surprisingly little discussion of physical preparation and training in the extant writings of Hellenistic philosophers (perhaps because of the fragmentary nature of their works), but this lack is more than compensated for when it comes to the Roman continuation of Hellenistic philosophy, especially with regard to Stoicism. One of the most well-known Roman Stoic philosophers from the first century CE , Gaius Musonius Rufus, offers a clear articulation of the function of ask¯esis as it applies to both psych¯e and s¯oma. He states that there are two types of ask¯esis, one for the psych¯e alone and one for both psych¯e and s¯oma, and he further explains that one participates in the ask¯esis of both psych¯e and s¯oma when one is subjected to physical hardships including cold, heat, thirst, hunger, meager rations, hard beds, avoidance of pleasures, and

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patience under suffering. Through physical hardships, he explains, both s¯oma and psych¯e are strengthened (Lecture 6). Rufus’ student Epictetus, also writing in the first century CE , further developed the Stoic concept of ask¯esis through direct comparison with sports training. Thus, Epictetus claims that he is the true trainer, ask¯et¯es, who is able to replace bad appearances (phantasia) with good ones through self-exercise (gymnazein heauton) (Epictetus 2.18). And he further comments on the physical effect of such philosophical practice, which makes one appear as an athlete of sorts: “And if you are accustomed to be exercised in this way, you will see what shoulders, what sinews, what strength you have” (Epictetus 2.18). In “On the Need for Circumspection” Epictetus also directly compares the desire to be a philosopher with the desire to be an Olympic victor (3.15). He lists the numerous hardships that an athlete will face as well as the inevitable fact of loss, which makes the practice of training for the Olympics equivalent to philosophy. Thus, according to Epictetus, in both sport and philosophy, the first task to undertake is self-examination to determine if one is ready and willing for the difficulties and inevitable failures that await. Later in the same work, he likens the reward of philosophy to an Olympic victory, which he characterizes as a prize in and of itself and thus devoid of monetary recompense (3.24). Elsewhere, Epictetus describes his own version of the “unconquerable athlete” (anik¯etos athl¯et¯es). For Epictetus, such a person is not simply someone who is victorious in a contest, but any person who is not disturbed by matters that are separate from one’s own will (1.18). Thus, within the Stoic tradition, and because of the material dimensions of the psych¯e itself, philosophers are not merely compared to athletes, but they become athletes in their own right. Just as philosophers became athletes, athletes could in the Roman Imperial period also be viewed in a more philosophic light. This is evident in the work of the rhetorician Dio Chrysostom, a contemporary of Epictetus, who, in two famous orations, 28 and 29, offers fictional eulogies of a beautiful boxer named Melancomas (who may or may not have been a historical person).16 It is said that Melancomas retained his beauty because he was an entirely defensive boxer who had never received a blow and beat his opponents through sheer endurance. There is special praise in these two orations, not just for Melancomas’ beauty, but also for the manner of training and the degree of self-control he exerted. Thus, in Oration 28, Dio writes, “The most amazing thing of all in a man is to have been undefeated not only by opponents, but also by work and fatigue and gluttony and sex. For anyone who is to remain undefeated by his opponents must first be undefeated by these” (28.12). And in Oration 29, the speaker further explains, “Melancomas seems to me to have loved to compete [philonik¯esai] against his body [s¯oma] with his soul [psych¯e], and he was eager to become more famous on account of it [i.e. his psych¯e].” Dio goes on to claim

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that the ask¯esis of sport training is superior even to training for war because it produces in the person courage (andreia), strength (ischus), and temperance (s¯ophrosun¯e) (29.9). Thus, in these two orations, Dio equates the work of an athlete precisely with those activities, which Gaius Musonius Rufus had defined as Stoic training for the psych¯e. Yet, because both philosophy and sport require bodily attention, Stoicism may also be critical of sporting activity because it physically distracts from philosophical endeavors. Thus, in a letter to his friend Lucilius, the first-century CE Roman Stoic philosopher Seneca specifically advises against sporting pursuits. He comments, “It is stupid, my dear Lucilius, and it is not a fitting pastime for an educated man to practice exercising the shoulders, broadening the neck, and strengthening one’s sides.” And the reason that it is not fitting is entirely physical: “The spirit [animus] is broken down by the increased weight of the body [corpus] and is less agile. Therefore, as much as you are able, limit attention on the body [corpus] and open up space for the mind [animus]” (Letters 15.2).17 Seneca’s criticism of sport here is entirely different from the criticism from the Archaic and Classical periods, which centered primarily on the civic value of sport. In Stoicism, the criticism is based on the materiality and limited distribution of resources to both mind and body, psych¯e and s¯oma in the Greek tradition, animus and corpus in the Roman. Indeed, Seneca is not entirely opposed to bodily exercise and in this same letter he recommends short intense exercise that will offer maximum benefits with minimal time commitment (Letters 15.5). The Stoic tradition thus provides one case in point for a more general continuation of the comparison between philosophy and sport, which began in the Classical period.18 At the same time, there remain marked differences in this general discourse on sport and philosophy between the Classical and postClassical periods, differences that revolved around the relationship between conceptualizations of mind and body. In the Classical period, these two aspects of the self were believed to have required two distinct types of knowledge and expertise (technai), one mental and the other physical. But with the more material understanding of psych¯e developed in the Hellenistic period, athlete and philosopher began to blend as two figures who practice a very similar type of physical training. Such a shift also reflects the major changes to the cultural value of sporting practice and competition in the Hellenistic and Roman periods. Although physical training in the gymnasium continued to have a civic function, within the broader multi-cultural contexts of Hellenistic and Roman empires, the practice of sport also signified social class and participation in a Hellenic cultural heritage, of which both sport and philosophy were critical aspects. In the Hellenistic and Roman periods, sport thus became a major site for identity politics that were both international and ontological (see Chapter 6 for further discussion).

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MEDICINE AND SPORT IN IMPERIAL ROME: COMPETING FOR KNOWLEDGE OF MIND AND BODY Much like philosophy, medicine was also compared to and contrasted extensively with sporting practice in the Roman Imperial period. Indeed, doctors and trainers often worked together within the ever-expanding culture of the gymnasium during that time. But doctors and trainers also seemed to have viewed themselves in direct competition with each other over bodily knowledge.19 Such a perspective is most evident in the writings of the second-century CE physician Galen, who offers some of the most vicious attacks in Classical antiquity against the value and significance of athletes and sport training. Indeed, many of the details in Galen’s attacks center on his own unique continuation of mind–body discourse, inherited from both Plato and Hellenistic philosophy. First, it should be noted that Galen’s view of the psych¯e is famously ambiguous. In his works, Galen is often ambivalent about what precisely the psych¯e is, and yet this does not prevent him from talking about the psych¯e and its relation to the s¯oma throughout his works.20 On the one hand, Galen is an avowed Platonist and subscribes to a tripartite view of the psych¯e (see, for instance, Hankinson 1991; Tieleman 1996: 38–65). On the other hand, even though he critiques certain Hellenistic treatments of the psych¯e, he is nevertheless indebted to some of their materialist principles when discussing the soul (von Staden 2000: 112–16; Pearcy 2004; Gill 2007). Overall, Galen appears to view the psych¯e as dependent on the body and bodily mixtures (krasis), which must be maintained according to the principle of symmetria or balance (Galen, That the Soul’s Capacity Follows the Body’s Temperaments 4.767–822K). Indeed, Galen is highly critical of sport both as an area of expertise (techn¯e) and as a form of practice (ask¯esis), precisely because of its failure to achieve balance or symmetria in both body and mind, s¯oma and psych¯e, which, for Galen, is the true hallmark of health. In his treatise Thrasybulus, Galen sets out to answer the question whether health is a part of medicine or physical training. He cites the famous episode from Plato’s Gorgias, discussed above, in which the techn¯e of the body is divided between medicine and physical training (Galen Thrasybulus 35, 872–874K; Plato Gorgias 463e–464b). Galen notes that Plato does provide a name for the techn¯e of the psych¯e—politik¯e techn¯e—but does not provide a single name for the techn¯e of the body, and so Galen asserts that the single expertise in question is in fact health, hygieia. In addition, Galen cites another Classical-period source, the medical writer Hippocrates, who is reported to have claimed, “The athletic disposition is not natural, better the healthy condition [hexis]” (Hippocrates Nutrition 34). Ultimately, Galen invokes both Plato and Hippocrates in order to highlight how much sport training has degraded in his own era compared to the Classical, precisely because of its excesses: “For the

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physical disposition of the athlete, which is taken to the extreme, is not safe for health” (Galen Thrasybulus 36, 876K). He further explains that “Health consists in a type of balance [symmetria]; but the kind of athletics under discussion creates a type of imbalance [ametria], since it produces much thick flesh and a great amount of blood” (Galen Thrasybulus 38, 876K). Unlike Plato, however, Galen does not see the techn¯e of the body as entirely separate from that of the psych¯e, and it is the physical excess of sport, which is a cause for impediment of the psych¯e. This view is made clear in another of Galen’s anti-athletic texts, the Protrepticus. There, Galen asserts: Now it is clear to everyone that athletes have never taken part in the goods of the psych¯e, not even in a dream. In the first place, they do not know if they even have a soul, so much are they lacking in knowledge of its rational quality. Always engaged in increasing the amount of flesh and blood, they have a soul that has been extinguished entirely as though by much filth. —Protrepticus 11 Here, then, physical training has a direct physiological effect on the psych¯e, presumably because the idea of increasing one’s body mass runs contrary to Galen’s view that the goal is proper balance rather than increase. Such a view is exactly parallel to the earlier complaints against athletic practice uttered by Seneca. In the Protrepticus, Galen goes on to explain the many dangers and injuries in athletics and the fact that athletes often die young. Ultimately, he concludes that “sporting activity is not a practice [ask¯esis] in health, but in disease” (Galen Protrepticus 11). Like his philosophical predecessors, however, Galen is not opposed to physical activity in general but only to the institutionalized forms of sport training in his era. In one text, “Exercise with a Small Ball,” he gives several reasons for promoting ball exercise (the details of which are not clear) as the best type of physical training because “the best of all exercises are those which not only work the body [s¯oma], but which are also able to please the soul [psych¯e]” (Galen Exercise with a Small Ball 1/900K). According to Galen, exercise with a small ball provides maximum benefits for both s¯oma and psych¯e. Thus, this small treatise takes on a Platonic framework (König 2005: 286). At the same time, Galen moves beyond a Platonic model by refusing to divide the forms of knowledge and practice so strictly between s¯oma and psych¯e. Instead, Galen insists that psych¯e and s¯oma are indeed interdependent, and the quality of that interdependence ultimately rests on the principle of symmetria (Exercise with a Small Ball 3, 906K). Of course, Galen’s criticisms cannot be taken to express the communis opinio on the value of sport in the Imperial period, since physical training in that era was largely understood as a critical component of an elite education

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(van Nijf 2003; van Nijf 2004; König 2005: 301–5). And we do know that numerous treatises were written on the value of sport and physical training, although none are extant. There is, however, one single, unique text, the Gymnasticus, written by Philostratus in the third century CE , which may be read in direct response to Galen in that sport and physical training are promoted as a legitimate form of bodily knowledge (König 2005; Stocking 2016). According to Philostratus, the sport coach must be able to exercise the powers of vision in order to judge athletes according to a principle of symmetria that is both embodied and ethical (Gymnasticus 25; Stocking 2014). Such an argument responds directly to Galen’s claims regarding the excesses (ametria) of sport. At the same time, Philostratus argues that the coach should not be too strict in the control of the athlete but must be able to improvise and find the right time (kairos) for training and rest, a notion that runs contrary to a popular mode of training at the time known as the Tetrad (Gymnasticus 47, 54; Stocking 2016: 100–6). For Philostratus, therefore, it is precisely the skills of analysis and improvisation, as they apply to the body and character of the athlete, which render sport a valid form of knowledge and cultural education. Furthermore, in his argument, Philostratus seems to respond to Galen by insisting on a categorical distinction between two general forms of expertise— one related to physical activity, defined as techn¯e, and those more abstract forms of knowledge that Philostratus asserts are more than mere technai (Gymnasticus 1; König 2005: 315–23). Under this non-technical category are included poetry, music, geometry, and physical training. Thus, where Galen followed Plato’s original division between two types of technai, Philostratus adds a degree of distinction by reclassifying the abstract forms of expertise, those of both body and soul, under a single heading, which Philostratus defines as sophia (Gymnasticus 1). Unlike Galen, Philostratus makes no claims about the psych¯e per se, but he does defend physical training against attacks pertaining to its lack of intellectual value by creating a new category, what we might call the sophia of sport. It should be further noted that Philostratus’ own recategorization of sport responds not only to Galen, but also to the entire history of anti-athletic sentiment dating back to Xenophanes, who contrasted his own sophia with the popular practice of sport (Xenophanes F2). Once more then, as with philosophy, so with medicine, athletics in the Roman Imperial period becomes a site of negotiation and contest between abstract and embodied forms of knowledge and practice.

CHRISTIANITY: THE ATHLETIC REMAINDER With the advent and increasing popularity of Christianity in the Roman Imperial period, one is able to observe yet one more transformation in the history of Greco-Roman mind–body discourse and its relationship to sport. First, contrary

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to early scholarly consensus, it must be noted that Christianity was not the primary cause for the decline and eventual disappearance of sport as a cultural institution in Late Antiquity (Remijsen 2015). To be sure, Christian authors do offer considerable criticism of sport, especially because of the excessive attention paid to the body (Tertullian On Spectacles; Tatian Address to the Greeks). Nevertheless, sport maintained a persistent importance at the level of discourse despite its eventual decline in practice. Early Christian writers present a clear continuation of the use of athletic education as ask¯esis, which converges with a new eschatological perspective that must negotiate with earlier views on mind– body dualism. The Apostle Paul, writing in the first century CE , is one of the earliest and most well-known Christian authors to make use of sporting language (Pfitzner 1967). The most iconic episode of such language occurs in his letters to the Corinthians, where he states: Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize. Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever. Therefore I do not run like someone running aimlessly; I do not fight like a boxer beating the air. No, I strike a blow to my body and make it my slave so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified for the prize. —I Corinthians 9: 24–7 Paul is attempting to effectively communicate his views to the Christian community at Corinth by appealing to their own popular Greek institutions and cultural practices. Indeed, the metaphors he employs actually resonate with the entire history of psych¯e, s¯oma, and sport discussed thus far. First, Paul employs the metaphor of a foot race in order to describe how a Christian should live with the aim of getting to heaven. Running as a type of metaphysical metaphor for a life–death struggle dates back at least to Homeric poetry, in which Achilles’ chase of Hector so he can slay him is described in athletic terms (Iliad 22. 157–66; G. Nagy 1990: 135–45; Purves 2011). In the Iliad, the prize for the race was the psych¯e of Hector. In Paul’s words, the prize is not the life of another, but one’s own life in heaven. And just as a Homeric warrior receives “imperishable glory,” kleos aphthiton, in exchange for death, so the Christian receives a metaphoric victory crown (arrival in heaven) which is also “imperishable” (aphtharton).21 It is probably not the case that Paul is making specific reference to Homeric concepts, but the parallel remains significant. Just as sport itself functioned as a celebration of living embodiment in opposition to death in Homer, so Paul uses sport to describe the Christian ideal of heaven as the continuation of life.

