Applied Classics: Comparisons, Constructs, Controversies 351509430X, 9783515094306

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Applied Classics Edited by Angelos Chaniotis / Annika Kuhn / Christina Kuhn

HABES Heidelberger Althistorische Beiträge und Epigraphische Studien ––––––––––––––––––

Herausgegeben von Géza Alföldy, Angelos Chaniotis und Christian Witschel

BAND 46

Applied Classics Comparisons, Constructs, Controversies Edited by Angelos Chaniotis / Annika Kuhn / Christina Kuhn

Franz Steiner Verlag Stuttgart 2009

Coverabbildung: Privatbesitz Angelos Chaniotis

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über abrufbar. ISBN 978-3-515-09430-6 Jede Verwertung des Werkes außerhalb der Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist unzulässig und strafbar. Dies gilt insbesondere für Übersetzung, Nachdruck, Mikroverfilmung oder vergleichbare Verfahren sowie für die Speicherung in Datenverarbeitungsanlagen. © 2009 Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Druck: Printservice Decker & Bokor, Bad Tölz Printed in Germany

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface Introduction ANGELOS CHANIOTIS, ANNIKA KUHN, CHRISTINA KUHN

vii 1

From Parallel to Comparison (or Life and Death of Parallel) FRANÇOIS HARTOG

15

European Identity: Learning from the Past? ANGELOS CHANIOTIS

27

The Imperium Romanum: A Model for a United Europe? GÉZA ALFÖLDY

57

Die Klassische Antike in Amerika ALEXANDER DEMANDT

83

Wilhelm von Humboldt – oder: Die Entstehung des Bürgertums aus dem Geiste der Antike STEFAN REBENICH

97

„Als die Römer frech geworden“: Historische Kontexte eines „Volkslieds“ KAI BRODERSEN

119

Inside or Outside of the University: Classical Scholarship in TwentiethCentury Greece CONSTANZE GÜTHENKE

135

Die Krise der Klassischen Bildung während des Ersten Weltkriegs THOMAS A. SCHMITZ

151

The Campaign for the Ancient History A-Level in Great Britain THOMAS HARRISON

167

The Making of a Classic: Lasting Significance of Hippocratic Medicine ELIZABETH CRAIK

183

vi

Contents

De-Modernizing the Classics? SALLY C. HUMPHREYS

197

Can we Learn from Ancient Athenian Democracy? Historical and Modern Perspectives JOSIAH OBER

207

The Power of Identity: A Japanese Historical Perspective on the Study of Ancient History TAKASHI MINAMIKAWA

231

The Value of Popularizing: Alexander the Great and the Classics ROBIN LANE FOX

245

List of Contributors

257

PREFACE The present volume has its origin in a three-day workshop on the topic of ‘Klassische Bildung im Spannungsfeld von Elitisierung und Popularisierung’, which took place in Bad Honnef, Germany in June 2005. We are extremely grateful to the Studienstiftung des deutschen Volkes (Bonn) for its generous financial support and its help with the organization of the workshop. Some articles published in this volume were given as papers on that occasion, and our gratitude is due to all speakers and participants for their thought-provoking ideas and comments. In the following years many of the issues raised during the workshop were further pursued in a stimulating dialogue, first in Heidelberg and later in Oxford, with colleagues from Europe, Asia, and the U.S. We are immensely grateful for their willingness to contribute to the present volume, which reveals the great variety of approaches and aspects the topic of Applied Classics comprises. Our thanks are also due to all our friends and colleagues from outside the field of Classics, who have shown great interest in the topic and encouraged us to make the debates available for the general public. In doing so, we hope that the articles will provide both the Classicist and the non-Classicist reader with an impetus for further reflection, discussion, and debate. Finally, we would like to thank the Römerstiftung Dr. René Clavel (Augst) for its financial support and Benjamin Gray (All Souls College, Oxford) for his help in improving the English of several articles.

Oxford, May 2009 AC AK CK

INTRODUCTION Angelos Chaniotis, Annika Kuhn, Christina Kuhn

1. WHO NEEDS CLASSICS? The Latin and Greek languages […] offer an invaluable mental training, whose skills are easily applied in other areas, together with an enhanced understanding of how languages work, and a comprehensive database for the study of European languages in particular – our own being no exception.

Thus the Edinburgh Academy, an independent school, advertises its Classics curriculum on the web.1 Its claims find unexpected support from GCHQ:2 GCHQ, a government department based in Cheltenham, is hoping to recruit graduates able to demonstrate an ability to learn foreign languages. This year candidates offering Ancient Greek or Latin, as well as modern linguists, are eligible to apply.

GCHQ may not be a familiar abbreviation to all the readers of this book: it is the UK’s Government Communications Headquarters, the centre of Her Majesty’s Government’s Signal Intelligence. Who needs Classics? British Intelligence apparently does. This is not new. Some of the most prominent British ancient historians of the twentieth century, such as Anthony Andrewes, Peter Fraser, and Nicholas Hammond, were engaged in British special operations in occupied Greece during the Second World War precisely because of their background in Classics, their linguistic skills, and knowledge of topography. Applied Classics, as it were. According to the psychologist Cecilia Heyes, the presumed educational value of teaching classical languages can be the subject of experimental research:3 If the political will was there, it would not be hard or expensive to organise a trial – akin to a drug trial – examining whether education in Classics has a positive effect on cognition. The most important thing would be to ensure that young people were randomly assigned to a treatment group or to a control group. The assignment could not be based on their characteristics or preferences. Once the assignment had been made, those in the treatment group would receive a controlled dose of Classics – ideally of a conventional sort, but from a teacher or teachers who are known to be effective. The control group would spend an equal amount of time (class and homework) in1 2

3

http://www.edinburghacademy.org.uk/curriculum/classics (accessed on 23 March 2009). The text was sent to the UK Classicists Mailing List (http://listserv.liv.ac.uk/archives/ classicists.html) on 22 October 2007. We are grateful to Benjamin Gray, who pointed this out to us. Message sent by Cecilia Heyes (All Souls College, Oxford) to Angelos Chaniotis in May 2009.

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volved in another educational or non-educational activity, but one that is not significantly more enjoyable. After the dose had been delivered, the members of both groups would be given a number of tests of cognitive function. For example, a reputable battery of IQ tests (such as the WISC or WAIS), assessing spatial, logical, mathematical and verbal functions, and, perhaps, some tailor-made tests designed to assess the functions that are thought specifically to be enhanced by training in Classics. One might also solicit teacher and parent ratings of the young people’s mood and conduct during the trial. The more measures the better.

Until such studies are conducted the positive impact of the study of Greek and Latin on intelligence – signal and other – and its value as ‘mental training’ remain debatable. Whatever the case, we can rest assured that the decline of Greek and Latin in secondary education, and their disappearance from the curricula of secondary schools in many other countries,4 does not constitute a threat to national security. The phrase ‘applied Classics’ is most often used in connection with the teaching of classical languages,5 but there is certainly more to it. From the early modern period onwards cultural historians, statesmen, artists, poets, dramatists, composers, scientists, propagandists, or advertising experts have turned to classical antiquity in order to find inspiration, paradigms, arguments, and parallels that could somehow be applied to other areas than Classics and Ancient History. Applied Classics beyond Classics, as it were. This volume explores aspects of this role of Classics. It assembles essays – quite heterogeneous in subject matter, style, and views – which reflect on the diverse and changing ways in which themes and phenomena of classical antiquity were, have been, or should be, integrated into areas beyond Classics: in the study of political phenomena such as modern democracy and European integration; in the critical assessment of a historical period such as the Ancien Régime in France; in the shaping of a civil society in Germany at the time of the Enlightenment and in the formative phase of the United States; in the process of state formation in modern Greece and nineteenth-century Germany; in times of war and crisis; in education, science, or popular culture. It should be noted that it is not the aim of this volume to cover any single aspect of applied Classics in a comprehensive way: the volume will not present an extensive survey of the position classical studies have occupied and still occupy in education, culture, and research; it will not present a detailed history of classical studies or of the reception of classical antiquity from the Renaissance to our times,6 nor will it present a comprehensive debate on the future position of Classics. Such studies do exist and have done a 4 5

6

For the situation in the U.S. see Hanson and Heath 1998. e.g. Taylor 1946 (‘Classics Pure and Applied’); Macro 1981 (‘Applied Classics: Using Latin and Greek in the Modern World’). Groundbreaking for ancient history: Yavetz 1976; Christ 1982 and 1996. See more recently Rebenich 1997; Biddiss and Wyke (eds.) 1999; Hingley 2000; Hingley (ed.) 2001; Hardwick 2003; DeMaria and Brown 2006; Martindale and Thomas (eds.) 2006; Kallendorf 2007; Hardwick and Stray (eds.) 2008; Stray (ed.) 2007; Moog-Gruenewald (ed.) 2008; Morley 2008; Wyke 2008 (reception of Caesar); Richard 2009.

Introduction

3

great deal in sharpening the critical view of ancient historians and classicists of their own subject, in increasing the awareness of students of classical antiquity of the variability of their subject and the heterogeneity of the approaches it employs, and in informing a more general audience about the significance and perspectives of classical studies as well as about the problems they are faced with in the modern world.7 The aim of this volume is less ambitious. It intends to cast spotlights on some current debates and discourses about applied Classics, hoping to provide the reader with an impetus for further reflection, discussion, and debate. The following articles will provide such moments of reflection by classicists and ancient historians, revolving around four broad themes: comparisons, constructs, continuities and controversies.

2. COMPARISONS, CONSTRUCTS, CONTINUITIES, CONTROVERSIES ‘What have the Romans ever done for us?’ is the question asked by a member of the People’s Front of Judea in Monty Python’s Life of Brian. If we ask the same question – adding, of course, the Greeks –, the answers may be as diverse and debatable as those given by the other members of the People’s Front of Judea. There has always been a ‘utilitarian’ aspect in modern approaches to the classical world, ranging from improving our abilities to learn foreign languages and sharpening the intelligence of students of Greek and Latin, to learning from history and using the ancient world as a foundation for collective identities. In a recent book, provocatively entitled How the Ancient Greeks and Romans Solved the Problems of Today (2008), Peter Jones has discussed how the study of the past may contribute to the solution of modern problems – among others, life in mega-cities, taxation, justice, crime and punishment, education, war and religious intolerance. Similar claims concerning the instructive value of the Greek and Roman past, some more persuasive than others, are often made. 8 It is hard to overlook the analogies between some areas and periods of the classical world and modern phenomena (life in urban centres, economic and cultural networks, mobility, technology, multicultural contexts, etc.), and this certainly justifies an interest in the history of the Greeks and Romans. The Graeco-Roman world still offers paradigms for the understanding of an increasingly urban and globalised world, just as it offered paradigms to the Founding Fathers of the United States and to historians and statesmen who sought to understand the British Empire, the European world of the nineteenth century, the rise of the U.S. as a world power, or the formation of the Qin Empire in China.9

7

8 9

e.g. Goldhill 2002 and 2004; Cartledge 2005; Settis 2006; Takahasi, Minamikawa, and Degushi (eds.) 2006; Hardwick and Gillespie (eds.) 2007. e.g. Sherman 2005; Göbel 2007. On the parallelism between the British Empire and ancient Rome see Brunt 1965; Vance 1997; Hingley 2000; Vasunia 2005. On the Roman Empire and the U.S. see Madden 2008; Malamud 2009; cf. Paul 2009. On China see Scheidel (ed.) 2009. On the reception of antiq-

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Several articles in this volume explore, from different perspectives, how classical antiquity could and can be used as a reference point for comparison. Indeed, parallelisms between the ‘Ancients’ and the ‘Moderns’ have a long tradition. The volume opens with an article by FRANÇOIS HARTOG, who discusses early cases of turning to the past for comparisons sparked off in the Querelles des Anciens et des Modernes in France in the 1690s. His study of the different approaches of Charles Perrault, Joseph-Marie de Gérando, François-René de Chateaubriand and Benjamin Constant is an instructive demonstration of how the changing mentalities of the ‘Moderns’ in accordance with the changing historical context continually transformed the perception of classical antiquity, the possibilities to see parallels between past and present, and the legitimacy of comparisons. The oscillation between parallel and comparison which François Hartog’s essay sets in motion is taken up in the two articles which follow. ‘Can we learn from the past?’ is the question underlying the essay of ANGELOS CHANIOTIS, who turns to the subject of European identity. The foundation of the European Union is certainly one of the most significant political and institutional developments of postwar history; quite naturally, this has inspired comparisons between the European Union and ancient institutions.10 A very recent example is Boris Johnson’s effort to support Euroscepticism through a study of governance in the Roman Empire and a comparison between Roman success and European failure.11 Chaniotis’ article poses the question of whether anything can be learnt from the construction of identities in ancient Greece. On the basis of two case studies (Crete and Aphrodisias), which show the existence of overlapping identities and their continual transformation, it is argued that the Europeans should not copy ancient models, nor should they establish a European identity on the fake fundament of a common cultural heritage. Rather, they should focus on shared values: democracy, sensitivity towards human rights and civil liberties, tolerance of diversity, commitment to unprejudiced advance in knowledge, and protection of the environment.12 The European Union is also the subject of GÉZA ALFÖLDY’s article, which provides a comparison between the Roman Empire and the European Union.13 He shows that Rome, in her efforts to create the Imperium Romanum, was confronted with similar central problems as the European Union is today. Asking whether one can learn from history, he examines how Rome dealt with these problems and argues that the success of the Imperium Romanum was mainly based on the attractiveness of Rome’s culture and her ability to integrate the different peoples and

10

11 12

13

uity in economic, political, and philosophical thought in the nineteenth century see Morley 2008. e.g. Strobel 2007 (economy and legal practice in the Roman Empire and in the European Union). Johnson 2006. Two other articles in this volume address aspects of identity, in nineteenth and twentieth century Greece and in modern Japan (see below). It should be noted that the Roman Empire has often inspired comparisons with other suprastate institutions, e.g. with the British Empire in the nineteenth century and with the modern U.S. (see note 9).

Introduction

5

regions into the Roman state. To him, the comparison with Rome makes it evident that today’s economic unity and common currency is just the starting point of the project ‘Europe’: much more emphasis needs to be placed in future on the cultural integration of the peoples by raising their awareness of the advantages of the political unification and the significance of a shared culture as the basis for a European identity. Ancient history has often been the object of ideological exploitation, whether by the National Socialists,14 the agents of British colonial rule,15 the political and intellectual elite that shaped modern Greek identity (see below and pp. 135-150), the feminist movement, or other global movements.16 Spartacus, for instance, whom unhistorical approaches have turned into a symbol of unremitting love of freedom and determined struggle against slavery, lent his name not only to the German revolutionaries of 1916-1919, but also to the ‘New Spartakists’ of the Global Movement.17 Five articles in this volume study different ways of ideologically exploiting classical studies and ancient paradigms in radically diverse contexts: in the formative phase of the United States of America; in the process of ethnogenesis in twentieth-century Greece, and in Germany during the nineteenth century and the First World War. ALEXANDER DEMANDT gives an overview of the many different means by which classical antiquity shaped the United States of America in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries and became part of American identity.18 The article reveals that this influence ranges from the ‘discovery’ of America by the ancient world to the role of Greek and Roman state philosophy during the American Revolution thanks to the profound classical education of the Founding Fathers, who eagerly drew on examples from antiquity when shaping the new nation and its constitution. Even today, classical antiquity has a pervasive influence in America – be it in place names, architecture, literature, theatre or state symbolism, as the essay demonstrates extensively. The nexus between elite and classical education is highlighted by STEFAN REBENICH, who focuses on the emergence of a new definition of German bourgeois education during the nineteenth century, which was based on Wilhelm von Humboldt’s idealisation of Greek antiquity. It viewed education as a permanent process towards self-perfection. The article demonstrates that for Humboldt this new 14

15 16

17

18

See Christ 1982 and 1996; Malitz 1998; Lorenz 2000; Näf 2001; Ungern-Sternberg 2001; Chaniotis and Thaler 2006. Ancient History: Losemann 1997. Archaelogy: Schnapp 1977 and 1980; Junker 1997; Haßmann 2000; Leube (ed.) 2002. e.g. Goff (ed.) 2005. Myth, drama and women’s movement: Zajko and Leonard (eds.) 2006; Bita 2007; cf. Winterer 2007. Spartacus in revolutionary imagination: Hunnings 2007 (nineteenth-century England). German Spartakus-Bund: Epstein 2003, 18-21. ‘New Spartakists’: http://www.sindominio. net/~pablo/papers_propios/The-New_Spartakists.pdf (written by Iñigo Errejón Galván & Pablo Iglesias Turrión; accessed on 13 April 2009). For the significance of Greece and Rome in American intellectual life see also Dyson 2001; Winterer 2002 and 2007.

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educational idea had both a political and cultural dimension: Greece served as a model onto which one could project, idealise and propagate the idea of the political liberty of the individual and his active role within the state. The constructed cultural relationship between the Greeks and the Germans became an integral part in the formation of the idea of a superior German national culture and identity. KAI BRODERSEN also turns his attention to Germany in the nineteenth century and shows how the topic of the clades Variana and the figure of Arminius were adopted in times of revolution and nation building by delineating the history of the popular German folk song ‘Als die Römer frech geworden’.19 He discusses the different versions of Joseph Victor von Scheffel’s poem, on which the song is based, and outlines the historical contexts in which these versions emerged. The historical circumstances, he shows, shaped the tone, text, and tune of the poem: between 1848 and 1875 it developed from a humorous, critical poem to a national-patriotic and military one – a change which nicely reflects not only the personal development of its author but also the political changes and the zeitgeist of the period. As in the U.S. and Germany, classical antiquity has been instrumental in the construction of identity in those modern countries which lay claim to the direct heritage of antiquity: Greece and Italy.20 Greece is a very interesting case of ethnogenesis founded on ancient tradition, and recent research has explored various facets of this process in the nineteenth century and the continual, powerful presence of classical Greece in modern Greek identity. CONSTANZE GÜTHENKE sheds light on the institutional context of classical scholarship and the history of ‘classical philology’ in twentieth-century Greece. She explores how three discourses – the issue of ‘continuity’ in national historiography, the politically charged ‘Language Question’ over what kind of Greek was to be used as the official language of the state, and the crucial role of Archaeology as a discipline – has shaped the profession of Classics and its institutions, the development of learning and the production of knowledge since the foundation of the nation state in the 1820s; they clearly left their mark on today’s organisation and visibility of classical scholarship in Greece. While the abuses of classical antiquity in Nazi Germany have attracted a lot of interest in modern scholarship (see note 14), THOMAS SCHMITZ is concerned with a rather neglected chapter in German history: examining the contributions of classicists to academic classical journals published between 1914 and 1918, he explores how antiquity was used during the First World War as a means of making propaganda not only for the war but also for Classics as a discipline. His article provides insight into the historical situation of classical education at the beginning of the twentieth century in Germany, from which he draws lessons as regards the issue of how classicists can cope with an ever increasing pressure to justify their discipline in times of difficulties. 19 20

On Arminius and German identity see also Struck 2001. For Italy see e.g. Terrenato 2001. For Greece see most recently Hamilakis 2007; Damaskos and Plantzos (eds.) 2008.

Introduction

7

The issue of justifying Classics, which Thomas Schmitz touches upon towards the end of his article, is followed up in the last six contributions of the volume. In the case of Classics the very name of the discipline implies that the significance of its subject is undisputed and lasting. Indeed, for a long time the study of classical literature, drama, philosophy, oratory, and to some extent historiography, was given a privileged position in public education. Yet, this favourable situation has not always been undisputed in history. There have been times in which the necessity of classical education was questioned and in which attempts were made to banish ancient languages from the curricula of secondary schools and to abolish Greek and Latin chairs at universities. How great this danger is was recently made clear in the United Kingdom, when it was announced in March 2007 that Ancient History was no longer to be among the subjects taken by school-leavers for their qualification for higher education. In a rather autobiographical essay, THOMAS HARRISON narrates the history of a heated dispute between school boards and the community of classicists. A very interesting aspect of his contribution is the lively view behind the scenes, which gives a rather shocking picture of unjustified policies in their making. The great support that the campaign in favour of Ancient History received in the UK is one side of the story; the political and ideological background – with the explicit association of Classics with elite education – another. If classicists do not want to battle for their existence in the future, they have to explore new paths which their discipline can follow. When we refer to the ‘Classics’ we usually have a few ‘usual suspects’ in mind – Homer, Plato, Aristotle, the tragic poets, Thucydides, Virgil, Cicero, Seneca and Tacitus. Ancient medical writers, in contrast, though their importance cannot be denied, are not among those who first come to mind – neither with the general public nor, alas, with many classicists themselves (and members of research committees for academic posts). In her study of the Hippocratic Corpus, ELIZABETH CRAIK explores the influence which Hippocratic medicine and ethics have had on modern eastern and western medicine. Given their lasting significance (as is evident from today’s ‘alternative’ medicine, for example), she argues that the Hippocratic writings deserve the same significance as ‘classics’ as Homer and Co. SALLY HUMPHREYS is equally looking for ways of re-thinking the study of Classics. In her article she explores to what extent ‘classical antiquity’ has become a construction of modernity shaped by historicism and culturism, and she poses the provocative question of what it would be like for classicists to think without these constructed modern boundaries. She ardently advocates the view of making Classics less ‘museumised’ and ‘touristic’, encouraging schools and universities to foster riskier thinking, to question traditional boundaries, and to promote cross-disciplinary dialogue. How fruitful such an interdisciplinary approach to the ancient world can be is shown by JOSIAH OBER, who addresses the prominent example of the Athenian democracy. His review of recent scholarship on Athenian democracy, its limitations and achievements, and the parameters which determined its success and its

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failure, demonstrates how an ancient institution can be incorporated into modern debates of political and social sciences. If this subject continues to attract attention it is not only because of the ideological exploitation of Athenian democracy but also because of the continual progress in understanding its history and its function, often in a fruitful dialogue with concepts developed by contemporary political theory and sociology.21 Impetus for new ways of exploring classical antiquity comes not only from the dialogue with other disciplines but also from the dialogue with other cultures. Within this context the interest in classical antiquity outside Europe and the U.S. is an issue that has only recently attracted attention.22 Japan with its ambiguous attitude towards the Western world is an extremely interesting case, and one of the most prominent representatives of Ancient History in Japan, TAKASHI MINAMIKAWA, turns to the question of what particular contribution Japanese scholars can make to the study of Greek and Roman antiquity. His article argues that, apart from comparative studies, the value of Japanese research in Classics lies in the scholars’ non-European historical viewpoint, that is, in the power of their Asian identity. It is this more detached, outside perspective on the European Classics, unshaped by European identity itself, that allows Asian scholars to shed new light on various topics in ancient history. Whereas the position of Classics in the field of education may be disputed and threatened from time to time, beyond the field of education Classics easily holds its ground: classical myth and drama have inspired artists, opera composers23 and playwrights from the European Renaissance to the present, and they continue to do so, whether through the frequent performances of ancient plays24 or their impact on modern drama in Europe, North America and beyond (see notes 22 and 24). Ancient philosophy, traditionally a cornerstone not only of specialised philosophical training but also of a more general education, has not lost its value and finds unexpected application, for instance, in military studies.25 Themes from Greek and Roman myth and history have never ceased to fascinate pop culture – from comics and children books to video games and the inspiration provided by classical antiquity for the creation of TV heroes (Xena, the Warrior Princess; Buffy, the Vampire Slayer).26 Archaeological tourism has not suffered from the 21 22 23 24

25 26

See also Hansen 2005; Leonard 2005 (post-war France); Woodruff 2005; Nippel 2008. e.g. classical drama in modern Africa: Budelmann 2005; van Zyl Smit 2008. Ewans 2008. The study of modern performances of ancient drama has become an important subject of interdisciplinary research, of which the Archive of Performances of Greek and Roman Drama at the University of Oxford, founded in 1996 by Edith Hall and Oliver Taplin, and the European Network of Research and Documentation of Performances of Ancient Greek Drama (Arc-Net) are good examples; see e.g. Sideris 1976; Flashar 1991; McDonald 1992; Hartigan 1995; Hall, Macintosh, and Taplin (eds.) 2000; Hall and Macintosh 2005; Macintosh, Michelakis, Hall, and Taplin (eds.) 2005; Hall and Wrigley (eds.) 2007; ipová and Sarkissian (eds.) 2007. Sherman 2005 (military applications of ancient Stoicism). An excellent overview in Lowe and Shahabudin (eds.) 2009; see also Joshel, Malamud, and McGuire Jr. (eds.) 2001; Nisbet 2007. On the classical background of TV series, see Potter

Introduction

9

decline of classical education in schools.27 Commercials are unthinkable without the use of ‘icons’ from the classical world, and ancient themes continue to attract the interest of the most influential modern expression of pop culture: the cinema.28 In the last article of this volume ROBIN LANE FOX deals with the issue of ‘popularising Classics’. As one of the few classical scholars who have had personal experience with the making of a movie inspired by ancient history, he not only gives a personal account of his consulting role in Oliver Stone’s Alexander but also fervently advocates the use of this medium. He draws attention to the importance of a firmly established ‘popularised’ interest in the Classics for its position in society, as it manifests itself in France and Britain (to a lesser extent, however, in Germany). While he is aware of the concessions to historical accuracy that film adaptations require, it is the moving picture’s special strength in visualising history and provoking new (or neglected) questions about the classical world and its reception, which, apart from its great outreach, has turned it into a major platform of ‘popularising’ the Classics – a platform which should not be neglected nor belittled by classicists as a means of raising the general public’s interest in classical studies.

3. ENVOIS Reflection on and discussion about a discipline, its history and its application usually occur in times of crisis. Yet, the condition of Classics today is not wholly desperate: Classics and Ancient History remain firmly established subjects at most universities; classical subjects are an integral part of many interdisciplinary projects in the humanities and social sciences; the number of journals dedicated to the ancient world is steadily increasing – due not only to the impact of ‘research assessment exercises’, but also to the productivity of classical scholars and the inexhaustible potential of ancient studies. All major publishing houses continue to profit from series dedicated to classical literature and ancient history, museums attract the masses with exhibitions on the ancient world, publishers of popular fiction top the bestseller lists with books on antiquity, and Hollywood heavily draws on the myth and history of ancient Greece and Rome to make the cash tills ring. Documentaries dedicated to classical antiquity, with extensive and often successful application of digital technologies, and internet newsgroups are good examples

27 28

2009 (Charmed; Xena, the Warrior Princess); James 2009 (Buffy, the Vampire Slayer). On Asterix see Amalvi 1984; King 2001. Melotti 2007. In recent years the study of the position of classical subjects in movies has advanced to a respectable subject of serious research. A small selection of recent studies: Wyke 1997 and 2002; Fabro (ed.) 2004 (classical myths in Pasolini’s work); Junkelmann 2004; Nisbet 2006; Lindner 2007; Berti and García Morillo (eds.) 2008; Hardwick and Stray (eds.) 2008, 303341 (articles by J. Paul, H.M. Roismann, and M. McDonald); Pomeroy 2008; Lowe and Sahabudin (eds.) 2009 (articles by S. Turner, G. Nisbet, and K. Shahabudin).

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of how technological innovation is applied by those interested in classical subjects.29 Until recently a dissertation dedicated to the reception of classical antiquity was a ‘kiss of death’ for many a young scholar looking for an academic appointment – in many universities it still is. Yet, the reception of antiquity has established itself as an integral part of Classics in most countries and as a worthy and serious research object. When the Classical Reception Studies Network was established in the United Kingdom (2004) to promote collaboration between six universities (Bristol, Durham, Nottingham, The Open, Oxford and Reading) with a strong interest in this subject, there must have been classicists who viewed such an activity with scepticism or even contempt. The British initiative was followed by the establishment of an analogous Australian Classical Reception Studies Network in 2006.30 In the meantime, thanks to a grant from the Arts and Humanities Research Council (2007-2008), the Classical Reception Studies Network has organised a series of workshops and conferences, which have provided guidance to students interested in this subject; the Department of Greek and Latin at University College in London has launched an ‘MA in Reception of the Classical World’;31 and a Classical Receptions Journal was founded in 2009. Prophecies about the disappearance of Classics as a discipline or the fear of a decline in the interest of the general public in the ancient world in the near future are certainly unjustified. But this is not reason enough for classicists and ancient historians to settle back and believe that their discipline – as any other discipline – does not need to justify its existence by pointing to its general appeal or to any practical, material or other gains. Even if classicists and ancient historians should not feel obliged to justify their existence to taxpayers or governments more than any other representatives of fundamental research, this does not relieve them from the need to reflect critically on the position of Classics and to explore new paths their discipline can take in a dialogue with other disciplines and with contemporary society and culture.32 Reception studies in Classics have started primarily as surveys of the impact of classical literature and myth on world literature and culture. As this volume suggests, they should also entail reflections on the position Classics and Ancient History may occupy in contemporary education, research, and general culture; on their dialogue with other disciplines; and on the paradigms that classical antiquity may offer. One does not need a specific inducement such as the release of a new film inspired by classical antiquity, the anniversary of an organisation of classical studies, the beginning of a new millennium, or a crisis in order to reflect on this 29 30

31

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See Hughes 2009 (TV documentaries); Fisher and Langlands 2009 (internet). Classical Reception Studies Network: http://www2.open.ac.uk/ClassicalStudies/GreekPlays/ crsn/index.shtml; Australian Classical Reception Studies Network: http://www.acrsn.org. See, for example, the ‘MA in Reception of the Classical World’ at the UCL Department of Greek and Latin (http://www.ucl.ac.uk/GrandLat/reception-studies/mainreceptionstudies). In recent years several such reflective studies have appeared, e.g. Salvatore Settis’ thoughtprovoking book on the ‘Classical’ (2006) and Simon Goldhill’s books on the continuing value of classical education (2002 and 2004).

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field, its past and its perspectives. Rather, reflection on Classics can be fruitful at any time because of its very diversity. Often used, abused and, in the process, bruised, Classics, nevertheless, remains an inexhaustible source of inspiration, disputation, and investigation.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Amalvi, C. (1984) De Vercingétorix à Astérix, de la Gaule à De Gaulle, ou les métamorphoses idéologiques et culturelles de nos origines nationales, Dialogues d’Histoire Ancienne 10, 285318. Berti, I. and M. García Morillo (eds.) (2008) Hellas on Screen: Cinematic Receptions of Ancient Literature, Myth and History, Stuttgart. Biddiss, M. and M. Wyke (eds.) (1999) The Uses and Abuses of Antiquity, Bern. Bita, L. (2007) Women of Fire and Blood. Ancient Myths, Modern Voices, translated by R. Zaller, Boston. Brunt, P. (1965) British and Roman Imperialism, Comparative Studies in Society and History 7, 267-288 [reprinted in P. Brunt, Roman Imperial Themes, Oxford, 1990, 110-133]. Budelmann, F. (2005) Greek Tragedies in West African Adaptations, in Goff (ed.) 2005, 118-146. Cartledge, P. (2005) Why/how does Classics matter?, Arts and Humanities in Higher Education 4.2, 185-199. Chaniotis, A. and U. Thaler (2006) Die Altertumswissenschaften an der Universität Heidelberg 1933-1945, in W.U. Eckart, V. Sellin, and H. Wolgast (eds.), Die Universität Heidelberg im Nationalsozialismus, Heidelberg, 391-434. Christ, K. (1982) Römische Geschichte und deutsche Geschichtsschreibung, Munich. — (1996) Griechische Geschichte und Wissenschaftsgeschichte, Stuttgart. Dal Lago, E. and C. Katsari (eds.) (2008) Slave Systems: Ancient and Modern, Cambridge. Damaskos, D. and D. Plantzos (eds.) (2008) A Singular Antiquity: Archaeology and Hellenic Identity in Twentieth-Century Greece, Athens. De Angelis, F. (1998) Ancient Past, Imperialist Present: The British Empire in T.J. Dunbabin’s The Western Greeks, Antiquity 72, 539-549. DeMaria Jr., R. and R. D. Brown (2006) Classical Literature and its Reception: An Anthology, Malden - Oxford. den Boer, P. (2007) Homer in Modern Europe, European Review 15, 171-185. Dyson, S.L. (2001) Rome in America, in Hingley (ed.) 2001, 57-69. Epstein, C. (2003) The Last Revolutionaries: German Communists and their Century, Cambridge, Mass. Ewans, M. (2008) Iphigénie en Tauride and Elektra: ‘Apolline’ and ‘Dionysiac’ Receptions of Greek Tragedy into Opera, in Hardwick and Stray (eds.) 2008, 231-246. Fabbro, E. (ed.) (2004) Il mito greco nell’opera di Pasolini, Udine. Fisher, K. and R. Langlands (2009) ‘This Way to the Red Light District’: The Internet Generation Visits the Brothel in Pompeii, in Lowe and Shahabudin (eds.) 2009, 172-194. Flashar, H. (1991) Inszenierung der Antike. Das griechische Drama auf der Bühne der Neuzeit, 1585-1990, Munich. Göbel, C. (2007) Antike und Gegenwart. Griechische Anmerkungen zu ethischen Fragen unserer Tage, Hildesheim. Goff, B.E. (ed.) (2005) Classics and Colonialism, London. Goldhill, S. (2002) Who Needs Greek?: Contests in the Cultural History of Hellenism, Cambridge. — (2004) Love, Sex, and Tragedy: How the Ancient World Shapes our Lives, London [Paperback: Love, Sex, and Tragedy: Why Classics Matter, London 2005]. Hall, E. and F. Macintosh (2005) Greek Tragedy and the British Theatre 1660-1914, Oxford.

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Hall, E., F. Macintosh, and O. Taplin (eds.) (2000) Medea in Performance 1500-2000, Oxford. Hall, E. and A. Wrigley (eds.) (2007) Aristophanes in Performance 421 BC-AD 2007: Peace, Birds, and Frogs, London. Hamilakis, Y. (2007) The Nation and its Ruins: Antiquity, Archaeology, and National Imagination in Greece, Oxford. Hansen, M.H. (2005) The Tradition of Ancient Greek Democracy and its Importance for Modern Democracy, Copenhagen. Hanson, V. and J. Heath (1998) Who Killed Homer? The Demise of Classical Education and the Recovery of Greek Wisdom, New York. Hardwick, L. (2003) Reception Studies (Greece and Rome New Surveys in the Classics, no. 33), Oxford. Hardwick, L. and C. Gillespie (eds.) (2007) Classics in Post-Colonial Worlds. Classical Presences, Oxford. Hardwick, L. and C. Stray (eds.) (2008) A Companion to Classical Receptions, Malden - Oxford. Harrison, T. (2005) Through British Eyes: The Athenian Empire and Modern Historiography, in Goff (ed.) 2005, 25-37. Hartigan, K.V. (1995) Greek Tragedy on the American Stage: Ancient Drama in the Commercial Theater, 1882-1994, Westpoint. Haßmann, H. (2000) Archaeology in the ‘Third Reich’, in H. Härke (ed.) Archaeology, Ideology and Society. The German Experience, Frankfurt, 65-139. Hingley, R. (2000) Roman Officers and British Gentlemen: the Imperial Origins of Roman Archaeology, London. — (ed.) (2001) Images of Rome: Perceptions of Ancient Rome in Europe and the United States in the Modern Age (Journal of Roman Archaeology, Suppl. 44), Portsmouth. Hughes, B. (2009) ‘Terrible, Excruciating, Wrong-Headed And Ineffectual’: The Perils and Pleasures of Presenting Antiquity to a Television Audience, in Lowe and Shahabudin (eds.) 2009, 2-16. Hunnings, L. (2007) Spartacus in Nineteenth-Century England: Proletarian, Pole and Christ, in C. Stray (ed.) (2007) Remaking the Classics: Literature, Genre and Media in Britain 1800-2000, London, 1-19. Johnson, B. (2006) Dream of Rome, London. Jones, P. (2008) Vote for Caesar: How the Ancient Greeks and Romans Solved the Problems of Today, London. Joshel, S., M. Malamud, and D. McGuire Jr. (eds.) Imperial Projections: Ancient Rome in Modern Popular Culture, Baltimore. Junkelmann, M. (2004) Hollywoods Traum von Rom, Mainz. Junker K. (1997) Das Archäologische Institut des Deutschen Reiches zwischen Forschung und Politik. Die Jahre 1929 bis 1945, Mainz. Kallendorf, C.W. (ed.) (2007) A Companion to the Classical Tradition, Malden - Oxford. King, A. (2001) Vercingetorix, Asterix and the Gauls: Gallic Symbols in French Politics and Culture, in Hingley (ed.) 2001, 114-125. Leonard, M. (2005) Athens in Paris: Ancient Greece and the Political in Post-War French Thought, Oxford. Leube, A. (ed.) (2002) Prähistorie und Nationalsozialismus. Die mittel- und osteuropäische Urund Frühgeschichte in den Jahren 1933-1945, Heidelberg. Lindner, M. (2007) Rom und seine Kaiser im Historienfilm, Frankfurt. Lorenz, S. (2000) Hitler und die Antike, Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 82, 407-431. Losemann, V. (1937) Nationalsozialismus und Antike. Studien zur Entwicklung des Faches Alte Geschichte 1933-1945, Hamburg. Lowe, D. and K. Shahabudin (eds.) (2009) Classics for All: Reworking Antiquity in Mass Culture, Newcastle. Macintosh, F., P. Michelakis, E. Hall, and O. Taplin (eds.) Agamemnon in Performance, 458 BC to AD 200, Oxford.

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Macro, A.D. (1981) Applied Classics: Using Latin and Greek in the Modern World, Classical Outlook 58.3, 73-75. Madden, T.F. (2008) Empires of Trust. How Rome Built – and America Is Building – a New World, New York. Malamud, M. (2009) Ancient Rome and Modern America. Classical Receptions, Malden - Oxford. Malitz, J. (1998) Römertum im ‘Dritten Reich’: Hans Oppermann, in P. Kneissl and V. Losemann (eds.), Imperium Romanum: Studien zur Geschichte und Rezeption. Festschrift für Karl Christ, Stuttgart, 519-543. Martindale, C. and R.F. Thomas (eds.) (2006) Classics and the Uses of Reception, Oxford. McDonald, M. (1992) Ancient Sun, Modern Light: Greek Drama on the Modern Stage, New York. Melotti, M. (2007) Mediterraneo tra miti e turismo. Per una sociologia del turismo archeologico, Milan. Moog-Gruenewald, M. (ed.) (2008) Mythenrezeption: Die antike Mythologie in Literatur, Musik und Kunst von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Der Neue Pauly, Suppl. 5), Stuttgart. Morley, N. (2008) Antiquity and Modernity, Malden - Oxford. Näf, B. (ed.) (2001) Antike und Altertumswissenschaft in der Zeit von Faschismus und Nationalsozialismus. Kolloquium Universität Zürich, 14.-17. Oktober 1998, Mandelbachtal - Cambridge. Nippel, W. (2008) Antike oder moderne Freiheit? Die Begründung der Demokratie in Athen und in der Neuzeit, Frankfurt. Nisbet, G. (2006) Ancient Greece in Film and Popular Culture, Exeter. Opalinski, E. (2005) The Significance of Classical Education for Political Culture in Poland during the Sixteenth-Seventeenth Century, in T. Minamikawa and S. Koyama (eds.), Continuity and Change of the Humanism in the Modern Europe. Political Culture, Classical Studies and University, Kyoto, 9-32. Paul, J. (2009) ‘I Fear it’s Potentially Like Pompeii’: Disaster, Mass Media and the Ancient City, in Lowe and Shahabudin (eds.) 2009, 91-108. Pomeroy, A.J. (2008) ‘Then it Was Destroyed by the Volcano’: The Ancient World in Film and on Television, London. Potter, A. (2009) Hell Hath no Fury like a Dissatisfied Viewer: Audience Responses to the Presentation of the Furies in Xena: Warrior Princess and Charmed, in Lowe and Shahabudin (eds.) 2009, 217-236. Rebenich, S. (1997) Theodor Mommsen und Adolf Harnack. Wissenschaft und Politik im Berlin des ausgehenden Jahrhunderts, Berlin. Richard, C.J. (2009) The Golden Age of the Classics in America, Cambridge, Mass. Scheidel, W. (ed.) (2009) Rome and China: Comparative Perspectives on Ancient World Empires. Oxford. Schnapp, A. (1977) Archéologie et nazisme, Quaderni di storia 3, 1-26. — (1980) Archéologie et nazisme, Quaderni di storia 6, 19-33. Settis, S. (2006) The Future of the ‘Classical’, translated by A. Cameron, Cambridge - Malden. Sherman, N. (2005) Stoic Warriors: The Ancient Philosophy Behind the Military Mind, Oxford. Sideris, I. (1976)

          , 1817-1972, Athens. ipová, P. and A. Sarkissian (eds.) (2007) Staging of Classical Drama Around 2000, Newcastle. Stray, C. (ed.) (2007) Remaking the Classics, Literature, Genre and Media in Britain 1800-2000, London. Strobel, K. (2007) The Roman Empire: Economy and Legal Practice – Parallels to the European Union? Plurality and Diversity or Uniformity of Roman Law?, in K. Strobel (ed.), Von Noricum nach Ägypten. Eine Reise durch die Welt der Antike. Aktuelle Forschungen zu Kultur, Alltag und Recht in der römischen Welt, Klagenfurt, 107-192. Struck, M. (2001) The Heilige Römische Reich Deutscher Nation and Hermann the German, in Hingley (ed.) 2001, 91-112. Takahasi, H., T. Minamikawa, and Y. Deguchi (eds.) (2006) Integrating the Humanities: The Roles of Classics and Philosophy. Kyoto-Cambridge International Symposium, 25 September 2006, Kyoto.

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Taylor, D.G. (1946) Classics Pure and Applied, Greece and Rome 15, 33-41. Terrenato, N. (2001) Ancestor Cults: The Perception of Ancient Tome in Modern Italian Culture, in Hingley (ed.) 2001, 71-89. Tuori, K. (2007) Ancient Roman Lawyers and Modern Legal Ideals: Studies on the Impact of Contemporary Concerns in the Interpretation of Ancient Roman Legal History, Frankfurt. Ungern-Sternberg, J. von (2001) Imperium Romanum vs. Europa. Gedanken zu einigen Vorträgen deutscher Althistoriker in den Jahren 1939 bis 1942, in Näf (ed.) 2001, 395-418. van Zyl Smit, B. (2008) Multicultural Reception: Greek Drama in South Africa in the Late Twentieth and Early Twenty-first Centuries, in Hardwick and Stray (eds.) 2008, 373-385. Vance, N. (1997) The Victorians and Ancient Rome, Oxford. Vasunia, P. (2005) Greater Rome and Greater Britain, in Goff (ed.) 2005, 38-64. Winterer, C. (2002) The Culture of Classicism: Ancient Greece and Rome in American Intellectual Life, 1780-1910, Baltimore. — (2007) The Mirror of Antiquity. American Women and the Classical Tradition, 1750-1900, Ithaca. Woodruff, P. (2005) First Democracy: the Challenge of an Ancient Idea, Oxford. Wyke, M. (1997) Projecting the Past: Ancient Rome, Cinema and History, London. — (2002) The Roman Mistress: Ancient and Roman Representations, Oxford. — (2008) Caesar: A Life in Western Culture, Chicago. Yavetz, Z. (1976) Why Rome? Zeitgeist and ancient historians in early 19th century Germany, Baltimore. Zajko, V. and M. Leonard (eds.) (2006) Laughing with Medusa: Classical Myth and Feminist Thought, Oxford.

FROM PARALLEL TO COMPARISON (OR LIFE AND DEATH OF PARALLEL) François Hartog

1. AN ARCHAEOLOGY OF THE PARALLEL Recognised by ancient rhetoric as a form of comparison, the establishment of a Parallel essentially belongs to the apparatus of historia magistra. Antiquity formulated it and used it.1 Plutarch illustrated it and transmitted it to the Moderns who in their turn used it, before giving it up. For the Parallel to lose its pertinence, the Ancients had to be distanced irremediably from the Moderns and become truly ‘inimitable’. The experience of time had to be changed and one had to enter the modern regime of historicity. In fact, the ‘time’ of modern comparison is one ‘that marches on’, a time of progress and evolution. It is this moment of transition, when the parallel loses its heuristic capacity, when it is called into question, that it is worth investigating a little further: the period ‘in between’. What is the origin of the Parallel? A passage from Isocrates gives us a first clue. In the context of crisis which, at the beginning of the fourth century BCE, followed the defeat of Athens by Sparta, Isocrates acknowledged that ‘changes’ had taken place and proposed yet another change, this time conceived intentionally as a ‘return’. The self-satisfaction of the Athenian ‘present’, as stated in the opening pages of Thucydides, was no longer valid: on the contrary it was towards the past that one had to turn, the past that should be imitated:2 We must thus change our system in such a way that the system that existed for our ancestors should exist for us: for inevitably from the same policy will result similar or analogous acts. We should place in parallel the most important among them and examine which of them should be chosen.

For Plutarch, in his Parallel Lives of Famous Men, the parallel, which paired a Greek and a Roman, was first of all presented as a tool of knowledge and of self-improvement. From the lives of the two heroes only ‘the more important’ and ‘the finer’ was retained. Each diptych ended with a comparison of their strong and weak points and the naming of the victor – Theseus or Romulus, Lycurgus or Numa. Conceived by Plutarch as a basis for imitation, the Parallel is a mirror which should reflect to the reader the image of what is expected of him or what he is expected to be. It is thus a variety of exemplum: a doubled example. It goes from the past to the reader’s present. But the Parallel is, with Plutarch, something 1 2

Rhetorica ad Herennium IV, 59. For a broader perspective, see Hartog 2005. Isocrates, Areopagiticus 78-79.

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more: not only an instrument of training, apprenticeship or self-improvement, but also an expression of a cultural policy. It presupposes and it demonstrates that the Greeks and the Romans belonged to the same world of the city, sharing the same nature (that is, essential qualities) and the same values in a Graeco-Roman world. Beside this canonical form of the Parallel, there exists another one, of which the second term is constituted by ‘us’. A and B then form a couple, of the type ‘The Ancients and the Moderns’. Previous to B, A occupied an eminent position making it a model to be imitated, to which one turns in search for lessons or, at least, inspiration and a guide to present action. Even if the two elements of the pair are, or have become, far distant from each other, they nonetheless come from the same universe of reference. Whether the Modern should try and draw near to the Ancient or to raise himself to his level, or whether, on the contrary, he should try and distinguish himself and distance himself from him, it is with reference to the Ancient that the decisions are made. But what happens when the Parallel is used to justify a strategy aiming at proving the radical superiority of the second term? What happens, when it becomes, as with Charles Perrault, a war machine against the Ancients and an element of quarrel between the partisans of the Ancients and those of the Moderns? Is there not a risk of rupture? Because, from that moment onwards, anteriority becomes inferiority not only in fact but also in principle. And the model of the historia magistra, even though it is formally retained, runs the risk, so to speak, of ‘walking on its head’. A variation of the preceding case could be that of the prospective parallel (looking towards the future), even if one remains in the universe of the preceding case, not far from Thucydides and still in Isocrates. But here the parallel tries to provide something more, to be used as an instrument of forecast, following the general law that the same causes produce the same effects. This prospective parallel is also the one that Chateaubriand used when he launched himself into his Essai historique sur les révolutions anciennes et modernes (Historical essay on ancient and modern revolutions; 1797). The declared goal was not only to explain the French Revolution in the light of ancient parallels but, above all, to forecast its outcome. This type of parallel, between prophecy and prediction, was used in times of crisis at the end of the eighteenth century.3 This was to mobilise the past while feeling even more that the future promises to be different from all that has gone before, because of a very disturbing experience of an acceleration of time.

2. CHARLES PERRAULT’S PARALLEL: THE SWANSONG (1688-1697) With Charles Perrault the parallel, apparently, triumphs. However, if one takes a closer look at it, the glorious ship seems to have sailed into troubled waters: the model seems to have sprung a leak. In 1687, Perrault read before the Académie Française his famous poem Le siècle de Louis le Grand. From the very beginning the setting of the debate was fixed. 3

Christophoros 1960, 82-87.

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La belle antiquité fut toujours admirable; Mais je ne crus jamais qu’elle fût adorable [...] Et l’on peut comparer sans craindre d’être injuste, Le siècle de Louis au beau siècle d’Auguste [...] De Louis des grands Roys le plus parfait modèle. Fine antiquity was always admirable But I never believed that it was adorable [...] And if one can compare without fearing to be unjust, The Age of Louis with the fine age of Augustus [...] Of Louis of the great Kings, the most perfect model.

One is certainly here in the world of laudatory rhetoric, even of courtly flattery, but something else can be discerned. A year later, in 1688, the first dialogue of the Parallèle des Anciens et des Modernes appeared.4 Perrault turns very naturally towards the parallel, which offers him a set form – obvious, and in addition, polemically very satisfying: the goal of every operation is to put the Moderns in the place of the Ancients, finally by putting the Ancients in their place. But, more interesting, seems to be the fact that, in the successive discourses, the Parallel, as such, as an epistemological instrument, was to show weaknesses and encounter difficulties. Perrault, however, was not to renounce it. He probably did not want to, first of all for the simple reason of opportunity and also, because he could not, for he did not have the intellectual capacity to think outside and beyond this framework: that is, to be able to leave the Parallel and enter what was, in fact, the Comparison. If the Parallel was questioned, it could not be doubted as a form, let alone revoked as an instrument. Nothing was to be solved, but the adversaries in the Querelle (those he used to meet at the Académie Française) were to find an apparent reconciliation. A sensitive and complex issue was that of what constituted perfection. First of all understood within a Christian framework, perfection was later ‘to become more human’. Thus, for Fontenelle, ‘in all things man should aim at a point of perfection even beyond his reach’, even for false ideas. And if not exactly within our reach, perfection could from then on be inserted within our human horizon. As a starting point, Perrault took the opposite view from the one that he attributed to the advocates of the Ancients and which maintained that perfection (in the strong, religious, meaning of the term) could be found among the Ancients.5 That was objected to in vain by the president. On the contrary, the chevalier and the abbé (who was Perrault’s spokesman) stated that we are the true Ancients (a familiar thesis since Bacon, Descartes, Pascal, Fontenelle).6 But how, in that case, should this still glorious old-age be apprehended? An old-age which never becomes completely old? They also estimated, in agreement with Fontenelle, that Nature is always the same: a Virgil today would be quite possible. Even more, the 4 5 6

Charles Perrault, Le siècle de Louis le Grand (in Perrault 1971 [1692], 79). Ibid., 19. Ibid., 28.

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abbé emphasised further on that there is nothing that ‘cannot be perfected by time’, so well that a Virgil today would be better than the Virgil of antiquity. It follows that ‘all things being equal, it is an advantage for a century to have come after the others’.7 Once these points have been settled, how can perfection be defined? Two representations seem to be at work. The first one takes the image of degrees of perfection: the century is considered as having attained ‘the highest degree of perfection’ or ‘in a certain way to be at the summit of its perfection’. Perfection is described as a straight line moving upwards, vectorised, measurable. The second uses the expression ‘point of perfection’, which suggests the movement of a curve, certainly moving upwards, although, by definition, the point of perfection is something which cannot last. Once attained, it is passed and one can only move downwards. Perrault, however, navigates from one formula to another as if they were equivalent: from the ‘degrees’ to the ‘point’, from the straight line to the curve, from the summit to the ancient cyclical scheme. He thus avoids the difficulty, but at the same time underlines it, using an astronomical metaphor:8 And as, for the last few years, progress has marched at a much slower rate, almost imperceptibly, just as our days seem not to increase any longer when they approach the solstice; I still have the joy of thinking that we have probably not many things to envy of those who will come after us.

We have almost arrived at the solstice. If, in the preceding centuries, one can see ‘birth and progress in all things’, one can see nothing that has not benefited from ‘a new growth and a new lustre in the time in which we live’. Nonetheless, Perrault had to acknowledge that it is not enough for a century to come afterwards in order to be automatically superior to the preceding: ‘This should be understood under the condition of all things being equal’, he had already noted. Peace and prosperity were necessary, that is, the reign of great monarchs, ‘so that the century may have the time to rise by degrees to final perfection’.9 I would thus say in order to explain myself in a more just and equitable manner, that the Ancients and Moderns excelled equally, the Ancients as much as the Ancients 10 were able to, and the Moderns as much as the Moderns can.

To each one his perfection, he seems finally to admit. But it would be wrong to draw from this wording the idea that the perfection of the Moderns is only relative. It is that of the Ancients that is relativised: they did what they could and could not go beyond a certain point (to be precise, their own point of perfection). These considerations on perfection damage the idea of a Parallel: the points of comparison between the Ancients and Moderns disappear.

7 8 9 10

Ibid., 29. Ibid., 40f. and 288. Ibid., 54. Ibid., 164.

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How can we explain Perrault’s oscillation between the two models of perfection that he juxtaposes or superposes? Or, in other words, why does this unfinished and incomplete historisation obviously not work in the present, although it works in the past – perhaps through the relay of the cyclical model? The answer is: by blocking the present. As if Perrault, more profoundly than the obligatory praise of a reigning monarch, could not go beyond the present, beyond the age of Louis XIV, which translated in fact a formidable operation of valorisation of the present: of presentism. The attitude towards the present is twofold. From a Christian perspective, marked by St. Augustine, the present is valid as the only point allowing man to give God a place and as a passage giving access to God’s eternity. Hence its value. On the contrary, if one is attached to the present for itself, for the present moment, and thus without God, one is in the world and the mundane, in the mere fashion.11 This is the misery of godless man. Here one finds the etymology of modernus. In the same way as in the system of absolute power the monarch occupies the place of God, something of the possible relationship between present and eternity is reflected on the royal present, because it is the role of the king, day after day, to be the creator of fashion. The king incarnates the present in two ways, as God’s lieutenant and as an arbiter of elegance. The centrality of the present is reinforced by making it a frontier difficult to transgress. To pretend to see beyond would border on sacrilege, something that should be forbidden. In such a configuration, the present tends to become the point of view from which one regards the past, imposing itself as reference and pattern. And it becomes banal for a courtier to declare that from then on the king has no models. He has, himself, become the perfect model for all kings, just as Perrault had announced. By the same reversal, historia magistra means that from now on it is the present that measures the past and, in a certain way, judges it. Perrault was also the author of a book published shortly after the Parallèle. Illustrated with engravings, it was entitled Les hommes illustres qui ont paru en France pendant ce siècle (Famous men who appeared in France during this century; 1697-1700). By this century, one should, of course, understand Louis XIV’s century. The title is revealing by its very banality. Perrault did nothing more, in fact, than improvise on Plutarch. In 1736, Voltaire was to write Le Mondain (The Man of the World), with its famous line ‘earthly paradise is where I am’, before concentrating on Le siècle de Louis XIV, which was published in 1738 and in which he endeavoured to show ‘the history of the human mind taken from the most glorious century of the human mind’. He is once again part of this presentist configuration that wants to see in Louis XIV the model of history, except that he, obviously, writes ‘I’. In his Correspondance he mentions ‘a history of this century that should be a model for the following ones’.12 The parallel, thus treated by Perrault, can only lead to a misunderstanding of imitation. Imitation had to be presented or denounced as a simple copy. The ‘An11 12

Fumaroli 1990/91, 515-532. Voltaire, Correspondance, 1739, lettre n° 1259; 1740, lettre n° 1372.

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cients’, in contrast, experienced no difficulty in defending it as an aemulatio (emulation). One only has to think of La Fontaine’s response: ‘souvent à marcher seul j’ose me hazarder | mon imitation n’est point un esclavage’ (‘I often dare to venture to walk alone | my imitation is no slavery’).13 In the same way, the ‘Ancient’, notably in his role of a moralist, found that he could place the present in perspective. Does he not show himself as a critic of fashion and a denouncer of this faulty (and impious) valorisation of the present? So La Bruyère, in his Caractères (1688):14 We, who are so modern, will be ancient in a few centuries [...]. One will talk of a capital of a great kingdom, where there were no public places, no baths, no fountains, no amphitheatres, no galleries, no porticoes, no promenades, but which was nonetheless a wonderful town. What a pity if the disgust that our morals had inspired in them should turn them away from reading our works and thus not to know ‘the greatest reign that had ever embellished history’. Let us understand that the very prejudices we have against the ancients, our successors are very likely to have against us. Let us then know how to put them in perspective. Let us not be more prejudiced against the simple life of the Athenians than against the first men ‘great in themselves’.

Thus taking up and continuing Theophrastus, La Bruyère, the defender of the Ancients, was able to put his present into perspective by considering it already as a Past Future, while also recognising a fundamental permanence of mankind that, beyond the morals that change human nature, it remains the same. If the world lasts only a hundred million years, it is still in all its freshness and has only just begun; we ourselves are close to the first men and the patriarchs, and who will be able not to confound us with those of the most distant centuries?

But if one judges the future by the past, how many new things are as yet unknown and ‘what a slight experience is that of six or seven thousand years!’.15 There, where the Modern, who considers himself as a final result, accentuates the distance – all the stages – that separates us from the Ancients and relies on the difference in morals, ‘the Ancient’ gears down the future in order to make more obvious, by contrast, the close proximity between the beginnings, the Ancients and us, and to emphasise the permanence of human nature. No matter whether seen from the past, or from the future, or from the point of view of God, this present, so proud of itself, hardly occupies more than one small point. La Bruyère is not a historicist before the term had been coined.

13 14 15

La Fontaine, Epître à M. l’Evêque de Soissons (in La Fontaine 1965, 493). La Bruyère 1962 [1688], 11-13. Ibid., 384.

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3. BENJAMIN CONSTANT’S COMPARISON (1819) In 1819, Benjamin Constant gave a famous lecture De la liberté des Anciens comparée à celle des Modernes (On the liberty of the Ancients compared with that of the Moderns).16 In it he expressed in a definitive way the theme that, little by little, had been formulated among the critics of the imitation of antiquity during the eighteenth century. His lecture can be read as a political epilogue, at least in France, to the Quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns. Perrault started from an aesthetic consideration and touched upon politics in the shape of the absolute monarch, in the framework of the present, in which ephemeral fashion and a representation of eternity were combined, hampering any attempt to see beyond. Constant’s thesis is simple. No parallel is possible between the Ancients and us, for their liberty – that is, the collective participation by the citizens in the effective exercise of sovereignty – cannot be compared with ours (understood as individual civil liberty ‘peaceful enjoyment of private independence’). The confusion of the two liberties has brought ‘endless problems’: the failure of the Revolution, with the Terror. The anachronism is fatal. The exercise of liberty in a modern way presupposes a principle which, ignored by the Ancients, is a ‘discovery’ of the Moderns: the representative system. Thus, ‘as we live in modern times, I want a liberty that is suitable for modern times’.17 Time is not only the perfecting of the inventions of the Ancients, it leads to completely new discoveries. Constant historicises the two liberties, breaks the parallel, quits historia magistra and enters into what I have called the modern system of historicity, pointing out the incommensurability of the two liberties. The ultimate political lesson is that there is no longer a possible lesson. But, for all that, Constant does not make history! Above all, he wanted to refute Mably and, in particular, Rousseau. This makes him start off from their vision of antiquity and turn it around (the liberty of the citizen means his ‘slavery’ in all private affairs), in order to show that it is not applicable in the modern world. But it was not his purpose to ask where this ‘liberty of the ancients’ was. In this way, he renewed, not the parallel as such, but rather something of its (ancient) polemical usage. Was it not only to prove aloud that the Ancients could no longer, and thus should no longer, be used as political models. Intellectually impossible, the parallel had proved itself to be politically dangerous, as it carried with it the question of violence and of the Revolution.

16 17

Constant 1980, 491-515. Ibid., 509.

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4. FRANÇOIS-RENÉ DE CHATEAUBRIAND: THE WRECK OF THE PARALLEL (1797-1826) Back from America and exiled in London and having spent a short time in the Armée des Princes, Chateaubriand wrote his Essai historique, politique et moral sur les révolutions anciennes et modernes, considérées dans leurs rapports avec la Révolution française (Historical, political and moral essay on ancient and modern revolutions, compared with the French revolution). This dense, sometimes preposterous, but not negligible book appeared in 1797. How did he tackle the problem? It obviously goes without saying that the method was that of the parallel. We are here, very explicitly, in the framework of historia magistra. Chateaubriand wanted, first of all, to understand what had happened, but also to foresee the future of the Revolution. This was a parallel of the prospective type. As it is known that man ‘vainly turns around in a circle trying to escape’, he does nothing but ‘repeat himself endlessly’. It is thus clear that one cannot expect anything good from a Revolution, in which there is, moreover, almost nothing new. As for political or civil liberty, it does not really exist, neither among the Moderns nor among the Ancients, the only authentic liberty, ‘individual independence’, is that of the Savage. For Chateaubriand, at that time a keen follower of Jean-Jacques Rousseau, there was no real difference between the Ancients and ourselves, as far as liberty was concerned: the liberty of the savage shows the artificiality of all political liberty (‘what does it matter to me that it be the King or the Law of the land that drags me to the guillotine’).18 Even if the return to wild life turns out to be impossible, it is all the same true that this utopia (that is, America) reinforces the parallel, by providing a point of view from which one can also envisage (and challenge) the Ancients and the Moderns. More than thirty years later, Chateaubriand, when he was publishing his Œuvres complètes, republished the Essai historique. It is the same book and yet a different book. Added texts (foreword, preface, critical notes) both safeguard it and refute it. In order to see this clearly, one should read the Essai historique, in parallel precisely with the Voyage en Amérique – the account of a voyage during his youth, which had not yet been published, but the publication of which he was preparing. What is said and repeated in the new edition of the Essai historique is that the parallel between the Ancients and us had by then become impossible. Why? Because of ‘the discovery of the representative republic of the United States’ which was ‘one of the great political events of the world’.19 This was Chateaubriand’s version (1826) of Constant’s two liberties (1819). There are indeed two liberties; man is not condemned continuously to do the same things inside the ‘same circle’; one should rather envisage ‘concentric circles that become larger and larger endlessly in an infinite space’ (that is to say perfectibility or progress). I always reasoned in the Essai from the system of the republican liberty of the ancients ...; I had never thought of this other type of liberty, produced by the age of en18 19

Chateaubriand 1978a [1797/1826], 438. Chateaubriand, Voyage en Amérique (in Chateaubriand 1978b, 873).

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lightenment and perfected civilisation: the discovery of the representative republic 20 changed the whole question.

The parallel is no longer the appropriate heuristic instrument. Thus the Essai historique is this unique text which is based on the topos of historia magistra and at the same time challenges it. It translates this brief moment when, under the influence of the Revolution, the framework of historia magistra was no longer operational but to abandon it completely was (not yet) possible. In this way, it is a text between the two banks of the river of time, between the ancient and the new, recording formally that the parallel is no longer productive of intelligibility.

5. THE FORGOTTEN COMPARISON: JOSEPH-MARIE DE GERANDO (1799) When one considers the prehistory of the comparison, there is, besides the Ancients and the Ancients and us, a third term which, with the discovery of the New World, could not be ignored: the Savage. What was happening on that front during the same years? In 1799 the Société des Observateurs de l'Homme (Society of the Observers of Man) was founded. It brought together most of the so-called Idéologues (fifty members, plus fifty correspondents). Its aim was to ‘observe man in all his different physical, intellectual and moral aspects’.21 It was concerned with the collection of ‘objects of comparison’, numerous enough to enable comparison. Cuvier, the naturalist, wrote instructions on the research to be done in anatomy. Comparative anatomy was at that time the model requested to make a comparison. Close collaboration was planned between ‘travelling members’ and ‘historian members’, leading to a ‘comparative anthropology’.22 These research subjects – historians on ancient peoples, travellers on modern peoples – were to shed light mutually on each other and, above all, were to contribute to clarifying the most obscure points of our primitive history. Such was the project which aimed at establishing a science of man, founded philosophically, nourished empirically and placed under the sign of comparison. The science of man, it was written, is ‘also a natural science, a science of observation’.23 Natural sciences are no more, in a certain manner, than a suite of comparisons. As each particular phenomenon is usually the result of the combined action of several causes, it would remain a profound mystery for us if we considered it only in an isolated manner: but by comparing it with similar phenomena, they cast on each other a mutual light. The special action of each cause shows itself distinctly and independently and consequently general laws can be established. One can only observe well

20 21 22 23

Chateaubriand 1978a [1797/1826], 23 (préface). See Copans and Jamin 1994. Ibid., 58. Ibid., 75.

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by analysing; however, in philosophy one analyses by bringing together, as in chem24 istry through the play of affinities.