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The second aspect of Paul’s language that resonates with earlier discourse is the language of self-agonism (“I strike a blow to my body”). On the one hand, such language is a clear extension of the notion of ask¯esis from the Hellenistic and earlier Roman Imperial periods of philosophy. Paul describes his own overcoming in a way similar, for instance, to the efforts of Melancomas in the writings of Dio Chrysostom. Still, with Paul’s language, there remains another telling difference from the earlier traditions. In earlier accounts, physical hardship was sought after and endured precisely because the psych¯e had a material aspect as part of the body, and therefore such training of the body ultimately benefited the self. Here, however, Paul clearly pronounces a nonidentity between himself and his body, which is rendered a social inferior and object of possession, his “slave.” In this way, Paul’s language is perhaps more evocative of an earlier form of Platonic psych¯e–s¯oma dualism. Of course, as with his somewhat Homeric language, Paul may be unaware of his use of Platonic language, although such language would have a long afterlife (Heckel 2000). Overall, in this and many other instances, Paul’s use of athletic metaphor seems to appropriate the Greco-Roman tradition of sporting discourse in order to give expression to a unique Christian sense of self as the sufferer, who endures with an unshakeable focus on a single other-worldly and non-physical goal (Perkins 1995; Seesengood 2006). As such, the very act of making an analogy between Christian behavior and the embodied activity of sport is highly appropriate and underscores a fundamental difference between the two. Paul’s use of athletics set the stage for the continued use of sport metaphors throughout Late Antiquity. This is especially true for John Chrysostom, archbishop of Constantinople, writing in the fourth century CE (Koch 2007). Like Paul, John Chrysostom employs the language of sport to describe the preparation and education of Christians. In one of his homilies on the writings of Matthew, he explains the need for Christians to prepare to preach as follows: Ought we not every day to wrestle and fight and run? Do you not see those that are called Pentathletes, when they have no antagonists, how they fill a sack with much sand, and hang it up and try their full strength on it? And they that are still younger practice the fight against their enemies upon their companions. These you must also emulate and practice the wrestling moves of philosophy. For indeed there are many that provoke to anger, and incite to lust, and kindle a great flame. Stand therefore against your passions, bear nobly pains in the mind [dianoia] in order to endure also those of the body [s¯oma]. —Homilies on Matthew 33.7 John Chrysostom’s discussion of athletics here comes as part of his acknowledgment of the agonistic aspects of professing Christian faith, which,

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like traditional sport training requires both practice and a specialized coach to prepare for the eventual competition. At the same time, John Chrysostom makes note of the more monadic aspects of sports training. Thus, much like Paul, he uses sport in order to describe the inherently solitary nature of Christian preparation, which he calls the “wrestling moves of philosophy” (t¯es philosophias ta palaismata). On one level, one might consider this “philosophy” to be another simple extension of earlier ascetic traditions. There is certainly a striking parallel with Stoicism in his advice to nobly endure pains in “mind” (dianoia) and in “body” (s¯oma). Yet John Chrysostom’s use of the term “philosophy” here is a reference to a more technical understanding of “Christian philosophy” that is meant to replace traditional modes of Greco-Roman teaching or paideia (John Chrysostom Homilies on Romans 26.4; Stenger 2016). Thus, John Chrysostom invokes and uses the Greco-Roman cultural institution of sport for the purpose of replacing that very institution. John Chrysostom’s use of sport imagery is in some ways surprising since elsewhere he expresses extreme aversion toward athletic competitions as “festivals of Satan” (Homilies on John 32). It should be noted that he may have witnessed such festivals because he grew up in Antioch, where an important athletic festival continued to be held through the fourth century CE . Hence, personal experience of attending that festival may be the source of John Chrysostom’s metaphoric language (Remijsen 2015: 93–104). That said, a lack of first-hand experience did not stop many Late Antique Christian writers from continuing to make use of athletic imagery for the sake of Christian selffashioning even after Greco-Roman sport ceased to exist as an institutionalized cultural practice.

CONCLUSION From this brief survey, one may begin to appreciate the extent to which ancient mind-body discourse was, in fact, highly influenced by and implicated in the very history of sport practice and competition in Classical antiquity, from its earliest “prehistory” to its eventual demise in Late Antiquity. Even before the advent of properly philosophic psych¯e–s¯oma dualism in the fifth century BCE , sport seems to have been a cultural topos for addressing the problem of embodied versus unembodied identity, as seen in Homer. Yet in the Classical period, too, sport was intimately tied to discussion of mind and body, psych¯e and s¯oma, as associations with these concepts transformed from the purely eschatological to the political and pedagogical. And of course, such philosophical engagement continued into Hellenistic and Roman periods, even when the notions of psych¯e and s¯oma continued to undergo their own changes, from the realm of civic paideia to individualized ask¯esis. And perhaps nowhere is the

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tension between sport and the philosophical history of mind–body discourse better expressed than in the medical writings of Galen during the Roman Imperial period. Indeed, the interaction of philosophy and medicine throughout antiquity has been long acknowledged, while sport seems to have been a constant, but largely silent third party in the history of such interactions. Why, we must ask, has there been such silence? The first problem, I believe, comes from the nature of the evidence. There can be no question regarding the high value placed on sport in Classical antiquity; that sport and physical training were generally acknowledged to be a form of expertise, a techn¯e; and that those who professed to be experts in that techn¯e produced treatises in which they put their knowledge on display. However, whereas there is a considerable collection of extant texts on philosophy and medicine from Classical antiquity, the writings of athletic trainers have not been preserved.22 In order to understand sport as a cultural practice and form of knowledge in antiquity, as an alternate means for understanding the body, we must rely on modes of discourse that are in fact foreign to ancient sport. Hence, coming to understand the cultural significance of ancient sport, how it was understood, received, and valued, will always be a matter of reconstruction from sources that are not directly concerned with sport. The second, equally relevant reason that the role of sport in mind–body discourse has been largely silenced, I believe, is simply because of the long history of hostility toward sport and physical training found in the philosophic and medical texts. Such anti-athletic sentiments began as early as the Archaic period and continued well into the Christian era. But it is all too easy to take an ancient author such as Galen at his word when he says that sport is not a topic worth pursuing. What must be understood is that the louder and more constant the criticism, the more culturally significant is that which is being criticized. Ultimately, the strained relationship between sport, medicine, and philosophy, which alternated between models of complementarity and competition, reflects the ever-present tension between the physical and non-physical, as different genres in different periods of history attempt to delineate what it means to be human. Lastly, with the continued use of athletic language in Christian authors, we get a glimpse into the historical power of discourse itself, since the language of sport continued as a way to talk about human identity, well after the institutions that gave rise to such discourse had ceased to exist. Even though sport as a Greco-Roman cultural institution came to an end, it remained alive in the reproduction of the language of ancient authors throughout later phases of history, much in the same way that ancient authors reproduced earlier aspects of that discourse.23 Indeed, it is that very process of reproducing the language of ancient sport that is at least partially responsible for a newly embodied form of sport culture in the modern world.24

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NOTES 1. There is an immense amount of scholarship on the history of mind–body dualism in ancient Greece, beginning at least with Erwin Rohde’s Psyche (Rohde 1894). Current debates can be traced primarily back to Bruno Snell’s Die Entdeckung des Geistes, first published in 1946 (Snell 1946). A full bibliography on this topic in ancient philosophy would put this chapter well beyond its word limit, but see, among others, Gill 1996; Wright and Potter 2000; King 2006; Lloyd 2007; Frede and Reis 2009; Holmes 2010b; Long 2015; Thumiger 2017. 2. It should be noted that this chapter specifically privileges the role of the two ancient Greek terms psych¯e and s¯ oma, and their role in poetry, philosophy, oratory, and medical discourse in Greece as well as their transformation in Roman culture. To be sure, there are many synonyms and translations of these two terms and of their representative ideas in both Greek and Roman literature, but to include the many potential ideas and expressions related to mind–body dualism in Greek and Roman antiquity, without a view to the particularities of language use, would make the project too capacious to convey any particular significance from a cultural historical perspective. 3. Modern debates were inaugurated by Snell 1953: 1–22; see further, among others, Adkins 1970, Gill 1996, Clarke 1999, who each react in some way to Snell. The discourse of “discovery” and the implicit model of evolution in Snell’s argument remain rightly criticized, but most agree that his specific philological observations on Homeric language are still valid. For a reconsideration of Snell’s observations through a greater focus on polytheism and the agency of the gods, see Holmes 2010b: 41–83; Holmes 2017: 26–32. 4. For a summary of arguments on psych¯e in Homer, see Clarke 1999: 53–60; For s¯oma, see Holmes 2010b: 29–37. Exceptions to the marked use of s¯oma as corpse are Hesiod Works and Days 539–40 and Archilochus F196a M-W. 5. And in the case of one especially striking simile, the psych¯e of Hector himself is considered the athletic prize for the “race” in which Achilles pursues Hector in order to kill him (Iliad 22. 157–66). On athletics as a life and death struggle in Archaic Greek poetry, see G. Nagy 1990: 135–45. 6. On falling’s associations with death, see Purves 2006. 7. On the development of those competitions, which came to be known as the periodos or “circuit,” see J. K. Davies 2007. 8. On the history of the Greek gymnasium and its social function, see especially Delorme 1960, Kyle 1987: 64–101; Mann 1998; S. Miller 2004a: 176–95; Christesen 2012b: 145–8; Trombetti 2013. 9. For a concise history of anti-athletic sentiment in the Greek tradition, see Papakonstantinou 2014. 10. On Isocrates and ancient Greek education, see the essays in Hawhee 2004: 65–85; Too 2008; Poulakos and Depew 2009. 11. The bibliography on this topic is immense. In addition to references mentioned in note number 1, above, see also, among others, Robinson 2000; Carone 2005; Holmes 2010a; Barney, Brennan, and Brittain 2012; Kamtekar 2017. 12. See especially Gundert 2000; Robinson 2000; Holmes 2010a.

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13. See, for example, Charmides, Euthydemus, Lysis, Theatetus. For further discussion of the central relationship between athletics and philosophy in the Classical era, see Reid 2011. 14. See, for instance, Isocrates Antidosis 209, 304; Plato Alcibiades 120b8; Plato Gorgias 487c5, 509e2; Plato Meno 70a2; Plato Republic 404a1, 518d11; Aristotle Nicomachean Ethics 1099b, 1170a11; Aristotle Politics 1288b13, 1341a8. 15. For a concise account of these views, see von Staden 2000. 16. On the role of athletics in the writings of Dio Chrysostom, see König 2005: 132–57. 17. The Latin terms animus and corpus used in this passage are translations from the psych¯e-s¯oma pair that are part of the Greek philosophical tradition. Of course, the notion of mind/soul implicit in animus may also apply to the term mens in Latin. But as explained in a note above, a full account of all the synonyms and uses of the psych¯e-s¯oma discourse in Greek and its translations and transformations into Latin is beyond the scope of this chapter. 18. The physical ask¯esis common between philosophy and athletics is also applied to the Roman reception of Cynic philosophy. See Dio Chrysostom Orations 8 and 9, as well as Diogenes Laertius 6.70. 19. On the complex relationship between doctors and trainers in the Roman Imperial period, see König 2005: 254–344. 20. On Galen’s ambivalence about the substance of the psych¯e, see, for instance, On the Writings of Hippocrates and Plato 7.3.21. , 21. On the significance of kleos aphthiton as an Archaic Greek and even IndoEuropean poetic concept, see especially G. Nagy 1974: 140–9; Watkins 1995: 173–8. 22. Even Philostratus’ Gymnasticus cannot be included as such a text, although I believe he does show a great degree of practical knowledge of athletic training, on which see Stocking 2016. 23. See, for instance, Hieronymus Mercurialis’ De Arte Gymnastica, written in 1569, which relies especially on Galen and his attitude toward athletic practice, while Galen himself relies heavily on Plato, Hippocrates, and others. 24. On the abuses of this ancient discourse in modern sport and Olympic ideology, see Young 2005.

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CHAPTER EIGHT

Representation NIGEL SPIVEY

INTRODUCTION Much of our knowledge about sport in Classical antiquity comes from its representation—literally, “making present” events past, future, or otherwise not present. “Not present” can of course include scenarios that never actually happen: the stuff of dreams, pretense, or wishful thinking. We are duly obliged to think about the historical process of representation: how images were made, what purpose they served, and how we, in retrospect, should “read” them. In the evolution of cultural history as a discipline, it was recognized already by Jacob Burckhardt in the nineteenth century that representations were important, if not paramount, as a source for the study of Classical antiquity. As Burckhardt argued, the empirical “facts” of the past were rarely susceptible to verification. Far more certain, paradoxically, were the “fictitious elaborations” of events, liable to “betray their secrets unconsciously.”1 And with representations of sport there is a further dimension. What if sport itself should be considered a “representation”—that is, a facsimile, or a metaphor; a substitution of one thing for another? This chapter tries to steer a course between that double sense—sport through representation, sport as representation—within the period conventionally designated as “Classical antiquity.” The approach will be largely chronological, taking as a starting point the traditional date assigned to the first Olympiad, 776 BCE (see Chapter 2 for more on this date)—and ending around 400 CE , when the Olympic festival was more or less discontinued. “Classical antiquity,” and hence what is here called the “Classical tradition,” encompasses not only the culturally varied regions of the Roman empire, but 179

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also substantial cultural divergence between Romans and Greeks, and among the Greeks themselves—not to mention Etruscans, Egyptians, and others. When it comes to the representation of sport, however, a certain element of unity may be claimed. (How much continuity in the practice of sport prevailed across this period is a separate subject that will not be addressed here.) Whether produced in Athens, Etruria, Alexandria, or Rome, images of athletes were mostly (and demonstrably) created by artists trained in the Greek craft tradition. This tradition is usually traced as a stylistic sequence starting with “Geometric” (c. 800–c. 700 BCE ) and ending c. 300 CE (and the arrival of “Late Antique”). What is important for us is that a shared visual vocabulary, a koin¯e, developed, accompanied by an iconographic logic sufficiently strong to disguise or override social realities.

“THE CLASSICAL TRADITION” EPITOMIZED: THE NUDE ATHLETE An instance of that iconographic power comes with the generic image of the unclothed athlete. In practice, it is unlikely that at games sponsored by Roman emperors—even when overtly based upon the Greek model, such as the Sebasta Isolympia founded by Augustus at Naples (Crowther 1989)—participants competed naked. So far as we know, the habit of athletic nudity was culturally unique to the Greeks (Bonfante 1990). Yet representations of athletes in the Roman world routinely feature the body stripped, as we can see in Figure 8.1, which shows a statue of an athlete found at York in Britain. The reality of an athlete posing in this undressed state is remote—all the more so in a northerly province of the empire. According to Classical artistic convention, however, the image is perfectly “normal.” Placed in a niche of a bath-house, it would clearly belong within the decorum of such an institutional space. From the gymnasia of Pompeii in Italy to the civic baths of Leptis Magna in North Africa, images of the unclothed prize-winning male athlete were on display wherever Rome ruled (Newby 2005: 25–87).2 Their archetype was the form developed by the bronze-worker Polykleitos from the city of Argos in Greece during the mid-fifth century BCE , for a series of victory-statue commissions at Olympia and elsewhere (Figure 8.2). Though no original by Polykleitos survives, his influence was evidently widespread and long-lasting. A combination of factors can be cited by way of explanation (Spivey 2013: 39–42, 101–6, with further bibliography (52); see also Franciosi and Themelis 2013). In the first place, Polykleitos not only produced statues (and was a prizewinner in his craft), but also wrote a treatise, the Canon, divulging his technical approach, which relied upon principles of geometry. This facilitated the formation of a Polykleitan “school” of sculptors, active over several generations, and including such distinguished names as Skopas and

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FIGURE 8.1: Marble statuette of an athlete, second—third century CE , from Roman York (Eboracum). The laurel wreath denotes sporting victory. Ht. 25 cm. York, Yorkshire Museum 1998.22. Image courtesy of York Museums Trust: http:// yorkmuseumstrust.org.uk.