In order to determine what man is, nothing is more useful as an element of comparison than the primitive peoples: their simplicity shows us what belongs to the ‘very principle of existence’ and takes us back to ‘the first epochs of our own history’.25 We can thus draw up ‘an exact scale of the different degrees of civilisation’. The savage, who has become our ancestor, is changing into a primitive man. This natural science of man, referring to chemistry, makes comparisons in order to move from the effects back to the causes, that is to say to determine what cause brings about which effect. We are clearly in an intellectual universe which is not at all that of the parallel, but which escapes from the aporia (intellectual deadend) of incomparability which Perrault’s parallel leads to. Quite on the contrary, the comparison of a new manner is set up as the tool of the science of man. However, the Société des Observateurs de l’homme disappeared as early as 1805 and there is very little trace left of its work. Intellectual history is only rarely a success story! When ethnology was established it did not make the Considérations sur les diverses méthodes à suivre dans l’observation des peuples sauvages by J.-M. de Gérando one of its founding texts. The Restoration was above all preoccupied with putting a political end to the Revolution, closing it from an intellectual point of view it considered that it had achieved this in July 1830. National history became the main interest and the immediate challenge, while the spiritualism of Victor Cousin, the head of the University, had no truck with a science of man based on observation. Comparisons were therefore no longer the business of the day. One had to wait until the end of the nineteenth century for them to come back. This time in the baggage of young Durkheimian sociology, which had read and digested the theories of evolution formulated by Darwin and systematised by Spencer. Gérando, of course, did not write from nothing. He was writing in the wake of Condorcet’s Esquisse, in particular through his insistence on observation. But even more in that of Rousseau’s Discours sur l’inégalité, when stating:26 Let us imagine a Montaigne, a Buffon, a Diderot, travelling, observing, writing [...]; let us suppose that they then wrote a natural, moral and political history of what they had seen, we would see ourselves emerge a new world under their pen and we would learn how to know our own.

But what was, with Rousseau, still an appeal for a parallel, has been transformed into a scientific project, founded on comparison. Among the famous texts dealing with Savages that have been used as relays (without going back to Montaigne’s Cannibales), we should mention the Mœurs des sauvages amériquains comparées aux mœurs des premiers temps (Customs of 24 25 26

Ibid., 75. Ibid., 76. Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Discours sur l’origine de l’inégalité, note X (in Rousseau 1964, volume III, 213f.).

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the American savages compared with the customs of the early times) by the Jesuit priest Joseph-François Lafitau. Published in Paris in 1724, the book was largely used by Chateaubriand and certainly known by Gérando. When reading it, one soon realises that the comparison should be understood as a parallel: ‘the continual parallel that I make between the customs (mores) of the Amériquains with those of the Ancients.’27 Without doubt, this parallel enables continual comings and goings between the Ancients and the Savages. The ancient authors can help us to understand certain customs of the Savages just as, conversely, certain customs of the savages can shed light on such and such a passage of an ancient author. Retrospectively, this parallel allows one to complete, even to complement: it explains a custom or a text. As a heuristic instrument, it produces a new knowledge and, from this perspective, functions as will comparison of a new manner. But Lafitau’s main aim was apologetic, and the condition on which he based his comparison was specifically an article of faith. The postulate was that humanity could not have known a time without religion, even before Moses. For, if such a time had ever existed, that would mean that it could come back; in their struggle atheists could evoke a precedent. Of this very first religion, pure and, in fact, close to true religion, one can still recognise traces, certainly deformed and corrupt, in the mores (customs) of the Savages and among the peoples of Antiquity. The latter come to bear witness to a more ancient condition of humanity that they had not themselves known, and of which they had no exact idea. If there is ‘comparison’, it is not made possible unless the Revelation guarantees and authorises it. These rapid spotlights show how, over little more than a century, from the ‘Age’ of Louis XIV to the era opened by the Revolution, the Parallel lost its obviousness and pre-eminence. Questioned by the Quarrel, its cognitive inadequacy became manifest with the Revolution and it was politically condemned. But the new comparison, the one which makes it possible to go from what can be seen to what can be seen no more, from the present to a disappeared past, the one which gives place to time, and is, so to say, woven in it, the one which finally will make it possible, no longer to compare to, but to compare between, was to toil for a long time before installing itself in different disciplines. In spite of all this, the parallel, this proud vessel from Antiquity, completes its course. With its wreck the couple formed by the Ancients and the Moderns is also undone – the couple for which it provided the framework.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Chateaubriand, François-René de (1978a) [1797/1826] Essai historique, politique et moral sur les révolutions anciennes et modernes considérées dans leurs rapports avec la révolution française, édition Maurice Regard, Paris: Gallimard (Bibl. de la Pléiade). — (1978b) Œuvres romanesques et voyages. Tome 1. Texte établi, présenté et annoté par Maurice Regard, Paris: Gallimard (Bibl. de la Pléiade). Christophoros, P. (1960) Sur les pas de Chateaubriand en exil, Paris: Minuit. 27

Lafitau 1724, volume 2, 18.

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Constant, B. (1980) De la liberté chez les modernes, textes choisis, présentés et annotés par Marcel Gauchet, Paris: Le livre de poche. Copans, J. and J. Jamin (1994) Aux origines de l’anthropologie française. Les mémoires de la Société des observateurs de l’homme en l’an VII, Paris: Jean-Michel Place. Fumaroli, M. (1990/91) La République des Lettres IV. De Descartes à Fontenelle. La querelle des Anciens et des Modernes, Annuaire du Collège de France 1990-1991. Résumé des cours et travaux, 505-535. Hartog, F. (2005) Anciens, modernes, sauvages, Paris: Galaade (paperback reprint: 2008). La Bruyère (1962) [1688] Les Caractères ou les Mœurs de ce siècle, Paris: Garnier. Lafitau, J.-F. (1724) Mœurs des sauvages, Paris: Saugrain et Hochereau. La Fontaine (1965) Œuvres complètes, Paris: Seuil. Perrault, C. (1971) [1692] Parallèle des Anciens et des Modernes en ce qui regarde les arts et les sciences: Dialogues; avec le poème du Siècle de Louis le Grand et une épître en vers sur le génie, Geneva: Slatkin reprints. Rousseau, J.-J. (1964) Œuvres complètes, Paris: Gallimard.

EUROPEAN IDENTITY LEARNING FROM THE PAST? Angelos Chaniotis

1. EUROPEAN IDENTITY: A VIEW FROM THE FUTURE I quote from an electronic newspaper of the year 4264 of the common era:1 Sensational Discovery! Researchers succeed in deciphering an old script: has English always been spoken in our country? As was reported by scientists during yesterday’s session of the Academy of Objective Truth, a group of researchers succeeded in deciphering those famous documents that were unearthed during the construction of a wind power station 7,892,640 minutes ago. Their reading and interpretation has revolutionised our knowledge concerning ancient times in our country. The new insights relate to a variety of aspects of life in our region more than a billion minutes ago – such as nutrition, education, literature, religion, and fashion. For the information of our readers, we recall the circumstances of this sensational discovery, which has radically changed our traditional perception of the culture of those times as an illiterate one, in which communication was entirely based on images. Millions of round discs have been hitherto discovered, bearing on them the still undeciphered symbols ‘CD’. These symbols also appear on elaborate works of art generally interpreted as household altars (fig. 1).

Fig. 1. Cultic object of unknown significance (household altar?).

Many researchers regard them as magical signs. They explain them as linear representations of the crescent moon and the human head, reduced to their essential 1

The following text is inspired by L. Kolakowski’s The Emperor Kennedy Legend (reprinted in Kolakowski 2000), which I first read (in a German translation) in 1986. For similar ‘perspectives from the future’ see e.g. Macaulay 1979; Paasche 1988; Barley 1999; Eco 2001. I thank Benjamin Gray (All Souls College) both for correcting my English and making stimulating suggestions.

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European Identity: Learning from the Past?

elements (fig. 2). And then the great discovery came... Hundreds of lumps of an unknown substance, burned under unclear circumstances and later almost petrified and preserved, turned out to be written documents! Chemical analysis has shown that the substance in question was an organic material, which in those times was designated as ‘paper’ and – although this may seem absolutely incredible considering the primitive conditions of those times – was somehow harvested from trees. Some scientists have even formulated the hypothesis that in those times there existed larger groups of trees outside exhibition halls (!), which were called ‘forests’. However, this is such a preposterous speculation that the government is considering the legal prohibition of similar unfounded theories.

Fig. 2. According to a theory, the symbols ‘CD’ are hieroglyphic signs representing the moon and a human head.

After numerous experiments and unsuccessful attempts, which unfortunately resulted in the complete destruction of many so-called ‘books’, our researchers finally succeeded in separating individual sheets (folios) from these lumps and to read on them many signs of writing – something that looks like a forerunner of our script. The key for the decipherment was given by the numerical signs, which are absolutely identical with ours. This observation encouraged our scientists to develop the working hypothesis that the signs that look like script may in fact be letters with a similar phonetic value as the letters of our alphabet. Despite the very fragmentary preservation of most of the texts, thorough studies have come to the conclusion that the language spoken in our country in those ancient times was already a form of English. The finding place of these documents was identified, thanks to a signboard, as an establishment designated as ‘International Press’. Presumably it served as a sort of archive of a settlement known under the name of He-i-del-berg – in the light of many parallels, probably to be pronounced as Hey del Berg (cf. Cerro de Pasco, Viña del Mar, Ojos del Salado). Unfortunately, not all documents could be deciphered. In particular a document with the heading Die Zeit seems to be entirely incomprehensible – perhaps it represents the attempts of a foreigner to learn the local script. According to the plausible and conclusive arguments of the research team, under the direction of Professor Nuntius Cydoniensis, all documents (so-called ‘newspapers’, ‘journals’, and ‘books’) originate in a very short period of time, perhaps a single year. It is still a matter of controversy whether the numeral 2002 refers to minutes, as in our system of time reckoning, or days – perhaps even years.

I skip now a larger part of the report and come to a section, which is quite significant for this article: New insights concerning the legendary country ‘Europe’ Without getting into the details of a very complex argument, we report here on the new insights concerning the legendary country Europe, which occupies such a prominent position in our mythology. It can now be regarded as certain that a country called ‘Europe’ existed and that it had an advanced and uniform political structure.

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Following the most modern theoretical models, political scientists apply certain parameters in order to determine whether a community fulfils the necessary criteria to be characterised as a ‘state’ or a ‘nation’: citizenship, coinage, language, religion, culture, national identity. Now, this aforementioned ‘Europe’ seems to meet all these criteria. The population of the state called ‘Europe’ probably constituted a single nation with a single citizenship. The latter can be inferred from the designation of its population as ‘the Europeans’, a term that was certainly used in order to distinguish this citizen-body from other important citizen-bodies of those times, such as, for instance, ‘the Americans’, ‘the Arabs’, or ‘the Muslims’. Europe had a single coinage, the so-called ‘Euro’, and this provides the researchers with a very reliable criterion which enables them to determine which regions were provinces of the state of ‘Europe’. It is of the greatest significance to observe that the ‘Europeans’ were a nation that shared the same culture. Expressions such as ‘European music’, ‘European art’, ‘European cinema’, ‘European history’, ‘European studies’, ‘European fashion’ and many others leave no doubt that this nation possessed the most important features of a single national identity, especially a homogeneous culture (music, art, garments), a common historical consciousness, and certainly also the same religion. Religious festivals such as New Year, Xmas – probably a pre-European ritual of obscure origins, the name of which is obviously connected with two other very important but puzzling cultural institutions called ‘X-Files’ and ‘X-Factor’ –, Easter, and ‘Winter Sale’ were celebrated at the same time all over Europe – but also in adjacent countries. On the coins of ‘Europe’ were represented the images of the common national heroes (or perhaps gods and goddesses?) of the ‘Europeans’ (fig. 3).

Fig. 3. European gods, heroes and a goddess on European coins. European religion seems to have been primarily masculine.

The most significant expression of the national identity of the ‘Europeans’ was a great spring festival designated as ‘Eurovision Song Contest’. Experts in hymnody, who represented the numerous ‘European’ provinces, competed in chanting, thus calling forth visions among the worshippers – a mystical experience, which remains very enigmatic. Combining various criteria (language, coinage, ‘Eurovisionality’, religious practices), our scientists have established that the following areas belonged to the state of ‘Europe’, at least in certain historical periods (we retain the spelling which is found in the sources): Austria, Azerbaijan, Belgium, Finland, France, Germany, Greece, Holland, Italy, Luxemburg, Montenegro, Netherlands, Österreich, Portugal, San Marino, Slovenia, Spain, and Turkey. Vatican’s position remains enigmatic, because although it certainly used the ‘European’ coin, it is not known to have participated in the ‘Eurovision Song Contest’, possibly because its population adhered to a different (minority) religion. The fact that ‘Europe’ was surrounded by many enemies certainly contributed to a strong national identity and a feeling of togetherness. The enemies of the ‘Europeans’ included various nations, such as the ‘Arabs’, the ‘Muslims’, and – certainly

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European Identity: Learning from the Past?

Europe’s greatest enemy – the ‘United Kingdom’. The latter name was constructed in conscious opposition to the name ‘European Union’ in order to express, as clearly as possible, the different constitutional and political structures of these two countries. Two nations, which cannot easily be located in specific geographical areas, bear the puzzling names ‘Refugees’ and ‘Asylum Seekers’. Armies of these two nations succeeded in invading Europe. The most vulnerable victims of this great invasion were four provinces called ‘Deutschland’, ‘Germany’, ‘Italy’, and ‘Spain’. The greatest allies of the ‘Europeans’ in those hard times were two nations in the west: a country called ‘America’ and another country called ‘Usa’. Both states were somehow related to ‘Europe’ because their populations seem to have spoken similar dialects. We may assume that the English language – and, more generally, culture – were brought to Europe by colonists or immigrants from these states of America and Usa. This process of civilisation was designated as ‘Americanisation’ and was met by parts of the European indigenous population with suspicion. The first stop of these American and *Usean colonists must have been a province called ‘Greece’, which, unfortunately, cannot be located. Our sources occasionally refer to it as ‘the cradle of European culture’, probably precisely because the colonists and culture missionaries first became established in this province. There is, however, a problem. As our researchers inferred from the theories of the ancient archaeologist Manfred Korfmann, who studied an object called ‘Troy’, a region called ‘Turkey’ also claimed to be the cradle of European culture. This apparent contradiction can easily and plausibly be solved, if one accepts that ‘Greece’ and ‘Turkey’ were only two different names for the same country. The ‘Turks’, who were to be found in almost every European province, must have been the ‘Ur-Europeans’, the original Europeans, who laid the foundations of European culture. (...) Of course, some puzzles still remain to be solved. For instance, it is still unclear whether there existed another country called ‘Brussels’ – another enemy of ‘Europe’? Its existence is being inferred by some scientists from formulations such as ‘the bureaucracy of Brussels’ or ‘the policy of Brussels’, etc. References to a Brusselian nationality or citizenship are, however, still lacking. (...)

It is not difficult to pick up formulations that appear in newspapers, take them out of context, make a melange, and lead them ad absurdum. I am afraid that ancient historians unknowingly do this all the time, when they study their sources. For someone who is suddenly confronted with the present situation in Europe, without any knowledge of historical developments – for instance for an alien – to understand and define the term Europe is not easy, and even most European statesmen have some difficulties, especially when it comes to the enlargement of the European Union. And if our imaginary observer were to ask the question what European identity is, he might discover that he was chasing a ghost. The problems begin with the attribute ‘European’. Despite the fact that Europe, as a region, can be somehow defined according to strict geographical criteria, the colloquial use of the word ‘Europe’ can vary from language to language. For the Greek, the Englishman, or the Irishman a ‘journey to Europe’ means leaving the native country, and this implies that subconsciously the average citizen of these countries does not regard Greece and Ireland as being part of Europe. Of course, this does not prevent either Greece or Ireland from using the Euro as their currency or from

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dispatching their singers to the annual Eurovision Song Contest – together with Turkey and Israel. We occasionally use the term ‘European culture’, without giving any thought to the fact that – to the best of our knowledge – there has never been a moment in history that the entire population of Europe spoke the same language or shared the same religion. Not even in the period of the greatest expansion of the Imperium Romanum did the entire population of Europe live within the borders of the same state. A single legal system has never been applied to all European countries. And today, despite the vivid discussion concerning European identity and the future of Europe, we hardly address the question of what significance ‘European identity’ has for the third-generation Turk in Germany, for London’s Indian inhabitant, or for the Muslim who was born in France. In order to realise the complexity of such problems of definition, we need some distance; we need a remote perspective, which can be provided by the historical sciences.

2. A PERSPECTIVE FROM THE PAST Having played with a fictitious perspective from the future, I shall now present a perspective from the past. The question of what an identity is and how an identity is constructed has not been asked for the first time by privileged modern Europeans. Modern research in Ancient History and the Classics has recognised both the complexity and the significance of the subject of ‘identity’ in the political, social, and cultural thought of the Greeks and Romans.2 The first attempt to define the collective ‘identity’ of the Greeks was undertaken by Herodotus (9.144.2), who stressed a common origin (homaimon; ‘sharing the same blood’), but did not neglect the importance of cultural features: language (homoglosson), religion, and customs. Herodotus’ definition has created a school, since modern research on identity in the Greek world and in the Roman East still stresses the importance of factors such as memory, religion, and education. The study of construction and expression of identity in classical antiquity has a paradigmatic value: the sources allow us to identify this phenomenon in a primarily urban, very competitive multi-state context, comparable to that of the modern world, as well as in multicultural environments such as those of the Greek colonies, the Hellenistic world, and the Imperium Romanum.3 Studies of identity 2

3

It is not possible to present here more than a small selection of recent studies on aspects of identity: General approaches: Minamikawa (ed.) 2004; Duncan 2006. Hellenic Identity: Too 1995; Hall 1997 and 2002 (cf. the remarks of Mitchell 2005); Mitchell 2007. Elite identity: Stephan 2002. Athens: Boegehold and Scafaro (eds.) 1994. Other Greek cities and regions: Messene: Figueira 1999; Siapkas 2003; Luraghi 2006 and 2008; Phokis: McInerney 1999, 839; Achaeans: Greco (ed.) 2002; Greek cities in Roman Asia Minor: Rogers 1991; Scheer 1993; Lindner 1994; Klose 1996; Stephan 2002; Maupai 2003; Yildirim 2004. Republican Rome: Gruen 1992; Farney 2007. Jewish identity: Cohen 1999; Barclay 2002; Johnson 2004; Capponi 2007. Late Antiquity: Miles 1999; Machado 2006; Swift 2006; see also note 4. Greek colonies: e.g. Greco (ed.) 2002; Lomas (ed.) 2004; Hodos 2006. Hellenistic period: e.g. Couvenhes and Legras (eds.) 2006. Roman Empire: e.g. Scheer 1993; Lindner 1994; Millar 1998; Laurence and Berry (eds.) 1998; Veyne 1999; Huskinson (ed.) 2000; Goldhill (ed.)

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in ancient history have stressed the multiplicity of identities – ethnic, regional, civic, social, cultural, religious, gender – and noted the role played by a variety of factors, ranging from language, memory, and religion, to personal names, citizenship, athletics, office holding, coinage, dress, and food.4 In this article, I present two case studies that reveal the dynamic character of identity. An overview of identities in the island of Crete in the Classical and Hellenistic period exemplifies the existence of overlapping identities. In the case of Aphrodisias in Karia we may observe continual changes of identity as a response to changing political and cultural constellations.

3. OVERLAPPING IDENTITIES IN ANCIENT CRETE A survey of the manner in which identities were constructed in Crete allows us to recognise an important aspect of this phenomenon: the parallel existence and overlapping of identities.5 The elementary and more clearly visible identity of a member of an ancient community was his civic identity, for instance the identity of a man as a citizen of Knossos. This identity could co-exist with other identities defined through a variety of criteria. It could co-exist, for example, with the regional identity of a ‘Cretan’ and with the social identity of an aristocrat, a participant in a ‘men’s house’ (andreion), and a member of an age-class.6 Which identity emerged and became visible, concealing other latent forms of self-definition, usually depended on specific conditions. Identities often emerged as a result of a more or less violent conflict with another group. Let us take the case of a man from the Cretan city of Lyttos. The ‘Lyttian’ was primarily a citizen of Lyttos; the citizenship distinguished him from those who lacked it: foreigners (xenoi), citizens of foreign poleis (alliopolitai), and the unfree. This particular identity was revealed whenever he came into contact with the ‘others’: with citizens of other Cretan poleis, with other Greeks, and with non-Greeks. He did not use the ethnic name Lyttios as part of his

4

5 6

2001; Ostenfeld (ed.) 2002; Jones 2004; Yildirim 2004; Howgego, Heuchert, and Burnett (eds.) 2005; Bell and Hansen (eds.) 2008. Multiple identities: e.g. Jones 2004; Williamson 2005; Mitchell 2007, 2. Language: Munson 2005; cf. (for modern Greece) Mackridge 2009. Memory: Rogers 1991; Scheer 1993; Lindner 1994; Barkan and Bush (eds.) 2002; Yildirim 2004; Price 2005; Machado 2006; Smith et al. 2006; Diefenbach 2007. Religion: Robertson 2002; Luraghi 2006. Religious identity in Late Antiquity: Piepenbrink 2005; Frakes (ed.) 2006; Diefenbach 2007; Sandwell 2007; Zacharia (ed.) 2008. Culture: Gruen 1992; Millar 1998; Goldhill (ed.) 2001. Citizenship: Sagan 1995. Athletics: van Nijf 1999; Newby 2005. Office holding: Sivonen 2006. Coinage: Howgego, Heuchert, and Burnett (eds.) 2005. Dress: Edmondson 2008; Koortbojian 2008. For an earlier version of this section see Chaniotis 2006. On Cretan andreia see Lavrencic 1988; Viviers 1994, 244-249; Chaniotis 2005a, 184 with note 40; Haggis et al. 2007. On the Cretan system of age-classes and transitory rituals see Leitao 1995; Gehrke 1997, 31-35; Vattuone 1998; Tzifopoulos 1998; Waldner 2000, 222242; Chaniotis 2006b.

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personal name in his city, as he did in his contacts with foreigners.7 The basis of this civic, ‘political’ identity was a legal one: citizenship. A formulaic expression used in Cretan grants of citizenship explains an essential feature of citizenship: ‘let him (them) participate in divine and human things.’8 The new citizen was integrated into a community and not only with regard to ‘secular’ rights and duties; at the same time he became a member of a community of men sharing the same cults. This ‘civic’ identity of a Lyttian was already being shaped during his childhood. As a child he attended the joint meals in the ‘men’s houses’ and listened to narratives of the deeds of the ancestors and the older citizens.9 In this way he was also introduced to the values (and gender roles) accepted by his community. During festivals he competed with his peers in dancing, running, and the use of weapons.10 The songs of the local poets taught him heroic legends; the hymns, oaths, and prayers made him familiar with the local gods.11 Local cultural memory was shaped and ritually transmitted during commemorative anniversaries.12 We know of two such anniversaries celebrated in late Hellenistic Lyttos. They were the anniversary of the city’s re-foundation in the late third century BCE, after its destruction in c. 221 BCE during a war, and the anniversary of the destruction of Dreros, Lyttos’ neighbour and enemy. The identity of the Lyttian was thus defined both in a positive way, through the memory of a new beginning after a crisis, and in an aggressive way, through commemoration of victory and conquest. In both cases, identity meant belief in the superiority of one’s community over others. The identity of a Lyttian was, therefore, the result of the combination of civic rights and cultural memory. The significance of the latter becomes clear, when we consider individuals who were not born Lyttians, but became Lyttians later in life. Up to what extent did the award of citizenship assimilate the former foreigner to a natural Lyttian? For example, did a man who was born as a citizen of Olous, acquired citizenship in Lyttos on the basis of a treaty,13 left his mother-town and settled in Lyttos have the same identity and the same collective consciousness as a Lyttian? Were a legal act (naturalisation) and a religious ceremony (civic oath) sufficient to have him give up his earlier civic identity? Was he accepted without reservation as a member of the same community? The new Lyttian ‘participated in 7

8 9 10 11

12

13

The ethnic Lyttios is used e.g. in the grave inscriptions of Lyttians outside Crete, in Demetrias (IG IX.2.365) and in Eretria (IG XII.9.812). Metechein thinon kai anthropinon; Chaniotis 1996, 101f. Athenaios IV 22, 143 a-d. Chaniotis 1996, 127f.; Gehrke 1997, 37f.; Tzifopoulos 1998; Ferruti 2004. Hymns: Furley and Bremer 2001, I 65-76, II 1-20. Lists of gods in oaths: Chaniotis 1996, 6876; Brulé 2005, 159-163. On commemorative anniversaries, in general, see Chaniotis 1991. On the difference between collective and cultural memory see Chaniotis 2005b, 214-216. The commemorative anniversaries of Lyttos are mentioned in a fragment of a treaty of Lyttos with Olous (c. 110 BCE), which will be published by Charalmbos Kritzas. For such a treaty of isopoliteia between Lyttos and Olous see Chaniotis 1996, 352-358.

34

European Identity: Learning from the Past?

divine and human things’, but did he also share Lyttian cultural memory? Did he learn the local dialect? Did he give his children the names of his ancestors or typical names of his new home? When he prayed and when he cursed, did he invoke Athena Polias, the patron of Lyttos, or Zeus Tallaios, that of Olous? Civic identity is occasionally overlaid by other forms of consciousness and solidarity, especially by a social identity. We may recognise this in documents, which reveal an endemic fear of civil war and treason.14 In ancient Crete several such social identities were at play, such as membership in a ‘men’s house’, an age-class, and a social class. We do not have information about the shaping of identity in the ‘men’s houses’, but the social identity of the upper class, which consisted almost exclusively of landowners and warriors,15 is clearly expressed in the self-confident, indeed arrogant, song of Hybrias:16 My great wealth are my spear, sword, and the fine shield, which guards my skin. With this I plough, with this I reap, with this I tread the sweet wine from the vine, with this I am called master of the serfs. Those who do not have the courage to hold a spear, a sword, and the fine shield which guards the skin, all of them fall to their knees and do obeisance and call me lord and great king.

In this text we recognise again the connection between identity and a belief of the superiority of the group to which an individual belongs. How social identities threatened to undermine civic identity, especially in critical situations, became clear during the greatest war of Hellenistic Crete. The alliances of Gortyn and Knossos joined forces to attack the third major city, Lyttos (‘the War of Lyttos’, c. 221-218 BCE). However, during this war deep divisions within communities became apparent. Polybios reports (4.53.5-6): At first all the Cretans took part in the war against Lyttos, but jealousy having sprung up from some trifling cause, as is common with the Cretans, some separated from the rest ... Gortyn was in a state of civil war, the elder citizens (presbytatoi) taking the part of Knossos and the younger (neoteroi) that of Lyttos.

Contemporary inscriptions allude to civil wars and desertion in many other cities.17 The cause of the strife is only stated in the case of Gortyn. Here, civic unity was undermined by new partisan age-based forms of identity. A similar conflict occurred in 70 BCE, when the ‘older’ Cretans supported a peace treaty with Rome, while the younger Cretans supported war.18 The front, which the young men built against the ‘elder citizens’ in these situations, was not simply a manifestation of the universal anthropological opposition between restless youth and ma-

14 15 16

17 18

e.g. Inscriptiones Creticae I.ix.1; II.iv.8. On Cretan social organisation see Link 1994; Chaniotis 2005a (with further bibliography). Athenaios XV 695 f = Poetae Melici Graeci 909 ed. Page; Bowra 1961 (on the date); cf. Tedeschi 1986; Bile 2002, 123f., prefers a date in the fourth century BCE. Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum XLIX 1217; Inscriptiones Creticae I.ix.1. Diodoros 40.1.1.

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ture old men; it originated in the military training of the young men and had a socio-economic background.19 In Crete, the question of identity does not concern only single communities in isolation, but also groups of communities which defined separate regional identities. In east Crete, such a regional identity has been observed among a group of cities that claimed origin from the pre-Hellenic population of Crete: the Eteocretans (‘the genuine Cretans’).20 This population wrote (and spoke) a pre-Hellenic language until the third century BCE, which distinguished it from the rest of Crete. Its separate identity was based on linguistic and ethnic differences and was clearly expressed through the name ‘the genuine Cretans’ and through artistic, cultural, and to some extent religious peculiarities. The competitive nature of this regional identity can be seen not only in the name Eteocretans but also in a religious text: a hymn for Zeus from Palaikastro in east Crete.21 It consists of five stanzas and a refrain, sung at the beginning and between the stanzas. The hymn was performed on the first day of the year by young men dancing around an altar. The hymn recalls the birth of Zeus on Crete and the protection offered to him by the mythical Cretan demons, the Kouretes, requesting then the god’s epiphany and protection. ... I salute you, son of Kronos, almighty splendour, who stand as leader of the company of gods! Come to Dikta at this New Year’s day and take delight in the music, which we weave for you with harps, adding the sound of oboes, which we sing having taken our stand around your well-walled altar. ... For here it was that with their shields the Kouretes received you, immortal babe out of Rhea’s hands, and hid you by dancing all around you. ... Come on Lord! leap up for our wine-jars, and leap up for our fleecy sheep; leap up also for the harvest of corn, and for our houses that there be offspring. ... Leap up also for our cities, leap up also for our seafaring ships; leap up also for the young citizens, leap up also for the famous themis... (translated by W.D. Furley and J.M. Bremer)

19 20

21

Chaniotis 2005b, 44-46. Eteocretan language and inscriptions: Duhoux 1982. Eteocretan identity: Whitley 2006; but see also Sjögren 2006/07. Inscriptiones Creticae III.ii.2; Furley and Bremer 2001, I 68-75, II 1-20.

36

European Identity: Learning from the Past?

By reminding the god of the protection Crete had offered him, the singers morally obliged the god to protect their cities. Although, at first sight, this request has the divinity as its addressee, in reality it presupposes the existence of competitors. The version of Zeus’ birth referred to in this text stands in direct opposition to that of other contemporary texts. This hymn locates the nourishing of the divine child in east Crete: ‘For here it was that with their shields the Kouretes received you.’ The emphasis is placed on the word ‘here’, which means ‘not in any other place’. In the same period in which young warriors of east Cretan cities were singing these verses, Callimachus, a poet in Alexandria, was contending that baby Zeus was not brought to the mountain of Dikta but to the mountain of Ida, not in east but in central Crete (Hymn for Zeus).22 And in Asia Minor, in Halikarnassos, another poet was asking in the mid-second century BCE: ‘What is so honourable about Halikarnassos? ... What is she proudly boasting of?’23 And he gives the answer: She brought forth a grand crop of Earth-born men, assistants of mighty Zeus of the Height. It was they who first under a hollowed crest placed Zeus, newborn, the son of Rhea, so that he was hidden, and who fostered him in the innermost recesses of Earth, when Kronos crooked of counsel, was too late to place him far down in his throat. (translated by S. Isager)

The young dancers and singers of the hymn in eastern Crete stood in competition with those who asserted that Zeus’ protectors were elsewhere: in central Crete or in Karia. Another important form of regional identity – to a certain extent comparable with the process of European unification – was identity based on interstate agreements.24 Two or more civic communities could construct a new identity on the basis of a treaty which resulted in their unification.25 The cities in western Crete established such a federal state, to which they gave, quite programmatically, a name expressing a new identity: the Oreioi, ‘those of the mountains’, the ‘Highlanders’.26 This new identity was so strongly felt, at least by some citizens of this confederation, that the region covered by the cities of the Oreioi could be understood as a fatherland. ‘My fatherland are the Oreioi’ was written on the tombstone of a soldier from this area who was buried in Sparta in the early third century BCE.27 This man (or those who set up the epitaph for him) stressed his new identity, which stood between the narrower identity of the citizen of a polis and the wider identities of the Cretan and the Greek. When will a Dutchman, a Finn, a 22

23

24 25 26 27

Callimachus, Hymn of Zeus 42-54; on the geographical references in this passage see Chaniotis 1992, 75-79 and 88. Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum XLVIII 1330. On this text see most recently Isager and Pedersen (eds.) 2004. Cf. more generally (without reference to Crete), Buraselis and Zoumboulakis (eds.) 2003. On this process in Crete, see Chaniotis 1996, 104-108, 421-432. Chaniotis 1996, 421-422. Inscriptiones Graecae V.1.723: []   _   .

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Greek, a Frenchman or a German, buried abroad, have on his tomb written ‘here rests a European’? Despite all political, regional, social, and other differences within Crete, when they came into contact with the other Greeks, the Cretans – all Cretans – stressed their shared Cretan identity, a largely artificial identity. Important components of this regional identity were myths, the ‘Cretan’ dialect, and shared institutions.28 The epigrams, both those written by Cretans and those composed by foreign poets, presented a typical Cretan way of life consisting of the clichés of hunting, dancing, and making love.29 Outside their island the Cretans were first Cretans and then citizens of their own polis.30 A Cretan dream-interpreter in Hellenistic Egypt did not even write his name on the plaque which advertised his profession (fig. 4):31 I interpret dreams, having received this command from the god. For good fortune. The interpreter of this is a Cretan.

Fig. 4. Memphis, sanctuary of Sarapis. A Cretan dreaminterpreter advertises his profession (third century BCE).

4. THE CONSTRUCTION OF IDENTITIES IN APHRODISIAS My second example concerns a city in Asia Minor: Aphrodisias.32 Sometime in the third century BCE a small settlement developed near a sanctuary of Aphrodite. Its original name must have been Nineuda, but probably when it acquired the status of a polis (after 188 BCE?) it was renamed Aphrodisias (‘the city of Aph28

29 30

31 32

Myths (the birth of gods on Crete): Diodorus 5.64-77; Inscriptiones Creticae I.xxiv.1 lines 10-11. Dialect: Bile 1988. Institutions: Link 2002; Chaniotis 2005a. Vertoudakis 2000. See e.g. inscriptions mentioning ‘Cretans’ in Egypt: Baillet 1926, nos. 392, 610, 829, 858, 1016, 1577, 4414 bis. This may be the result of the fact that these Cretans were mercenaries recruited as ‘Cretans’ and not as citizens of Cretan poleis. Rubensohn 1900. For an earlier discussion of this subject, see Chaniotis 2003.

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European Identity: Learning from the Past?

rodite’).33 Sometime in the second century, Aphrodisias joined the neighbouring community of Plarasa in a single community with a single citizenship: ‘the people (demos) of the Plarasans and Aphrodisians.’ Due to the prominence of the sanctuary of Aphrodite, but also thanks to its alliance with Rome, this community flourished. In the first century CE Aphrodisias seems to have entirely absorbed Plarasa, and from now onwards it is known only under the name of Aphrodisias. The abundant documentary sources allow us to observe the gradual construction of a communal identity as a dynamic process: a shift from an identity based on the collective memory of what had been jointly experienced in the Hellenistic and early Imperial period to the construction of an identity based on the cultural ‘memory’ of a remote, mythical past. The heterogeneous origins of the population makes this process even more interesting. Although except for a few Latin inscriptions of public/legal character all the Hellenistic and Imperial inscriptions are in Greek, we can be sure that originally the population was of very diverse origins. Military settlers, both Greeks of various origins and Iranians, merged with Karian indigenous inhabitants. Only the personal names allow us to recognise this diversity.34 For example, Epikrates, son of another Epikrates, who died still a young man around 100 BCE, had a name which is very common in Rhodes; his grave epigram was composed in the Dorian dialect, which was spoken in Rhodes; and it was inscribed on a round funerary altar of a type common in Rhodes and Kos (fig. 5); this family was certainly conscious of its Rhodian origins.35

Fig. 5. The grave monument of a young man, whose family was conscious of its Rhodian origins (name, dialect, form of the monument). 33

34

35

On the early history of Aphrodisias see Chaniotis 2009a (with the sources). On the name see also Chaniotis 2003, 71. Examples in Chaniotis 2009a. The Karian origin of the city is alluded to in an oracle allegedly given to Sulla in 88 BCE (Appianus, Bella Civilia 1.97). Chaniotis 2009b.

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Attalos, a man honoured for following his family traditions of public service (second century CE?), had a name of Macedonian origin and his father was called Makedon (‘the Macedonian’).36 Adrastos, the name of some very prominent Aprodisians, was probably connected with local pre-Hellenic traditions.37 Jews may also have lived in Aphrodisias from the Hellenistic period onwards, when king Antiochos III settled Jewish families in Asia Minor (c. 200 BCE).38 The first decades of the history of Aphrodisias were marked by wars, culminating in the wars of the first century BCE, when the city took the side of the Romans in the war against Mithridates (88 BCE) and later against the renegade general Labienus (c. 40 BCE); finally, it supported Octavian/Augustus. As we may infer from the city’s public inscriptions in the first century BCE, the most important factor shaping Aphrodisian identity was this war experience. In 88 BCE, the envoys of Aphrodisias to the Roman proconsul Q. Oppius declared that39 our entire people, together with the women and the children and the entire property, is willing to risk everything for Quintus and for the Roman interests, for we do not wish to live without the leadership of the Romans.

Fig. 6. Aphrodisias: the stage of the theatre and the north parodos [corridor] (left). Fig. 7. Public documents were inscribed on the wall of the north parodos (right).

This text could be read by later generations. The dramatic situations, which the Aphrodisians had faced, were recorded in other documents as well, which were inscribed on a wall of the city’s theatre in the early third century CE for citizens and foreigners to see (figs. 6 and 7). One of them is a letter of Octavian, the later Augustus, to the city of Samos, in which he explained why Aphrodisias had a privileged position as a free city:40

36 37

38 39 40

Monumenta Asiae Minoris Antiqua VIII 479. This has been pointed out to me by Riet van Bremen (University College, London), who is preparing a study on this name. Trebilco 1991, 5-7. Reynolds 1982, 11-16 no. 2 lines 7f. Reynolds 1982, 104-106 no. 13 lines 2-4; Inscriptiones Graecae XII.6.160.

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European Identity: Learning from the Past?

You yourselves can see that I have given the privilege of freedom to no people except the Aphrodisians, who took my side in the war and were captured by storm because of their devotion to us. For it is not right to give the favour of the greatest privilege of all at random and without cause.

In another document, this time addressed to Ephesos (39 or 38 BCE), Octavian demanded the return to Aphrodisias of a golden statuette of Eros, which his adopted father Caesar had dedicated to Aphrodite and had been taken by Labienus to Ephesos as war booty. This document was selected to be publicly displayed in Aphrodisias exactly because it manifested the sufferings of the Aphrodisians in the service of Rome:41 Solon, son of Demetrios, envoy of the Plarasans and Aphrodisians, has reported to me how much their city suffered in the war against Labienus and how much property, both public and private, was looted. With regard to all these matters I have given a commission to my colleague Antonius, that he should restore to them as much as he can find, and I decided to write to you, since you have a city well-placed to assist them if they lay claim to any slave or other piece of private property. I was also informed that out of the loot a golden Eros, which had been dedicated by my father to Aphrodite, has been brought to you and set up as an offering to Artemis. You will do well and worthily of yourselves if you restore the offering which my father gave to Aphrodite. In any case Eros is not a suitable offering when given to Artemis. For concerning the Aphrodisians, upon whom I have conferred such great benefits, it is necessary that I should take the care about which I think you too have heard.

Finally, a decision of the senate concerning the privileges of the city and the sanctuary of Aphrodite in 39 BCE refers to the loyalty of the Plarasans and Aphrodisians in the wars and to the destruction of their city.42 Martial themes can also be observed in the honorary decree for a certain Kallikrates, who was granted the extraordinary honour of burial in the gymnasium (late first century BCE) because of his services during the wars of the Late Republic:43 [--- since he] has preserved the public affairs in the most critical situations and crises and [---] has served as stephanephoros and gymnasiarchos [--- and] agoranomos in a most severe [famine --- and has held] offices not subject to account during the wars [--- and has served] as envoy to the magistrates/generals in Rome [---] and in all kinds of dangers and affairs [--- and] has fought against the enemy [killing?] sixty [of them] ... let it be allowed to him to be buried [in the gymnasium] ...

All these documents date to the first century BCE; some of them were selected to be inscribed on the wall of the theatre in the early third century CE because the inhabitants of Aphrodisias could be as proud of their content as they had been three centuries earlier. They are striking not only because of the dominant themes (loyalty, military exploits, sufferings) but also because a theme that we 41 42 43

Reynolds 1982, 101-103 no. 12 lines 4-18. Reynolds 1982, 54-91 no. 8 lines 18-29. Reynolds 1982, 150f. no. 28; cf. ibid. 151-153 no. 29. Cf. Schörner 2007, 54-56 and 243f. Kallikrates’ grave may be the one which is still visible next to the bouleuterion of Aphrodisias: Chaniotis 2008b, 70f.

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would expect – the kinship of Romans and Aphrodisians because of the kinship of Aphrodite and Aeneas, Rome’s founder – is entirely absent. In a period in which many communities placed in the foreground of their self-representation the miracles performed by their deities and kinship based on myths,44 the elite of Aphrodisias (the authorities and the envoys) chose a different strategy: they recalled recent achievements. The significance of military exploits in this period is also reflected by the statue of a military commander (early first century CE).45 The same attitude can be observed in the commemoration of the foundation of the city. A large number of honorary inscriptions and epitaphs for members of the elite (c. 50 BCE - c. 230 CE) use the same theme: these elite members were descendants of the men who had jointly built (synktizein) the community, the city, the fatherland (demos, polis, patris).46 Three factors are responsible for this interest in recent visible attainments rather than in distant myths. First, the fact that the community which produced these documents was not that of the Aphrodisians alone, but the ‘people of Plarasa and Aphrodisias’. This community was not yet exclusively the ‘city of Aphrodite’. The community of ‘Plarasans and Aphrodisians’ had a different identity and, consequently, a different self-representation from the community of the Aphrodisians. Secondly, Aphrodisias was not the only city of Karia (or Asia Minor) with an important sanctuary of Aphrodite. The goddess was also worshipped in many other places,47 which could have claimed kinship with the Romans. If the Plarasans/Aphrodisians had exploited the theme of mythological kinship in order to strengthen their relations to Rome, they would have placed themselves on the same level as many other Greek communities. In this competitive environment, they had to exploit a specific achievement that differentiated them from the others. Thirdly, the addressee of their diplomacy was not another Greek community accustomed to almost ritualised ‘kinship diplomacy’ but the Roman authorities, more interested in pragmatic arguments. The Athenians had allegedly learned this lesson in 87 BCE, when Sulla was besieging their city and their envoys confronted him with stories of their past military glory:48 When they made no proposals which could save the city, but proudly talked about Theseus and Eumolpos and the Persian Wars, Sulla said to them: ‘Go away, blessed men, and take these speeches with you; for I was not sent to Athens by the Romans to fulfil love of knowledge, but to subdue rebels.’

44

45 46

47

48

Miracles: e.g. Chaniotis 2005b, 157-160. ‘Kinship diplomacy’: Curty 1995 and 2005; Jones 1999; Battistoni 2009. Smith et al. 2006, 122-124. Reynolds 1982, 1 and 164f.; Chaniotis 2004, 382. It is not clear whether this is a reference to the original foundation of Aphrodisias in the early second century BCE, to the creation of a joint community with Plarasa in the second century BCE, or to the rebuilding of Aphrodisias in the first century BCE. e.g. Halikarnassos, Knidos, and Theangela, probably also Hydisos, Idyma, Keramos, Lagina, Mylasa, and Tabai. See Laumonier 1958, 186, 188, 351f., 512f., 622, 643, 653f., 657f., 672f. Plutarch, Sulla 13. Discussed by Chaniotis 2005b, 215f.

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European Identity: Learning from the Past?

The Samians learned the same lesson fifty years later, when they took advantage of friendly relations with Octavian’s wife in order to appeal to be granted freedom. Octavian’s response is preserved in an inscription in Aphrodisias:49 I am well-disposed to you and should like to do a favour to my wife who is active on your behalf, but not to the point of breaking my custom. For I am not concerned for the money which you pay towards the tribute, but I am not willing to give the most highly prized privileges to anyone without good cause.

A good reason is given at the beginning of his letter: ‘I have given the privilege of freedom to no people except the Aphrodisians, who took my side in the war and were captured by storm because of their devotion to us.’ In this competition among the Greek cities for privileges, the Romans had their own priorities. When the Greek communities recognised them, they adapted their diplomacy and its self-representation to these priorities. Plarasa/Aphrodisias was not alone in the commemoration of recent military achievements in this period.50 The consideration of Roman attitudes also affected the identity which was promoted by the elite – identity based on the memory of recent wars and the foundation of the city. After the establishment of Augustus’ monarchical rule, Aphrodite, Aeneas’ mother, was the ancestor of the imperial house. This kinship between the founder of Rome and the patron of Aphrodisias was naturally exploited by the Aphrodisians. This may be observed in the sculptures which decorated a building complex dedicated to the cult of the emperor (Sebasteion, fig. 8),51 in the use of the personal names Aineas (Aeneas) by Aphrodisians (fig. 9),52 and in inscriptions.53 The documents, which were selected to be inscribed on the theatre wall continually reflect this element of self-representation. The letters of Roman emperors adopt formulations originally contained in the letters of Aphrodisias to which they respond. Consequently, they reveal how the Aphrodisians wanted to represent their city to the emperors. A letter of the emperors Traianus Decius and Herennius Etruscus is a good example (250 CE):54 It was to be expected, both because of the goddess for whom your city is named and because of your relationship with the Romans and loyalty to them, that you rejoiced at the establishment of our kingship and made the proper sacrifice and prayers. We preserve your existing freedom and all the other rights which you have received from the emperors who preceded us, being willing also to give fulfilment to your hopes for the future.

49 50 51 52 53 54

Reynolds 1982, 104-106 no. 13 lines 4-7; Inscriptiones Graecae XII.6.160. Examples in Chaniotis 2003, 76f. Smith 1987, 89-100 and 1990, 95-100; Jones 1999, 101f. Reynolds 1982, 4; the name is also attested in an unpublished inscription (fig. 9). Chaniotis 2003, 77-79. Reynolds 1982, 140-143 no. 25 lines 8-10. Cf. Reynolds 1982, 127-129 no. 18 line 4.

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In the same period several other cities of Asia Minor exploited prominent local cults of Aphrodite in their diplomatic contacts with Rome,55 but a city which was named after Aphrodite, ‘the ancestor of the divine emperors’ (prometor theon Sebaston),56 clearly had an advantage over other competitors. It should be also noted that the distinctive image of Aphrodite of Aphrodisias, known from a series of copies and very different from the iconography of Aphrodite/Venus, made clear that not only the city, but also its goddess had a distinct identity.57

Fig. 8. Aphrodisias, relief in the Sebasteion: Aeneas escapes from Troy (left.). Fig. 9. Honorary inscription for Aineas (line 3), member of an ancient and prominent family and priest of Dionysos (unpublished).

Things changed in the next generations, when the memory of the military achievements started to blur and new challenges occurred. Because of the homogenisation of political, social, and cultural structures in the Roman East, many communities tried to rediscover, redefine, and express their individuality primarily through an emphasis on local mythical and historical traditions and on local cultic practices. Expressions of this development are commemorative anniversaries, the advance of local historiography, the renewal of old festivals and rituals, the representation of local myths in monumental art and on coins, the restoration of old monuments, and the patriotic education of young men.58 Under Roman rule many cities in the Greek East claimed for themselves mythical origins, and competed on the basis of such claims for privileges and 55

56 57 58

See the examples in Chaniotis 2003, 78f., with references to inscriptions of Knidos, Assos, Ilion, Plakados, and Kyzikos. Reynolds 1986, 111f. On the image of Aphrodite of Aphrodisias see Brody 2007. For these phenomena see Bowie 1974; Chaniotis 1988, 177-182, 234-277, 362-389; Rogers 1991; Scheer 1993; Lindner 1994; Laurence and Berry (eds.) 1998; Huskinson (ed.) 2000; Goldhill (ed.) 2001; Ostenfeld (ed.) 2002; Howgego, Heuchert, and Burnett (eds.) 2005.

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European Identity: Learning from the Past?

honorary titles (for instance metropolis).59 If the Aphrodisians had continued to commemorate the foundation of their city in the second or first century BCE, they would have given up any claim on priority. From the late first century CE onwards the evidence for mythical founders of Aphrodisias abounds. A civil basilica which was built under Domitian was decorated with reliefs which depicted the founding hero of the city, Ninos (fig. 10). Presumably, the similarity of Aphrodisias’ early name (Nineuda or Nineudon) with the name of Ninos, the legendary consort of the Assyrian queen Semiramis (c. eighth century BCE), was responsible for the creation of this foundation legend.60 Its details are unknown and cannot be reconstructed from the images. But as we may infer from a fragment of the local historian Apollonios, it was believed that Ninos founded a city which he named Ninoe; the same author also gave other early names: ‘the city of the Leleges’ and ‘Great City’ (Lelegon polis, Megale polis).61

Fig. 10. Aphrodisias, relief panel in the civil basilica: Ninos, one of the mythological founders of the city.

But a foundation after the Trojan War was not early enough. Another mythological figure that appears in the reliefs of this basilica is Bellerophon (fig. 11). An inscription on the base of his statue (c. second century CE), discovered a few years ago, explains his role: he was also regarded as the founder (ktistes) of Aphrodisias.62 With him, the foundation of Aphrodisias was placed as early in time as one could possibly go; Halikarnassos, another Karian city, which claimed Bellerophon as her founder, could not claim any priority.63 Thus, Aphrodisias could be counted among the earliest cities of Asia Minor – a true metropolis. Of course, 59

60 61 62 63

On the competition among the cities of Asia Minor see Heller 2006. On the importance of mythical founders see Weiss 1984, 179-208; Scheer 1993; Lindner 1994; Di Segni 1997. Discussion of the reliefs: Yildirim 2004. Stephanos of Byzantion, s.v. Aphrodisias; Chaniotis 2003, 71. Smith 1996, 56. Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum XLVIII 1330. On the significance of Bellerophon in Lykian and Karian foundation legends see Jones 1999, 128 and 139-143.

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these traditions originate in the circle of the elite. They reflect the constructed identity they wanted to present to Rome and to their neighbours in the ‘globalised’ world of the Roman Empire, in which local identities could primarily be promoted through constructed cultural memories.

Fig. 11. Aphrodisias, relief panel in the civil basilica: Bellerophon, mythological founder of the city, together with his horse Pegasus and Apollo.

With these media of self-representation (memory of military achievements in critical situations, foundation legends, mythical kinship), the elite of Aphrodisias constructed a collective identity for a community with very heterogeneous origins. Aphrodisias presented itself as a Hellenic city, free and autonomous, conscious of its ancient origins and its military exploits. But even though the Aphrodisians presented themselves as such to Rome, their ally, and to their neighbours and competitors, we may be certain that there were conflicting identities within the city and even within the elite. The civic identity of the ‘Aphrodisian’ co-existed with the family identity of the members of the prominent clans, who proudly referred to their forefathers and often listed six, seven or more generations of ancestors, keeping family memories of more than two centuries.64 It also co-existed with the ‘Roman’ identity of those Aphrodisians, who had received Roman citizenship or were members of, or related to, Roman senatorial families.65 We do not know how this identity was perceived by other social strata. We may assume that for some time the community of the Plarasans, originally the ‘senior partner’ in the federation with Aphrodisias but later absorbed by Aphro64

65

e.g. Chaniotis 2004, 378-386 no. 1: ‘Hermogenes Theodotos, son of Hephaistion, one of the first and most illustrious citizens, a man who has as his ancestors men among the greatest and among those who built together the community and have lived in virtue, love of glory, many promises (of benefactions), and the fairest deeds for the fatherland; a man who has been himself good and virtuous, a lover of the fatherland, a constructor, a benefactor of the city, and a saviour, etc.’ Monumenta Asiae Minoris Antiqua VIII 449: Adrastos, son of Apollonios, son of Hypsikles, son of Menandros, son of Zenon; 500: Zenon Hypsikles, son of Zenon, son of Zenon, son of Zenon, son of Hypsikles, son of Hypsikles, son of Menandros, son of Zenon. For the representation of such social identities in the portrait statues see Smith et al. 2006, esp. 150-157 and 194-196.

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disias, had a separate local identity. The presence of the mythical hero Gordios, the son of Midas, in the representation of the foundation legends of Aphrodisias in the civic basilica (see note 60) supports this assumption. Apparently, he was perceived as the founding hero of Gordiou Teichos (‘the wall of Gordios’), an independent city in the vicinity of Aphrodisias, which must have been incorporated in its territory.66 The use of a few Karian names until the second or third century CE and the continuation of some cults that seem to have their roots in the indigenous Karian population (for instance Zeus Nineudios, Pluton, and Kore Plyaris) suggest that some consciousness of a pre-Hellenic past may have existed – and this may have been stronger in the countryside, where hardly any inscriptions survive, than in the city.67 A separate identity was certainly maintained by the Jews of Aphrodisias, but it became visible only in the fourth century CE, in competition with Christianity. But Jews certainly lived at Aphrodisias and in its countryside earlier, and a Jewish funerary monument decorated with a menorah was found at Gök Tepesi northwest of Aphrodisias.68 If for a period of 500 years (c. 200 BCE - c. 350 CE) we do not know any single Jew in Aphrodisias by name, this must be due to the fact that the inscriptions of Aphrodisias usually concern the elite families. It is also quite probable that the Jews of Aphrodisias, exactly like the Jews in the neighbouring city of Hierapolis, adopted Greek names, using the Hebrew one only as a second name.69 This more or less harmonious image of ‘the most illustrious people of the glorious city of the Aphrodisians, ally of the Romans, devoted to the emperor, free and autonomous according to the decrees of the most holy senate and the treaty and the imperial responses, inviolable’70 was shattered when the rise of Christianity to state religion brought the conflict of religious identities to the foreground. From the mid-fourth century onwards religious symbols (cross, menorah, double axe, the symbol of Karian Zeus) were inscribed on the walls of public buildings (figs. 11 and 12);71 Jews and Christians chose their personal names as a public display of their faith;72 and the late pagans, often individuals with a philosophical education, gave public manifestations of their belief in the traditional gods but

66 67

68 69

70 71

72

On Gordiou Teichos see Drew-Bear 1972, 439-443; Chaniotis 2009b. Karian names: Blümel 1992. The epithet of Zeus Nineudios derives from the pre-Hellenic name of Aphrodisias, Nineudon or Nineuda: Chaniotis 2004, 392f. no. 11 (the dedication of a bronze-smith). The epithet of Kore Plyaris (‘the Virgin of Plyara’, mentioned in an unpublished inscription) derives from the pre-Hellenic place name Plyara (Drew-Bear 1972, 435). The cult of Pluton was very popular in Karia: Laumonier 1958, 507f.; Robert 1987, 22-35. Smith and Ratté 1995, 38f. Chaniotis 2002a, 226f. For the preference of Greek and Latin names by the Jews until the fourth century CE see Williams 2000, 317f. Reynolds 1982, 168-170 no. 43. On the Jewish community in Aphrodisias see Chaniotis 2002a and Ameling 2004, 71-112. On the use of religious symbols see Chaniotis 2002b, 103-105 and 2008c, 247f. and 259. Jews: e.g. Beniamin, Eusabbathios, Heortasios, Ioudas, Samouel. Christians: e.g. Athanasios, Anastasios, Iordanes, Kyriakos, Theophylaktos. For examples see Chaniotis 2002a, 229-231, 2002b, 105-109, and 2008c, 256f.

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also of their expectation of life after death.73 As late as c. 480 CE, an honorary epigram for a prominent political figure begins with the words ‘city of the Paphian goddess and of Pytheas’, provocatively reminding its readers that Pytheas’ fatherland was still the city of Aphrodite; contemporary acclamations inscribed on one of the markets reveal what the assembled crowd was shouting during the inauguration of a hall: ‘there is only one god in the whole world. ... The whole city says this: Your enemies to the river! May the great God provide this!’ And a fragmentary text, approximately dated to the same years, praises someone who drove away the civil strife, which was destroying the city.74

Fig. 11. Aphrodisias. Drawing of a menorah on a column of the Sebasteion (left). Fig. 12. Drawings of crosses on a plaque in the South Agora (right).

This conflict ended with the victory of Christianity in the early sixth century. The temple of Aphrodite was converted into a Christian church (late fifth century) and the embarrassing name Aphrodisias could no longer be tolerated. By the midseventh century CE Aphrodisias had been renamed Stauropolis (‘the city of the Cross’) and liberated from its polytheistic past.75 The Stauropolitans even removed the old name of the city from inscriptions – an interesting (not unparalleled) case of collective amnesia (fig. 13).76

Fig. 13. The pagan name Aphrodisias (line 4) erased by the Christians. 73 74

75 76

For this evidence see Chaniotis 2008c. Pytheas: Roueché 1989, 93 no. 56; Albinus: ibid., 126-136 no. 83; reference to civil war: ibid., 104f. no. 64. Discussion of these texts in Chaniotis 2008c, 244f. and 254f. Roueché 2007, 186f. e.g. Reynolds 1982, 54-91 no. 8 lines 51, 58, 66, 84, 87, 93; 92-96 no. 9 lines 6, 8, 11f.; Roueché 2007, 187-189.

European Identity: Learning from the Past?

48

The renaming of cities for political or religious reasons is not at all uncommon in Greek history.77 Within a millennium, Aphrodisias changed its name at least twice (Nineuda-Aphrodisias, Aphrodisias-Stauropolis). These name changes were connected with decisive political and religious changes and, consequently, with changes in the collective identity of its inhabitants. The case of Aphrodisias is a nice example of the construction and evolution of an identity as a dynamic process. The collective identity, which was promoted by the elite, consisted of four components: a political element (loyalty and alliance with Rome), a historical element (experience of war, foundation of the city), a religious element (Aphrodite as patron goddess and mother of the founder of Rome), and a mythical element (foundation legends). Each component was a reaction to specific historical situations: the award of privileges by Rome on the basis of services and loyalty; competition among cities for privileges and rank; competition among elite families for influence and authority. In the formative period of the community, an important component of identity was the experience of war, military achievements, and a successful response to challenges. After this crisis had been overcome, the foundation legends, which placed the city’s origins in a remote past, overlaid the memory of the city’s historical origins. Both the historical and the fictitious past have something in common: they concern the origins of Aphrodisias. The memory of success but also competition with neighbours and a feeling of superiority and priority were decisive for the formation of an identity.

5. IS THERE ANYTHING TO LEARN FROM ALL THIS? RE-INVENTING EUROPEAN IDENTITY After these excursions in the future and the past, it is time to think about the relevance of these paradigms for questions concerning European identity. The Cretan paradigm makes clear that different forms of identity can coexist: the legally defined identity of a citizen of a polis or a federal state; the identity of a member of a civic subdivision; regional identities within Crete; the identity of a Cretan; the cultural identity of a group which shares the same cultural memory; the social identity of the members of the elite and other social groups; the identity of members of an age class and a ‘men’s house’; the identity of members of political groups. Which criterion prevailed – citizenship, economic or social interests, social or cultural memory, etc. – depended on the response of a group to a variety of factors that ranged from reactions to external threats and internal divisions to competition and conflict. The paradigm of Aphrodisias confirms and supplements this picture, showing the dynamic character of collective identity, its evolution as a socio-cultural construct, and the close interdependence between historical contexts and the construction and manifestation of identity. The Aphrodisian changes of identity show both

77

Freitag 2008.

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the importance of names for the construction and expression of identity and the dynamic character of collective identity. As a social, historical construct, identity is subject to continual changes. It can be deleted and constructed anew. In this process, the components of collective identity are various and variable. They range from a specific dialect, peculiar institutions and local customs to characteristic economic activities, a specific way of life, memory, and local rituals.78 Which component of identity will emerge more strongly depends on the relations, the competition, or the conflict of a community with other communities. It is in the context of changing environments that one feature of distinctiveness may lose its efficacy as an expression of selfrepresentation and another may take its place. When language, dialect, art or institutions no longer distinguish one community from another, then another element may be pushed into the foreground to express individuality: a local cult, a myth, a local historical tradition. Such developments, which can be observed now in the process of European unification, are particularly clear in the two most cosmopolitan periods of classical antiquity: in the Hellenistic world and in the Roman Empire (see note 3). Both case studies also show the significance of cultural memory which is no less constructed than an identity. This ‘memory’ can be based on narratives of victory, success, and superiority. The identity which the Aphrodisians displayed seems to have aimed at showing the superiority or priority of this community over other (often neighbouring) communities. The two case studies give us an impression of media which may be used to forge a collective identity: citizenship, rituals, commemorative anniversaries, mythological narratives, narratives of joint experiences. Turning now from Crete and Aphrodisias to European identity, this identity too is a construct, hard to grasp exactly because it is subject to continual transformations and adaptations to changing environments. Europe itself is a changing political, geographical, and cultural construct, and the identity displayed by the European Union depends on its responses to ‘others’. When we compare constructions of European identity with the two aforementioned examples, we observe that several typical features of a collective identity are absent. The lack of a joint European citizenship (not to mention the absence of a joint foreign policy) is an obstacle to the development of a political identity. Significant requirements for a cultural identity, such as a common language, a common religion, joint historical experiences, a common mythology, and a common system of social values, are also lacking. Leventiá, a Greek word with a great significance for the modern Greek system of values, which corresponds to a mixture of pride, bravery, and manliness, cannot be translated in any other European language. Christendom, which is often mentioned together with Graeco-Roman culture as one of the pillars of a European cultural koine, was never the only religion of the European populations. The Europeans have never experienced history together; they have 78

See note 4. For the importance of specific rituals as an expression of local identity, in particular in the context of competition among communities, see Chaniotis 2008a, 76-80.

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European Identity: Learning from the Past?

never won (or lost) a war, which they have fought together; instead, they have fought many wars against each another. Their joint currency – or rather, the currency of those who were admitted to the stability pact – has only on one of the two sides the same image; the other side of the ‘Euro’ undermines the image of homogeneity and unity, highlighting particularities, diversities, and local patriotisms. The Greeks selected images which no other Europeans would be able to recognise (fig. 3); to the Greeks, they recall the myth of the abduction of Europe by the Olympian god Zeus, the Athenian Empire (the owl of the Athenian coins), the war of independence from the Ottoman Empire in 1821-1828 (Rigas Feraios, warships of the war of independence), and the formation of the modern Greek state (Ioannis Capodistria, Eleftherios Venizelos). They do not recall classical art and literature, one of the many roots of European culture. Also absent from Europe are the symbolic acts and rituals which could forge a European identity – such as for instance the celebration of the birthday of ‘Saint Schuman’ (now only celebrated by the employees of the European Union on 9 May), the ‘commemorative anniversary of the treaties of Maastricht’, the ‘day of European unity’, etc. Only the ‘International Charlemagne Award’ of Aachen tries to remind the Europeans that Charlemagne was regarded in his own times as Europae pater – a Europe that lacked a unity in his times as it lacks it today. Finally, a feature which can often be observed in collective identities, a belief in the superiority and predominance of a community and its culture over others, has been sometimes stressed by (conservative) European politicians (for instance Berlusconi), but has generally been criticised and rejected, rightly so. There is no such thing as a homogeneous European culture, with which the Greeks, the Bosnian Muslims, the third-generation Turks in Germany, the French Jews, the Basks, and the Laps – not to mention the Indians and Pakistanis living in London – can identify themselves. But do we really need all that in order to have a European identity? What the ancient paradigms have shown is that identities can be defined according to a variety of criteria and that they are continually adapted to changing historical contexts. Identities are responses to ‘otherness’ and to challenges. Classical paradigms should not offer models to be copied, but stimuli for reflections. The ancient paradigms do not invite us to adopt criteria, which had served the construction of identities in classical antiquity, but to consider how modern Europe can respond to new challenges and contribute its own specific ways of defining identity, beyond a common language, a common religion, a common culture, or even a common citizenship. What has always defined Europe was cultural, linguistic, and religious diversity. In order to construct a European identity, some authoritative Europeans, especially statesmen, attempt to promote the idea of a joint cultural memory based on Christian traditions and the cultural roots of Graeco-Roman antiquity. Such a cultural memory is in fact cultural amnesia, the elimination of the memory of the cultural diversity which existed and still exists in Europe – the glamour of Arabic culture in mediaeval Spain, the power of the Ottoman Empire, European Jewry –

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and of the countless old and new minorities. Should European identity be constructed on myths and selective memory? If not in a common culture, then where shall the belief in superiority be founded, which can effectively support a European identity in the twentyfirst century? Until the financial crisis of September 2008 there had been a belief in supremacy, which was based on the prosperity of the members of the European Union (or at least most of them). Economic growth – and not cultural traditions, religion or specific values – have brought the Finns or the Hungarians into the European Union; the Greek wants to be ‘European’ for economic considerations; reservations about economic perspectives have made the majority of the Swiss prefer a looser association with the EU. This one-sided focus on the belief in European economic supremacy distinguishes the limping European ‘identity’ from the identity of the Arabs or the Americans. But an identity based on such a foundation is weak and ephemeral. Every new economic crisis is bound to undermine European political cohesion. If economic identity cannot compensate the absence of cultural identity, political identity may achieve this. By this I do not necessarily mean a joint European citizenship, but rather a joint foreign, defence, social, environmental, and research policy, and above all the commitment to joint values: democracy, sensitivity towards human rights and civil liberties, tolerance of diversity, commitment to unprejudiced advance in knowledge, and protection of the environment.79 Not the belief in the superiority of a ‘European culture’ will allow the Europeans, both in the continent and in the diaspora, to develop a distinct identity, but the belief in the superiority of these joint values, which have not been created by bureaucrats in Brussels or statesmen, but have developed with the active participation of European citizens. The integration of immigrants to Europe cannot be successful if it is only based on economic considerations or on the fraudulent idea of a joint European culture, neglecting values which truly distinguish Europe from other regions of our world.