Lysippos. It also rationalized the aesthetics of a body shaped by a certain regime of physical exercise and diet. The Polykleitan rules could be applied to bodies male or female, young or mature. Essentially it was an artificial system, imposing an unnatural degree of symmetry upon the human frame. Yet it had a normative effect. Our athlete from Romano-British Yorkshire may not meet the ideal specifications bequeathed by some handsome young boxer from the fifthcentury BCE . Nonetheless, he carries signals of muscular development and a “toned” torso sufficient to indicate the Classical legacy—laid bare by the “costume” of nudity.3

THE COHERENCE OF “THE CLASSICAL TRADITION” Stylistic conformity creates a mirage of cultural coherence. But is it only a matter of style? Within the scope of the Classical tradition there were certain subjects that were widely understood. An obvious example is the figure of Heracles. Mythologically inseparable from the foundation of the Olympic Games (Ulf

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FIGURE 8.2: Marble statue of the “Diadoumenos” type (partially restored), mid-first century CE , after a bronze original by Polykleitos c. 430 BCE . The figure is caught in the act of wrapping a victory fillet (ribbon) around his head. Typical of Polykleitos is the contrapposto stance (suggesting motion more potential than actual)—and the air of introspective modesty. Ht. 1.84 m. New York, Metropolitan Museum 25.78.56 (Fletcher Fund, 1925). https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/251838. Reproduced under Creative Commons 1.0 Universal license.

1997a), Heracles’ cult and reputation would seem embedded in Panhellenic sport. Yet the symbolism of Heracles extended far beyond the Greeks in space and time—and sometimes, too, in style. Heracles the strong man, the archathlete, loses little in translation. As was well-known in antiquity, the hero’s exploits (“Labors” = athla) take him to places inhabited by non-Greeks—among them Romans, Etruscans, Celts, and Iberians (Diodorus Siculus Library of History 4.8–39). He was readily assimilated into local equivalents, such as the Celtic Ogmios, whose attributes (like the Greek Heracles) included a lion-skin and club (Lucian of Samosata Heracles 1–4). From a Classical perspective, the image of Heracles embodies the strength and determination required of the successful athlete, especially competitors in the combat events (Figure 8.3). Participants at

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the ancient Olympics could see the “Twelve Labors” (Dodekathlon) of Heracles canonized in the metope-reliefs of the Temple of Zeus at Olympia (Barringer 2005). But a non-canonical Heracles could also exist. The pilgrims who made their way to the Gallo-Roman spa-sanctuary of Hercules Salutaris in what is now eastern France may not have been Olympic athletes; nonetheless their prayers to the deified hero were loaded with the hope of absorbing some of his indomitable spirit and power (Figure 8.4).4 By the same token, there can be no doubt that “non-canonical” sporting festivals existed beyond the Greek model. From Etruria, for example, come numerous representations of events and activities that seem to be “ludic” (Figure 8.5). Among these representations, in various media, are elements we may recognize from the Greek model—but others we do not. For example, several Etruscan painted tombs depict a spectacle apparently involving a fight

FIGURE 8.3: Detail of a marble metope from the Temple of Zeus at Olympia, c. 460 BCE . Heracles takes the weight of the heavens while Atlas fetches the Apples of the Hesperides; Athena assists. Ht. of metope 1.14 m. Archaeological Museum, Olympia. Photograph by R. M. Cook.

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FIGURE 8.4: Sandstone relief of Hercules from the sanctuary of Hercules Salutaris at Deneuvre (Meurthe-et-Moselle). Over a hundred such images of Hercules, locally carved, have been recovered from the site, dating to the second—third centuries CE . The typical attributes are a club and a lion’s scalp. Ht. 1.74 m. Deneuvre, Musèe des Sources d’Hercules S.A. 23. Photograph by Carole Raddato. https://www.flickr.com/ photos/carolemage/29182829936/. Reproduced under Creative Commons AttributionShareAlike 2.0 Generic license.

between a blindfolded man and a dog.5 Whether this should be classified as sport is questionable. In any case, the depictions are isolated—adrift, as it were, from the historical surrounds that would assist interpretation. No stadium, gymnasium, or hippodrome has yet been found in Etruria, and no Etruscan literary sources survive that would provide a context or commentary for such images. “The Classical tradition” is by contrast rich in visual, literary, and archaeological testimony. That is why it claims special significance in this survey as in any other. The following synopsis and analysis of that evidence include, deliberately, some representations of sport that are well-known, even “familiar”—e.g. the “Discobolus.” We think of such images as old friends: they have entered the repertoire of “mass media,” and not only by way of publicizing the modern Olympic movement (Figure 8.6). Thus tradition earns its keep, supplying the present with symbols from the past as well as symbols of the past so that new institutions seem reassuringly permanent. It is usual for the historian

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FIGURE 8.5: Detail of an Etruscan black-figure amphora attributed to the Micali Painter, c. 510–500 BCE , found at Vulci in Italy. The vase evokes a variety of “known” events, including chariot-racing, discus, javelin, and something like the armed dance, but also shows a boy climbing a pole, dancers with castanets, and a procession of satyrs. A celebration of the god Fufluns—Etruscan equivalent to Dionysus, or Bacchus—has been suggested. Ht. of entire vase 47.5 cm. London, British Museum B 64. © The Trustees of the British Museum 2020.

FIGURE 8.6: Official poster of the London Olympics, 1948, designed by Walter Herz. The version of the statue used here is the so-called Townley Discobolus in the British Museum, from Hadrian’s Villa at Tivoli. Getty Images #94584999. @ Getty Images 2020.

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to declare the past a foreign country and to make efforts to de-familiarize its symbolic legacy. But what we find when we examine Classical imagery in some detail may emerge as uncannily close to modern expectations—beginning with the nexus of sport and hero-worship, which is germane to the foundational mythology of Greco-Roman athletics.

THE HEROIC PARADIGM The best-known of Greek heroes—Akhilleus podark¯es, literally “Achilleshelping-with-feet,” or “running to rescue,” usually rendered “swift-footed Achilles”—was elementally defined by his sprinting speed. Those who know the Iliad will be aware that this physical attribute becomes part of the climactic fight-sequence of the poem, the duel between Achilles and Hector. The first part of that duel is, in effect, an athletic contest (Iliad 22.132–201). Hector, having resolved to confront Achilles outside the walls of Troy, suddenly loses his nerve when Achilles appears, and starts to run. Achilles pursues. Homer gives indications of local topography, and makes it clear that Hector is hoping to outpace Achilles and reach the safety of Troy’s citadel. Yet he specifically likens it to a sporting occasion: three “laps” around Troy at top speed, with “spectators” (i.e. the Olympian deities) taking one side or the other, and a prize on offer—alas, the prize of Hector’s life. Neither participant has discarded his shield, helmet or weapons, so this is a deadly sort of “race in armor” (on which see below and Figure 8.9). There is no finishing-line, just an acceptance of Fate. Accordingly, when Hector ceases to run, and faces his tireless rival, there is hardly any need to use those weapons. Victory is assured by cardiovascular supremacy; death by spear-thrust seems only a formal closure. Homer says that Achilles and Hector resembled runners or horses striving their utmost to win “the splendid reward of a tripod or a woman offered at a man’s funeral” (Iliad 22.164).6 This is significant—and not the only point in the poem where the occasion for sport is defined as arising from funerary rites. It recurs, of course, in the succeeding account of the funeral of Patroklos and the athletic contests held on that occasion (Iliad 23.262–897). In the course of Homer’s account of those contests, old Nestor reminisces about his glory days as a sportsman, citing the games held at Buprasium after the burial of Amarynkeus, king of the Epeans. We do not know much about this Amarynkeus and his Epean subjects, nor indeed the exact whereabouts of Buprasium. However, it is evident that the Epeans occupied part of the region of Elis— which, in the Classical tradition, became synonymous with the origins of sport because Olympia was located within the boundaries of Elis. Homer does not mention the name of Olympia, nor indeed any site of regular games; the games recalled by Nestor were ad hoc, “contests [aethla] instituted in honor of the

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king by his sons” (23.631). Homer may however have expected his audience to associate, vaguely, the northwestern part of the Peloponnese with athletics. None of his heroes explicitly boasts about winning a “crown” or a “title” as such. But the concept of proving one’s worth off the battlefield, by demonstrations of strength, courage, and skill, is clearly part of the heroic profile generally, and beyond the kudos (“glory, renown”) that comes with victory is the expectation that the prizes on offer should be of substantial value.7 It is within the scope of Homer’s engaging characterization that Nestor vaunts his triumphs in boxing, wrestling, running, and javelin-throwing without any nuance of modesty. Nestor’s concession of second place in the chariot-race is made grudgingly, claiming foul play by the winning Moliones—who, as Siamese twins, had in any case an unfair advantage—but we already know that the doughty lord of Pylos was an expert charioteer, because he intervened earlier to give some detailed technical advice to his son, Antilochos (23.301– 50). “Insider knowledge” is how this advice might be described, with its emphasis upon the value of applied intelligence (m¯etis). Yet we learn that Nestor’s skill in handling horses has a divine source—his grandfather Poseidon. In the event, Antilochos is accused of “cutting up” a senior opponent; there are assorted mishaps, and the race ends in such acrimony that Achilles, as sponsor and referee, must restore order by distributing prizes all round. If Homer had never witnessed such a chariot-race, at least one conducted on an improvised course in open countryside, he rises ably to the challenge of imagining its potential for “thrills and spills.” And it may have been with Homer’s poetry resonant that a vase-painter called Sophilos produced one of our earliest representations of organized sport in the Greek world (Figure 8.7). This is a well-known image, and deservedly so: rarely does a mere fragment convey so much precious information about an obscure historical period. The epigraphy draws attention to a poetic source, labeling (in retrograde script) the scene as PATROKL[O]US ATLA, “the games of Patroklos,” and indicating the presence of ACHIL[L]ES. Spectators view chariot-racing from a tiered platform, faithful to Homer’s description of a designated vantage-point or “grandstand” (23.448–9); since their view is in both directions, we may suppose that Sophilos showed several competitors, each named, in their chariots, with one [?ANTILOCH]OS causing some onlookers to raise their arms in acclamation or dismay.8 Homer does not divulge a reason why games should take place as part of the funerary honors for someone important. No special prayers or libations seem to be part of the ceremony—though deities take an interest in the results and “participate” in the action in much the same way as they do with combat on the battlefield. The staging of such contests appears at the discretion of family or close friends; nonetheless, contestants might come from afar. (Homer mentions that an Argive king, Mekisteus, attended the funeral games held at Thebes in

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FIGURE 8.7: Fragment of an Athenian black-figure dinos signed by Sophilos, c. 580–70 BCE , found at Pharsalus (Palaikastro, in Thessaly). Athens, National Archaeological Museum A 15499. Getty Images #122222689. @ Getty Images 2020.

honor of Oedipus—and beat all the local protagonists at boxing: 23.678–9.) Facilities were rudimentary and improvised, with attendant perils; as in the footrace at the games for Patroklos, one runner slips on cattle-dung (from sacrificial animals) on the appointed course and lands face-first in it. As for victory, it is clearly prestigious, and lucrative. But unless Homer is straining in Iliad 23 to portray Achilles as unusually mellow after the deposition of his beloved Patroklos, establishing outright victory does not seem to matter much. Prizes are found for anyone deemed deserving, with one non-competitor (Nestor) gratuitously awarded a sort of souvenir. There is little palpable sense that the games will in some way produce the next “big man;” certainly no overall victor.9 Some commentators in antiquity believed that the origins of athletic competition lay with the custom of funeral games, and that case has been argued more recently, drawing upon comparative ethnography (e.g. Meuli 1941; cf. Murray 2014: 310–13). But Homer’s most detailed representation of sport in the Odyssey (8.100–249) is not tied to any funeral. It arises from an apparently

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casual situation. Odysseus, survivor of a shipwreck off the land of the Phaiakians, has been graciously received at the court of King Alkinoos. A royal feast has been arranged, and the local rhapsode summoned to provide entertainment. Unwise to the identity of the bedraggled stranger, the poet sings of how two great heroes, Odysseus and Achilles, once ruined the atmosphere at a splendid banquet by indulging in a vehement dispute. This makes the unknown guest of honor sad—so it is by way of lifting the mood that Alkinoos proposes that the company go outside and watch the sons of some of the leading men in the community try their hands at “all manner of sports” (panta aethla, 8.100–1). Though again there is no mention of a stadium or other formal structures, evidently the young nobles at the court of Alkinoos are well-practiced in the contests that follow: sprinting, wrestling, jumping, throwing the discus, and boxing. A large crowd gathers to watch them, so presumably there is some sort of viewing-area—though this is left indistinct. The king intends these sports to be a display of Phaiakian manliness; he wants his visitor to reach home as an eye-witness to the fact that Alkinoos rules over a community whose young nobles are unequaled in their athletic ability. The court sportsmen duly oblige. But it then occurs to one of them, Laodamas—son of Alkinoos—that the visitor, too, might be invited to show some sporting prowess: though journey-worn, he seems a powerful fellow. Laodamas makes the suggestion, quite cordially; Odysseus declines, saying that he is too homesick to contemplate games. This prompts one of the young nobles to declare that the stranger is clearly no athlete, rather a commercial traveler, obsessed with nothing but his profit margins. Odysseus explodes with indignation—then, without even removing his cloak, he seizes an extra-large discus, much heavier than the normal competition size, and hurls it far beyond the marks of throws just made by the local lads. The message to them is clear enough, but Odysseus (being Odysseus) cannot resist a speech, which includes an aggressive challenge to all-comers in any contest—except running, where he admits he is not race-ready. Cue for the genial Alkinoos to intervene once more and propose some music and dancing before a hot bath and bed. Not until later in the evening will Odysseus reveal his name. But his performance with the discus has already supplied the Phaiakians with proof of his heroic pedigree. As Laodamas remarks, “you must surely know about sporting trials, for nothing gains a man so much renown as what he can do with his hands and feet” (8.147–8). The superlative stress here strains credulity: does Laodamas mean that even on the battlefield there is “no greater glory” (ou meizon kleos) to be won? The sentiment can only make sense if throwing a platter of stone or metal is symbolic. Symbolic of what? The factors involved in a successful discus-throw are varied, but not mysterious. Great throwers need to be physically powerful; it helps if they are naturally large and long-limbed, and generally well-coordinated.

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They need to devote themselves to a training program that is time-consuming, and repetitive: they need, therefore, not to be tied to some other necessity of earning a living. And then they need to want to win—to rise to the occasion of a competition, when nerves as well as strength will be tested. (Al Oerter, the most successful Olympic discus-thrower of modern times, was famed for this psychological capacity.) In sum, it is a combination of genes, socio-economic circumstances, and ulterior motive. Otherwise, it would appear to be a waste of time. Though Homer’s heroes sometimes use random rocks as ballistic missiles, the discus-throw could hardly be classified as direct military training. So what do we see when we gaze upon a sculptural type that has become iconic of Classical sport generally—the Classical Discobolus? (Figure 8.8) The original statue for this type was most likely created to mark a pentathlon victory at one of the crown games. The athlete’s identity remains unknown. Yet the symbolic value of the representation can be plausibly hypothesized. Per se, it represents victory: statues were not raised to losers, so whoever he was, the honorand of the statue was conspicuously commemorated. We can be more eloquent on his behalf, and claim that “he stood out among the pentathletes as the shining moon in the mid-month sky outshines the light of the stars” (Bacchylides 9.25; trans. D. Svarlien). To use that metaphor is to quote from an epinician (i.e. victory-related) poem composed in the fifth century BCE , perhaps just one or two decades before this statue was raised, and on a similar occasion (a pentathlon victory, for one Automedon of Phlius, at the Nemean Games). Though poets and sculptors could be rivals for commissions celebrating an individual’s sporting success, it is possible that the original base of this statue conveyed a sentiment similar to that conveyed in Bacchylides’ elegant phrasing. Certainly, the inscribed pedestal would have specified not only the individual’s name, but also his parentage—so making the representation symbolic of eugenic endowment. It would also have detailed his civic provenance, giving reflected glory to a particular city-state. And the very location of the statue was symbolic. It was a votive dedication: a gift to the gods, implicitly (or perhaps, with the inscription, explicitly) grateful for divine support. When Odysseus makes his prodigious throw at the Phaiakian games, it is Athena who serves to record the feat. Albeit disguised, her presence is essential. When mortals excel at sport, they gain a taste of what it would be like to be a deity. In the phrase of Pindar, the epinician poet par excellence, a “god-given gleam” (aigla diosdotos: Pythian 8.96) descends upon a victor at the games. So humans truly excel themselves, and transcend their natural state—which amounts to little more than dreams, shadows, and death. What is Pindar’s theological authority for making that claim? Ultimately, it comes from Homer, and the articulation of hero-cult in epic poetry.10 In the basic three-tier structure of deities, mortals, and animals, heroes occupy a special “interstitial” status (Ekroth 2010). They are mortals promoted upwards, becoming “half-gods” (hemitheoi), and worshipped accordingly. Yet they can

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FIGURE 8.8: “The Discobolus” (Discus-thrower): marble statue probably created in the first century CE , after a bronze original made by Myron in the mid-fifth century BCE . The ancient discus-throw was performed from a standing position; the torsion of this statue comes about because Myron represented two phases of the throwing motion in a single pose. Numerous versions of the type have been recovered from Roman sites. This, the “Lancellotti Discobolus,” seems to have been discovered on the grounds of a villa on the Esquiline Hill in Rome. Ht. 1.55 m. Rome, Palazzo Massimo. Photograph by Carole Raaddato. https://commons. wikimedia.org/wiki/File:The_ Discobolus_Lancellotti,_Roman_copy_of_a_5th_century_BC _Greek_original_by_ Myron,_Hadrianic_period_Palazzo_Massimo_alle_Terme_(11398129933).jpg. Reproduced under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic license.

also seem like mortals descending to brutish characteristics, and are feared accordingly. So often Homer draws analogies between his heroes and various beasts—lions, dogs, donkeys. Underpinning those analogies is the creation myth made famous by Plato’s Protagoras (320a–322a), in which humans find themselves at a considerable disadvantage when physical attributes are originally distributed amongst all living creatures. “Faster, higher, stronger”—if one simply applies the modern Olympic motto in a cross-species comparison, it is easy to see how this ancient sense of inadequacy arose. The hero may gain antelope-speed or bovinestrength at the cost of his civic sensibility, even his sanity. Nonetheless, it will be worth it—if it secures a release from the banal and the ephemeral.

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Heroes characteristically find ways of testing their respective powers. Such trials can be spontaneous, improvised, and even banal. A good example can be found in the Argonautica of Apollonius Rhodius (third century BCE ), when Jason and the Argonauts put ashore on the island of Aegina and need to replenish their water supplies (4.1765–72). They should make haste, not to squander a favorable breeze. So they devise a contest out of the chore, seeing which of them is quickest to fetch water and bring it back to the ship. The word used for the contest is d¯eris, which can mean “battle”; it is modified by amemph¯es, “without blame.” “Friendly competition” is one translation, but perhaps better is “they quarreled, harmlessly” (as rendered by Peter Green in his translation of the Argonautica). In any case, this minor mythical episode leaves its historical legacy. When festival games were instituted on Aegina (probably in the sixth or fifth century BCE ), there was an event called Hydrophoria, “the Water-Carry”—comprising a dash up and down the stadium, in which participants had to collect an amphora filled with water at the turningpoint and run back carrying the vase.11 “Harmless quarrel” might be one way of defining sport, if the quarrel involves physical effort. Heroes, generally, tend to cause a great deal of harm: their penchant for games goes some way toward mitigating that murderous power (though of course it must be there, if monsters and enemies are to be dispatched). So it may be claimed that sport sublimates heroic aggression. But to what extent is it mimetic of actual fighting?

“HAVE FORETASTE OF THE SWEAT OF WAR” As represented by the games for Patroklos, some sporting activities—footrace, discus-throw—seem rather obliquely related to battle. Others are mimetic of war only insofar as they involve pain and injury (boxing, wrestling) or less predictable, yet potentially lethal, risks (chariot-race). In Homer’s account, the armed mock-combat that forms part of Patroklos’ funeral games in the Iliad (23.798–825) threatens to shift from the closely mimetic to the real. It is supposed to conclude when the winner draws blood, but, as performed by Ajax and Diomedes, it nearly ends with a fatality before the fight is summarily ended. All the same, as an epic trope, the principle of inferring military capability from athletic prowess persisted for the best part of a millennium. The Latin poets who wrote in emulation of Homer successfully maintained the analogy. Book 5 of Vergil’s Aeneid may not be everyone’s favorite part of the work, but it clearly uses the description of funeral games en route from Troy to mainland Italy as a way of anticipating events of actual warfare that will happen once Aeneas reaches his destination.12 It was Vergil’s successor Statius who summarized the trope when introducing his account of the funerary rites for Opheltes—the foundation myth of the

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Nemean Games (established by the city-state of Kleonai in Greece in the early sixth century BCE ). Statius uses a verb that he may have invented (it is unknown otherwise): praesudare, defined in the standard dictionaries as “to sweat or exert oneself in preparation,” but more literally rendered as “to pre-sweat.” The precise context is an allusion to the “Greek custom” (mos Graium) of staging sports by way of valediction to a deceased hero or leader. Statius immediately reminds his readers why the Greeks perform this custom: quo Martia bellis/ praesudare peret seseque accendere virtus (Thebaid 6.3–4). J.H. Mozley’s translation nicely conveys the implication of high-temperature testing: “whereby their martial valor may be kindled and have foretaste of the sweat of war.” Keeping fit is a modern idiom, and all too rarely used in its transitive sense, i.e. fit—for what? Perhaps we have come to regard physical exertion as an end in itself—so any sense of preparing for future ordeals has faded. A survey of sport’s representation in antiquity must be aware that the bond between athletics and warfare, quite apart from any social or ideological justification it might acquire, at least provided a steady source of figurative metaphors (as it still does: “attack,” “defense,” “good shot,” and so on). However, perhaps the most curious aspect of the development of sporting festivals in the Classical world is how evidently and even self-consciously their participants appear in performance mode. Mim¯esis, the act of imitation or representation, is frequently associated with theater and the fine arts; we do not so often think of sporting types as acting out a role or creating an illusion. Yet that is how they are regularly shown in ancient imagery—represented as making, overtly, some sort of representation. A good example of this—if only we knew more about it—would be the event of the Panathenaic festival reported simply as the apobat¯es (“one that dismounts”) contest. Scattered literary references, and several visual “snapshots”—including fragmentary sections of the Parthenon Frieze—point to an event in which competitors were supposed to leap from a moving chariot, sprint a certain distance, then jump back onto the chariot-platform (Schultz 2007; Neils and Schultz 2012). Reconstructing the details of this event as best we can, it can hardly have been a military drill. Chariots formed no part of historical Greek infantry fighting (nor of cavalry tactics, for that matter). Even in Homer’s narrative, a chariot serves primarily as an ostentatious taxi-service to the battlefield: there is no call for a hero to show skill in dismounting at speed. It seems that contestants at Athens wore items of hoplite armor, an obvious encumbrance to the maneuver—but the artists minimize such impedimenta, preferring instead to show dynamically naked torsos. The element of nudity only heightens the sense of play. No doubt success as an apobat¯es called for serious, even specialized, full-time preparation. But it was play all the same. Chariots evoke an heroic past—and that may have been sufficient by way of aetiology. Contestants were representing the fabled daring,

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valor, and quasi-suicidal determination of Achilles, Ajax, Diomedes, and the rest: to prove, in Homer’s phrase, who was aristos Achai¯on, “best of the Achaeans” (i.e. the Greeks at Troy).13 The same element of pretense explains other pseudo-military Classical athletic disciplines. The acrobatic routines of the armed dance or Pyrrich¯e were by all accounts vigorously evocative of all sorts of combat (Ceccarelli 2004). But even when executed by a group or chorus, the Pyrrhic had little direct relevance to the actual motions of fighting within a phalanx. By one account (Aristotle F519 Rose) it was invented by Achilles, capering around the funerary pyre of Patroklos: so again, an epic-heroic recall. Likewise, the “race in armor,” hoplitodromos, which was incorporated into the Olympic program in 520 BCE , soon lost any direct military application. Perhaps it only ever seemed like artifice, since instead of testing collective cohesion—so crucial for the successful deployment of a phalanx in the field (Krentz 2013)—this was a case of every man for himself. There could only be one winner (Figure 8.9). For a dash one length of the stadium and back, a large hoplite shield was carried, and contestants either wore or also carried a hoplite helmet (S. Miller 2004a: 32–3, 36–7, 148–9). (The full Corinthian type helmet soon proved impractical; greaves and spears were also abandoned.) There the resemblance to war ended—unless the race were supposed to evoke a rout or hasty retreat, which seems unlikely.

FIGURE 8.9: Scene of hoplitodromia, “racing in armor,” upon an Athenian red-figure kylix attributed to the Dokimasia Painter, c. 500 BCE , found at Vulci in Italy. The column to the right indicates the turning-post (where one runner appears to have dropped his shield). Ht. of entire vase 8.8 cm. London, British Museum E818, 1837.0609.74. © The Trustees of the British Museum 2020.

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SPORT AND STARDOM: THE FIRST CELEBRITIES A relay-race of runners carrying torches (lampad¯edromia) was part of several Greek festivals, adding an element of group rivalry to the lighting of a sacred flame (S. Miller 2004a: 141–2). But whether team sports (as we understand that term) existed in Classical antiquity is doubtful. Scattered literary allusions allow us to suppose that various ball-games involving several or many players enjoyed some popularity: e.g. for the Greeks, a contest called episkyros, and for the Romans a rugby-style knockabout called harpastum (Harris 1972: 86–99; O’Sullivan 2012). Evidently there were designated venues for such games, and participation appears to have been socially diverse. Yet these sports are rarely represented in the Classical visual record, and that absence is significant. Ball-games may have been trials of bravado and coordination, whether played by off-duty soldiers or by an emperor and his friends. Whenever mentioned in the ancient literature, however, they are without reference to victory or defeat. One of the rare representations shows women engaged in something like catch or volleyball (Figure 8.10). We may recall that when Odysseus is castaway on Phaiakia, his first encounter on the island is with the princess Nausikaa, who is playing a ball-game on the beach with her attendants while they wait for laundry to dry (Odyssey 6.100–10). This does not imply that ball-games were relatively unimportant because

FIGURE 8.10: Ball-players shown on a mosaic in the Villa del Casale (Piazza Armerina, Sicily), fourth century CE . Photograph by Nigel Spivey.

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women participated: later on, Homer describes a display of skill at “the highthrown ball” by two of the young athletic Phaiakian males (Odyssey 8.370). Basically, in the Classical tradition, ball-games lacked the crucial element of agonistic contention; they tended, therefore, not to generate heroes or “stars.” This brings us to consider a formative moment in the cultural history of sport: the distinct circumstances that gave rise to the phenomenon of sporting celebrity. “Celebrity studies” are part of modern sociology, and it has been claimed that “celebrity” as we understand the category did not exist before the twentieth century and the advent of mass media. One influential historical survey, however, traces the phenomenon as far back as the time of Alexander the Great in the second half of the fourth century BCE (Braudy 1986). Etymologically, the concept has Latin roots, with celebrem defined as “the condition of being much extolled or talked about.” Almost immediately, one instance of ancient athletic celebrity springs to mind, because the name remains relatively well-known: Milo(n) of the Greek colony of Croton in southern Italy, multiple-time wrestling champion at the Olympic Games in the second half of the sixth century BCE , and mythographically the Classical epitome of the strongman (Golden 2004: 103). But arguably, the historical model was rather set in Athens c. 500 BCE , from when a number of individuals loom prominent in the literary, visual, and epigraphic records—and their prominence seems due in large part to their sporting success. Names such as Antias, Eualkides, and Phayllos now resonate only with specialized scholars.14 Yet once, apparently, they were the talk of Athens, and beyond. At least one of them, Phayllos, was not Athenian by origin: he came, like Milo, from the Greek city of Croton in southern Italy, at a time when that colony was enjoying a remarkable record of success at the Olympic Games (Young 1984: 134–47). His own victorious exploits (which became proverbial) seem to have been in the pentathlon, at Delphi—where a statue was erected in his honor.15 Phayllos took up residence and perhaps also citizenship at Athens, to judge from an inscription that was originally attached to a dedication made upon the Acropolis after 480 BCE . What this dedication consisted of, we can only guess—possibly an athletics-related image, evoking the champion himself.16 Its epigraph, meanwhile, leaves no doubt as to the heroic aspirations of Phayllos. The text is far from complete, but its gist may be relayed as follows: “Phayllos, admired by all, for he was three times victor at the Pythian Games, and captured ships which Asia sent forth” (IG I3 822). So the claim is made upon viewers of the dedication, and to posterity that this Phayllos was not only an awesome athlete, but also a triumphant warrior. Herodotus—who may well have seen the Acropolis dedication—tells us that the Crotoniate Phayllos, triple victor at Delphi, not only contributed a trireme to the allied Greek (mainly Athenian) fleet that engaged the Persians off the island of Salamis in 480, but also commanded that ship (Herodotus 8.47.1). Phayllos thereby joins several other

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figures in the narrative of Herodotus who combine athletic prowess with military courage—including Eualkides, from Eretria, who lost his life at Ephesus in 498 BCE (Herodotus 5.102.3). Eualkides is a name generically well-suited to an athlete/soldier (“Dauntless,” in paraphrase), and we cannot be sure that the Eualkides whose name is invoked on an Athenian red-figured vase of the late sixth century BCE is identical to the Eualkides who died while commanding an army against the Persians in the early fifth century. But, as Herodotus tells us, the fame of Eualkides as a prize-winning athlete had already been established by Simonides, the epinician poet. When we find the name of Eualkides symmetrically juxtaposed with that of another renowned athlete, Antias, on a capacious wine-mixing vessel, it is tempting to suppose that both have associations of sporting glory in common (Figure 8.11). Each name is modified by the word kalos: a description that primarily means beauty of form, but also has connotations of honor and nobility—signaling general admiration for Eualkides and Antias. And here, the names alone are sufficient, inscribed either side of a large wine-stand (dinos) depicted as if supplying the symposium shown on the other side of the vase. What does such “name-dropping” imply? That both Eualkides and Antias were intended viewers of the scene, or known to the symposiasts—and/or that a toast should be drunk to them?