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79

Cf. the views repeatedly expressed by Jürgen Habermas (e.g. ‘Opening Up Fortress Europe’; http://www.signandsight.com/features/1048.html).

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Hodos, T. (2006) Local Responses to Colonization in the Iron Age Mediterranean, London - New York. Howgego, C., P. Heuchert, and A. Burnett (eds.) (2005) Coinage and Identity in the Roman Provinces, Oxford. Huskinson, J. (ed.) (2000) Experiencing Rome. Culture, Identity and Power in the Roman Empire, London. Isager, S. and P. Pedersen (eds.) The Salmakis Inscription and Hellenistic Halikarnassos, Odense. Johnson, S.R. (2004) Historical Fictions and Hellenistic Jewish Identity. Third Maccabees in its Cultural Context, Berkeley. Jones, C.P. (1999) Kinship Diplomacy in the Ancient World, Cambridge, Mass. - London. — (2004) Multiple Identities in the Age of the Second Sophistic, in B. Borg (ed.), Paideia. The World of the Second Sophistic, Berlin - New York, 13-21. Klose, D.O.A. (1996) Münzprägung und städtische Identität: Smyrna in der Römischen Kaiserzeit, in W. Leschhorn et al. (eds.), Hellas und der griechische Osten. Studien zur Geschichte und Numismatik der griechischen Welt. Festschrift für Peter Robert Franke zum 70. Geburtstag, Saarbrücken, 53-63. Kolakowski, L. (2000) The Emperor Kennedy Legend: a New Anthropological Debate, in T. Spargo (ed.), Reading the Past, Basingstoke, 12-17. Koortbojian, M. (2008) The Double Identity of Roman Portrait Statues: Costumes and Their Symbolism, in J. Edmondson and A. Keith (eds.), Roman Dress and the Fabrics of Roman Culture, Toronto - Buffalo, 71-93. Lavrencic, M. (1988)
, Tyche 3, 147-161. Laumonier, A. (1958) Les cultes indigènes en Carie, Paris. Laurence, R. and J. Berry (eds.) (1998) Cultural Identity in the Roman Empire, London - New York. Leitao, D.D. (1995) The Perils of Leukippos: Initiatory Transvetism and Male Gender Ideology in the Ekdusia of Phaistos, Classical Antiquity 14, 130-163. Lindner, R. (1994) Mythos und Identität. Studien zur Selbstdarstellung kleinasiatischer Städte in der römischen Kaiserzeit, Stuttgart. Link, S. (1994) Das griechische Kreta. Untersuchungen zu seiner staatlichen und gesellschaftlichen Entwicklung vom 6. bis zum 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr., Stuttgart. — (2002) 100 Städte - 100 Verfassungen? Einheitlichkeit und Vielfalt in den griechischen Städten Kretas, Cretan Studies 7, 149-175. Lomas, K. (ed.) (2004) Greek Identity in the Western Mediterranean: Papers in Honour of Brian Shefton, Leiden. Luraghi, N. (2006) Messenische Kulte und messenische Identität in hellenistischer Zeit, in K. Freitag, P. Funke, and M. Haake (eds.), Kult – Politik – Ethnos. Überregionale Heiligtümer im Spannungsfeld von Kult und Politik, Stuttgart, 169-196. — (2008) The Ancient Messenians: Constructions of Ethnicity and Memory, Cambridge. Macaulay, D. (1979) Motel of the Mysteries, New York. Machado, C. (2006) Building the Past: Monuments and Memory in the Forum Romanum, in W. Bowden, A. Gutteridge, and C. Machado (eds.), Social and Political Life in Late Antiquity, Leiden, 157-172. Mackridge, P. (2009) Language and National Identity in Greece, 1766-1976, Oxford. Maupai, I. (2003) Die Macht der Schönheit. Untersuchungen zu einem Aspekt des Selbstverständnisses und der Selbstdarstellung griechischer Städte in der römischen Kaiserzeit, Bonn. McInerney, J. (1999) The Folds of Parnassos. Land and Ethnicity in Ancient Phokis, Austin. Miles, R. (1999) Constructing Identities in Late Antiquity, London - New York. Millar, F.G.B. (1998) Ethnic Identity in the Roman Near East, AD 325-450. Language, Religion and Culture, in G. Clarke (ed.), Identities in the Eastern Mediterranean in Antiquity. Proceedings of a Conference held at the Humanities Research Centre in Canberra, 10-12 November 1997, Sydney, 159-176.

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Minamikawa, T. (2004) Material Culture, Mentality and Historical Identity in the Ancient World, Kyoto. Mitchell, L.G. (2005) Ethnic Identity and the Community of the Hellenes: A Review, Ancient West and East 4.2, 409-420. — (2007) Panhellenism and the Barbarian in Archaic and Classical Greece, Swansea. Munson, R.V. (2005) Black Doves Speak. Herodotus and the Languages of Barbarians, Cambridge, Mass. Newby, Z. (2005) Greek Athletics in the Roman World: Victory and Virtue, Oxford. Ostenfeld, E.N. (ed.) (2002) Greek Romans and Roman Greeks. Studies in Cultural Interaction, Aarhus. Paasche, H. (1988) Die Forschungsreise des Afrikaners Lukanga Mukara ins innerste Deutschland, herausgegeben von Franziskus Hähnel und mit einem Nachwort von Iring Fetscher, Bremen. Piepenbrink, K. (2005) Christliche Identität und Assimilation in der Spätantike: Probleme des Christseins in der Reflexion der Zeitgenossen, Frankfurt. Price, S. (2005) Local Mythologies in the Greek East, in Howgego, Heuchert, and Burnett (eds.) 2005, 115-124. Reynolds, J. (1982) Aphrodisias and Rome, London. — (1986) Further Information on Imperial Cult at Aphrodisias, Studii Clasice 24, 101-117. Robert, L. (1987) Documents d’Asie Mineure, Paris. Robertson, N. (2002) The Religious Criterion in Greek Ethnicity: The Dorians and the Festival Carneia, American Journal of Ancient History NS 2, 5-74. Rogers, G.M. (1991) The Sacred Identity of Ephesos: Foundation Myths of a Roman City, London - New York. Roueché, C. (2007) From Aphrodisias to Stauropolis, in J. Drinkwater and B. Salway (eds.), Wolf Liebeschuetz Reflected. Essays Presented by Colleagues, Friends, and Pupils, London, 183192. Rubensohn, O. (1900) Das Aushängeschild eines Traumdeuters, in Festschrift J. Vahlen, Berlin, 315. Sagan, E. (1995) Citizenship as a Form of Psycho-Social Identity, in J.A. Koumoulides (ed.), The Good Idea. Democracy in Ancient Greece, New Rochelle - New York, 147-159. Sandwell, I. (2007) Religious Identity in Late Antiquity: Greeks, Jews, and Christians in Antioch, Cambridge. Scheer, T.S. (1993) Mythische Vorväter. Zur Bedeutung griechischer Heroenmythen im Selbstverständnis kleinasiatischer Städte, Munich. Schörner, H. (2007) Sepulturae graecae intra urbem. Untersuchungen zum Phänomen der intraurbanen Bestattung bei den Griechen, Möhnensee. Siapkas, J. (2003) Heterological Ethnicity. Conceptualizing Identities in Ancient Greece, Uppsala. Sivonen, P. (2006) Being a Roman Magistrate: Office-holding and Roman Identity in Late Antique Gaul, Helsinki. Sjögren, L. (2006/07) The Eteocretans. Ancient Traditions and Modern Constructions of an Ethnic Identity, Opuscula Atheniensia 31/32, 221-230. Smith, R.R.R. (1987) The Imperial Reliefs from the Sebasteion at Aphrodisias, Journal of Roman Studies 77, 88-138. — (1990) Myth and Allegory in the Sebasteion, in C. Roueché and K.T. Erim (eds.), Aphrodisias Papers: Recent Work on Architecture and Sculpture, Ann Arbor, 89-100. — (1996) Archaeological Research at Aphrodisias 1989-1992, in C. Roueché and R.R.R. Smith (eds.), Aphrodisias Papers 3. The Setting and Quarries, Mythological and Other Sculptural Decoration, Architectural Development, Portico of Tiberius, and Tetrapylon, Ann Arbor, 1072. Smith, R.R.R. et al. (2006) Roman Portrait Statuary from Aphrodisias, Mainz. Smith, R.R.R. and C. Ratté (1995) Archaeological Research at Aphrodisias in Caria, 1993, American Journal of Archaeology 99, 33-58.

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Smith, S.D. (2007) Greek Identity and the Athenian Past in Chariton, Groningen. Stephan, E. (2002) Honoratioren, Griechen, Polisbürger. Kollektive Identitäten innerhalb der Oberschicht des kaiserzeitlichen Kleinasien, Göttingen. Swift, E. (2006) Constructing Roman Identities in Late Antiquity? Material Culture on the Western Frontier, in W. Bowden, A. Gutteridge, and C. Machado (eds.), Social and Political Life in Late Antiquity, Leiden, 97-111. Tedeschi, G. (1986) Il canto di Hybrias il Cretese. Un esempio di poesia conviviale, Quaderni di filologia classica 5, 53-74. Too, Y.L. (1995) The Rhetoric of Identity in Isocrates. Text, Power, Pedagogy, Cambridge. Trebilco, P.R. (1991) Jewish Communities in Asia Minor, Cambridge. Tzifopoulos, I.Z. (1998) ‘Hemerodromoi’ and Cretan ‘Dromeis’. Athletes or Military Personnel? The Case of the Cretan Philonides, Nikephoros 11, 137-170. van Nijf, O. (1999) Athletics, Festivals and Greek Identity in the Roman East, Proceedings of the Cambridge Philological Society 45, 176-200. Vattuone, R. (1998) Eros cretese (ad Ephor. FGrHist 70 F 149), Rivista Storica dell’Antichità 28, 7-51. Vertoudakis, V. (2000) Epigrammata Cretica, Herakleion. Veyne, P. (1999) L’identité grecque devant Rome et l’empereur, Revue des Études Grecques 112, 510-567. Viviers, D. (1994) La cité de Dattalla et l’expansion de Lyktos en Crète centrale, Bulletin de Correspondance Hellénique 118, 229-259. Waldner, K. (2000) Geburt und Hochzeit des Kriegers. Geschlechterdifferenz und Initiation in Mythos und Ritual der griechischen Polis, Berlin. Weiss, P. (1984) Lebendiger Mythos. Gründerheroen und städtische Gründungstraditionen im griechisch-römischen Osten, Würzburger Jahrbücher für die Altertumswissenschaft 10, 179208. Whitley, J. (2006) Praisos: Political Evolution and Ethnic Identity in Eastern Crete, c. 1400-300 BC, in S. Deger-Jalkotzy and I.S. Lemos (eds.), Ancient Greece. From the Mycenaean Palaces to the Age of Homer, Edinburgh, 597-617. Williams, M.H. (2000) Jews and Jewish Communities in the Roman Empire, in J. Huskinson (ed.), Experiencing Rome: Culture, Identity and Power in the Roman Empire, London, 305-333. Williamson, G. (2005) Aspects of Identity, in Howgego, Heuchert, and Burnett (eds.) 2005, 19-27. Yildirim, B. (2004) Identities and Empire. Local Mythology and the Self-Representation of Aphrodisias, in B. Borg (ed.), Paideia. The World of the Second Sophistic, Berlin - New York, 23-52. Zacharia, K. (ed.) (2008) Hellenisms: Culture, Identity, and Ethnicity from Antiquity to Modernity, Aldershot - Burlington.

THE IMPERIUM ROMANUM A MODEL FOR A UNITED EUROPE? Géza Alföldy

Most of all, somebody holding the office of governing this state of 80 million people must know about history. He/she must know about not only the history of Germany but also the history of Europe ... (former Federal Chancellor Helmut Schmidt to the question ‘What must one have lived through to become Chancellor?’).1 ... Our current civilisation, the generally common nature of cultures on the territory of the European states, and the close interwovenness of all material interests (might) raise the question of if things are not tending towards becoming an analogy of that Latin-Greek complex of states with which the culture of antiquity came to an end.2

1. INTRODUCTION The decisions of the year 1998 were of the utmost importance for the future of Europe.3 Their preparation required much time indeed. The labour pains of the European Union have been ongoing for more than half a century. It is consolation not only for historians that Rome needed five hundred years to develop not only from a city state into an empire created through violence, but also into a system of rule within which peoples that had more or less equal rights could live together in peace. Since then, due to the development of production technology, of communications systems and of traffic, the course of history has gained a momentum which was unimaginable in the past. However, the birth of a new Europe will be a long time coming even if the monetary and economic union have already come into existence. For the time being, nobody knows how things will be in respect of Europe’s political unification and cultural integration. The words of a German scholar from the year 1997 represent many voices from politics, the sciences and journalism: the upcoming foundation of the monetary union is supposed to ‘essen1 2 3

Die Zeit, 5 March, 1998. Mommsen 1885, 223 [1912, 142]. This is the revised version of a lecture given in Castelen on 1 January 1998, in the series Jacob Burckhardt-Gespräche (for the German version see Alföldy 1999). I have tried to take into account the development of the European Union in the last few years. The text retains the form of a lecture. For her help with preparing the original text I express my thanks to my wife Sigrid Alföldy; Dr Heike Niquet and Peter Graf Kielmansegg (Mannheim) gave me valuable critical advice; I also thank Angelos Chaniotis for his remarks and Dr Anastassios Haniotis (DG Agriculture and Rural Development, European Commission), who provided information concerning recent developments in the European Union.

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tially determine the course for Europe in the coming millennium, but for the current observer this road to the future seems to be more uncertain than ever’.4 Is a historian, in particular a historian of ancient history, in a position to make comments on this topic which go beyond mere statements on similarities or differences between the present and the past and which do not threaten to be nothing but trivialities? As is appropriate for a historian of antiquity, I would like to start with Homer. In the Iliad we read that the Greeks, having their camp at Troy, having aroused Apollo’s anger and not knowing what to do, took advice from Kalchas, the wisest of all seers ‘who recognised what is, what will be, and what was in the past’5 – and who consequently explained what was to be done. How nice would it be to have seers of this kind who, knowing about the present and with a grasp back on our knowledge of the past, would not only tell us about the future but would also tell us what to do. However, such universally able seers are sought in vain these days. After all, our life moves constantly between these three levels of time.6 As Europe’s identity is not based on a common language, its foundation can only be a community of remembrance, of experience and of vision. By this I mean common historic traditions, common experiences of those living today and common goals.7 As nobody has the same knowledge of all these three fields, we depend on the cooperation of those in charge of researching the past, analysing the present or organising the future. Historians (among whom I also like to count every cultural scientist) who are interested in the spiritual values created in the past, social scientists, economists, and also politicians, are equally required. However, does this right of historians to contribute to this topic also stretch as far as to entitle them to draw some guiding ‘lessons from history’, even from ancient history? The opinion that history teaches us only one thing, and that is that people have learned nothing from it and that it would be better to free us from the burden of history, has found many followers since Hegel. Indeed, up to now there has not been much effort to show how important knowledge of its common history is for the unification of Europe. From politicians we seldom hear more than the doubtlessly correct but very general statement that the European peoples are ‘heirs to a culture and civilisation in which they all participate’ or that the new Europe must rely on those ‘moral values which are the result of a civilisation being two thousand years old’.8 In the studies of social scientists we also read quite 4 5 6 7

8

Schulhoff 1997, 156; cf. Boldt 1995, 102. Homer, Iliad 1,57ff. Cf. Gottlieb 1997, 61 and 68. On these foundations see Kielmansegg 1996, 55ff. who excludes the ‘common grounds of vision’ and emphasises – unfortunately rightly so – that the ‘community of remembrance’ is limited, as the individual rather perceives the history of Europe as a ‘variety of the histories of peoples’, among which his/her respective own one is to the fore. For Europe as a ‘partnership of convenience’ see Isensee 1996, 90ff. (with further bibliography). Cf. the paper of Angelos Chaniotis in this volume. As already stated by the preamble of the early draft of a European constitution, passed by the II. Congress of the Union of European Federalists on 11 November 1948, or in the ‘Grund-

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little about this; maybe we are likely to find something in their attempts at describing the pre-history of European unification.9 But even the discipline of history itself has not very much distinguished itself in this respect. Rather, my discipline must accept Oscar Schneider’s statement: if at best we are only beginning to develop a ‘European idea of history’, those to be mainly blamed for this are those in charge of it: the historians.10 Most of all historians of ancient history hardly dare to overcome their shyness – which is not unjustified – towards drawing contemporary lessons from history and towards stating – as my Augsburg colleague Gunter Gottlieb does – that for Europe, which ‘needs a leading class thinking European in respect of mind and culture’, the Roman Imperial period ‘is a most suitable example’.11 But should ‘most suitable examples’ really serve as models for organising the new Europe, and if so, should they be looked for in such distant epochs? According to Hans Peter Ipsen, a united Europe will be characterised by an unprecedented uniqueness of state community, so that the previously developed concepts of state organisations will be to no avail.12 What will be the use of history then? And is it not absurd to call Rome a ‘model’? Indeed, nobody will doubt that her culture still has some effect. Still today our legal thinking is strongly influenced by Roman law. Today we are influenced by Roman literature, just as by Greek philosophy handed over by Rome, or by ancient art. Christendom, a religion of the Roman Empire, is still a guideline for many people today. However, these spiritual streams seem to be of less significance every day. Furthermore, the Roman Empire was the result of wars of conquest. There, power was exerted first by an oligarchy, then by uncontrolled absolute rulers. The order of society was on the one hand based on aristocratic privileges, on the other hand on slavery. The economic system was backward not only from today’s point of view but already in comparison to the political structure and most of all to the culture of this state.13 We will be happy to give up on such models. However, whether it is possible to learn from history or not depends on individual choice. If one is ready to learn, it is always possible to learn. Jakob Burckhardt thought that, although historical experience will not make us ‘both prudent (for the next time) and wise (for all times)’, dedication ‘to the chronologically determined true and good ... is something definitely wonderful’. Jacob Burckhardt also emphasised that periods of history in the more distant past are not less ‘inter-

9 10 11

12 13

sätze und Empfehlungen (Principles and Recommendations)’ announced by the Brussels Congress of the European Movement on 28 February 1949. See Lipgens 1986, 256 and 267. See e.g. Münkler 1997, 19ff; Pfetsch 1997, 104f. Cf. Schneider 1993, 16. Gottlieb 1997, 32. For very interesting thoughts on the origin of ‘European’ culture in Graeco-Roman antiquity cf. Zintzen 1996, 13ff. Ipsen 1987, 202. Cf. also Grande 1996, 373. On the structural history of the Imperium Romanum I would like to mention only a few works here, where the reader will find further guidelines: Millar 1977; Bleicken 1981; Alföldy 1984 and 1986; Jacques and Scheid 1990; Vittinghoff 1990; Christ 1995; Bowman, Champlin, and Lintott (eds.) 1996; Le Roux 1998.

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esting’ than events from the more recent past; it is only that we tend to be ‘more interested’ in the latter. The further away events are from the present time, the less ‘egotistically distorted’ our view may be. Particularly, ‘if we observe more quietly from a greater distance’, we may gain a better understanding of ‘the true situation of what we are doing on earth’, and ‘fortunately from the history of antiquity some examples have been preserved which very much allow us to observe the development, flourishing, and decline according to ... spiritual, political, and moral situations’.14 In our case we need historical experience for a particular reason. Even plans for the future that are perfectly weighed and founded may become a failure, for ‘no matter how well thought-up something is and how well secured it is by knowledge, experience and notion, it may prove to be futile because something unexpected or coincidental happens’.15 But we cannot at all speak of the existence of long-term, in every respect well thought-out plans for the future of the European Community which might go beyond concrete economic-political steps such as the introduction of monetary union. No scientific programme informs us about the way and the period of time in which Europe’s political and cultural unification is supposed to happen; rather, we are confronted with a mixture of audacious utopias, vague ideas of reform and helplessness. The judgement on the deficits of the political objectives of the unification process which M. Rainer Lepsius formulated more than a decade ago is still true today: for the time being, ‘by a diffuse semantic variety of meaning the word European Union, just as the name European Community, covers a topical vagueness of what is meant and possible’.16 In such a situation, how could we possibly not take account of historical experiences which at least show us under which conditions in other historical situations the unification of peoples was successful or a failure? The currently existing opportunity to unite Europe is much too valuable to neglect the treasure of insights history provides us with and which may definitely make us think, even if it does not offer ideas for the future.17 Pertaining to the history of the Imperium Romanum, Rome, at least in one respect, is doubtlessly a model for today’s Europe: never before and never after in history has there been any such state organisation as the Roman Empire, by which so many European peoples were so closely and lastingly united and which at the same time was based on such a high level of culture and even on considerable wealth for many inhabitants. Should the question about the reasons for this success be a matter only for a small number of experts? Indeed, the Imperium Romanum did not include all European peoples, but, on the other hand, it stretched as far as North Africa and the Near East. This does not at all limit the justification of historical comparison. For with its centre being in 14 15 16 17

Quotations (in translation) from Burckhardt 1947. See Gottlieb 1997, 72. Lepsius 1991, 27. On the tendency of historical argument to focus on topical themes in times of severe change and insecurity see Gall 1997, 1ff., in particular 3.

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Italy, with its Graeco-Roman culture, and with its extension to the North as far as to the Rhine the Roman Empire on the whole was definitely ‘European’, and even outside Europe it was ‘African’ or ‘Asian’ only to a very limited extent. To this we must add that even the European Union, to which peoples of the continent do not or not yet belong and which one day may even include Turkey or the Asian parts of Russia, is not at all determined by a geographic space as fixed as many believe.18 When attempting to ‘learn from the history of Rome’, I would like to proceed by starting out from current issues of the process of European unification and by asking the question of whether and in how far there were similar problems in the history of the Imperium Romanum as there are today and how they were dealt with under the conditions of that period. However, I must admit that such an attempt appears like a dive into cold water to me.

2. THE PROBLEMS OF THE EUROPEAN UNIFICATION AND THE HISTORY OF ROME Legitimation and Acceptance The first question concerns the acceptance and legitimation of supra-national powers. As is well known, the popularity of the idea of Europe is declining these days. From surveys and turnouts at elections to the European parliament and the results of the referenda in France and the Netherlands (2005) and in Ireland (2007) it becomes obvious that not much more than half of the citizens of those states that are united by the European Community sympathises with the idea of unification or is at least ready for minimum political commitment in support of it.19 Although the idea of democracy counts among the most important central ideas of Europe’s political unification, the democratic legitimation of the unification process rests on extremely shaky grounds. Indeed, it has been emphasised from the perspective of jurisprudence that the public power exerted by the European Union must be considered legitimated: in the sense of the law, it is said, it conforms with the ‘Basic Law’s’ principle of democracy, as it is valid in Germany, in relation both to its Union and to its constitution.20 In contrast to this rather abstractsounding point of view, however, political scientists and even jurists again and again point out the fact that Europe’s unification, whose legitimation should – according to the principle of democracy – come from the people, suffers from a legitimation deficit: there is no ‘European people’ which might decide about this; the citizens of the individual European nations have been asked about their opin-

18 19

20

See Markl 1997, 19f. Kielmansegg 1996, 49. For the declining acceptance of the European Union by its member states see e.g. Pfetsch 1997, 249. Kaufmann 1997.

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ion, but they are not allowed to take part in decision-making; rather the European Union is created ‘top down’, by a supra-national bureaucracy.21 Most people did not voluntarily join the Roman Empire. In most cases they were subjugated by Rome in the course of bloody and often long wars. Never were they asked whether they wanted to become Roman or not. Thus, every comparison of the European unification process with the history of Rome seems to be absurd. However, in the long run the Roman Empire did not at all prove to be a ‘prison of peoples’. On the contrary, it is surprising how fast and closely most of the peoples, which once had fought so bitterly for their freedom, became part of the Roman res publica. Simply read in Tacitus how the sons of Britain’s leading men, who had been defeated by his father in law, Agricola, competed with each other to enjoy the advantages of Roman civilisation, to learn the Latin language and to take over the Roman way of thinking.22 Even more than the power of her armies, Rome’s strength was her ability to integrate the descendants of former enemies into her own socio-political system. This was due to the Romans’ increasing willingness to let those belonging to the peoples which were united by their empire enjoy all advantages of their own system. Tacitus succinctly described the integration process happening in this way: force was replaced by the voluntary pursuit of social reputation in accordance with Roman values.23 According to Virgil’s well-known words, it was Rome’s task to rule the peoples and to tame the stubborn, but to care for the defeated and to crown peace by spreading the Roman way of thinking.24 An ancient author from a later period said about Rome: Quos timuit, superat; quos superavit, amat – people who were dangerous for Rome were subjugated, but those who were subjugated were ‘loved’.25 How this integration process happened is shown by the recruitment of the Roman army almost entirely from volunteers from the descendants of former enemies as early as the second century CE, the gradual extension of Roman citizenship, the privilege for provincial municipalities of becoming self-governing cities, the inclusion of provincial elites in the imperial aristocracy, and finally Hispanics, Southern Gauls, Africans, Syrians, as well as men from the Danube countries and other provinces rising to the imperial throne. During the Imperial period the empire changed from a colonial empire ruled from Italy into a multiracial state where for the most part the members of the local elites considered themselves representatives of the Roman concept of the state, a concept of the state to which the masses were also not able to envisage any alternative. Greek authors put the changed way in which the peoples saw themselves into a nutshell:26 Rome, they said, had given to the Greeks what, despite their great cultural achievements, they had never achieved, that is political unity and thus peace. How 21

22 23 24 25 26

See the fundamental works of Kielmansegg 1996, 47ff.; Böckenförde 1997, 17, 38ff. See also Boldt 1995, 104; Pfetsch 1997, 67 and 249; Isensee 1996, 84f.; Schulhoff 1997, 145. Tacitus, Agricola 21.1f. Ibid. 21,1. Virgil, Aeneis 6,851ff. Rutilius Namatanius, Carmen de reditu suo 1.72. Palm 1959.

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attractive Rome’s order had meanwhile become for outsiders is made clear by other peoples’ requests (since the time of Marcus Aurelius) to be included in the empire, in order to be protected within it. Indeed, there were always enemies of the Roman order, but big uprisings such as that in Judaea happened only seldom during the Imperial period, in most cases only if the ideals and the way of life of one people were completely incompatible with Rome’s values. However, such resistance of single peoples always aimed only at keeping their independence from Rome. Before the end of antiquity nobody had the idea of replacing the political order of Roma aeterna by any other kind of organisation, such as a system of national states. Thus, the multi-racial state of the Imperial period was impressively well-accepted by its citizens, to which group every free-born inhabitant of the empire belonged from the early third century CE, which may be understood to have been a kind of retrospective legitimation of its development. What we can learn from all this is that among the peoples of the empire a feeling of identity with Rome could solidify in spite of the fact that the conditions for development were incomparably less favourable than they are for Europe’s unification today. The reason for this was that Rome’s supra-national order was superior to all earlier state orders and that sooner or later this was also felt and accepted by most other peoples. What we need today is nothing other than a similar, commonly shared conviction that a united Europe will be not only economically but also politically and culturally superior to the system of national states. Only this conviction could be understood as accepting the idea of Europe and could be the appropriate foundation for a formal legitimation of the Union. After all, as Josef Isensee said, Europe is ‘a question of the Europeans’ self-confidence’.27 Its unification is not an administrative action but the pushing through of an idea, of a belief, which must be rooted not only in documents and regulations but also in the hearts and minds of the people. One must be convinced of the idea of Europe just to the same extent as Cicero or Augustus believed in Rome.28 Winston Churchill hit the nail on the head when, during his famous Zurich speech on the future of a united Europe, he spoke of the necessity of an ‘act of believing to which millions of families speaking many languages must consciously contribute’ and which must be prepared by skilful Europeans who are able to ‘provide the people of this disturbed and powerful continent with a feeling of ex29 tended patriotism and a common citizenship’.

To me, the task of strengthening a feeling of European identity seems to be most important. Not only the economic advantages of Europe’s unification must be made transparent to the nations but also the advantages of their political union, and, what is even more important, the significance of their common culture as a spiritual foundation of their belonging together. Politicians, who are so often satisfied with less convincing technocratic steps guided by short-term opportunistic thinking, cannot be released from the obligation to develop intellectually demand27 28 29

Isensee 1994, 114. See Vogt 1963. See Lipgens 1986, 215.

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ing visions. All creative artists are even more required. In ancient Rome it was political thinkers such as Cicero, poets such as Virgil, and historians such as Tacitus who knew how to communicate the identity of their state most effectively. This is also an obligation of today’s intellectuals.

The Different Interests of the Peoples and States Among the most depressing flaws of the European Union is its inability to control conflicting interests among member states, and the inefficiency of common politics resulting from this. As an example of the former problem the haggling over the rate of payments and rebates may be enough to refer to at this point, for the latter the disaster of the European Union’s foreign policy during the war in the former Yugoslavia and the dissonance during the Iraq war. All this may be combined with conflicting interests within single countries, for instance, in Spain with her regional structure, not to speak of the local interests of single municipalities. In the Roman Empire there were also clashes of interests. Emperor Tiberius compared his task of keeping the empire together to the task of holding a wolf by its ears.30 Most inhabitants of the empire considered their home community as first and foremost their patria. The upper classes of the cities – by occupying high positions and through financial contributions – were decisively more committed to the politics and economies of their home communities than to the overall res publica. Competition among the cities was too obvious. Some peoples even tended to look down on each other. Nevertheless, every city of the empire tried to become something like ‘a small Rome’ by way of its architecture and its institutions. Roman citizens from Italy, from a western or an eastern province could also consider themselves members of the big patria. There, everybody was supposed to feel safe, the more so as at the top of this common fatherland there was the ruler in Rome as a pater patriae who, being the ‘father’ of all Romans, was not only a symbol of the empire’s unity but a superior authority with an obligation to promote the welfare of all and thus to balance the different interests of his subjects. How much the rulers cared for the interests of the people in the provinces and cities becomes inter alia obvious in the monuments of imperial building activities, for example the aqueduct in Hispanic Segovia which was officially built under Trajan. The threat of the empire dissolving into single sub-empires was most prominent during a short period of most severe military crisis at about the mid-third century CE, when particular interests at the disputed fronts resulted in the development of regional concentrations of power. Not even the co-existence of a western and an eastern empire during the last eight decades of the Roman state (which was officially never confirmed) meant that the Latin-speaking and the Greek-speaking parts of the empire were really splitting apart. For instance, new laws passed in one part of the Empire were accepted even in the other part of the empire. 30

Suetonius, Tiberius 25.1.

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Of course, nobody will think about subjecting the states of Europe to a monarchical central power. But in respect of the Roman Empire we must state that belief in Rome and a feeling on the part of citizens that they were identical with the Roman res publica alone were not enough to keep the many peoples and about 2000 municipalities together within one state in the long run. A central authority was needed. Indeed, only seldom did it develop new concepts and take initiatives. But in most cases it reacted quickly and consequently to problems and challenges, on the basis of the same values. To a large extent it was able to balance diverging interests. If a united Europe, even if its citizens are informed in the best possible way and even if the single national governments show the greatest goodwill they can, will be capable in the long run of living without a central authority being extensively authorised to decide upon matters is an open question. The assumption that we need only a monetary and economic union, which then due to the regulative power of the free market will not only function perfectly in respect of the economy but will also automatically result in political and cultural integration is much too optimistic – not only in my opinion.31 Does economy really regulate everything in an acceptable way? The economic crisis that started in 2008 teaches otherwise. Maybe it is not too much to remind people of the publicani of the late Roman Republic who, being big entrepreneurs, made outstanding economic achievements, but ruined Rome’s reputation among the peoples of the Mediterranean by exploiting them until the emperors finally intervened to protect the provincials and to make clear that Rome’s provinces were not there to satisfy the insatiability of business bosses.