FIGURE 8.11: Detail of an Athenian red-figure stamnos signed by Smikros, c. 510 BCE , found in southern Italy. It is inscribed ANTIAS KALOS (left to right) and EUALKIDES KALOS (right to left). Ht. of entire vase 37 cm. Brussels, Musèe du Cinquantenaire A717. @ Royal Museums of Art and History Brussels 2020.

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Kalos-salutations are common on Athenian vases of this period, naturally causing speculation as to how such inscriptions might relate to the numerous images of formulaically “beautiful” youths upon these vases (Lissarrague 1999). The youths are often shown unclothed: occasionally female, bathing or washing; more often male, usually in the gymnasium and engaged in some athletic activity. An erotic element is often discernible, and it is supposed that the males are typically epheboi—cadets aged between seventeen and twenty, whose obligations as citizens entailed military service, and “keeping fit” for such service (Kennell 2015). Their rights as citizens afforded them the time to do so: could this be classified as “leisure”? Certainly the Greeks had a word for “leisure,” schol¯e, with implications of being at ease (Baumgarten 2016). Since our concept of school derives from this word, however, we might be wary about applying the modern sociology of a “leisured class” to Athens c. 500 BCE .17 True, those who gathered at drinkingparties and who frequented gymnasia were spared menial (“banausic”) labor— not to mention the chores devolved to slaves. But menial labor was not the only form of economic productivity. Military actions had economic consequences, education could be commodified, and there was an “economy of kudos” generated by the twin archaic “engines of fame”—war and sport.18 In the attainment of fame, family pedigree was not unimportant: nonetheless, those who claimed elite status had to compete for it—a toil, literally, of sweat and blood.19 It may be coincidence that the ceramic invocation of figures such as Antias, Eualkides, and Phayllos occurs at a time when artists were evidently focused upon increasingly careful studies of the human body, in action and repose. The anthropomorphic tenets of Greek theology naturally encouraged a sort of perfectionism of bodily form, whereby the “sculpting” of muscles through disciplines of exercise and diet created a mode of divine assimilation (Spivey 2013: 122–49). As for the vase-painters, they are unlikely to have frequented any gymnasium, let alone one where the top athletes trained. But that did not inhibit them from imagining Phayllos as he demonstrates his discus form (Figure 8.12), or scrapes himself down after exertion (Figure 8.13). It is too much to claim these images as portraits, since the medium hardly gave scope for showing facial features beyond the basic lineaments of the predictably goodlooking. Nonetheless these are “representations.” So was Phayllos himself present at the social gatherings (symposia) for which, typically, these vases were produced, or part of the “social set” evoked by sympotic images on the vases? That question may be irrelevant. The jargon of modern celebrity-studies supplies us with the overlapping concepts of “presumed intimacy,” “illusory kinship,” and “parasocial interaction”—all allowing for a vase-painter (or his patron) to invoke some famous individual as if a personal friend. In that sense, there is no need to posit a restricted social group containing the renowned

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FIGURE 8.12: Drawing from an Athenian red-figure amphora by Euthymides, c. 510 BCE , found at Vulci in southern Italy. An athlete, labeled PHAULOS, raises his discus with both hands: a distinct moment of preliminary concentration (¯eremia) may be evoked. The trainer is named Orsimenes; the word PENTATHLOS behind Phayllos could refer to his fellow athlete, or the discipline at which he excelled. Ht. of entire vase 63 cm. Munich, Antikensammlungen 2308. Drawing from plate 81 in A. Furtwängler and K. Reichhold. 1902. Griechische Vasenmalerei: Auswahl hervorragender Vasenbilder (Serie II, Tafel 61–120). Munich: Bruckmann.

athletes themselves. We merely register the manner in which painted vases served as prototypes of social media, reflecting and transmitting the process dubbed “celebrification.”20

THE LIMITS OF REPRESENTATION So Phayllos may be depicted in what would generally be regarded as a private moment: naked, and cleaning himself. That moment was a commonplace in the gymnasium because Greek athletes worked out and competed in the nude, covered only in a layer of olive oil that they applied before exercising and scraped off afterward, with a bronze implement known as a strigil (Kennell 2001). Well before the sculptor Lysippos created his famous (yet anonymous) statue-type of “The Scraper” (Apoxyomenos), it became fashionable to show

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FIGURE 8.13: Drawing of an Athenian red-figure psykter (wine-cooler) by Euthymides, c. 510 BCE , found in Etruria. The athlete on the right is labeled PHAULOS, that on the left perhaps Orthagoras. Both are scraping themselves with strigils. Note the pickaxes at their feet. On the other side of the vase, an image of Theseus—mythical founder of the art of wrestling (Pausanias 1.39.3). Ht. of entire vase 34 cm. Turin, Museo di Antichità 4123. Drawing from plate 6 in J. C. Hoppin. 1915. “The Bazzichelli Psykter of Euthymides.” Journal of Hellenic Studies, 35: 189–95.

athletes posing with their strigils—looking almost effortlessly, formulaically toned. (See Chapter 3 and the images therein for the use of the strigil, including an image (Figure 3.8) of a Roman copy of Lysippos’ Apoxyomenos.) Some commentators take this to be a claim to natural social superiority—a contrast to scenes where, for example, athletes will be shown with the pickaxe, typically a peasant’s tool (see, for example, Figure 8.13). Pickaxes were necessary for breaking up the ground in preparation for wrestling or jumping. They make an implied suggestion of sporting success dependent upon “hard work” (ponos)— even though these young men were, in terms of social rank, the antithesis of the manual laborer. But the choice to show athletes at ease (Figure 8.14) or gathered for some social or ritual event (Figure 8.15) may also have been steered by aesthetic and technical considerations on the part of artists. Whether the medium were two- or three-dimensional, there was a recurrent challenge to the Classical project of illusionistic representation. How could images convey the dynamic quality of athletes in action?

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FIGURE 8.14: Athenian red-figure stamnos attributed to the Polygnotan Group, c. 440–430 BCE , found at Vico Equense in Italy. Three women washing and scraping down after exercise; the female slave in attendance carries a jar probably containing some sort of aromatic oil. The opportunities for women to use gymnasia and participate at sporting festivals in Greece and Rome were limited; representations such as this are accordingly rare. Ht. 41 cm. Boston, Museum of Fine Arts 95.21, Catharine Page Perkins Fund. Photograph © 2020 Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.

Habituated as we are to the devices of film, including the marvel of “slow motion,” it is natural to underestimate that challenge. Pioneers of photography soon realized that “freezing” rapid movement with a fast shutter-speed was not always aesthetically effective: allowing a certain blur of over-exposure goes some way to matching retinal experience. In Classical antiquity, the painters and sculptors commissioned to record sporting achievement were not, of course, pitched against photographers. But contemporary epinician poets exploited the power of figurative language to evoke superlatives of physical effort and grace—and the same poets were not above mocking the stationary fate of statues in marble and bronze (see, for example, Pindar Nemean 5.1–5). “It is impossible to tell whether Ladas leapt or flew over the stadium; for his speed was something divine” (Greek Anthology 16.53). An anonymous epigram commemorating the renowned runner Ladas shows one trick of literary conceit:

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FIGURE 8.15: Detail of a marble votive relief from the Piraeus, Athens, early fourth century BCE . Eight naked athletes (and their trainer?) stand in a row; probably the members of a winning torch-race team. Ht. of relief 52 cm. London, British Museum 1895.1028.1. © The Trustees of the British Museum 2020.

by claiming that the athlete had “supernatural speed” (daimonion to tachos), the author is spared further descriptive liability. But a statue of Ladas “in full flight” was apparently attempted by Myron (Christesen 2013), and in turn this statue (dedicated in a sanctuary at Argos, presumably the home town of Ladas) became a byword for human velocity: “Just as you were in life, Ladas, running ahead of the wind-footed Thymos, hardly touching the ground with the tips of your toes, so did Myron mold your likeness in bronze, imprinting your whole body with the expectation [prosdoki¯en] of an Olympic crown [. . .] As if the bronze would leap from its base to take the crown!” (Greek Anthology 16.54, excerpted). We have noted (Figure 8.8) how Myron created the sense of compressed energy in his “Discobolus,” by uniting two moments of action in one pose. Did he do something similar with the figure of Ladas? The sculptor’s recorded range of representations of Olympic victors includes individuals who prevailed in the chariot-race, the pankration, and the boys’ boxing: whether in these cases, too, Myron attempted statues of action is an open question (bearing in mind that the chariot-race victor would have been the owner of the horses, and not necessarily their driver) (Stewart 1990: vol. 1: 148–9, 255–6). If he did so, it remains difficult to imagine the results of any of Myron’s epinician commissions. A rare bronze statue of a runner to have survived from antiquity, the “Kyme Runner” retrieved in 1979, has been claimed to descend, formally, from

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Myron’s Ladas (Stewart 2014: 125)—but it seems in every sense a rather pedestrian piece (Figure 8.16). A cursive two-dimensional image of a group of runners upon a Panathenaic prize-amphora—vases of that type were given out as prizes at athletic contests in Athens (Kyle 1996)—more successfully conveys the impression of dynamic motion (Figure 8.17). The imagery on such prize vases, while formulaic, is often arrestingly clear in its summary of body language: thus two wrestlers crouched “on guard,” each looking for an opening; or a pair of boxers, absorbed in the trade of brainrattling clouts (see, for example, Bentz 1998: #5.177, 4.086). Repeatedly,

FIGURE 8.16: Bronze figure of a victorious runner, first century BCE , found in the harbor of Aeolic Kyme (near modern Aliaga, Turkey). The victory-wreath is one of oak leaves. Ht. 1.53 m. Izmir, Archaeological Museum 9363. Photograph by Murat Bengisu. https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Kosan_atlet.jpg. Image in public domain.

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FIGURE 8.17: Panathenaic prize-amphora attributed to the Euphiletos Painter, c. 530 BCE , found at Vulci. The high knees, extended arms, and open palms suggest a sprint race. Ht. 52 cm. New York Metropolitan Museum 14.130.12. https://www. metmuseum.org/art/collection/search /248902. Reproduced under Creative Commons 1.0 Universal license.

however, we sense how far artists in antiquity felt constrained by the lack of a moving image—to judge by their recourse to “flying drapery” and agitated horses to indicate the torque of a chariot, for example (Figure 8.18); or the hint of some sort of animation-technique when one figure (so it seems) is depicted in a series of sequential postures (Figure 8.19).

TO PRAISE THE REWARD; TO MEASURE THE COST It is a function of art to convey wishful thinking. That truth applies as much to artists and their patrons in Greco-Roman antiquity as it does to any place or time in human history. We have seen that athletic victory was represented as an object of intense desire; also, that individuals who attained such victory were represented as objects of intense desire. But this simple formula does not relay a complete story of the representation of sporting triumph across the Classical period, from Iron Age Greece to the late Roman Empire. The final section of

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FIGURE 8.18: Detail of a chariot-racing team from a marble altar in the sanctuary of Eshmun at Bostan-esh-Sheikh (Lebanon), fourth century BCE . Beirut, National Museum 2080. Photograph courtesy of Jessica Nitschke.

FIGURE 8.19: Athenian red-figured kylix attributed to the Carpenter Painter, c. 510–500 BCE . Four fluent stages of the javelin-throw seem to be depicted; a similar (or the same) athlete also holds up a discus. The other side of the cup shows further athletic activities; on the inside, a pederastic love-scene. Ht. 11 cm. Malibu, Getty Museum 85.AE.25. http://www.getty.edu/art/collection/objects/10928/attributed-tocarpenter-painter-attic-red-figure-kylix-greek-attic-510-500-bc/?artview=dor16216. Image in public domain.

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this essay is devoted to a marked dualism in the development of a genre over 1,200 years. The reward of effort was great—and must be made obvious in the imaginative commemoration of sport. Yet was the effort really worth it? After all, not everyone can be a winner. Was there a way for artists to console the many losers, or non-participants, with some visual expression of the sentiment, regarding the victors—rather them than me? Within the canons of conventional Classical style, representations of athletes, whether in action or repose (or ambivalently in between) tended to confirm and conform to prevailing norms of bodily beauty. Stereotypes created in the fifth century BCE have proved historically durable: so much so that a prominent art historian in the twentieth century felt able to pronounce a votive statue from the Athenian Acropolis (Figure 8.20) as “the first beautiful nude in art” (Clark 1956: 29).21 If this statue does not represent a victorious young athlete, it must represent some young hero in the guise of a victorious athlete: by now we understand that those two categories tend to elide or overlap. Stylistically the figure is denominated as “Early Classical,” an overture to the symmetries formalized by Polykleitos; categorically it stands at the end of sculptural genre of kouroi (“youths”) and heralds the idealized nude type of Classical epinician (“victory-related”) commemoration (Spivey 2012: 151–69). What it means to say “idealized” in this regard needs some clarification. We perhaps assume too readily that viewers in antiquity connected muscular development and conspicuous nudity with athletic training; what about “artistic license”?22 As Polykleitos and his followers showed, the commission to produce images of historic sporting heroes did not preclude a method of representation that was composite and synthetic. This was in keeping with the votive sense that athletic victory, since it came with divine blessing, was a mode of transfiguration. But enhancement of bodily form came at a representational price: logically, a loss of “lifelikeness.” In this respect, a reported encounter between Socrates and an epinician sculptor called Kleiton is illuminating (Xenophon Memorabilia 3.10). The philosopher declares that he finds Kleiton’s images of victorious runners, wrestlers, boxers, and pankratiasts strikingly beautiful. So how does the artist achieve such a lifelike or “vital” (z¯otikos) effect to such figures? For Socrates, beauty consists of an accurate representation, and the accuracy must extend to not only to how bodies in action are observed, but also to the rendition of psychological or pathological states. A boxer, therefore, should appear suitably “threatening” (apeil¯etikos) in his represented demeanor. We know nothing more about the sculptor Kleiton. But the combat-sports victors represented by Polykleitos—demure, symmetric, and unscarred of aspect— surely never met the criteria for beauty stipulated by Socrates. A fragment of a sixth-century BCE gravestone, from the Athenian Kerameikos cemetery, seems to commemorate a boxer: at least, we see a raised arm, with wrist wrapped in the leather bindings customarily worn by boxers in the Greco-

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FIGURE 8.20: “Kritios Boy” (or “Kritian Boy”: the title derives from a perceived likeness to the style of a sculptor called Kritios, and an age estimate of about fifteen years old); marble figure from the Acropolis in Athens, c. 480 BCE . An inscribed base referring to a victory in the boys’ footrace for one Kallias has been connected with the statue. Ht. (with pedestals) 1.17 m. Athens, New Acropolis Museum 698. Getty Images #122320267. @ Getty Images 2020.

Roman world (Figure 8.21). Whether the expression reads as menacing may be questioned—but it looks as if here is a visage battered by heavy percussion, with broken nose and “cauliflower” ear. How far artists in the Greco-Roman world were able to develop such realistic or “true to life” representation of sporting commitment may be measured when we compare this piece with one of the few almost intact bronzes from antiquity, the “Seated Boxer” (Figure 8.22). Quite when this bronze statue was created is not clear: its origins, if only as a type, may be traced to the workshop of Lysippos in the late fourth century BCE . It seems to have been on display up until the fourth century CE , perhaps in the Baths of Constantine at Rome. Signs of wear upon the toes and hands suggest that viewers of the statue habitually touched it, as pilgrims to St Peter’s Basilica at Rome engage with the saint’s image there—for the sake of luck, strength, or piety. Ultimately, custodians of the statue felt compelled to bury it, for the sake of its preservation, in a deep pit, where it was covered with carefully

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FIGURE 8.21: Fragment of a marble st¯el¯e representing a boxer from the Kerameikos in Athens, mid-sixth century BCE . Ht. of fragment 23 cm. Athens, Kerameikos Museum P1054. Photograph by Nigel Spivey.

FIGURE 8.22: “Seated Boxer” (also known as the “Terme Boxer”): bronze statue found on the west slope of Rome’s Quirinal hill. The eyes would have been made of inlaid glass paste. The marble base is modern. Ht. 1.28 m. Rome, Palazzo Massimo 1055. Photograph by Nigel Spivey.

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sifted soil. Rodolfo Lanciani, the archaeologist who eventually found it there in 1885 records how he witnessed the pugilist’s hunched figure “coming slowly out of the ground, as if awakening from a long repose after his gallant fights” (Lanciani 1888: 306; see also Himmelmann 1989: 17–35,150–74).23 Not so much awakening, perhaps, as coming round: for one interpretation of the nameless boxer’s posture is that he is concussed and unable to stand. Lanciani supposed the figure was part of a group—if so, was there also an opponent, laid out horizontal? The viewer notes with some horror the metalstudded knuckle-protectors, and does not need to look far to see what kind of impact might be made by such equipment. Our victor (if he is so intended) exhibits the results, to irresistibly pathetic effect: a gashed and swollen hematoma under his right eye, plus several further lesions—not to mention perhaps pre-existing damage to nose, teeth, and ears, some of it highlighted by copper inlays (Figure 8.23). Splashes of red bronze indicate blood falling upon his leg, arm, and glove—by which we understand the “moment” of the statue: a turn of the head, as if in response to some call or acclamation.

FIGURE 8.23: Detail of the “Seated Boxer.” Photograph by Nigel Spivey.

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“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee”. . . even with the technology of film, we cherish metaphors that define the champion athlete as supernatural, a paradox, an “incredible” phenomenon. What chance of any sculpture or painting conveying that? It may have been with due awareness of that limitation that Polykleitos and others chose to represent victors in a state of unblemished physical equilibrium. The alternative option, as shown by the Seated Boxer, was to make explicit the agonies of agonistic contest—the risks, the sufferance, the extremities of commitment, undertaken by all those who would pursue sporting glory. How far could such agonies extend? An inscription from Gortyn, on Crete, of late Roman Imperial date, defines the limit starkly: “Not for us the olive branch as prize: we fought for our lives.” The sentiment is lodged in the epitaph for a gladiator who apparently died in the arena.24 It states a contrast between the traditional symbol of Olympic victory, the crown of olive leaves (kotinos), and what was at stake in gladiatorial combat—the protagonist’s very soul (psych¯e). As argued elsewhere in this volume (see Chapter 1 on the purpose of sport), contests within the space of the Roman amphitheater must be considered as “sport” according to ancient criteria. For present purposes, it is enough to register that throughout the Roman empire, and most conspicuously in the eastern Mediterranean, the Greek vocabulary of athletics directly transferred or translated to serve the description of performers in the arena. Gladiators may have been civic rejects in sociopolitical terms; yet they were epigraphically saluted as role models of extraordinary grace, courage, skill, and strength. To hail them as “heroes” of their day is no hyperbole—especially when we remember an essential desideratum for hero-cult in the Classical world, i.e. death in action. Akhilleus appears as a favored name within the corpus of inscriptions commemorating gladiators. To be “a second Achilles,” with its attendant onus of premature mortality, was an aspiration even more suited to a gladiator in the Roman arena than to a pentathlete at the Greek stadium. Ajax, Patroklos, Hector, et al. are also known graduates of the gladiatorial training schools (Robert 1940: 297–302). Overriding both the categorical problem (for us) of “blood-sports,” and the moral unease (for us) created by artworks evocative of disquieting entertainments, such heroization provides the key to understanding an iconographic genre that was well-established by the mid-first century CE .25 By historical tradition the Romans located the origins of staged armed combat in funerary celebrations among peoples of pre-Roman Italy (Hopkins 1983: 3–7). The most convincing visual attestation of this tradition comes from a series of painted tombs associated with the Lucanians, who conquered the Greek colony of Poseidonia c. 400 BCE .26 Juxtaposed with images of funerary ritual, such as the laying out of the corpse on a bier, are scenes of boxing, wrestling, and dancing—with musicians and perhaps referees present—and armed combat

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FIGURE 8.24: Detail of a Lucanian painted tomb (south slab of Tomb X, Laghetto cemetery), mid-fourth century BCE . Ht. 95 cm. Paestum, Museo Archeologico inv. 5014. Photograph by Nigel Spivey.

between duelists who are either naked or else only lightly clad in loincloths (Figure 8.24). Their weapons are typically spears, held at the base, for jabbing rather than throwing; resultant flesh wounds are made graphically conspicuous. We do not know how such performances were construed within the eschatologies of the Lucanians, Samnites, or Etruscans. But the Latin term for gladiatorial occasions is unequivocal. To arrange a fight was deemed a munus (pl. munera): an act of requisite tribute; a duty—to the dead. This was the original sense of gladiatorial shows, and it still prevailed when in 65 BCE Julius Caesar paid for over 300 paired contests to be staged in memory of his father. Although munera eventually detached from funerary ritual, they never lost their association with dutiful largesse on the part of a sponsor. This is a cardinal factor in understanding why Roman householders might opt to display large-scale representations (particularly wall-paintings or mosaics) of gladiatorial combats or other arena sports, without any apparent “editing out” of horrific detail.27 That may still have been a matter of taste: it is hard to believe that a Roman villa-owner who subscribed to the tenets of Epicurus, and who therefore steered by the principle of avoiding pain, would ever have commissioned images such as the notorious “Gladiator Mosaic” in the Borghese collection (Figure 8.25). Nonetheless these decorations were signifiers not of an individual’s inclination toward sadism, but rather of his liberality and public-spiritedness.

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FIGURE 8.25: Detail of a mosaic from the Roman villa at Torrenova (Via Casilina) near Rome, early fourth century CE . The theta-sign by certain figures indicates their death (thanatos); others bear the label ‘VIC’ (= vicit, “he won”); all are named. Borghese Gallery, Rome. Photograph by Nigel Spivey.

“Living is more like wrestling than dancing, for it demands of us to maintain a firm stance and readiness against all attacks, however unforeseen.” This Stoic memorandum to himself by emperor Marcus Aurelius (Meditations 7.61) alerts us to another possible way of comprehending violent images in Roman houses. At their most extreme they may have served as a sort of memento mori. Accorded their names, perhaps also recognizable personal features, the gladiators represented were “glamour figures, culture heroes” (Hopkins 1983: 21). There is a poignant sense of what might be redeemed by the images of these brawny celebrities: the transience of fame here compounded by the (probable) brevity of their lives. Beyond that, gladiatorial scenes offer a stark reductive summary of the human condition. A continuous wrestling-match, requiring constant vigilance for the feints and lunges of fortune? Yet life could be worse than that: ultimately, a fight for sheer individual survival. What proportion of gladiatorial duels actually ended with a fatality remains debatable (Dunkle 2008: 140–3): certainly, there seems to have been a histrionic

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element to the fighting, and good performers were, by all accounts, not a readily expendable resource. Still it is clear that armed combat within the arena, even if monitored by umpires, transgressed the boundaries of sport as pseudo-epic. And that is not an entirely modern judgment: Marcus Aurelius presumably felt the same way when he ordered the gladiators at his shows to fight with blunted weapons, “like athletes, harmlessly [akindynos]” (Cassius Dio 72.29.3). To this qualification of raw violence let us add another: the shameless Classical principle of “living to fight another day.” The sentiment is prefigured by Socrates in his reported homily upon the virtues of keeping fit (Xenophon Memorabilia 3.12). Ultimately, for Socrates, regular exercise is important for one’s mental health. But he is not joking when he says that athletes are well-equipped “to save themselves on the battlefield” (literally, “out of the war-contest”: ek t¯on polemik¯on ag¯on¯on): the implication is that by being able to run away fast they may avoid capture or death. In the world of the gladiators, the possibility of reprieve was officially known as missio, “discharge” (see the Introduction to this volume). We see what appears to be such an occasion represented upon a relief from Roman Asia Minor (Figure 8.26). Two contestants are shown in opposition, but with their helmets removed. Above them is inscribed the legend: ¯ SAN, “they are released” (the Greek equivalent of the Latin missio). APELYTHE

FIGURE 8.26: Marble relief from Halicarnassus in Asia Minor commemorating the honorable discharge given to two female gladiators, first–second century CE . The two objects on either side of the dais must be their helmets. 78 × 66 cm. British Museum 1847, 0424.19. © The Trustees of the British Museum.

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Whether that legend means these fighters earned their freedom outright, or simply were allowed to leave the amphitheater with equal honor on this occasion, is open to interpretation. But the inscription below the figures—who pose almost like statues upon a base—is even more fascinating. The carving of the relief is rough, and its preservation far from perfect, so it may not now be clear that these gladiators are female. The names leave no room for doubt: one ¯ N, the other ACHILLIA. An “Amazon” versus a feminine is designated AMAZO Achilles: was the contest played out as some sort of mythological re-enactment of the fight between Achilles and the Amazon Penthesilea, with—on this occasion—a happy ending? In any case, we return to the trope that has shaped this chapter from its outset. The representation of sport in Classical antiquity is more than the capture and memorial of physical activity. It is frequently and essentially to be understood as the representation of physical activity that is of itself a representation—here, the tableau of two athletes cast as epic characters. Transcendent of time and place, overriding divisive norms of gender, this tableau evokes a fundamental ideology of sport that persists beyond the Classical world: the saving grace, for any athlete, of achieving a “personal best.”

NOTES 1. J. Burckhardt 1998: 5 (a translated selection of his 1872 lectures on “Griechische Kulturgeschichte,” posthumously edited and published between 1898 and 1902). Burckhardt’s evaluation of “fiction” as more truthful than narrative history was not as modern an attitude as it might seem—it derived rather from his penchant for generalization. As all Greeks were united by “the competitive principle” (das agonale Prinzip), so all Greek writers were inclined to be mendacious. 2. There is no evidence for legal prohibition of athletic nudity at Rome (and by extension, throughout the Roman Empire)—only an accumulation of disapproving sentiments, e.g. Dionysius Halicarnassus Roman Antiquities. 7.72 and Tacitus Annals 14.20, tending to confirm visual evidence of athletes in pre-Roman Italy wearing the perizoma (loincloth). See Crowther 1980–1981; McDonnell 1993. 3. Bonfante 1989 introduces the concept of “nudity as a costume” in Classical antiquity—and establishes that the phrase is not a paradox. 4. See Moitrieux 1992 for dedications made pro salute. Inscription and images show that Ogmios was not the only Celtic deity “syncretized” with Heracles. 5. For this spectacle, and a summary of our knowledge about Etruscan sports generally, see Martinelli 2007; Bevagna 2014; Thuillier 2017. 6. Unless otherwise noted, all translations are my own. 7. Just as Homer was never a war correspondent, neither was he a sports commentator: see T. Perry 2014 for the necessary prolegomena to deriving historical information about ancient sport from the Iliad and Odyssey. Our concern here is rather with the canonical status that these poems accrued as imaginative models of sporting behavior.

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8. For close scrutiny of this scene, and an attractive case for reading EUMELOS as the leader at this stage of the race, see Moore 2016. 9. To analyze Iliad 23 from an anthropological perspective is not unproductive (see, for example, Malten 1923–1924). But Homer’s poetic priority lies in using the games to “flesh out” his characters, even those (notably Antilochos) whose narrative importance exists beyond the Iliad. Willcock 1973 provides an elegant exposition of the complex literary issues here. 10. As Nagy notes, Pindar’s strategy of synthesizing epic “glories of men” (klea andr¯on) with the individual achievements he celebrates in his odes enables him to transform a victory that is local and historical into “a Panhellenic event [. . .] for all time” (G. Nagy 1990: 114). 11. Apollonius evidently knew the aition for the Aeginetan Hydrophoria, relayed in an epinician ode for Polykles of Aegina (Callimachus Iambi 8, as summarized): Hunter 2015: 307. 12. There is a history of commentators being troubled by the tone and content of Aeneid 5—failing to recognize, perhaps, that Vergil had no intention of serving as a sports commentator, and that his reference to pugnae simulacra (5.585) not only describes certain contests, but also his own narrative purpose. For Vergil’s use of games as mirrors and previews of epic action, and the influence of that narrative technique upon Statius, see Lovatt 2005. 13. The phrase seems hackneyed now, and perhaps it already was in antiquity: but the concept still serves as an explanatory mode (so e.g. Spivey 2017). 14. A select trio of kaloi names has been found upon vases assigned to the so-called Pioneer Group. In each case, we cannot be absolutely sure that the historically attested athlete is the same person evoked by the vase-painters. Best-known of the three is Phayllos (see nn. 15–16 below); for Antias, see Pindar Nemean 10.39; for Eualkides, Pausanias 6.16.6, Simonides F9, Herodotus 5.102.3. See also Villard 1992. 15. Pausanias 10.9.2. The various historical and poetic testimonies associated with the name of Phayllos are collected along with a discussion of the archaeological evidence in Monaco 2007. 16. Attempts to relate particular statues or statue-types to the person of Phayllos, including the marble head from the Athenian Acropolis known as “Blond Boy” and the Ludovisi discophoros/discobolus herm (see Pafumi 2000) struggle to convince: Monaco (Monaco 2007) proposes that what Phayllos dedicated on the Acropolis was a tripod. 17. Athenian painted pottery could itself be regarded as a form of “honorific waste.” For an ingenious extension of Thorstein Veblen’s theories of “the leisured class” into the iconography of such pottery, especially c. 500 BCE , see Filser 2017. 18. “Economy of kudos” is an indispensable phrase for the study of ancient athletics; it was first coined by Leslie Kurke (Kurke 1993), with kudos (“glory, renown”) categorically to be distinguished from kleos (“good report, fame”). “Engine of fame” is owed to Leo Braudy (Braudy 1986). 19. Thus Duplouy 2006, arguing that the term “aristocratic” is inappropriate here if it means inherited status and privilege.

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20. All terms taken from Rojeck 2001. 21. Clark connected the statue to “that strange institution, Greek athletics,” while (significantly) discussing it within a survey devoted principally to the image of Apollo. 22. Thus Osborne 2011: 27–37, a justified critique, though physiologically naïve if it rests on the assumption that a body such as that represented by “Kritios Boy” is “natural.” 23. It is presumed that the statue was buried in order to save it from destruction from Visigothic raiders or Christian iconoclasts (or both). 24. Robert 1940: 122–3 (#66); see also Robert’s use of the phrase as an overture (pg. 7) to his pioneering study, and Carter 2010: 163–4. 25. Pliny Natural History 35.52 implies that the depiction of gladiators “with lifelike images” (veris imaginibus: the phrase could entail both portraiture and “realistic” representations of combat-action) was a tradition established in the mid-Republic (third—second century BCE ). Pliny’s comments, taken along with the well-known satirical vignette of decoration in the house of Trimalchio (Petronius Satyricon 29), indicate that the theme of amphitheater sports may have been typically a predilection of freedmen—reflecting, perhaps, the ultimate prize for gladiators: their liberation. Note, in the Petronius passage, the juxtaposition of pictorial themes in the atrium of the house of Trimalchio: scenes of Homeric epic (“Iliada et Odyssian”) alongside “the gladiatorial show put on by Laenas” (“Laenatis gladiatorium munus”). 26. In turn this settlement became, in 273 BCE , the Roman colony of Paestum—and within a decade the first gladiatorial contest is recorded at Rome, as part of funerary honors undertaken for his father by Decimus Junius Brutus (Livy Epitome 16, Valerius Maximus Memorable Doings and Sayings 2.4.7). 27. S. Brown 1992 remains a piquant essay regarding the modern reception of these images—significantly lodged in a collection of studies addressing “pornography,” and headed by an expression of horror (from Jocelyn Toynbee) about cruelty to animals.