Different Speed The conflicting interests of today’s European states result to a large extent from their different states of development (which, by the way, is not an exclusive European phenomenon; it also exists within the US). Thus, I am dealing with the question which today is described with the keyword of ‘different speed’, that is the difference of Sweden or Germany from Portugal or Greece and the Eastern European states. There are also regional differences within some states, for instance, within Italy between the North and the South. Within the Roman Empire there were also great differences, not a NorthSouth difference as it exists with today’s twenty-seven states of the European Union but the other way round: one may say that the Mediterranean countries were more highly developed and that the northern provinces at the Rhine and Danube borders and Britain were rather backward. At the beginning of the Roman Impe31

For a clearly formulated example of this position see Tietmeyer 1994, 35ff. See also Tietmeyer 1996, 43-70, who, however, also emphasises the necessity of political union for the lasting existence of the economic and monetary union. See also Sievert 1996, 107ff., who, to the question ‘Europe – the Predominance of the Economic?’, answers ‘Hopefully yes.’

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rial period, when the countries on the Rhine and the Danube were just about to be incorporated into the Roman system of rule, these differences were particularly extreme. Later they became considerably smaller, but – despite all achievements of Roman rule even north of the Alps – they were never completely overcome. The measures that finally resulted in increasingly equal conditions in the different parts of the empire were the creation of an infrastructure for control, communication, and administration, among them the building of roads, the extension of military bases, as well as the introduction of administrative centres and thus the introduction of a Roman administrative system, the settlement of veterans in colonies; citizenship policy and urbanisation; the spread of economic, legal and social order, of the cults of gods, of ethics, and of Rome’s language.32 For some of these measures there are parallels also today, such as the EU-supported extension of a modern road network in Spain some years ago, or the adjustment of the economic and social situation in conformity with EU standards not only, for instance, in Portugal or Greece but also in the Eastern European states such as Hungary or Poland. I would like to deal in more detail only with questions of the legal system and citizenship. Today, the different legal systems of the states result in great difficulties for the process of European unification; if at all, they will become equal only very gradually, despite all efforts by jurists and politicians.33 Admittedly, a direct comparison between the Roman Empire and the European Union is hardly possible, because an important social and legal parameter does not exist: slavery – although sometimes the exploitation and discrimination of third-world immigrants, legal or not, invites such associations. One could also argue that implicitly there is a sort of dual citizenship in the EU. Except for national elections, EU citizens can vote for European parliament and local elections in their place of residence; their economic rights are the same everywhere, as long as they opt for the activation of such rights. Nevertheless, the legal diversity in the European Union is an undeniable fact. In the Roman Empire there were also competing legal systems.34 But in case of doubt the superior Roman law was valid which, however, was only carefully applied in the provinces and without bureaucratic perfectionism. In this way it was almost always possible to find a compromise with local, traditional law. The healthy combination of adherence to principles and flexibility when applying law was a means of integration almost as effective as granting Roman citizenship to non-Romans. Without a general, overall European citizenship the European Union will remain an illusion.35 The creation of a European citizenship, which in every respect will open up the same prospects to members of ‘progressive’ and ‘backward’ nations, will hopefully become reality soon. 32 33 34 35

On this see Alföldy 1987; Alföldy 1988, 1ff. Boldt 1995, 90ff. On this see e.g. Woolf 1979, 66f.; Sherwin-White 1973. On this see Vilariño Pintos 1996, 28, according to whom, even after the Maastricht Treaties, the European Union without any legal existence is still a ‘simple denominación’.

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At this point, I would like to mention another observation in the context of integrating peoples of ‘reduced speed’ into the Roman Empire. Although the northern provinces of the Imperium Romanum were never able to completely catch up with the southern countries, this did not prevent them from producing ‘good Romans’ just as the population of the Mediterranean did. For example, in Pannonia, in the western Carpathian basin, which had always been somewhat backward and ‘rural’ in respect of its economy, social life and culture, a particular feeling of Roman identity developed. This was not only expressed through the popularity of ancient Roman divine cults or images from Roman legends. In 289 CE, in a ceremonial speech on Emperor Maximinian, the idea was articulated that the region of Pannonia, due to its virtus, had succeeded Italy as the ‘master of peoples’.36 The idea of Pannonia as a new Rome was an expression of the increased selfconfidence of its army and the Pannonian society it was based on. The Pannonians’ feeling of being particularly good Romans was based on the fact that during the severe wars of the third century concerning the defence of the empire the Pannonian army had made particularly great contributions, and had thus gained appropriate political influence. It becomes obvious that even peoples ‘backward’ in comparison to their partners may become most committed members of a community of peoples if they occupy a reasonable position in it and if their achievements are recognised. Today, the new member states of the Danube area do not have to defend any European frontier (limes). But in one respect they may contribute to Europe’s unification more than other European nations. Today these countries, in which ethnic borders are not at all congruent to political ones, have a vocation more than anybody else to show that even nations with a most difficult historic burden may find a common understanding.

Political Institutions, Bureaucracy and the Function of Elites Up to this point I have dealt with peoples and citizens. The next question concerns those representing them, the conditions of their acting and the way in which they act. The lack of transparency of the European institutions, their mechanisms of decision-making and their rigid measures have frequently been criticised. It takes some effort to distinguish the separate institutions of the European Union and their competences. The visionaries of the European movement of the first decades after the Second World War have been replaced by a generation of technocrats without visions;37 the process of unification is controlled by a ‘supra-national bureaucracy’, a ‘mega-bureaucracy’.38 There is fear of a development ‘towards a bureaucratic super state which will increasingly undermine the traditional Euro36

37 38

Cf. Mamertinus, Panegyricus 2(10) 2.2. On this topic see Alföldi 1967, 228ff.; Alföldy 1995, 25ff. See Boldt 1995, 105f. Böckenförde 1997, 17; Wessels 1996, 165ff.

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pean political principles such as parliamentarism and the separation of powers and which will finally consider them unnecessary’.39 Regulations of the degree of curve of bananas permitted in European markets (abolished in 2009) or regulations on the shape of European tractor seats were not invented by comedians but by highly qualified experts. Of course, the paralysis of the EU during the Czech presidency in 2009 and similar episodes reveal a very complex interaction between unelected bureaucrats and elected politicians. Rome’s strength was not due to the perfectionism of her state administration, as is often thought – on the contrary. It is not even true that the Imperium Romanum of the late Imperial period declined because of the growth of state bureaucracy: as shown by more recent research, the problem of the state organisation of the late Imperial period was not ‘too much state’ but ‘not enough state’. The structure of state institutions with the Senate being the (at least officially) highest authority of decision-making, with central administrative areas of responsibility at the imperial court, as well as with offices for administrating the city of Rome, Italy and the provinces, was rather simple.40 The number of people working in the imperial administration during the first three centuries of the Imperial period, including higher-ranking ‘public officials’ and the subordinate staff – one finds it hard to believe – was not more than about 10,000. Today, about 20,000 people work in the administration of the European Union in Brussels – mainly to meet the needs of translation. Rome’s 10,000 ‘state officials’ in an empire of c. 80 million inhabitants fulfilled about the same tasks as the authorities of the Federal Republic of Germany, of the federal states and districts, the higher justice authorities, the financial, military, and Church administrations in Germany with about the same number of inhabitants. Of course, a modern state with its complicated infrastructure needs a completely different administrative apparatus than a preindustrialised state with its (often only) rudimentary demands in exercising legitimate authority. The Roman state administration neglected many tasks which today are considered indispensable, for instance, the statistical recording of data on which political planning should be based. Nevertheless, the history of Rome justifies at least the question whether a gigantic bureaucratic apparatus, which in essential fields only hopes for spontaneous development and otherwise regulates even the most unimportant aspects of everyday life, is really indispensable for the creation and continued existence of a multi-racial state. However, the Imperium Romanum was not at all as ‘un-administrated’ as it seems given the dimensions of state administration. For among the ‘reasons for Rome’s greatness’ particularly important was the commitment of the local elites of c. 2000 urban communities, of which (together with their territories) the empire consisted.41 The administration of municipalities, the local tasks of jurisdiction, the maintenance of public order, the collection of taxes, the food and water supply, the erection and maintenance of public buildings and public events were the tasks 39 40 41

Schulhoff 1997, 157. See in particular Eck 1995. See Vittinghoff (ed.) 1982; Kolb 1984, 169ff.

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of urban magistrates and councils. In this way the state was mostly relieved of responsibility. This also holds true for the state’s budget, for most public expenses were paid by the financially strong upper classes of the municipalities. For centuries, their members considered this both an obligation and at the same time a means of increasing their own social reputation, exactly like the costly and timeconsuming occupation of municipal offices. At a time when people show so much political apathy but at the same time expect the state to pay for everything, we must remember the fact that even an empire like the Imperium Romanum, which had inexhaustible resources at hand and could use them at will, to a considerable extent relied on the financial, social and political commitment of those citizens who had a vocation to contribute. One cannot lament the high-handedness of a bureaucracy but at the same time completely leave the organisation of public life to it. But the Roman Empire also had a ‘supra-national elite’, the imperial aristocracy which consisted of the classes of senators and knights. The top positions of the administration of the city of Rome and of Italy, the governorship of the provinces, the command of the troops, the administration of the most important areas of economic responsibility, and also the high priest positions of the state religion were reserved for members of these two classes. Parallels to the structure of that supra-national elite which is supposed to rule a united Europe suggest themselves, notwithstanding the fact that noble origin and the support of the emperor as qualifications for membership of such an elite would be unimaginable these days. However, skills, ambition, performance and achievement played a decisive role in Rome even under the conditions of the aristocratic social structure, and in the course of the Imperial period the most important tasks were increasingly given to social climbers. The imperial elite, which once had been restricted to an exclusive circle of Italians, was increasingly recruited from all over the empire. It thus symbolised the upper classes of the different parts of the empire and continued to be connected to their home regions because its members usually rose from the upper classes of the urban communities. At the same time they considered themselves a Roman elite and maintained Roman traditions like the apple of their eye. In this context the climbers from the provinces, whom Sir Ronald Syme called colonial élites,42 proved to be ‘particularly good Romans’; they represented the values and norms of the class into which they grew with particular conviction and emphasis. Seneca, for example, was from Spain, Tacitus perhaps from Southern Gaul, Fronto, Marcus Aurelius’s teacher, was an African, the historian Cassius Dio was a Greek from Asia Minor. Never in the history of Europe have national or regional rooting and a supra-national identity been combined so closely as was the case with the way of thinking of the imperial elite of the Roman Empire. The members of this elite were no visionaries, but they were no technocrats either. Roman senators and knights were no specialists but generalists; they were not educated at universities but by their families, and beyond this at best at loosely organised schools. They did not study national economy, political science or ad42

Syme 1958.

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ministrative science but – besides law – rhetoric, Greek and elevated Latin, literature, history and philosophy. Indeed, the lack of a special education often became obvious; indeed, from the middle Imperial period some lessons were learned from this. But one thing was absolutely guaranteed by this educational system, and that was just what the Romans were most of all interested in: the high functionaries were familiar with Rome’s cultural and political traditions, and one could rely on them to do their jobs in this spirit. How desirable would it be if apart from their expert’s training the members of Europe’s supra-national elite were also culturalscientifically educated, which would really make them Europeans! Here it can also be emphasised how naturally the members of the Roman imperial elite were ready to do service in the different parts of the empire. The later Emperor Pertinax, a perfect example of the successful climber from the lower class, went through his civil servant’s career – both in times of peace and war – in Syria, in Britain, on the lower Danube, on the lower Rhine, in North Italy, in various parts of the middle Danube region. Accompanying Marcus Aurelius, he went to the Near East, to the lower Danube, to Transylvania, again to Syria and Britain, served in Rome, in North Africa, again in Rome. He knew almost the entire empire at first hand; he became immediately familiar with the problems of most countries. Maybe even more important than the experience gained in this way, which could partly balance the lack of special training, was the ethos about which such a career tells us: the definite readiness to serve the state as well as an awareness of the political risks connected with such a career – risks, from which Pertinax suffered more than once. Of course, one was also guided by the ambition to achieve glory, wealth and influence by way of a public career. However, among these motivations there was also a feeling of identity with the multi-racial state and a feeling of doing one’s duty for this state. All this was supplemented, last but not least, by readiness to bear – usually together with one’s family – the stresses and strains which in those days came along with journeys: bearing the summer in the desert and the winter in Central European mountainous areas; always meeting people of completely different mentality and speaking completely different languages with an open mind. When studying the cursus honorum of Roman public officials, one is tempted to contrast their situation with that of their colleagues in Bonn in the late 1990s: they were enraged by the need to move to Germany’s new capital in Berlin, and to face this ‘burden’ their families were provided with psychological care, paid for from public funds. Admittedly, we cannot overlook an important difference between the Roman Empire and the EU. In the Roman Empire, during most of its existence, the ‘Romans’, as a culturally and politically defined group, exercised a clear hegemony over other ‘national’ groups, brought together by fear of war and its results. In the European Union, there is no such dominant or hegemonic group equivalent to the ‘Romans’ – the German-French axis, if it ever played such a role, does not longer function as such.

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Globalisation and the Priority of Economy The field in which the Roman imperial elite was least trained and which can least be a model for the present is Rome’s economy with its conspicuous backwardness of structures, which becomes particularly obvious, for instance, in the mode of payment. Many problems of the Roman economy are completely unfamiliar to us.43 For example, the empire did not suffer – as Europe does today – from unemployment but from a lack of workforce, not least because technological innovation was unpopular. Under Emperor Vespasian, an engineer devised machines which would make the shifting of columns from the Forum Romanum to the Capitol possible. The emperor had this plan destroyed, because he did not want craftsmen to lose their sources of income – a standpoint which, however, has its followers here and there even today. But still, the history of Rome may give us something to think about even in the field of economics. One of the most important developments of economy in our days is its ‘globalisation’, observed by some with great worry and supported by others – definitely not only in Europe but all over the world. There is a significant difference between the role of the EU in the global economy and that of the Roman Empire as a global power. Globalisation today is a process in which the main players are not the EU as a whole and its members individually, but the US and China, with many other important players, some in decline (Japan), some in ascent (India, Brazil). Unable to realise its potential, the EU of today is not what the Roman Empire was, a ‘global economic player’. If we judge by its possibilities, the Roman Empire had a ‘globalised economy’. It was a common economic sphere. This was due to inner peace, safe seaways and the outstanding network of roads, flourishing far-distance trade, freedom of movement and work (which today is considered a great achievement), centralised administration of the state’s budget and a common currency. These conditions, despite all setbacks of the Roman economy, resulted in a degree of wealth which many people did not achieve but which under the prevailing conditions may be considered an upturn which may reasonably be compared to the development of wealth in Europe during the last sixty years (today’s Europe unfortunately also knows the problem of ‘new poverty’). In the provinces that had previously been only exploited an economic power and prosperity developed which already one hundred years after the development of the imperial monarchy exceeded the economic development of Italy. The splendour of Roman cities in North Africa, Spain, France, Turkey, Syria and elsewhere, which is still felt today, gives ample evidence of this. This development may perhaps increase our hopes that the globalised economy of a supra-national state will really be able to improve the wealth of the individual peoples. However, just as every ‘encouragement’ by historic experiences, this is only true if, for the overall constellation to which such a sub-field of our life belongs, all coordinates are right. Here I do not at all intend to speak of the danger – irrele43

On Roman economy see in particular Finley 1977; Pékary 1979; Flach 1990.

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vant for Rome – that a globalised world economy might favour tax and capital flight from Europe and in this way might undermine its economic stability. Rather, I would like to discuss a different problem. The Roman economy was able to achieve its success only due to the advantages of a common political organisation. In other words: economic integration was not the driving force but rather the result of political and, at least partly, also cultural integration of the peoples into Rome’s order, even if vice versa the effects of growing wealth on the political unification and even more on the cultural developments cannot be overlooked. Indeed, states such as Athens in the fifth century BCE achieved considerable economic prosperity even earlier and made great political and cultural achievements on this basis. But never before had so many people gained advantages from economic prosperity as during the Roman Empire, although the purely economic preconditions for this had existed, at least partly, at an earlier stage. During the period of the middle and late Republic, when Rome had to share control of the Mediterranean for some time with Carthage and the Hellenistic kingdoms, the state of technological development was about the same as later; the economic relations between these powers were definitely lively, despite frequent wars. The integrating power of a ‘globalised’ economy, however, had effect only under the pax Romana of the Imperial period. In the light of this historical precedent the doubts whether Europe’s unification can be achieved by economic-political steps only receive new fuel.

The Role of Culture and Cultural Policy Money is everything: in this way one could describe the operative provisions of many documents of the European unification process. But what about culture? Sixty years ago the fathers of European unification demanded the complete reorganisation ‘not only of political but also of economic, social and even spiritual structures’.44 Fifty years ago Walter Hallstein spoke of the specifically European task of being successful in ‘coping culturally with the global, technological age we have reached’ and of Europe’s chance which was in ‘spiritually meeting ourselves’.45 What has been left of all this? For example, already the draft paper of a treaty on the foundation of the European Union, which was passed by the European Parliament in 1984, pricked up our ears. There, the goals of the Union were listed in 87 paragraphs. Just two of them are dedicated to educational, research, and cultural policy, which is to a great extent seen as a task of the individual member states. They include not much more than some vague declarations on ‘supporting scientific research’ and on the opportunity ‘to support cultural and linguistic understanding among citizens of the 44 45

Lipgens 1986, 711ff., particularly 729f. Hallstein 1979, 92ff. Quotations are from pages 99 and 102, from his speech at the European Cultural Foundation in Milan on 13 December 1958, entitled ‘Einheit der europäischen Kultur und Politik der Einigung Europas (Unity of European Culture and Policy of Europe´s Unification)’.

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Union, to spread the knowledge of their cultural life in and outside their territories’.46 The Maastricht Treaties speak of extending the Union’s competences in the fields of research and technology, education and culture. However, these fields almost disappear in the shadow of the ‘three columns’ of the European Union, which are economy and organisation (together with whose numerous individual fields they are listed), foreign and security policy, and justice and home policy. Even in the context of these fields the real interest of the signatories clearly focuses on technology and those fields of research immediately relevant for the economy.47 Most telling is a compilation published by the European Trade Union Confederation in 1996, bearing the title ‘The Future of the European Union’. In the contributions and documents presented by politicians, scientists and publicists from different countries we vainly look for the word ‘culture’.48 No wonder that still today in the field of cultural policy no regulative authority but only vague funding possibilities are intended for the European Union.49 This aporia is not even changed by words as clear as those of the former German President, Roman Herzog, who speaks out against ‘too much one-sided emphasis on economy’ in the context of European unification and who is of the opinion that Europe’s future will ‘be decisively ... dependent also on concentrating its powers in the fields of culture, science and information’.50 Wolfgang Schulhoff’s view may stand for many similarly critical voices:51 After so many ‘approaches at European integration’ have failed ‘with disastrous results for Europe itself, but also for the rest of the world ... considering exclusively money the only remaining normative force which might lead to European integration in the future ... is ... a moral and cultural declaration of bankruptcy of Europe’s more than 3000 years of history’s.

How can a historian of ancient history comment on this? The unity of the Roman multi-racial state was essentially influenced by its Greek-Latin culture. Knowledge of the Latin language, which by the way was considered a precondition for being accepted as a member of the community of Roman citizens, was spread to the same extent everywhere in the Roman West – also in some areas in the East; Cicero or Virgil were read at school everywhere in the Latin46 47 48 49

50

51

See Lipgens 1986, 255. See Boldt 1995, 27ff.; Pfetsch 1997, 59ff.; Grade 1996, 373ff. Europäisches Gewerkschaftsinstitut (ed.) 1996. Steiger 1995, 60. Only the establishment of the European Research Council in 2005 marked a clear shift towards a stronger consideration of the specific needs of the humanities and the social sciences. In education, the efforts to homogenise higher education, on the basis of the Bologna agreement, have provoked justified criticism, because of the inflexible implementation of regulations that do not adequately take into consideration the specific needs of very diverse subjects. Speech by Roman Herzog entitled ‘Für ein einiges und demokratisches Europa der Bürger’ (‘In Support of a United and Democratic Citizens’ Europe’) at the European Parliament on 10 October 1995. See Presse- und Informationsamt der Bundesregierung Deutschland 1995, 825ff. Schulhoff 1997, 160; cf. Kielmansegg 1996, 48; Böckenförde 1997, 48ff.

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speaking provinces; the elites’ interest in Greek philosophy was considerable; Rome’s religion was a strong spiritual power even in most remote regions; everywhere temples, theatres, amphitheatres, triumphal arches, burial monuments were erected following the classical pattern; the traditional themes of ancient art were imitated everywhere. A Roman was recognised by his/her language, clothing, customs, inclinations, and interests, by being conscious of his/her privileged position as a Roman citizen, which was even expressed by St. Paul,52 by a certain spiritual horizon due to his/her knowledge of Roman traditions, and not by having money or not. Indeed, there were many uneducated Romans and those without a minimum of identification with Rome’s spiritual values. But those who wanted to get somewhere in Roman society, and even more those who were striving to rise to the elite, did not have any chance without a certain familiarity with the basic values of ancient culture. In Petronius’ Satyricon the caricature of this social pressure is the character of Trimalchio, the nouveau riche coming from nowhere, who tries seriously but without success to learn ancient mythology. In Rome, however, there was never anything like a deliberate ‘cultural policy’ in today’s sense of the word. It was to a large extent replaced by social pressure which made even the Trimalchiones or soldiers declare their support for the values of Graeco-Roman culture. But there were definitely at least beginnings of a cultural policy, with the objective of closely including the social elites, if possible also broad circles of the population, into Rome’s order. How important they were and how successful they could be, is exemplarily shown by Emperor Augustus’s efforts, very well emphasised by Paul Zanker, to exploit the ‘power of images’. His artistic programmes in the fields of architecture, sculpture, and painting stimulated the upper classes everywhere to express their support for the values of the res publica which Augustus had renewed, and also of their own position in it by the same means of self-staging.53 What we can learn from all this is the following: culture must not be forgotten! Oscar Schneider drums it into our heads:54 After all, only the conviction of belonging to a common culture which has matured over the centuries forces us into concentrating ourselves also practically-politically and economically into a greater area.

The course towards the citizens of the European states really becoming the bearers of a common European culture must be determined much more clearly than is the case these days. For a start, there must be a radical reform of language education. I am of the same opinion as Hubert Markl:55 In future every, really every European student should learn at least three languages in the course of his/her school education – of course more or less perfectly – his/her own mother tongue, the world language English, and one more European language – 52 53 54 55

Actus Apostolorum 22.25ff. Zanker 1987 [1989]; Alföldy 1991, 289ff. Schneider 1993, 15. Markl 1997, 26f.

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no matter which one – according to regional affinities, available teaching, and definitely also according to one’s own wishes and moods.

Unfortunately, Latin, the suppression of which as a common language of Europe’s spiritual elites was a ‘thoughtless renunciation’, as Schneider states,56 is definitely lost. As a means of communication it has meanwhile been replaced by English in many fields, something which one may both welcome and lament but nevertheless must accept. However, it would be fatal to conclude from this that for a united Europe the English language could claim the same predominance as a cultural foundation as Latin enjoyed for many centuries. In Europe German, French, Italian and Spanish should be taught not only to future cultural scientists at universities but everywhere at secondary schools at least as an optional language, exactly like English. This is necessary not only because apart from English they will still be needed as a means of communication in many fields57 but also because they are a bridge towards the cultures they communicate. Precisely for this reason the teaching of Latin and, wherever it is possible, Ancient Greek should be supported, even at school level, as these ancient languages pave the way for further language acquisition, and, in particular, because they make possible immediate access to a particularly important field of European culture. However, languages alone will not be enough. Ernst-Wolfgang Böckenförde in his article ‘Welchen Weg geht Europa (Which Course Will Europe Take?)’ has made an impressive suggestion in respect of the foundations on which the education of intellectually demanding Europeans should be based: ‘Three foreign languages and European regional studies as obligatory subjects at all secondary schools, general lessons of European history according to a commonly worked out curriculum’.58 Rightly so, Hubert Markl demands for all schools:59 It is indispensable to be informed about the history of the variety of one’s own regional and national culture as well as of the cultures of other nations and of overall European culture, a field which encompasses more than is often in the fore of history lessons these days. The spiritual foundations and differentiations of legal, economic, technological, political, ideological systems and how they are expressed by literature, by art and sciences belong to it no less than chronologies of events. 56 57

58 59

Schneider 1993, 18f. In numerous disciplines in the humanities, in order to be able to be appropriately informed about the relevant specialist literature, one will need knowledge of these languages also in the future. In my subject, in ancient history, young researchers taking history seriously must still have at least reading skills in the following languages apart from knowledge of Latin and Greek: German, English, French, Italian, and, at least in single fields such as Latin epigraphy, also Spanish. Students, but also their teachers, are often too quickly ready to overlook these demands. On this I again quote Schneider (1993, 19f.): ‘As if learning foreign languages was an unreasonable demand! ... Bismarck in his days was of the opinion that every waiter was able to learn a foreign language. These days professors and journalists utter sighs, saying that it was an unreasonable demand to achieve the skills of a waiter – everywhere in Europe.’ Fortunately, in various countries I again and again meet young colleagues who have acquired the above mentioned language skills before being thirty or even earlier. Böckenförde 1997, 50 n. 79. Markl 1997, 29f.

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To these great suggestions I would like to add the following one. It is often said that after all there is neither a common European culture nor a common European history; there are only the cultures and histories of individual European nations. Apart from the fact that not only for me German philosophy, English literature, French painting, Italian operas, Spanish cathedrals are ways of expressing one and the same culture, there is definitely a common cultural foundation which is not the creation of one nation but has been the property of all right from the beginning: the Graeco-Roman culture and Christendom, which developed in this context. More than ever knowledge of ancient cultural achievements and Christian tradition should be supported by every means! In this way the entire consciousness of history, which rests or should rest also on other foundations, could be supported.60 But what is reality like? In the federal state of Baden-Württemberg, which otherwise acts so traditional and European, the history of antiquity and the Middle Ages has almost completely disappeared from the curriculum of the grammar schools. Europe says hello!

The Relation to Others and to Oneself The last subject of this article also has something to do with culture. How should a united Europe behave towards other peoples? As a result of economic interests or fear of an influx of foreigners, people often call for the building of a kind of ‘fortress Europe’.61 In the same way, people often call for ‘enlightened Eurocentrism’ as the ‘only reasonable way of thinking’, which is bound up with the claim that in this way one is able to understand other people better than they can understand themselves.62 Finally, there is also the standpoint which regards unconditional ‘acceptance of ethnic-cultural variety’ as a challenge for European societies,63 going as far as to support the irresolvable plurality of religion and understanding religion even within Europe.64 This problem already concerns Europe’s relations with the US, Canada, Australia, and also the Latin American countries, which, being co-bearers of Europe’s cultural heritage or at least its languages, are less different from the European peoples than the peoples of Asia and Africa – rather due to political independence and resulting self-confidence than to culture. The 60

61 62 63 64

In my opinion, common historic traditions and experiences play an important role for European thought, despite the nations being fixated to their own histories. This is not only true for older common traditions such as antiquity, Christendom, humanism, or enlightenment but also for meanwhile absolutely completed developments even of recent and most recent history, as e.g. the resistance movements of many European peoples – including German groups of resistance – against National Socialism or the threat by the Soviet Union, each of which was an important fertile ground for the modern idea of Europe; on this see e.g. Lipgens 1977, 44ff., 461ff. See also Lipgens 1986, 27ff., 191ff., 371ff. However, these common grounds must again and again be communicated to future generations. On this see Boldt 1995, 101. Reinhard 1995, 132ff. Schwan 1995, 189ff. Schröder 1995, 88.

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latter, being real ‘foreigners’ in many respects (for instance, language, religion, traditions), are a particular challenge for Europe. In respect of dealing with foreigners, Rome had much experience. During the Republican period relations with some peoples such as the Gauls or the Carthaginians were for a long time characterised by fear, due to historic trauma, like later relations with the Germans. However, isolation from the feared ‘foreigners’ was only favoured during the late Imperial period. In those days the Romans were no longer proud of how many peoples they united in their empire but of how many they excluded.65 However, the limes, the empire’s fortified border, was not able to resist greater attacks in the long run. It was not a perfect system of defence but rather an ‘ethical border’ behind which there was a different world; it was a symbol of the Roman idea that due to its spiritual values the empire was superior to the outer world.66 The Romans, however, did not express this feeling of superiority towards other cultures by way of missionary enthusiasm, intolerance or aggressiveness. Foreign languages, customs and even religions were completely or at least mostly accepted as far as they were not considered a danger to public order, such as the human sacrifices of the Celtic druids or Christianity, which was misunderstood as a superstitio. Nobody did object if somebody worshipped gods of exotic names, such as Crougintoudadioga or Toudopalandaiga in North Spain.67 Neither the Latin language nor Roman names nor the cult of Rome’s gods was forced on the members of other peoples. Instead, the Romans were ready to accept with foreigners what was familiar: for example, in Caesar and Tacitus as well as in countless inscriptions the gods of Gauls or Germans appear alongside Roman names. Even more, Rome opened up towards foreigners under the influence of Christendom, based on the doctrine that Christian Romans and Christian barbarians should not any longer be ‘foreigners’ to each other. Inter Romanos Romanus, inter Christianos Christianus, inter homines homo, Orosius said about himself, who was a definitely patriotic ‘good Roman’ for whom Christian barbarians were no longer hostes but fratres.68 At the same time it must be emphasised that the spread of Roman culture in the provinces did not at all result in the disappearance of other cultures. It was not unusual for it to help other cultures to develop. According to the historian Florus, a contemporary of Tacitus, Spain, his adopted place of residence, recognised its own strong point only under Roman rule.69 Our knowledge of Celtic or Germanic cults is most of all due to their melting together with Roman cults: when taking over Roman ways of cult their supporters took over the custom of handing over their religious ideas to posterity by way of stone altars with inscriptions, statues of 65

66 67 68 69

Tertullianus, De pallio 2.7. On this see Mócsy 1978, 25. On the whole circle of problems see also the volume by Schuster (ed.) 1995. Alföldi 1950, 37ff.; ibid. 1952, 1ff. Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum II 2565 = Lorenzo Fernandez 1968, 91; Fita 1914, 305ff. Orosius, Historia adversum paganos 5.2.6.; 7.32.9. Florus, Epitomae 33.4.

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gods, and cult reliefs. For example, what we call the Gallo-Roman or the Palmyrian cultures is nothing other than the result of the encounter between local traditions and Roman culture. Not even the demand on the local upper classes to imitate Roman models, which must be considered social pressure, excluded foreign solutions. For example, it was a matter of course that the huge prestigious squares of the many cities of the empire were built in a rectangular way, according to Graeco-Roman models. But obviously nobody made objections when in what is now Jordanian Gerasa the city’s biggest square had an oval ground plan. This was foreign to ancient tradition. But the square was beautiful, monumental, and provided a suitable architectural frame for the usual decoration of prestigious Roman squares with statues. Thus, Roman demands were met. Thus, the history of Rome teaches us that arrogance is not the correct way of maintaining a feeling of superiority as an advanced civilisation. It teaches us that respect towards what is foreign, taking up foreign influences, the search for common points of reference, and a way of encountering which is productive for both sides may result in considerable gain for different cultures without one’s own identity getting lost. If there is any threat for European culture today, it does not come from outside but from Europe’s own development, responsibility for which cannot simply be attributed to American influence. What is meant is the danger of real culture, whose foundation is always a collective memory of earlier created values, being replaced by a completely trivial ‘media culture’, which is restricted to cheap entertainment and does not maintain any memory.70 In this respect we may learn from the Romans that in their state intellectually trivial mass entertainment was very popular, but that thanks to the elites who adhered to tradition there was never any danger for spiritual heritage and thus for one’s own identity. On the contrary, even events of this kind proved to be factors of a system-stabilising nature, for example the gladiatorial games which were an opportunity for the elites to demonstrate their generosity, or the theatre farces which at least communicated something of ancient mythology. We may only hope that the European culture, which has survived the barbarianism of National Socialism and the threat by Communism, will also survive the crippling of spirit by the emptiness of the modern ‘media culture’, as the cultural heritage of antiquity survived the ‘barbarians’’ military victory over Rome.

3. SUMMARY AND CONCLUSIONS I will try to summarise what I have outlined so far and to draw some conclusions. Rome made the historic achievement of creating a multi-racial state in which peoples that had fought many wars not only against the Romans but also against each other lived peacefully together for centuries. They became ‘Romans’ without losing their own identity; the empire gained from their own achievements. Rome’s 70

On this see e.g. Hünermann 1995, 95ff., particularly 105ff.