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Personnel in Asia Minor and the Aegean Islands from the Hellenistic to the Imperial Period, 209–45. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. ——. 2014. “Power of Place. Ruler, Landscape and Ritual Space at the Sanctuaries of Labraunda and Mamurt Kale in Asia Minor.” In C. Feldman and C. Moser (eds.), Locating the Sacred. Theoretical Approaches to the Emplacement of Religion, 87–110. Oxford: Oxbow Books. Willis, W. 1941. “Athletic Contests in Epic.” Transactions of the American Philological Association, 72: 392–417. Wilson, J. 1994. Playing by the Rules: Sport, Society, and the State. Detroit: Wayne State University Press. Wolicki, A. 2002. “The Heralds and the Games in Archaic and Classical Greece.” Nikephoros, 15: 69–97. Wright, J.P. and P. Potter, (eds.) 2000. Psyche and Soma: Physicians and Metaphysicians on the Mind-Body Problem from Antiquity to Enlightenment. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Yakobson, A. 2006a. “Il popolo romano, il sistema e l”élite’: il dibattito continua.” Studi Storici: Rivista Trimestrale dell’Istituto Gramsci, 47: 377–93. ——. 2006b. “Popular Power in the Roman Republic.” In N. Rosenstein and R. Morstein-Marx (eds.), A Companion to the Roman Republic, 383–400. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Yang, S., F.B. Keller, and L. Zheng. 2016. Social Network Analysis: Methods and Examples. Los Angeles: SAGE. Young, D. 1984. The Olympic Myth of Greek Amateur Athletics. Chicago: Ares Publishers. ——. 1996. “First with the Most: Greek Athletic Records and ‘Specialization’.” Nikephoros, 9: 175–97. ——. 2005. “Mens Sana in Corpore Sano? Body and Mind in Ancient Greece.” International Journal of the History of Sport, 22: 22–41. Zaleski, J. 2014. “Religion and Roman Spectacle.” In P. Christesen and D. Kyle (eds.), A Companion to Sport and Spectacle in Greek and Roman Antiquity, 590–602. Malden, MA: Wiley-Blackwell. Zapheiropoulou, D. 2004. Games and Sports in Ancient Thessaly. Athens: Archaeological Receipts Fund. Zerubavel, E. 1981. Hidden Rhythms. Schedules and Calendars in Social Life. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Zuiderhoek, A. 2017. The Ancient City. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

CONTRIBUTORS

Paul Christesen is William R. Kenan Professor of Ancient Greek History in the Department of Classics at Dartmouth College. His recent publications include A New Reading of the Damonon Stele (2019). Rose MacLean is Associate Professor in the Department of Classics at the University of California Santa Barbara. Her recent publications include Freed Slaves and Roman Imperial Culture: Social Integration and the Transformation of Values (2018). Christian Mann is Professor in the Faculty of Humanities at the University of Mannheim. His recent publications include “Campaign Agones: Towards a Classification of Greek Athletic Competitions (in Classica et Mediaevalia 68 (2020)), Schach. Die Welt auf 64 Feldern (2019), and “Könige, Poleis und Athleten in hellenistischer Zeit” (in Klio 100 (2018)). Peter J. Miller is Associate Professor in the Department of Classics at the University of Winnipeg. His recent publications include “The Imaginary Antiquity of Physical Culture” (in Classical Outlook 93 (2018)) and “In the Shadow of Praise: Epinician Losers and Epinician Poetics” (in Sport and Social Identity in Classical Antiquity: Studies in Honour of Mark Golden, S. Bell and P. Ripat (eds.), 2018). Sarah C. Murray is Assistant Professor in the Department of Classics at the University of Toronto. Her recent publications include The Collapse of the Mycenaean Economy: Imports, Trade, and Institutions 1300-700 BCE (2017). Zinon Papakonstantinou is Professor of Classics at the University of Illinois Chicago. His recent publications include Sport and Identity in Ancient Greece (2019). 241

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CONTRIBUTORS

Sofie Remijsen is Lecturer in Ancient History at the University of Amsterdam. Her recent publications include The End of Greek Athletics in Late Antiquity (2015) and “Only Greeks at the Olympics? Reconsidering the Rule Against Non-Greeks at ‘Panhellenic’ Games” (in Classica et Mediaevalia 67 (2019)). Nigel Spivey is Senior Lecturer in the Faculty of Classics at the University of Cambridge. His recent publications include The Sarpedon Krater: The Life and Afterlife of a Greek Vase (2019). Charles Stocking is Associate Professor in the Department of Classical Studies at Western University. His recent publications include The Politics of Sacrifice in Early Greek Myth and Poetry (2017).

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

First and foremost the editors would like to thank all of the contributors for their hard work and patience in bringing this project to fruition. We would also like to thank John McClelland, Mark Dyreson and Wray Vamplew, the general editors of the Cultural History of Sport, for the invitation to edit this volume. We have in the course of editing this volume been aided immeasurably by many individuals and organizations. Special thanks are due to Clay Howard for his careful reading of the text and of course to our families, without whom none of this would have been possible.

243

244

INDEX

Italic numbers are used for illustrations. Achilles armed dance of 194 Hector, chase of 172, 186 prizes awarded by 97–8, 161 psych¯e (soul/mind) on 161 tim¯e (respect) of 26 acting at games 116 action, depiction of 191, 201–3, 203–5, 204 Aeneas, T. Flavius 132–3, 134, 136 ag¯ones (competitions) 5, 51, 52, 54, 64, 91–2 agoras (marketplaces) 59 aleipt¯es (trainer/anointer) 75, 86 Alexander of Macedon 144–5 amateurism 13, 111, 143 Ammianus Marcellinus 116 Amphiaraia festival 64 amphitheaters audiences at 147 of Nero 92 seating arrangements 38, 41, 61–2, 117, 154 use of 58–9 women fighting at 155 amphoras, as prizes 88–9, 89 Anacharsis 69–70, 141 Ancyra, Asia Minor 137 animal hunts (venationes) 18, 136–7 anti-athleticism 169–70, 171, 175

Antikythera mechanism 56–7 Antilochos 97–8 antiquity, definition of 1–2 apobat¯e s race 104, 116, 193 Apollo Triopios, Asia Minor 90 Apollonius Rhodius 192 appearance of athletes 31 Appian 114 archery contests 97 Archilochus 176 n.4 aret¯e (excellence) 26–7 Aristophanes 87, 163–4 Aristotle 55 [Constitution of the Athenians] 104, 105 F519 Rose 194 Politics 31, 32, 106 armed dance 194 armor, gladiatorial 90–1 armor, racing in 194, 194 Arrian 110 art. See representation of sport Artemidorus 91 ask¯esis (training) in Hellenistic and Roman periods 166–8 Athens organization of sport 103–4, 105 Panathenaic Games contests 14 245

246

events 104 organization of 104 prizes 88–9, 89 timing of 52, 54 participation in sport 29–30 athletae (Greek athletics) 18–19 athletics associations 114–15 metaphor of 172–3 organization of 104 records of 79 trainers and regimes 74–8 victories, commemoration of 29–30 athlothetai (setters of prizes) 104, 105 Augustus 38, 114 Res Gestae 18–19 Aurelius Simonides (wrestler) 127 Bacchylides 72, 74, 190 Balboura, Asia Minor 127–8 ball-games 24, 195–6, 195 banquets 134 barbarians 32 basileis (chiefs) 25–6, 27, 97, 104 bathhouses 24 beast hunts 18, 136–7 behavior of athletes 111–12 benefactors. See sponsorship of games Benveniste, Émile 45 Berenike I 152 Berenike II 152 Berenike Syra 152 Beroia, Macedonia 136–7, 139 n.11 body beautiful 72, 73, 150–1, 206, 207 body, care of 159–60 Bourdieu, Pierre 101 boxers 206–7, 208–9, 209–10 boxing contests 12, 111 boxing gloves 84, 208 bread and circuses 40 Brown, Benjamin 97 Burckhardt, Jacob 5, 7, 141, 179 The Greeks and Greek Civilization 4 Caesar, Julius 18, 37–8 calendars 51, 52–4 Callimachus 152 Callisthenes 52 Calpurnius Siculus 92 Cannae, Battle of 149

INDEX

Capito, Quintus Vedius 129 Cassius Dio 213 cauldrons, as prizes 9, 20 n.16 celebrities 195, 196–9, 197, 199 chariot-races calendar of 51 fans 41–2 Greek 12–13, 124–5, 126 images of 187, 188, 204, 205 Roman 15–16, 35–6 rules of 97–8 women and 151–2, 154 charioteers 43, 66, 150 cheating 110–11, 116 Christesen, Paul 107, 158 n23 Christianity and sport 171–4, 175 chronometry 79 Cicero 18, 36, 38, 112, 142 Cimon the Elder (chariot-racer) 124–5 circuit (periodos) 13 Circus Maximus, Rome 58, 82 circuses 41, 58, 59, 62, 63, 82 citizens, sponsorship by 39–40 civic good, sport as 163–4 Cleisthenes, tyrant of Sicyon 123, 144 Clifford, James 8 clocks 79 coins, distribution of 62–3 Colosseum, Rome 38, 41, 62, 82, 155 communities 45–6 competitors. See participants conflict and accommodation 121–38 Classical period, conflict in 122–5 Greco-Roman culture of sport 135–7 Hellenistic and Roman accommodation 125–30 Stratonikeia, example of 130–5 cosmology 63 costs of sport 91–2 See also sponsorship of games Coubertain, Pierre de 46 cowardly behavior 112 crowds 16, 41–2, 65–6 crowns, as prizes 13, 87–8, 116 cult rituals 26 cultural history 3–8 curse tablets 122–3 Damagetos of Sparta 78–9 dancing at games 116

INDEX

death, sport as response to 161–3 Delorme, Jean 71 Delphi, Greece 71, 91–2 democratization in Greece 28–9, 44, 124 Demosthenes 104, 105–6, 125 Dimde, B. 60 Dio Cassius 155 Dio Chrysostom 116, 167–8 Diodorus Siculus 182 Dionysius Halicarnassus 110, 214 n.2 discus 111, 189–90, 191 distinctions, in Greece 24–32, 43–4 doctores (gladiator trainers) 76 doctors 75 Domitian, Roman Emperor 19 Doreius of Rhodes (athlete) 109 Dorylaion, Asia Minor 130 Durkheim, Émile 49, 52 economy of sport. See sponsorship of games education 73–4, 164, 165–6 Egypt 32, 146–7 ekecheiria (sacred truce) 10, 33–4 embodiment 161 emperors and sport 38–9, 114, 115, 117 enjoyment 72 entertainment 40–1 entrance tunnels 82 ephebeia (training of males) 73, 129 Ephesus, Asia Minor 114, 128 Epictetus 42, 167 epinikia (odes) 29–30, 74, 88, 124, 125 epitaphios ag¯on 104 epitaphs 39–40, 42–3, 136 eponyms 54–5 equestrian events. See chariot-races equipment. See products eroticism of sport 151, 154–5 Etruria, Italy 183–4, 185 Eualkides (athlete) 197, 197 event-oriented sport history 3 evidence for sport 2–3, 6–7 factiones (chariot-racing teams) 16 Fagan, G. 157 n.11 familiae (troops of gladiators) 17 fans 16, 41–2, 65–6 festivals ludic 183–4, 185

247

networks of 64 religious 9, 50–2, 53, 99–100, 131–3, 134 footraces 12, 55, 56, 83 Foucault, Michel 7, 23 free people, as participants in Greece 24, 25, 28, 44–5, 129 in Rome 14, 17 funding of sport. See sponsorship of games funeral games gladiatorial combats and 16–17 Homer’s descriptions of 9, 96–8, 160, 161, 186, 187–8 state management of 104 tomb paintings, Lucanian 210–11, 211 funeral monuments 39–40, 42–3, 136 Gaius 92 Galen of Pergamum 75, 169–71 Gardiner, E.N., Athletics of the Ancient World 6 Geertz, Clifford 49, 51 gender and sport 150–6 Greece 150–3 Rome 153–6 Gernet, Louis 98 gladiatorial combats armatures 17, 90–1 celebrities 42 costs of 92–3 distribution of 147 introduction of 16–17 location of 59 missio (release) 18, 213, 213 prizes 17, 90 rules of 116–18 spectators 41, 149 sponsorship of 93, 132, 136–7 as sport 14, 35, 36–7 violence of 212–13 gladiators epitaphs 42–3 erotic appeal of 154–5 female 155, 213–14, 213 as heroes 210 honor of 149 images of 211–12, 212 martial masculinity of 150 mobility of 65 organization of 17

248

price of 92 prohibited people 148–9 skill and talent of 79 status of 148 training of 75–6 virtus of 155 gloios (oil, dirt and sweat) 87 Golden, Mark 10 Greco-Roman culture of sport 135–7 Greece background to sport in 8–14 purpose of sport 24–32, 32–5, 43–4, 44–7 Greek Anthology 16.1 78–9 16.53 201 16.54 202 guile, use of 98 gymnasia banquets at 134 military training 73–4 mind–body dualism and 163, 164, 165–6 origins of 71–3, 71 sponsorship of 126, 133 use of 24 users of 128–30 gymnasiarchs 86–7, 129–30, 133, 134, 136 gymnastai (trainers) 75, 76 gymnikoi ag¯ones 12 Halieia Games 57, 68 n.8 halt¯eres (jumping weights) 83, 83 health 169–70 Hegel, G.W.F. 20 n.9 Hekatesia-Romea festival 131–2 Hellanodikai (judges of the Greeks) 33, 75, 102–3, 106, 107, 113, 144–5 Heracles 181–3, 183–4 Heraia games 153 Hermoupolis, Egypt 74–5 Herodicus of Selymbria 75 Herodotus 1.144 90 2.91 32 5.22 144–5 5.102.3 197 6.103.1–4 124 6.126–30 123, 144 7.152.3 47

INDEX

7.209 72 8.26.3 87 8.47.1 196 heroes 30, 190–1, 210 Hesiod 150, 176 n.4 Hierapolis, Asia Minor 62 himantes oxeis (sharp thongs) 84, 208 Hippias 55, 56 hippikoi ag¯ones 12–13 Hippocrates 169 hippodromes 58, 80–2, 81 Homer 96 Iliad 2.773–5 24, 150 22.132–201 186 22.157–66 172, 176 n.5 22.158–64 9 22.164 186 23 160, 215 n.9 23.103–4 161 23.107 161 23.257–897 123, 150 23.262–897 9, 186 23.301– 50 187 23.352 97 23.425 97 23.448–9 187 23.534–8 97 23.610–11 98 23.619 161 23.629 161 23.629–31 96 23.630–42 99 23.631 186–7 23.678–9 187–8 23.679–80 96, 99 23.711–12 108 23.724 98 23.798–825 192 23.850–83 97 Odyssey 4.625–7 9, 24 6.100–10 24, 150, 195 8.97–255 9, 123, 150 8.100–1 189 8.100–249 188–9 8.109 99 8.146 99 8.147–8 189 8.158–64 142