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success was not due to economic ‘globalisation’ but most of all to the political integration of the peoples and regions into the Roman state and to the superiority of her spiritual foundation, Graeco-Roman culture. An experiment had been successful which had never been made before in history and which has been unparalleled until today. Today, we are confronted with a similar experiment – with a ‘limitless adventure’, as Der Spiegel wrote. The responsibility which our generation is thus taking over may make us dizzy. May historic experience and particularly knowledge of the history of Rome help us with this? As its title, this article itself also ends with a question mark. It does not concern the question of whether one may learn from history but the question of whether one wants to learn from history. Anyone who answers ‘yes’ to this question will definitely be able to learn from the history of Rome. First, it is clear that in the long run the unification of many peoples in the Roman Empire proved to be definitely advantageous for them, which should encourage us on the threshold of the development of a united Europe. Second, it must be emphasised that in the case of the Romans’ successful experiment not the economic union but political and cultural integration was the most important foundation. If those being mainly responsible for Europe’s unification believe that the monetary union has automatically brought everything else with it, that is, if they support the really Marxist thesis that it is economic existence which determines consciousness, the historian may contradict by stating that the previously most successful experiment of the unification of so many peoples in the history of Europe was not quite that simple. One must take into consideration that for a long time the majority of Europe’s citizens could not be won over by the idea of economic unification based on monetary union. Is it not like believing in miracles to believe that a common currency will result in a solidified consciousness of community in a short span of time? The words of the late Jean Monnet, who was the father of the Coal and Steel Union and one of the fathers of the modern idea of Europe, who is jokingly called the father of the ‘Methode Monnaie’, cannot be quoted often enough: ‘If I had to do the same again, I would start with culture.’71 For this it is too late now. But it is not too late to lay essentially more emphasis on the cultural integration of the European peoples than those responsible are laying today. All imaginable steps should be taken to considerably increase the consciousness of the European peoples that they belong together, by way of lessons at school, university education and cultural-scientific research. Indeed, we know all too well how important economy is and that the most splendid culture is worth nothing if the existence of its bearers is threatened. But man needs not only money but also spirit. At least this lesson from history will not be denied by anyone. However, historic experience does also show that appeals to it are of little use. Cicero’s saying that history is lux veritatis, vita memoriae, magistra vitae72 is often quoted but hardly followed. Wise slogans by historians are very popular, 71 72

Quoted from Böckenförde 1997, 49. Cicero, De oratore 2.36.

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though their works are read to a much lesser extent and their conclusions on the present and future are taken seriously only by very few people, if at all. But at least they should not be accused of having been silent at historic moments when they definitely had something to say.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Alföldi, A. (1950) Die ethische Grenzscheide am römischen Limes, Schweizer Beiträge zur Allgemeinen Geschichte 8, 37-50. — (1952) The Moral Barrier on Rhine and Danube, in E. Birley (ed.), The Congress of Roman Frontier Studies, 1949, Durham, 1-16. — (1967) Studien zur Geschichte der Weltkrise des 3. Jahrhunderts nach Christus, Darmstadt. Alföldy, G. (1984) Römische Sozialgeschichte, third edition, Wiesbaden. — (1986) Die römische Gesellschaft. Ausgewählte Beiträge, Stuttgart. — (1987) Römisches Städtewesen auf der Neukastilischen Hochebene. Ein Testfall für die Romanisierung, Heidelberg. — (1988) Die Romanisierung in den Donauprovinzen Roms, in P. Kneissl and V. Losemann (eds.) Alte Geschichte und Wissenschaftsgeschichte. Festschrift für Karl Christ zum 65. Geburtstag, Darmstadt, 1-21. — (1991) Augustus und die Inschriften. Tradition und Innovation. Zur Geburt der imperialen Epigraphik, Gymnasium 98, 289-324. — (1995) La Pannonia e l’Impero romano, in Atti del convegno internazionale ‘La Pannonia e l’Impero romano’, Accademia d’Ungheria e l’Istituto Austriaco di Cultura (Roma, 13-16 gennaio 1994), a cura di G. Hajnóczi (Annuario dell’ Accademia d’Ungheria, Roma 1994), Milano, 25-40. — (1999) Das Imperium Romanum - ein Vorbild für das vereinte Europa? (Jacob BurckhardtGespräche auf Castelen. Bd. 9), Basel. Bleicken, J. (1981) Verfassungs- und Sozialgeschichte des Römischen Kaiserreiches I-II, second edition, Paderborn. Böckenförde, E.-W. (1997) Welchen Weg geht Europa?, Munich. Boldt, H. (1995) Die Europäische Union. Geschichte, Struktur, Politik, Mannheim - Leipzig. Bowman, A.K., E. Champlin, and A. Lintott (eds.) The Cambridge Ancient History, second edition, vol. X: The Augustan Empire, 43 B.C.-A.D. 69, Cambridge. Burckhardt, J. (1947) Weltgeschichtliche Betrachtungen, edited by W. Hansen, Detmold. Christ, K. (1995) Geschichte der römischen Kaiserzeit von Augustus bis Konstantin, third edition, Munich. Delgado, M. and M. Lutz-Bachmann (eds.), Herausforderung Europa. Wege zu einer europäischen Identität, Munich. Eck, W. (1995) Die Verwaltung des Römischen Reiches in der Hohen Kaiserzeit, vol. 1, Basel. Europäisches Gewerkschaftsinstitut (ed.) (1996) Die Zukunft der Europäischen Union. Gewerkschaftliche Anforderungen und Erwartungen an die Regierungskonferenz 1996, Münster. Finley, M.I. (1977) Die antike Wirtschaft, Munich. Fita, F. (1914) Nuevas inscripciones romany y visigóta de Talaván y Mérida, Boletin de la Real Academia de la Historia 64, 304-313. Flach, D. (1990) Römische Agrargeschichte, Munich. Gall, L. (1997) Das Argument der Geschichte. Überlegungen zum gegenwärtigen Standort der Geschichtswissenschaft, Historische Zeitschrift 264, 1-20. Gottlieb, G. (1997) Von der Macht der Geschichte. Drei Beiträge zum theoretischen und praktischen Umgang mit der Geschichte, Munich.

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Grande, E. (1996) Das Paradox der Schwäche. Forschungspolitik und die Einflusslogik der europäischen Politikverflechtung, in M. Jachtenfuchs and B. Kohler-Koch (eds.), Europäische Integration, Opladen, 373-399. Hallstein, W. (1979) Europäische Reden, ed. by T. Oppermann, Stuttgart. Hünermann, P. (1995), Kolonialismusbegründung und Kolonialismuskritik. Der Januskopf Europas gegenüber der außereuropäischen Welt, in Delgado and Lutz-Bachmann (eds.) 1995, 153170. Ipsen, H.P. (1987), Europäische Verfassung – Nationale Verfassung, Europarecht 22, 195-213. Isensee, J. (1996) Europäische Union – Mitgliedstaaten. Im Spannungsfeld von Integration und nationaler Selbstbehauptung, Effizienz und Idee, in H. Fuhrmann, C. Zintzen, and J. Isensee (eds.), Europa – Idee, Geschichte, Realität. 2. Symposion der deutschen Akademien der Wissenschaften, Mainz, 71-106. Jacques, F. and J. Scheid (1990) Rome et l’intégration de l’Empire (44 av. J.-C.-260 ap. J.-C.), Tome I. Les structures de l’Empire romain, Paris. Kaufmann, M. (1997) Europäische Integration und Demokratieprinzip, Baden-Baden. Kielmansegg, P. Graf (1996) Integration und Demokratie, in M. Jachtenfuchs and B. Kohler-Koch (eds.), Europäische Integration, Opladen, 47-71. Kolb, F. (1984) Die Stadt im Altertum, Munich. Le Roux, P. (1998) Le Haut-Empire romain en Occident d’Auguste aux Sévères 31 av. J.-C.-235 ap. J.-C., Paris. Lepsius, M.R. (1991) Nationalstaat oder Nationalitätenstaat als Modell für die Weiterentwicklung der Europäischen Gemeinschaft, in R. Wildenmann (ed.) Staatswerdung Europas? Optionen für eine Europäische Union, Baden-Baden, 19-40. Lipgens, W. (1977) Die Anfänge der europäischen Einigungspolitik 1945-1950, Erster Teil: 19451947, Stuttgart. — (1986) 45 Jahre Ringen um die Europäische Verfassung. Dokumente 1939-1984. Von den Schriften der Widerstandsbewegung bis zum Vertragsentwurf des Europäischen Parlaments, Bonn. Lorenzo Fernandez, J. (1968) Inscripciones romanas de Galicia IV. Provincia de Orense, Santiago de Compostela. Markl, H. (1997) Bildung für das Europa von morgen. Diskussion mit Hubert Markl, edited by B. Seebacher-Brandt, Frankfurt. Millar, F. (1977) The Emperor in the Roman World, London. Mócsy, A. (1978) Zur Entstehung und Eigenart der Nordgrenzen Roms, Opladen. Mommsen, T. (1885) Rede zum Geburtstag des Kaisers (1885) [Apollinaris Sidonius und seine Zeit], Sitzungsberichte der Königlichen Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaft zu Berlin, 215-223 (reprinted in Reden und Aufsätze, dritter Abdruck, Berlin 1912, 132-143). Münkler, H. (1995) Die politische Idee Europa, in Delgado and Lutz-Bachmann (eds.) 1995, 9-27. Palm, J. (1959) Rom, Römertum und Imperium in der griechischen Literatur der Kaiserzeit, Lund. Pekáry, T (1979) Die Wirtschaft der griechisch-römischen Antike, second edition, Wiesbaden. Pfetsch, F.R. (1997) Die Europäische Union. Eine Einführung, Munich. Reinhard, W. (1995) Das „Andere“ als Teil der europäischen Identität. Vom „Barbaren“ zum „edlen Wilden“, in Delgado and Lutz-Bachmann (eds.) 1995, 171-188. Schneider, O. (1993) Zu den Wurzeln Europas, Die Politische Meinung 38, 15-22. Schröder, R. (1995) Über Religionsfreiheit und religiösen Pluralismus als Herausforderung, in Delgado and Lutz-Bachmann (eds.) 1995, 77-94. Schulhoff, W. (1997) Europa auf dem Weg zur Selbstfindung. Eine historische und politische Betrachtung, Baden-Baden. Schuster, M. (ed.) (1996) Die Begegnung mit dem Fremden: Wertungen und Wirkungen in Hochkulturen vom Altertum bis zur Gegenwart, Stuttgart - Leipzig. Schwan, G. (1995) Anerkennung ethnisch-kultureller Vielfalt als Herausforderung der europäischen Gesellschaften, in Delgado and Lutz-Bachmann (eds.) 1995, 189-199. Sherwin-White, A.N. (1973) The Roman Citizenship, second edition, Oxford.

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Sievert, O. (1996) Europa – Dominanz des Wirtschaftlichen?, in H. Fuhrmann, C. Zintzen, and J. Isensee (eds.), Europa – Idee, Geschichte, Realität. 2. Symposion der deutschen Akademien der Wissenschaften, Mainz, 107-147. Steiger, H. (1995) Bundesstaat, Staatenbund oder erweiterte Freihandelszone – Perspektiven der Entwicklung der Europäischen Union nach Maastricht, in Delgado and Lutz-Bachmann (eds.) 1995, 51-67. Syme, R. (1958) Colonial Elites. Rome, Spain and the Americas, Oxford. Tietmeyer, H. (1993) Probleme einer europäischen Währungsunion und Notenbank, in J. Isensee (ed.) Europa als politische Idee und rechtliche Form, Berlin, 35-61. — (1996) Der Beitrag der Währungspolitik zur europäischen Integration, in H. Fuhrmann, C. Zintzen, and J. Isensee (eds.), Europa – Idee, Geschichte, Realität. 2. Symposion der deutschen Akademien der Wissenschaften, Mainz, 43-70. Vilariño Pintos, E. (1996) La construcción de la Unión Europea, Madrid. Vittinghoff, F. (ed.) (1982) Stadt und Herrschaft. Römische Kaiserzeit und Hohes Mittelalter, Munich. — (1990) Europäische Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte in der römischen Kaiserzeit, Stuttgart. Vogt, J. (1963) Ciceros Glaube an Rom, second edition, Darmstadt. Wessels, W. (1996) Verwaltung im EG-Mehrebenensystem. Auf dem Weg zur Megabürokratie?, in M. Jachtenfuchs and B. Kohler-Koch (eds.), Europäische Integration, Opladen, 165-192. Wolff, H.J. (1979) Das Problem der Konkurrenz von Rechtsordnungen in der Antike, Heidelberg. Zanker, P. (1987) Augustus und die Macht der Bilder, Munich [The Power of Images in the Age of Augustus, translated by Alan Shapiro, Ann Arbor 1989]. Zintzen, C. (1996) Europa – Gedanken zum Ursprung seiner Kultur, in H. Fuhrmann, C. Zintzen, and J. Isensee (eds.), Europa – Idee, Geschichte, Realität. 2. Symposion der deutschen Akademien der Wissenschaften, Mainz, 13-42.

DIE KLASSISCHE ANTIKE IN AMERIKA1 Alexander Demandt

What Athens was in miniature, America will be in magnitude. Thomas Paine

1. DAS ALTE EUROPA IN AMERIKA Als ich 1997 Washington besuchte, hörte ich einen Fremdenführer erklären, die Statue auf der Spitze des Capitols sei ein Indianer. Wusste er nicht oder wollte er nicht wissen, dass es sich um eine Personifikation der Freiheit handelt, um die Libertas von Thomas Crawford? Wahl und Form des Motivs war 1863 keine Reverenz vor den Ureinwohnern Amerikas, die ja noch militärisch niedergeworfen werden mussten und dann über ein halbes Jahrhundert auf ihr Bürgerrecht warteten. Die Statue erinnert an die Verbundenheit mit Alteuropa. Schon der Name „Capitol“ verweist zurück auf das antike Rom, und der Baustil bestätigt das. Der architektonische Kerngedanke, die Verbindung von Kuppelbau mit Tempelvorhalle, führt über Palladios Rotonda in Vicenza zurück auf Kaiser Hadrian und sein Pantheon in Rom. Diese genuin römische Bauidee zeigten auch die Capitole anderer Städte, die ich sah. Nirgendwo hat der Klassizismus solche Triumphe gefeiert wie in Nordamerika. Nirgendwo gibt es so viele Säulen, nirgendwo so viele Tempelgiebel, Kuppeln, Pilaster, Architrave wie in der Neuen Welt. Klassizistisch sind Rathäuser und Kirchen, Banken und Bahnhöfe, Postämter und Straßenbahn-Depots. Der Adler im Staatswappen der USA gemahnt an den Vogel Juppiters; wie dieser den Blitz, hält er in der einen Klaue ein Bündel Pfeile, in der anderen einen Zweig, der vom Ölbaum Athenas oder vom Lorbeer Apollons stammen könnte, und wird gekrönt von der Devise E PLURIBUS UNUM („Aus Vielen wird, werde oder wurde Eines“). Als das Wappentier der Staaten gewählt wurde, gab es Widerstand gegen den ubiquitären Adler. Benjamin Franklin empfahl stattdessen einen urecht amerikanischen Vogel, nämlich den turkey, den Truthahn. Franklin war kein Ornithologe wie Alfred Brehm. Dieser bemerkte über die Pute: „Ihre Dummheit ist erschreckend“.2 Als Kompromi einigte man sich auf den heimischen bald eagle, Haliaëtus leucocephalus. Heraldik liebt Raubtiere.

1

2

Festvortrag zum 65. Geburtstag von Detlef Junker am 26. Juni 2004 in der Alten Aula der Universität Heidelberg. Für eine kritische Durchsicht danke ich Knud Krakau. Brehm 1900, 612.

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Wie in der bildenden Kunst und in der staatlichen Symbolik so ist die klassische Antike auch in der Literatur präsent. Nur zwei Beispiele: Als die früheste literarische Leistung in Transatlantik gilt die Übersetzung von Ovids Metamorphosen durch George Sandys, erschienen in London 1626. Das Denkmal für ihn in Jamestown trägt die Inschrift PRIMO POETAE AMERICANO. Mit Hexametern aus den Metamorphosen begrüßte Henry David Thoreau den Frühling in Concord. Sein Buch von 1854 Walden, or Life in the Woods verherrlicht das Leben in der Natur, abseits der Zivilisation, aber bereichert durch die Klassiker. Homer, Aischylos, Platon, aber auch Cato, Vergil und Ovid in den Originalsprachen sah er als Wege zu wahrem Menschentum. „Bücher sind der aufgespeicherte Reichtum der Welt“ – und es ist klar, welche er meint.3 Thoreaus Heimat Concord trägt einen lateinischen Namen und befindet sich damit in großer Gesellschaft. Auf der Landkarte Amerikas ist die Antike allgegenwärtig. Da finden sich altbekannte Ortsnamen wie Rome, Sparta, Olympia, Syracuse, Corinth, Utica, Palmyra, Memphis, Ithaca – und Athens gleich sechsmal. Den Namen „Philadelphia“ entnahm William Penn dem Neuen Testament. Philadelphia war eine der sieben Gemeinden Kleinasiens, an die Johannes seine Offenbarung sandte, eine Stadt, gegründet um 150 v. Chr. durch den „bruderliebenden“ König Attalos II. Philadelphos von Pergamon. Andere Ortsnamen Amerikas zitieren antike Götter wie Neptun, Dichter wie Homer, Denker wie Seneca, Feldherren wie Hannibal, Gelehrte wie Euklid, Staatsmänner wie Cincinnatus. Dutzende von Orten enden auf -polis; so Teutopolis in New Mexico. In der Goldsucherstadt Central City gibt es, sehr sinnig, eine Heureka Street. Welche historischen Erinnerungen in der amerikanischen Öffentlichkeit sich an diese antiken Ortsnamen knüpfen und ob überhaupt – das ist ungewiss. Gleichwohl wird die Antike bis in die jüngste Zeit regelmäßig wiederbelebt. Im 18. Jahrhundert war das dominante Medium das Theater, im 19. Jahrhundert war es der Roman, seit dem 20. Jahrhundert ist es der Film. So wie die beliebten biblischen Themen kommen antike Stoffe mit beträchtlichem Aufwand in die Kinos. Nach Quo Vadis (1951), Ben Hur (1959), Spartacus (1960) und Cleopatra (1963) jüngst der Gladiator (2000), Troja (2004) und Alexander (2004). In unserer postheroischen Epoche brauchen wir Helden wenigstens auf der Leinwand. Griechischer Mythos motiviert und dekoriert technische Modernität, selbst in der Raumfahrt. Das zeigen Namen für Raketen und Kosmosprojekte wie Apollo, Atlas und Aurora, wie Mercury und Nike, Saturn und Titan.

2. DIE ANTIKE ENTDECKT AMERIKA Die Verbindung zur Antike wurde in ganz Übersee dokumentiert, nicht nur in den USA. Denn verdankt Amerika nicht schon seine Entdeckung der Antike? Im Jahre 1873 erhielt der Direktor des Nationalmuseums von Rio de Janeiro die Kopie 3

Thoreau 1905, 99ff. und 313ff.

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einer achtzeiligen Steininschrift, die bei Paraiba an der Nordküste Brasiliens gefunden worden sein soll. Der Text, 1874 publiziert, ist mit phönizischen Buchstaben in einer Sprache abgefasst, die dem Hebräischen nahesteht. Er berichtet, zwölf Söhne Kanaans aus Sidon und drei Frauen seien an die Küste verschlagen worden, nachdem sie mit ursprünglich zehn Schiffen, im 19. Jahr des Königs Hiram II. von Tyros (533 v. Chr.)4 in Eziongeber am Roten Meer aufgebrochen, zwei Jahre unterwegs waren und mehrere Leute verloren hatten. Zweimal werden Götter und Göttinnen genannt und um Schutz gebeten. Für die Glaubwürdigkeit des Fundes sprach, dass die Diktion philologisch unanstößig ist. Versuche, den Stein, von dem die Abschrift stammte, an Ort und Stelle aufzufinden, misslangen allerdings. Freilich wäre auch dieser unschwer zu fälschen gewesen. An der grundsätzlichen Möglichkeit, dass karthagische Seefahrer den Atlantik überquert haben könnten, war nicht zu zweifeln. Und wer sollte schon in Brasilien imstande gewesen sein, einen korrekten phönizischen Text zu verfassen? Und was sollte sein Motiv gewesen sein? So hat es bis in unsere Zeit Verfechter seiner Echtheit gegeben.5 Die Gegner konnten indes auf einen verdächtigen Umstand verweisen. Kaiser Pedro II. hatte damals gerade eine Pilgerfahrt ins Heilige Land hinter sich, und dies könnte den Anlass geboten haben, eine uralte Verbindung zwischen Südamerika und der antiken Welt zu konstruieren. Der Kaiser selbst war in der Sprachwissenschaft bewandert und so angesehen, dass er als Mitglied in die Akademien von Paris, München und Berlin gewählt wurde. Korrekt sind ebenso die historischen Umstände. Die Abfahrt aus Eziongeber bei Akaba setzt eine Umsegelung Afrikas voraus, wie sie u.a. von Herodot (4.42) für die Zeit um 600 erwähnt wird. Karthagische Münzen aus der Alexanderzeit, 1749 gefunden auf der Azoreninsel Corvo, beweisen die Fähigkeit der Punier, ins offene Meer vorzustoßen. Das war ja schon beinahe der halbe Weg über den Atlantik. Auch eine Suche nach Land im Westen lässt sich motivieren. Die Karthager pflegten enge Beziehungen zu den Griechen, und bei ihnen war der Glaube an Land im Atlantik verbreitet. Platon überliefert den Mythos von Atlantis, jener Insel im Westmeer, die diesem den Namen gegeben hat.6 Sie sei größer als Asien und Afrika zusammen gewesen, dann aber im Luxus verkommen und im Meer versunken. Schon Homer fabelte von Elysium und den Inseln der Seligen im fernsten Westen, von einer Insel, wo die Sonne sich wendet und paradiesische Zustände herrschen.7 Der Geograph Strabon (3.2.13) erklärte, Homer verdanke sein Wissen den Phöniziern. Die antiken Berichte über das Land im Atlantik erscheinen nicht nur als Überlieferung aus fernster Vergangenheit, sondern ebenso als Vision auf die fernste Zukunft. Unter Nero verfasste Seneca seine Tragödie Medea. Darin ging es um das Schicksal der pontischen Königstochter und die kühne Seefahrt der 4 5 6 7

Josephus, Contra Apionem I 21 § 157. Gordon 1968a, 75ff. und ders. 1968b, 425ff.; Delekat 1969. Dagegen: Bunnens 1979, 43f. Kritias 108 E ff.; Timaios 24 E ff. Odyssee IV 561 ff.; XV 403 ff.

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Argonauten über das Schwarze Meer. Das Chorlied auf die mutigen Schiffer endet in einem Ausblick auf die Leistungen der Gegenwart und die Entdeckungen der Zukunft. Schon jetzt, so Seneca, beherrschen wir die See, und es werden Zeiten kommen, in denen der Okeanos, das Weltmeer, im Westen sich öffnet, eine ungeheure Landmasse (ingens tellus), ja neue Welten (novi orbes) werden von Thetys, der Meeresgöttin, erschlossen, und die am weitesten entfernte Insel wird nicht mehr Thule sein: nec sit terris ultima Thule.8 Theopomp, ein jüngerer Zeitgenosse des Aristoteles, erklärte Europa, Asien und Afrika für Inseln im Weltmeer, jenseits dessen das eigentliche Festland liege. Es sei unermesslich. Die Menschen dort seien doppelt so groß, würden doppelt so alt, und ihre Gesetze bestimmten das Gegenteil von dem, was hier gelte.9 Es gibt auch ein Amerika in der Antike. Bemerkenswerter als die Koinzidenz zwischen Vergangenheit und Zukunft in diesen Nachrichten ist die Begegnung von West und Ost. Denn das Land des Glücks wurde während der Antike auch in Fernost vermutet. Die Schätze des Orients lokalisierte Strabon (2.5.32) in Indien, den Garten Eden suchte der Reisephilosoph Junior im äußersten Osten.10 Immer wieder sind es Gold und Edelsteine, die das Glück symbolisieren. Fernwest und Fernost schließen sich zusammen in der Lehre von der Kugelgestalt der Erde. Nachdem sie schon Hesiod, Parmenides und Pythagoras vertreten hatten,11 erörterte sie Platon im Timaios.12 Da der Himmel eine Hohlkugel sei, gebe es für ihn kein Oben und kein Unten, und dasselbe gelte für den Zentralkörper die Erde. Denn wenn ein Mensch sie umrunde, würde er zum Gegenfüßler (antipous). Aristoteles verwarf zwar die Idee von Antipoden, indem er die Mitte mit der Bezeichnung „unten“ belegte, vertrat aber die Kugelgestalt der Erde nachdrücklich.13 Das Meer jenseits der Säulen des Herakles im Westen und das Meer jenseits von Indien im Osten sei dasselbe, so dass man auf dem Weg über den Atlantik Asien erreichen müsste. Um 220 v. Chr. berechnete Eratosthenes in Alexandria den Erdumfang,14 sein Ergebnis ist erst im 17. Jahrhundert verbessert worden. Die Erkenntnis von der Kugelgestalt der Erde übernahmen u.a. Strabon, Cicero und Seneca. 15 Unter Trajan jedoch präsentierte Marinus von Tyros eine Neuberechnung des Erdumfangs. Er reduzierte die annähernd zutreffenden 250.000 Stadien des Eratosthenes auf 180.000, und diese falsche Zahl fand Eingang in das griechische Standardwerk zur Geographie bei Claudius Ptolemaeus. Seit dem frühen 15. Jahrhundert lag es in lateinischer Übersetzung vor und wurde benutzt von Petrus Alliacus, dem Kanzler der Sorbonne, in dessen 1483 gedrucktem Buch Imago Mundi. Er inspirierte Kolumbus. Insofern verdankt sich Amerika nicht nur dem Wissen der 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Medea 364 ff. Aelian, Varia Historia III 18. Expositio totius mundi et gentium, p. 350 ed. Rougé. Diogenes Laertios VIII 48. Timaios 62 C ff. De caelo 308 a 20; 297 b 24. Kleomedes I 10. Strabon II 5, 10; Cicero, De re publica VI 20f.; Seneca, Naturales Quaestiones IV 11, 2.

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Antike, sondern auch einem Irrtum der Antike. Denn nur die unzutreffende kurze Entfernung von Küste zu Küste bot Aussicht auf Bewältigung. Hätte der Zufall dem Kolumbus nicht Amerika in den Weg gelegt, so wäre er auf dem Pazifik verhungert.16

2. DIE ANTIKE GESTALTET AMERIKA Die Antike hat nicht nur der Entdeckung, sondern ebenso der Gestaltung Amerikas Pate gestanden. In seinen Études ou discours historiques sur la chute de l’Empire romain benannte René de Châteaubriand 1831 als die drei historischen Wurzeln Europas das Christentum, das Germanentum und die klassische Antike. Und dasselbe gilt für das frühneuzeitliche Amerika. Die Gedankenwelt der ersten Kolonisten speist sich aus der Bibel, aus dem englischen Common Law – das wäre die germanische Komponente – und aus der vorchristlichen antiken Literatur, um die es uns jetzt geht. Sie bot das Fundament für die säkulare Bildung beiderseits des Atlantiks.17 Die führenden Köpfe unter den ersten englischen Siedlern waren in der Antike zu Hause. Nachdem schon Francis Bacon 1612 die Verse aus Senecas Tragödie Medea als in Amerika erfüllte Prophezeiung gedeutet hatte,18 diente die Fahrt der Argonauten dem mythischen Rollenspiel der Publizisten von Virginia. Öfter als Platons Atlantis und Homers Elysium wurde die Suche nach dem Goldenen Vlies beschworen. Amerika, das neue Kolchis, bot einem zweiten Jason und seinen mutigen Seefahrern ungehobene Schätze nun im fernen Westen. Näher noch als dieser mythische lag ein historischer Rückbezug: die Entsendung von Kolonien durch die Römer ins ganze Mittelmeergebiet, lieferten diese doch den zentralen Begriff colonia für die Landnahme in Übersee. Der römischen Tradition konnte man ebenso das Denkbild für eine glückliche Zeitenwende entnehmen, so geschehen 1702 bei Cotton Mather, dem Vergil der Neuen Welt.19 Vergils vierte Ekloge mit der Verheißung eines novus ordo saeculorum – vom Humanismus bis zum Faschismus strapaziert – erscheint auf den Dollarnoten. Die Parole einer neuen aurea aetas diente Hoffnungsträgern und Weltverbesserern stets als klassischer Ornat. Am deutlichsten wurde der Einfluss der antiken Autoren vor und während der Unabhängigkeitsbewegung. Benjamin Franklin berichtet in seiner Autobiographie, dass sein Vater Plutarchs Lebensbeschreibungen besaß, in denen der Knabe „mit Begeisterung“ las. Ebenso beeindruckten ihn Xenophons Erinnerungen an Sokrates, namentlich dessen dialektische Methode. Seinem Tugendbüchlein gab Franklin das Motto:

16 17 18 19

Demandt 2000, 152ff. Bolgar (Hg.) 1979; Schulte-Nordholt 1980, 65ff. On prophecies (Bacon 1806, 170ff.). Mathiopoulos 1987, 83f.

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O vitae Philosophia dux! (O Lebensleiterin Philosophie!), O virtutum indagatrix (Finderin der Tugenden), expultrixque vitiorum (Vertreiberin der Laster) ... Unus dies, bene et ex praeceptis tuis actus (ein Tag, gut und nach deinen Vorschriften verbracht) peccanti immortalitati est anteponendus (sei dem Sünder mehr wert als die Unsterblichkeit).

Der Spruch stammt aus Ciceros Tusculanen (5.5). Als Vorbilder wählte der junge Franklin sich Jesus und Sokrates.20 Eine Fundgrube für Antikenbezüge sind die Schriften von Thomas Jefferson. Dort begegnen uns u.a. Alexander der Große, Antoninus (d.h. Marc Aurel), Caesar, Cato, Cicero, Demosthenes, Epiktet, Epikur, Fabius Cunctator, Homer, Livius, Platon, Plutarch, Ptolemaios, Pythagoras, Seneca, Siculus (d.h. Diodor), Sokrates, Theokrit, Theognis, Vergil und Xenophon. Tacitus war für Jefferson der bedeutendste Autor der Weltliteratur – ohne Ausnahme.21 Die Korrespondenz von Jefferson und John Adams enthält Exkurse über altgriechische Metrik, über das Vokabular Ciceros und Interpretationen zu Kleanthes und Theokrit. Jefferson zeigt, dass er des Griechischen mächtig war, anders als seine modernen Herausgeber,22 wie die mitunter sinnlos entstellte Schreibung bezeugt. Auf seiner Rheinreise 1788 besuchte Jefferson am 2. April auch Duisburg, wo damals die Reste der Legionslagers von Quinctilius Varus gezeigt wurden, den Arminius einst im Teutoburger Wald besiegt hat. Jefferson memoriert, nicht ganz richtig, aber auch nicht ganz falsch: „in the time of Tiberius, I think it was“. Jefferson wollte das Lager aufsuchen, doch fand er in der ganzen Stadt – in Wirklichkeit ein „ummauertes Dorf“ – keinen Menschen, mit dem er sich auf Englisch, Französisch, Italienisch oder Latein hätte verständigen können.23 Rheinauf besuchte er dann Düsseldorf, Köln, Bonn, Koblenz, Nassau, Wiesbaden, Frankfurt und Mainz. Er lobte den Wein, die Fische und das Wildpret. AltHeidelberg, namentlich die Schlossruine, rühmte er in den höchsten Tönen: „romantic and pleasing beyond expression“. Die Krone aber war das große Fass, „the famous ton of Heidelberg, new built in 1751“. Mit Bedauern bemerkte er: „There is no wine in it now.“ Jeffersons Landsitz in Virginia Monticello erinnert im Namen an den Mons Caelius in Rom, wo die reichen Senatoren wohnten, und in der Anlage an eine Villa Rustica, wie der ältere Cato sie beschreibt.24 Der jüngere Plinius hätte seine Lust an den Ausblicken gehabt,25 ebenso an den aus der Alten Welt mitgebrachten Kunstwerken. Wie Cato war Jefferson in einer Person Advokat und Staatsmann, stolzer Großagrarier und skrupulöser Sklavenhalter, fasziniert von griechischer Kultur und durchdrungen von römischer Moral. So wie Cato hat auch Jefferson

20 21 22 23 24 25

Franklin 1956, 22, 30, 147, 151; Gummere 1963, 125ff. Mathiopoulos 1987, 90. Jefferson 1984, 269 und 597. Jefferson 1984, 634. De agricultura III 2; XIV 1 ff. Epistulae II 17; V 6; IX 7.