INDEX

8.170–2 27 8.206–15 27 8.370 196 17.167–9 9, 24 21.288–309 25–6 24.85–92 96, 99 homoeroticism 72 hoplitodromos (race in armor) 83, 194, 194 Horace 148 horse racing. See chariot-races horses, ownership of 12 Huizinga, Johan 5 hunting 24 Hypereides 125 hyspl¯eges (starting gates) 80–2, 80 Iasos, Asia Minor 128–9 Iccus of Taras (athlete) 75 identity in Greece 32–5, 141, 144–7 in Rome 142, 147–50 informal sport 24 initiation rites 9 integration. See conflict and accommodation intellectual activity 163 Isidore of Seville 107 Isocrates 164 Isthmian Games 13 javelins 83 John Chrysostom 173–4 judges. See Hellanodikai (judges of the Greeks) Juvenal, Satires 40, 154, 155 Kallipos (athlete) 122 kalos-salutations 197–8, 197 Kaunos, Asia Minor 129 Kleiton 206 König, Jason 9 kudos (glory, renown) 109, 187, 198 Kurke, Leslie 88 Kyle, Donald 82, 123, 158 n.13 Kyniska (horse owner) 12, 151–2 Kyrinas, T. Claudius 134 Ladas (runner) 201–2 Lanciani, Rodolfo 209

249

lap-counting devices 82 Latham, J. 61 Latin Anthology, On Circus Races (188) 63 Lefebvre, Henri, The Production of Space 49 leisure 198 Leonidas (athlete) 109 Lex Julia Theatralis 154 literary works 29–30, 43 liturgical calendar 52–4 Livy 16, 18, 114, 149 local games 13–14, 103, 105, 113–14, 126–8, 136–7 long jump 83, 83, 111 Lucanian funeral games 210–11, 211 Lucian Anacharsis 69–70, 93, 94, 141 Heracles 182 Hermotimus 103 ludi (public games) 15, 36–7 ludi Romani 15 Lycurgus 125 Lysias 34, 104, 125 Lysippos 86, 199–200, 207 Maius, Cn. Alleius Nigidius 39–40 Malalas, John 68 n.13, 114, 115 Mann, Christian 143 Marcus Aurelius 212, 213 marketplaces, used for sport 59 Martial 75–6, 117, 155 masculinity 150–1, 155 meat, distribution of 26 medicine 75, 169–71 Megakles (horse breeder and racer) 125 Melancomas (boxer) 167 Meleagria games 127–8 Melesias (trainer) 74 Menas of Sestos 74 Menelaos 97–8 military training 71–2, 73–4, 108 military virtue 118 Milo(n) (wrestler) 196 mime (mimus) 16 mim¯esis 193 mind–body dualism ask¯esis (training) in Hellenistic and Roman periods 166–8 Christianity and 171–4

250

immortality and Early Greek sport 160–3 introduction to 159–60 medicine, views of 169–71 Polis, Classical Greek 163–6 missio (release) 18, 213, 213 money, as prize 17, 116 monuments. See funeral monuments; space, monumental sporting spaces; victory monuments motion, depiction of 191, 201–3, 203–5, 204 Mousaios (athlete) 127 Mousaios (wrestler) 127–8 munera (gladiatorial games), as sport 16–17, 35, 36–7 music at games 13, 116 Musonius Rufus, Gaius 166–7 Myron 191, 202 Naia Games 57, 68 n.8 Naples, Italy 115–16 naval battles (naumachiae) 18 Nemea, Greece, starting gates 80 Nemean Games 54, 62–3, 192–3 Nero, Roman Emperor 19, 92 network analysis 63–5 Nielsen, Thomas 32, 157 n.4 Nijf, Onno van 64 non-citizens 129 See also free people noos (mind) 164 nudity 31, 32–3, 107, 180–1, 181–2 Odysseus 25–6, 27, 98, 99, 142, 189 olive oil 73, 84–7, 85–6, 88–9, 89, 133–4 Olympia epigrams 146 excavations 9, 10 monuments to military victories 11 mythology and religion of 145 participants 105 rules, evidence for 100 spectators 151 stadia 34, 59–60 starting gates 80–1, 81, 82 statues of victors 109 Olympiads 55, 56 Olympic Games background to 9–14

INDEX

cheating, fines for 110–11 equestrian events 124–5 equipment 84 and Greek identity 33–4 nudity at 32–3, 107 oil and 85 organization of 102–3, 106–7, 113 participants 106, 144–5 prizes 87, 91 processions 60 timing of 52, 53–4, 67–8 n.7 training 75 victors, determination of 107–8 victors, lists of 55–6 women, exclusion of 63 Olympics, Modern 46 ostraka 125 Ovid 41, 154 paidotribai (coaches) 31, 75 palaestrae/palaistrai 24 Panamareia festival 133 Panathenaic Games. See Athens, Panathenaic Games Panhellenic athletic contests 29 See also Olympic Games Pankalos (wrestler) 127 pankration 12, 55 pantomime (pantomimus) 16 Papakonstantinou, Zinon 98 participants distinctions between, in Greece 24–6, 28, 30–2 elite, favoring of 126–8 free people, as participants in 14, 17, 24, 25, 28, 44–5, 129 non-citizens 129 Olympic Games 10, 106, 144–5 rules of access 98–9, 105–6, 122, 123, 142–3, 144–5 slaves as 14, 17, 25, 45, 105–6, 129, 142–3 sponsorship of 128 status of 14 Paul, Apostle, I Corinthians 9: 24–7 172–3 Pausanias 2.7.4 111 3.13.7 153 3.17.6 152 5.6.7 68 n.12

INDEX

5.8.5–9.2 11 5.9.3 107 5.9.4–6 102 5.12.8 84 5.13.8 106 5.16.2–6 153 5.16.4 105 5.20.1–3 87 5.21.2–17 110 5.21.5 122 5.24.9 106 5.6.7 151, 158 n.13 5.9.5 144 6.2.7 111 6.3.6 74, 79 6.3.7 107 6.3.11 111 6.7.4 109 6.13.1 111 6.19.4 84 6.20.7 81 6.20.9 158 n.13 8.40.3–5 111 10.9.2 215 n.15 Peisistratus 124–5 pen¯etes 28–9, 31 pentathlon 12, 83, 83 performers’ perspective 42–3 perfumes 133–4 Pergamon, Asia Minor 128, 129 periodos games 13 Petronius, Satyricon 42, 117, 148, 155, 216 n.25 Phayllos (pentathlete) 196–7, 199–200 philosophy and training 75 Philostratus Gymnasticus 76–8, 103, 107, 109, 110, 112, 116, 171 Lives of the Sophists 34 Phoibos (gladiator) 65 physicians 75 Pindar fragments 160–1 Nemean 74, 201 Olympian 30, 52, 67 n.7, 74, 145 Pythian 2, 30, 109, 125, 158 n.13, 161, 190 Plato Apology 163 Cratylus 165

251

Critias 160 Euthydemus 165 Gorgias 160, 165, 169 Hippias Minor 165 Laws 84, 104, 153 Phaedrus 160 Philebus 165 Protagoras 165, 191 Republic 160 Symposium 32 Theatetus 165 play 5, 6, 35 Pleket, Harry 143 Pliny the Elder, Natural History 38, 84–5, 92, 109, 216 n.25 Pliny the Younger Letters 16, 24, 42 Panegyricus 38–9, 39 plousioi 28, 31 Plutarch Life of Caesar 37 Lycurgus 158 n23, 158 n24 Moralia 79, 158 n23, 158 n24 Pericles 78 political control, in Greece 31–2 political identity 144–50 Polybius 147 Polykleitos 180, 182, 206 pompa circensis 60–1 Pompeii, Italy 39–40 Porphyrius (charioteer) 66 Posidippus 152 praesudare (pre-sweat) 193 presiders over games 97–8 priests 40, 131, 132–3, 137 prizes amphoras of olive oil 88–9, 89 cauldrons as 9, 20 n.16 for gladiators 17, 90 money 17, 116 tripods 90 wreaths 13, 87–8, 116 processions 60–1, 131 products 83–91 athletic equipment 83–4, 83, 208 gladiatorial arms and armor 90–1 olive oil and strigils 73, 84–7, 85–6 prizes, other 88–90, 89 regulation of 111 wreaths 13, 87–8, 116

252

INDEX

Protagoras 78 psych¯e (soul/mind) 159, 160–1, 164–5, 166, 169–70 pt¯ochoi 28 public games in Rome 15 public holidays 51, 52–3 punishments 110–11, 116 purpose of sport 23–47 conclusion 43–7 Greece group distinctions 24–32 identity, marker of 32–5 Rome defining sport 35–7 elite perspective 37–40 non-elite perspective 40–2 performers’ perspective 42–3 Pyrrich¯e (armed dance) 194 Pythian Games 13, 91–2

rules and order 95–119 8th century BCE Greece 96–9 Archaic and Classical Greece 99–112 access to sport 122–5 administration 102–5 cheating 110–11 evidence 100–2 participants 105–6 records 108–10 rules and procedures 106–7 unregulated practices and norms 111–12 victory 107–8 Hellenistic and Roman Greece 112–16 athletic associations 114–15 cities, states and empire 113–14 rules and procedures 115–16 Roman gladiatorial contests 116–18 running, as a metaphor for life 172

Quintilian 85, 117

sacrifices 106 sacrificial animals 26, 51 Scanlon, T. 157 n.13 seating arrangements 41, 61–2, 117, 154 Sebasta/Augustalia games, Naples 115–16 SEG 4.425 129 27.261 106 27.261 ll. 27–8 139 n.11 32.605 65 41.1003.46–50 88 43.381 106 49.815 136–7 49.816–17 137 Senatus Consultum, 7–11 148–9 Seneca the Younger 42, 148, 150, 168 Sextus Empiricus 78 shrines 60 skill and talent 78–9 skin color 31 slaves, as participants in Greece 25, 105–6, 129, 142–3 in Rome 14, 17, 45 social hierarchies 61–2 social history 4 social networks 63–5 social status 142–4 Socrates 163, 165, 206 Solon 69–70, 141 solstice, winter 53, 67 n.5

records 79, 108–10 recreational activities 24 religious festivals 9, 50–2, 53, 99–100, 131–3, 134 representation of sport 179–214 celebrities 195–9, 195, 197, 199 Classical tradition 181–4, 183–5, 186 Heroic paradigm 186–92, 188, 191 limits of 199–204, 200–5 military trope 192–4, 194 nude Classical athletes 180–1, 181–2 violence and art 204, 206–7, 207–9, 209–14, 211–13 respect, pursuit of 26 rhetoric 78 Rhodes 57 riots 65–6 Rome 57 background to sport in 14–19 pompa circensis procession 60–1 purpose of sport conclusion 44–7 defining sport 35–7 elite perspective 37–40 non-elite perspective 40–2 performers’ perspective 42–3 spectatorship 43 Rufrius Menon, Claudius 136

INDEX

s¯oma (body) 159–60, 160–1, 164–5 Sophilos 187, 188 space monumental sporting spaces 57–9 sacred space 59–61 social construction of 49 and social hierarchies 61–3 social networks 63–6 Sparta olive oil 86 preparations for war 72 punishments 112 women and sport 12, 24, 151, 153 wrestling 78–9 spectacula (things worth seeing) 15–19, 36, 38, 40, 43 spectators gender of 151 gladiatorial combats 41, 149 in Rome 37, 40–2, 43 status of 14 women as 154–5, 158 n.13 See also seating arrangements sphairai (balls) 84 sponsorship of games by Augustus 18–19 of gladiatorial combats 93, 132, 136–7 in Greece 45, 91–2 of gymnasia 126, 133 of local games 113–14, 126–7, 128, 131, 132–4 in Rome 37–40, 45 sport, definition of 14–15, 35–7 sporting culture, continuity of 111–12 sportswear 83 stadia 29, 34, 59–60, 80, 80, 82 stadion 12, 55, 56 staged violence 14, 35 See also animal hunts (venationes); gladiatorial combats; naval battles (naumachiae) starting gates 80–2, 80–1 starting lines 60 states, representation of 111–12 Statius 43, 192–3 statues of victors 109, 124, 180–1, 182, 190, 191 stephanitic games 13 Stocking, Charles 26 Stoicism 42, 150, 166–7, 168

253

Strabo 115–16 Stratonikeia, Asia Minor 130–5 strigils 73, 84–7, 85–6, 199–200, 200 Suetonius Augustus 154 Julius Caesar 15, 18, 37, 38, 114 Nero 19 sweat of war 193 Tacitus Annals 40, 112, 214 n.2 Histories 40 talent and skill 78–9 Tatian 172 Teaching of Jacob, The 66 team sports 195 techn¯e (skill) 78–9 technology 79–82, 80–1 Tellon (athlete) 146 terpsis (enjoyment) 72 Tertullian, On Spectacles 37, 112, 172 Theagenes of Thasos (athlete) 109 theater (ludi scaenici) 16 themides (local games). See local games Theocritus 110 Theodosian Codex 114 Theognis of Megara 72 theorodokoi (receivers of the sacred envoys) 34, 145 theoroi (sacred envoys) 34, 145 Theseia games 104 Thessaloniki, Macedonia 136, 137 Thucydides 32–3, 55 Timaeus of Tauromenium 55 time 50–7 liturgical calendar 52–4 reckoning of 54–7 religious festivals 50–2 tim¯e (respect) 26, 27, 30 timing devices 79 Titus, Roman Emperor 117 tombstones. See funeral monuments towns, representation of 111–12 trainers 74–6 training 69–70, 76–8, 93, 166–7, 169–71 Trajan, Roman Emperor 38–9 tripods, as prizes 90 Troilos (athlete) 127 truce, Olympic 10, 33–4

254

umpires 97–8 unfair behavior 110–11 urban riots 65–6 Valerius Maximus 16 value of sport 123 vase paintings 72, 73, 197–9, 197, 199–200, 200, 203, 204 See also amphoras of olive oil venationes (animal hunts) 18, 136–7 Vergil, Aeneid 192 victory commemoration of 29–30 determination of 107–8 importance of 109 lists of victors 55–6 and political identity 145 victory monuments 109, 124, 127–8, 180–1, 182, 190, 191 violence. See staged violence violence and art 204, 206–7, 207–9, 209–14, 211–13 virtus (martial masculinity) 150, 155 warfare gymnasia and 71–2, 73–4 sport as substitute for 27 sport linked with 192–4, 194 wrestling and 108 water carrying 192 water meters 79

INDEX

Williamson, Christina 64 Winckelmann, Johann, History of Art 5 winter solstice 53, 67 n.5 women banquets for 134 exclusion of 63, 105, 151 as gladiators 155, 213–14, 213 in Greece 24–5 in gymnasia 129, 130, 201 at religious festivals 134 as spectators 154–5, 158 n.13 sport for 9–10, 105, 150, 151–3 wreaths 13, 87–8, 116 wrestling Greek 12 metaphors of 78 participants 127 training 76, 77 victory, determination of 108 Xanthos, Asia Minor 127 Xenophanes of Colophon 163 Xenophon [Constitution of the Athenians] 104 Anabasis 142–3 Constitution of the Spartans 112, 153 Memorabilia 110, 206 Xerxes 72 Xystic Synod 114–15 Young, David 88, 111, 143

255

256

257

258