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das Verhältnis zu seiner Lieblingssklavin erfolglos verheimlicht.26 1937, als auch in Deutschland der Klassizismus zum letzten Mal Konjunktur hatte, entstand auf der Mall das Jefferson Memorial, wieder nach dem Vorbild von Hadrians Pantheon in Rom. Jefferson selbst hat nach diesem Muster die Bibliotheksrotunda seiner Universität in Charlottesville gestaltet. Als Grabmal wünschte er sich 1826 einen Obelisken von neun Fuß Höhe, wie er schreibt: für seine Manen. Zu Jeffersons Zeit florierte, ja kulminierte der Rekurs auf die Antike, zumal in der Diskussion um die Verfassung der Vereinigten Staaten.27 Deren Entstehung vermittelt uns das grundlegende Geschichtswerk von George Bancroft, der 1818 in Göttingen und 1820 in Berlin die Alten Sprachen studiert hatte. Er zeigt, wie die amerikanische Revolution aus dem Geist der Aufklärung lebte, als die Macht der christlichen Tradition hinter den Glauben an die menschliche Vernunft zurücktrat und die Bibel gegenüber den griechischen und römischen Denkern an Autorität verlor. Die von den Humanisten wiederentdeckten Schriften der heidnischen Antike wurden im 18. Jahrhundert politisch virulent, wie in Westeuropa, so auch in den dreizehn Kolonien. Die politischen Sprecher waren großenteils Juristen, die intellektuelle Elite der Zeit, geschult im römischen Recht und bestens bewandert in der antiken Literatur. Latein konnten alle, viele auch Griechisch. Neben den Originalquellen kursierten zahlreiche Übersetzungen ins Englische und Französische, aber auch Anthologien und populäre Kurzfassungen, die belegen, welches Gewicht eine Aussage bekam, wenn sie durch einen Verweis auf ein antikes Ereignis oder in Form eines Klassikerzitats vorgebracht werden konnte. Die Antike bot überwiegend positive, vorbildhafte Beispiele, daneben aber auch negative, abschreckende. 1787 bemerkte Franklin über die Entstehung der Verfassung:28 We have gone back to ancient history for models of government and examined the different forms of those Republics, which having been formed with the seeds of their own dissolution, now no longer exist.

Die christliche Tradition trat zurück. Mit bissigem Humor fragte ein Geistlicher in North Carolina, als dort die Verfassung ratifiziert werden sollte: „Bei wem sollen wir schwören, da christliche Werte nicht mehr zählen: bei Jupiter, Juno, Minerva, Proserpina oder Pluto?“ In der Grundsatzfrage, ob die Kolonien einen Anspruch auf Selbständigkeit hätten, bot das Altertum Antwort. Eine historische Argumentation konnte auf die griechischen Tochterstädte verweisen, die stets autonom waren und nur in einem Pietätsverhältnis zu ihrer Metropolis standen; eine philosophische Beweisführung durfte sich auf Ciceros Lehre vom Naturrecht berufen,29 das ebenso alt sei wie die Menschheit selbst, jedem Vernunftwesen einsichtig und keinem Machthaber unterworfen, so John Adams. 26 27 28 29

Plutarch, Cato maior 24. Demandt 1993, 417ff. Farrand (Hg.) 1911, I 451, Cicero, De re publica III 33; De legibus I 18; II 8.

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Grundlegend für die Verfassung und die politische Begrifflichkeit überhaupt wurde die Politik des Aristoteles, des archphilosopher, wie John Locke ihn nannte.30 John Corbin schrieb 1950:31 The theory of our Constitution derives from Aristotle, and was put into successful practice in ancient Rome, in eighteenth-century England, and in our early state constitution, before it was given its most perfect embodiment by the Convention of 1787.

In seiner Politik hatte Aristoteles die Terminologie der Staatsformen kanonisiert und bestimmt, was unter Monarchie und Tyrannis, unter Aristokratie, Oligarchie und Demokratie zu verstehen sei. Zudem beeindruckten die von Aristoteles vertretenen Prinzipien von Freiheit und Gleichheit, von bürgerlichen Pflichten und Rechten, von Herrschaft und Gehorsam in Personalunion. Die absolutistischen Legitimitätskriterien der dynastischen Tradition und des Gottesgnadentums in Europa waren für die amerikanischen Gründungsväter ebenso abwegig wie für Aristoteles. Sein Leitgedanke war die ausgleichende Gerechtigkeit zwischen gleichberechtigten Bürgern, eine Gerechtigkeit, die durchaus auch eine soziale Dimension aufwies, indem ein idealer Staat aus idealen Bürgern jedem einen Spielraum eröffnete, jedem eine Privatsphäre garantierte, aber weder großen Reichtum noch große Armut zuließ. Das ideale Leben war für Aristoteles nicht das Streben nach Reichtum auf Kosten der Mitbürger, sondern die Entfaltung der arete, der virtus, der Leistung in der und für die Gemeinschaft. Auch dieser Gedanke belebte die Diskussion zwischen den Republikanern und den Liberalen der Revolutionszeit. Denn man wusste sehr wohl, dass weder die griechische Demokratie noch die römische Republik überlebt hatte, und erklärte dies aus moralischem Versagen. Wo hingegen statt der Verantwortung jedes Einzelnen für das Wohl des Ganzen das größte Glück für die größte Zahl angestrebt wird, so der Gedanke von Jeremy Bentham (1789), da darf eine kleine Zahl, eine Minderheit ausgebeutet werden. Dies war für Aristoteles auf Bürgerebene inakzeptabel. Dennoch ging es ohne Ausbeutung nicht ab, wie seine Verteidigung der Sklaverei lehrt. Zwar kam für ihn eine Versklavung von Griechen durch Griechen nicht in Frage, wohl aber die von Barbaren. Diesen bescheinigte er Vernunft, Kunstsinn und Tapferkeit, bestritt aber ihre Fähigkeit zur Selbstbestimmung.32 Diese später, selbst bei Thomas von Aquin akzeptierte Charakteristik ließ sich unschwer auf die Schwarzen übertragen, und so konnte Aristoteles auch zitiert werden, wenn die Sklavenhaltung – so 1550 in den Cortes zu Madrid – gerechtfertigt werden sollte. Theodor Mommsen nannte die Sklaverei das „Grundübel“ der antiken Staaten und prophezeite Nordamerika ähnliche Konflikte wie dem spätrepublikanischen Rom, wenn drüben die „Drachensaat“ der Negersklaverei aufgehe.33 30 31 32 33

Henderson 1970. Gummere 1963, 176. Aristoteles, Politik 1252 b 5; 1255 a 5. Mommsen 1856, 511 und 532.

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Abgesehen von der Sklavenfrage würden wir heute das Staatsideal des Aristoteles als „Demokratie“ bezeichnen. Er selbst hat das nicht getan. Seinen Idealstaat nannte er „Politie“, Bürgerstaat schlechthin. Demokratie war für ihn indessen Entartung in Pöbelherrschaft, instabil wankend zwischen Anarchie und Tyrannis. Die „Politie“ verkörpert den Typus der Mischverfassung, die monarchische, aristokratische und demokratische Elemente vereint, ein Gedanke der von Polybios in dem vielgelesenen 6. Buch seines Werkes (4.10.7) abstrakt entwickelt und konkret in der römischen Republik entdeckt wurde.34 Die drei Elemente müssten, so fordert Polybios, wie bei einem wohlgebauten Schiff im Gleichgewicht stehen. Das weist voraus auf Bolingbroke mit seinen checks and balances und auf Montesquieu mit seiner division des trois pouvoirs.35 Die von Polybios beschriebene, von Cicero übernommene Idee der Mischverfassung von Sparta und Rom genoss bei den Founding Fathers, insbesondere bei James Madison, Alexander Hamilton und John Adams entschieden höheres Ansehen als die attische Demokratie. John Adams verwahrte sich 1787 gegen eine Gleichsetzung von „Republik“ und „Demokratie“.36 Die Verfassung Solons habe nur hundert Jahre gehalten und auch in dieser Zeit – wie die Tyrannis des Peisistratos lehrt – die Freiheit nicht schützen können.37 Demokratie sei Tyrannei der Mehrheit und ihrer Demagogen gegenüber einer ungeschützten Minderheit. Abschreckend waren für Adams die Exzesse während des Peloponnesischen Krieges, insbesondere die Ausschreitungen in Kerkyra.38 Man wusste, dass die „souveräne Canaille“ (mit Schiller zu sprechen) in Athen krasse Fehlentscheidungen gefällt hat, oligarchische Umstürze erlitt und außenpolitisch versagte, während die republikanischen Römer ein Weltreich schufen. Demokratie, so meinte man, sei nur in kleinen, überschaubaren Gemeinwesen praktikabel und überdies durch Herrschaft der Straße und Demagogenauftritte gefährdet. Der Begriff „Demokratie“ hatte in der amerikanischen Verfassungsdiskussion einen abfälligen Beigeschmack. In den Schriften von Jefferson, auf den sich ja die Demokratische Partei zurückführt, finde ich nirgends ein Bekenntnis zur „Demokratie“; im Text der von ihm verfassten amerikanischen Unabhängigkeitserklärung sowie in der von Madison konzipierten Verfassung kommt der Begriff überhaupt nicht vor, weder als Substantiv noch als Adjektiv. Dasselbe gilt für den Gedanken der Gleichheit. Das hat Gründe. Immanuel Kant stellte 1795 fest, dass Demokratie als Herrschaft der Mehrheit „notwendig ein Despotism“ sei. Er forderte Repräsentation.39 Trotzdem gab es einzelne glühende Verfechter demokratischer Prinzipien, so Thomas Paine mit seiner Bemerkung von 1792: „What Athens was in miniature, 34 35 36 37 38 39

Reinhold (Hg.) 1975, 121; Reinhold 1984. Esprit des Lois XI 6; zu den drei Gewalten in Rom: ebenda XI 13ff. Adams 1973, 103 und 108. Adams 1787/88, I p. XXIV. Adams 1787/88, III 355; Thukydides III 82ff. Zum Ewigen Frieden, Erster Definitivartikel (Kant 1795).

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America will be in magnitude“.40 Dennoch dauerte es bis 1828, ehe sich die positive Konnotation des Demokratiebegriffs durchsetzte und mit der Präsidentschaft von Andrew Jackson 1829 eine Partei sich „demokratisch“ zu nennen getraute. Positiver sah man das republikanische Rom. John Adams schwärmte für Cicero: „All the ages of the world have not produced a greater statesman and philosopher united than Cicero.“41 Von ihm übernahm Adams die Staatsdefinition: res publica est res populi.42 Cicero habe die in der ewigen Vernunft begründeten drei Stützen des Staates herausgestellt: den Magistrat als Exekutive, den Senat als Kontrollorgan und das Volk als beschließende Instanz: „The Roman constituency formed the noblest people and the greatest power that has ever existed.“43 Die Begeisterung für das republikanische Rom spiegelt sich in den lateinischen Pseudonymen der amerikanischen Verfassungsväter. Das war zeitüblich. Aus der Französischen Revolution44 kennen wir die „Brutusse, Gracchusse, Publicolas, die Tribunen, die Senatoren und Caesar selbst“, so Karl Marx 1852 im Achtzehnten Brumaire. Ähnlich zuvor schon in England: 1768-72 erschienen im Public Advertiser zu London heftige Angriffe auf den Absolutismus Georgs III. unter dem Titel Junius’ Letters. Jeder Gebildete verstand die Anspielung auf die beiden Freiheitshelden, auf Lucius Junius Brutus, den Gründer der römischen Republik, und auf Marcus Junius Brutus, den Caesarmörder. Die Belege für derartige Charaktermasken aus den Staaten sind Legion.45 John Dickinson mit seinen Fabius Letters beschwor Quintus Fabius Cunctator, der Rom vor Hannibal gerettet hatte. William Smith tarnte sich als „Cato“, Samuel Adams als „Vindex“. Franklin firmierte mit „Agrippa“, Hamilton mit „Manlius“. Deckname für Washington war „Scaevola“, für Jefferson „Scipio“, für John Adams „Brutus“. Wenn die drei Verfasser der Federalist Papers (1787/88) mit Publius zeichneten, so dachte man wohl an die Ableitung von populus, Volk. Auch die Bösewichter der Römerzeit feierten Urständ: die politischen Gegner nannte man „Tarquinius“, „Verres“ oder „Catilina“. Die Römer verstanden sich nicht als Abstammungsgemeinschaft, anders als die Griechen, sondern als politischer Verband. Gemäß der Legende vom Trojaner Aeneas sahen sie sich als Einwanderer. Entsprechend der Sage vom Asyl des Romulus begrüßten sie jeden tüchtigen Zuwanderer. Es war ihr Stolz, immer wieder Neubürger aufgenommen und eben dadurch alle anderen Staaten überflügelt zu haben.46 Noch in der Spätantike war Rom ein asylum mundi totius – 40 41 42

43 44 45 46

The Rights of Man. Part the Second (Paine 1792). Adams 1851, IV 295. Cicero, De re publica I 39. Volk sei nicht jede zusammengelaufene Menschengruppe, sondern eine Gemeinschaft, durch rechtliche Übereinkunft und gemeinsamen Nutzen vergesellschaftet. Adams 1787/88, I 175. Parker 1937. Gummere 1963, 13. Livius IV 3, 13; Tacitus, Annalen XI 24.

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eine Zufluchtsstätte für alle Welt.47 Dieses Selbstverständnis findet sich ebenso in Amerika. Erklärte Oliver Wendell Holmes senior 1858: ,,We are the Romans of the modern world, the great assimilating people“,48 so zitiert er das durchaus positiv gemeinte Bild vom melting pot. Freilich gab es in Rom auch kritische Stimmen. Negativ klingt Ciceros Vergleich der Römer seiner Zeit mit einer conluvio, dem Kanalwasser. Juvenal (3.62) parallelisierte Roms gemischte Bevölkerung mit dem Tiber, in den sich alles Mögliche ergieße. Im allgemeinen wurde der Charakter des Imperiums als Vielvölkerstaat jedoch begrüßt. An Rom gemahnt nicht zuletzt das amerikanische Sendungsbewusstsein. Rom sah nach Vergil seine Aufgabe darin, Frieden und Fortschritt unter den Völkern zu sichern.49 Der Pax Romana entspricht die Pax Americana. Die Parallele ist oft gezogen worden, u.a. von Arnold Toynbee,50 sie orientiert sich an dem amerikanischen Selbstverständnis als universale Zivilisationsmacht und Weltpolizei. Idealistische Impulse, politischer Machtwille und materielle Motive fließen in beiden Fällen zusammen. Die jüngsten Interventionen haben die USA als neues Rom wieder ins Gespräch gebracht.51 Zunächst dominierte allerdings die innenpolitische Perspektive. 1783 wurde der Cincinnatus-Orden gegründet, so benannt durch Friedrich Wilhelm Baron von Steuben52 – eine Kameradschaft von zweitausend Offizieren zur Verteidigung der Verfassung. Nach der bei Livius (3.25ff.) überlieferten Legende war der Patrizier Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus (‚der Lockenkopf‘) 458 v. Chr. vom Acker geholt und zum Diktator ernannt worden, hatte die Feinde besiegt, um wieder auf sein Gut zurückzukehren. Das Ordenszeichen zeigt die Szene seiner Berufung auf dem Brustschild des Adlers mit der küchenlateinischen Umschrift OMNIA RELINQUIT SERVARE (statt ad servandum oder ut servarent) REM PUBLICAM. Erster Präsident der Cincinnati wurde George Washington, der sich damals nach seinem Sieg über die Briten auf sein Gut Mount Vernon zurückgezogen hatte. Zwei Jahre zuvor war der Versuch, ihn nach römischem Vorbild zum Dictator zu ernennen, an sechs Stimmen gescheitert. Der Sprecher von Virginia drohte schon 1776 für einen solchen Fall mit Tyrannenmord, gemäß der Devise im Staatssiegel SIC SEMPER TYRANNIS. Die von Horatio Greenough (1805-1852) geschaffene Marmorstatue George Washingtons zeigt ihn als Römer in der Toga, bestimmt für die Rotunde des Capitols.53 Die Kontrolle der Machthaber war stets ein Kardinalproblem. Man brauchte, suchte und fand Vorbilder für die Neue Welt in der Alten. Die Verfassung von Pennsylvania von 1776 reaktivierte das altrömische Amt des Censors, des Sittenwächters. Die Staaten Virginia und Delaware garantierten ihren Amtsträgern 47 48 49 50 51 52 53

Ammianus Marcellinus XVI 10, 5. Urzidil 1964, 91. Aeneis VI 847ff. Toynbee 1962, 16f. Zivier 2003, 194ff.; Bender 2003. Jefferson 1984, 632. Heute in der Smithsonian Institution.

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während der Dienstzeit Immunität, so wie die römischen Magistrate sie genossen, unterwarfen sie anschließend jedoch einer Überprüfung nach dem Muster der römisch-rechtlichen Quaestio de repetundis. Begründetes Misstrauen gegenüber den Repräsentanten führte zur Einrichtung eines Zweikammersystems. Das Oberhaus, das in Europa als Gegengewicht zur Monarchie diente, war in Amerika als Pendant zum House of Commons gedacht. Antikes Beispiel war der Areopag von Athen, der die Verfassung überwachte, die Gerusie in Sparta mit den Ephoren und natürlich der römische Senat, der dem amerikanischen den Namen gab.54 Dieser müsse die Exekutive wie die Legislative kontrollieren, damit nicht die arme Mehrheit die reiche Minderheit auf legalem Wege enteignet und sich einem populären Diktator ausliefert. Abschreckendes Beispiel war die römische Entwicklung von den Gracchen zu Caesar.55 Alle antiken Republiken hätten einen Senat besessen, meinte Madison. Diese Einrichtung garantiere die Freiheit.56 Der eigentliche Streitpunkt in der amerikanischen Verfassungsfrage war bekanntlich das Verhältnis zwischen Föderalismus und Zentralität. Welche Rechte mussten die Einzelstaaten der gemeinsamen Regierung übertragen, so dass diese handlungsfähig war, zumal im Kriegsfall, ohne dass die Freiheiten der zehn kleineren Kolonien darunter leiden müßten? Diese Diskussion wurde mit Argumenten aus der griechischen Geschichte geführt. Das Problem war nicht neu. Das antike Hellas bestand aus zahlreichen selbständigen Stadtstaaten, die zum ersten seit archaischer Zeit dauerhafte religiöse Kultbünde, Amphiktionien, bildeten; die zum anderen in der klassischen Periode sich zeitweilig zu Militärbündnissen, zu Symmachien, zusammenschlossen; und zum dritten in hellenistischer Zeit regelrechte Bundesrepubliken bildeten. Der Begriff Amphiktionie wurde im Jahrzehnt vor der amerikanischen Revolution viel zitiert, unter anderem von George Mason, und taucht dann in der Vorgeschichte des Völkerbundes mehrfach auf, so in Deutschland bei Kant 1795, in Amerika bei John Sharp Williams 1914.57 Mason lobte vor allem die Symmachie, mit der die Griechen die Perserkriege bei Marathon und Salamis siegreich bestanden hatten. Ihre späteren Niederlagen gegen die Makedonen und die Römer führte John Dickinson auf einen Mangel an Geschlossenheit zurück. Gleichwohl pries er den dritten Bundestyp, die von Polybios als mustergültig beschriebene Achäische Liga. Sie wird als demokratike kai synhedriake politeia bezeichnet (31.2.12), als demokratischer und parlamentarischer Staat, als Bundesrepublik mit einem doppelten Bürgerrecht, das die Zugehörigkeit zu einer Stadt und zum Bund umfasste. Die Liga war auf Zuwachs angelegt und ist gewachsen. Beitrittswillige poleis mussten gegebenenfalls ihr monarchisches Regime abschaffen und sich als Demokratie konstituieren, dann konnten sie gemäß Polybios (2.38) als gleichberechtigte Mitglieder aufgenommen werden. Das imponierte James 54 55 56 57

Gummere 1963, 186; Adams 1973, 248. Farrand (Hg.) 1911, I 430ff. Chinard 1940, 38ff. und 55f. Gummere 1963, 184.

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Monroe – so stellte er sich das Wachstum der Vereinigten Staaten vor.58 Die Achäische Liga wurde im 3. Jahrhundert v. Chr. von einem synhedrion, einem Parlament, regiert, das von den einzelnen Mitglied-Städten beschickt wurde. An der Spitze stand ein jährlich gewählter, unbesoldeter strategos, der nach je einem Zwischenjahr wiedergewählt werden konnte. Der ähnlich aufgebaute lykische Bundesstaat umfasste 23 Stadtgebiete, die je nach Größe eine, zwei oder drei Stimmen im Rat besaßen. Montesquieu sah hier das Muster einer föderativen Republik;59 er fand Zustimmung bei James Madison und Alexander Hamilton.60 In den Papieren von George Washington entdeckte man eine Skizze dieses Verfassungstyps. Die Parallelen verblüffen: So wie die achäische Bundesregierung tagte der amerikanische Kongress anfangs abwechselnd in verschiedenen Städten. Aus Besorgnis vor der Dominanz einer Hauptstadt bauten die Achäer Megalopolis, bauten die Amerikaner die Stadt Washington sozusagen auf die grüne Wiese. Und dort steht ja auch das Capitol, das die Verbindung zwischen Amerika und der Antike sinnfällig macht. Es unterstreicht zugleich die Beziehungen zu Europa, damit auch zu Deutschland. Diese bestehen nicht zuletzt in wissenschaftlicher Zusammenarbeit, wie sie bis heute floriert. In welcher Form auch immer: Geschichte verbindet. In den Jahren 1867 bis 1874 war George Bancroft Gesandter der Vereinigten Staaten in Berlin. Er verkehrte im Hause von Theodor Mommsen, der ihm einen poetischen Gruß widmete:61 Wir sind vom selben Schlage, / Uns hebt dieselbe Flut. Ihr braucht die alte Sage, / Wir brauchen frisches Blut. Des Einen Volks Begründung, / Das war, das ist uns Rom.62 Vertiefung und Verbündung / Schafft jetzt am Völkerdom. So klingt hier die Parole, / Sie klingt auch drüben wohl: Vom alten Kapitole / Zum neuen Kapitol!

BIBLIOGRAPHIE Adams, J. (1787/88) A Defence of the Constitutions of Government of the United States of America, volumes I-III, London [Nachdruck, New York 1971]. — (1851) The Works of John Adams, Second President of the United States, Boston. Adams, W.P. (1973) Republikanische Verfassung und bürgerliche Freiheit: Die Verfassungen und politischen Ideen der amerikanischen Revolution, Darmstadt. Bacon F. (1806) Essays, London. Bender, P. (2003) Weltmacht Amerika – das Neue Rom, Stuttgart. Bolgar, R.R. (Hg.) (1979) Classical Influences on Western Thought A.D. 1650-1870, Cambridge. Brehm, A.E. (31900) Brehms Tierleben. Allgemeine Kunde des Tierreichs, Leipzig - Wien. 58 59 60 61 62

Gummere 1963, 182. Esprit de Lois IX 3. Breil 1983. Pauly 1955, 127ff. und 130; vgl. Wucher 1968, 212. Hier zitiert Mommsen: e pluribus unum.

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Breil, W. (1983) Republik ohne Demagogie: Ein Vergleich der soziopolitischen Anschauungen von Polybios, Cicero und Alexander Hamilton, Bochum. Bunnens, G. (1979) L’expansion phénicienne en Méditerranée: essai d'interprétation fondé sur une analyse des traditions littéraires, Brüssel. Chinard, G. (1940) Polybios and the American Constitution, Journal of the History of Ideas 1, 3858. Delekat, L. (1969) Phönizier in Amerika: die Echtheit der 1873 bekannt gewordenen kanaanäischen (altsidonischen) Inschrift aus Paraíba in Brasilien nachgewiesen, Bonn. Demandt, A. (1993) Der Idealstaat: Die politischen Theorien der Antike, Köln. — (2000) Sternstunden der Geschichte, München. Farrand, M. (Hg.) (1911) The Records of the Federal Convention of 1787, New Haven. Franklin, B. (1956) Autobiographie. Nebst einer Auswahl von Briefen, Dokumenten und Flugschriften, hrsg. A. Schlösser, Berlin. Gordon, C.H. (1968a) The Authenticity of the Phoenician Text from Parahyba, Orientalia 37, 7580. — (1968b) The Canaanite Text from Brazil, Orientalia 37, 425-436. Gummere, R.M. (1963) The American Colonial Mind and the Classical Tradition: Essay in Comparative Culture, Cambridge, Mass. Henderson, G.P. (1970) The Revival of Greek Thought, 1620-1830, Albany. Jefferson, Th. (1984) Writings, ed. M.D. Peterson, New York. Kant, I. (1795) Zum Ewigen Frieden, Königsberg. Mathiopoulos, M. (1987) Amerika: das Experiment des Fortschritts: ein Vergleich des politischen Denkens in den USA und Europa, Paderborn. Mommsen, Th. (1856) Römische Geschichte. Bd. III: Von Sullas Tode bis zur Schlacht von Thapsus, Berlin - Leipzig. Paine, T. (1792) The Rights of Man. Part the Second. Combining Principle and Practice, London. Parker, H.T. (1937) The Cult of Antiquity and the French Revolutionaries, Chicago. Pauly, F. (1955) Theodor Mommsen und Schleswig-Holstein, in Schleswig-Holstein: Monatshefte für Heimat und Volkstum 7, 127-130. Reinhold, M. (1984) Classica Americana: The Greek and Roman Heritage in the United States, Detroit. — (Hg.) (1975) The Classick Pages: Classical Reading of Eighteenth-Century Americans, University Park. Schulte-Nordholt, J.W. (1980) Translatio studii and American Identity, in R. Kroes (Hg.), The American Identity: Fusion and Fragmentation, Amsterdam, 65-79. Thoreau, H.D. (1905) Walden oder Leben in den Wäldern, Jena - Leipzig. Toynbee, A.J. (1962) America and the World Revolution: Public Lectures Delivered at the University of Pennsylvania, Spring 1961, London. Urzidil, J. (1964) Amerika und die Antike, Zürich. Wucher, A. (21968) Theodor Mommsen: Geschichtsschreibung und Politik, Göttingen. Zivier, E.R. (2003) Pax Americana – Bellum Americanum: Auf dem Weg zu einem neuen Völkerrecht oder einem neuen Völkerunrecht?, Recht und Politik 4, 194-201.

WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT ODER: DIE ENTSTEHUNG DES BÜRGERTUMS 1 AUS DEM GEISTE DER ANTIKE Stefan Rebenich

„Wo stehn wir?“, fragte Wilhelm von Humboldt in seiner Rückschau auf das 18. Jahrhundert. „Welchen Teil ihres langen und mühevollen Weges hat die Menschheit zurückgelegt? Befindet sie sich in der Richtung, welche zum letzten Ziel hinführt?“2 Der Text ist mehr als eine Momentaufnahme: Er artikuliert eine Schwellenerfahrung um 1800, die die Wahrnehmung von Vergangenheit und Gegenwart in Deutschland nachhaltig beeinflusste. Mitte des 18. Jahrhunderts war das griechische Altertum wiederentdeckt worden. Das antike Hellas wurde zum vornehmsten Objekt produktiver künstlerischer Rezeption. Zugleich fand die exklusive adlige Antikenkultur ihr Ende.3 Schließlich konzentrierten sich der neuhumanistische Unterricht an den Gymnasien und die wissenschaftliche Forschung an den Universitäten gleichermaßen auf das Studium des griechischen und römischen Altertums. Die „Alten“ waren nicht länger zeitlose Muster, sondern historische Paradigmen für Wissenschaft, Literatur und Kunst; ihre Werke galten zwar noch immer als vollendet, aber auch als geschichtlich gebunden und damit einzigartig. Das neue deutsche Antikenbild war durch eine latente Spannung zwischen klassizistischer Ästhetik und aufklärerischem Historismus gekennzeichnet und schwankte zwischen der Kanonisierung eines idealisierten griechischen Altertums und der Akzeptanz der Eigenständigkeit anderer Kulturen. Dieser Prozess lässt sich beispielhaft am Wirken Wilhem von Humboldts nachzeichnen. Der aristokratische Schüler des Göttinger Altertumsforschers Christian Gottlob Heyne4 trug entscheidend dazu bei, dass die bisherige aristokratische Antikenverehrung verwissenschaftlicht wurde und die Altertumswissenschaft zur bürgerlichen Leitdisziplin aufstieg, die nachhaltig Wertvorstellungen und Bildungsinhalte der Schicht prägte, die wir als Bürgertum bezeichnen. Doch was ist das Bürgertum? 1

2 3 4

Die Werke Wilhelm von Humboldts werden im Folgenden nach seinen von der Königlich Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften herausgegebenen Gesammelten Schriften, Bd. 117, Berlin 1903-1936 (Nachdruck 1967/68) zitiert. Nach der Sigle GS werden Band- und Seitenzahl genannt. In Klammer sind Band und Seitenzahl der Auswahlsammlung: Wilhelm von Humboldt, Werke in fünf Bänden, hg. v. Andreas Flitner und Klaus Giel, Darmstadt 19601981 (verschiedene Nachdrucke) angeführt. – Für hilfreiche Kritik und anregende Gespräche danke ich Martin Vöhler (Berlin). Wilhelm von Humboldt, Das achtzehnte Jahrhundert, in GS II 1 (I 376). Vgl. Walther 1998. Zu Humboldts Studium in Göttingen vgl. Menze 1966; Sauter 1989; zu Heynes Einfluss vgl. Vöhler 2002.

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1. VERSUCH EINER DEFINITION: BÜRGERTUM Es ist längst erkannt worden, dass klassische soziale Parameter wie Geburt, Ausbildung, Beruf oder ökonomische Ressourcen nicht genügen, um das Bürgertum zu definieren. Eine spezifische Art der Lebensführung, eine spezifische „Kultur“ muss hinzutreten, um die Differenz zwischen der Heterogenität sozialer Lagen und der Homogenität geistiger Identitäten zu überbrücken.5 Damit ist die bürgerliche Gesellschaft ein Modell der Akkulturation, und die neuhistorische Forschung hat zahlreiche Werte und Handlungsmuster benannt, die die bürgerliche Kultur und Mentalität, den Habitus des Bürgers oder schlicht die „Bürgerlichkeit“ bestimmen:6 Bildung als „Erlösungshoffnung und Erziehungsanspruch“,7 individuelle Freiheit, Eigeninteresse, Entfaltung persönlicher Anlagen, Selbstorganisation der Gesellschaft, Orientierung auf das Gemeinwohl, Kreativität und Rationalität, Fortschrittsoptimismus, Streben nach Besitz, Familie als private Sphäre, Autonomie von Literatur, Musik und bildende Kunst u.a.m. Wertvorstellungen und Bildungsinhalte konstituierten ein System dauerhafter Handlungsdispositionen; trotz unterschiedlicher sozialer Basis gelangten die Repräsentanten des Bürgertums zu durchaus vergleichbaren Lebenshaltungen. Zur wichtigsten Trägerschicht bürgerlicher Kultur und Mentalität wurde im 19. Jahrhundert das Bildungsbürgertum, d.h. der Teil des Bürgertums, der seinen Anspruch auf soziale Exzellenz auf dem Besitz von Bildungswissen und auf eine daraus abgeleitete Lebensweise gründete. Von der aktuellen Forschung wird die Bedeutung der europäischen Antike für die Formierung des Bürgertums (bzw. Bildungsbürgertums) und für die Genese einer bürgerlichen Kultur meist vernachlässigt.8 Im Folgenden soll deshalb auch der Nachweis geführt werden, dass das Altertum als historische Formation und ideale Projektion in Deutschland zu Beginn des 19. Jahrhunderts maßgeblich zur kulturellen Homogenisierung des Bürgertums und zur Konstituierung einer bürgerlichen Mentalität beitrug.9

5

6 7

8

9

Vgl. Lepsius 1987, 96: „Dem vergesellschafteten Bürgertum entspricht eine spezifische Art der Lebensführung, die man als Bürgerlichkeit bezeichnen kann. Bürgerlichkeit und Bürgertum sind insofern Korrespondenzbegriffe ohne volle Deckungsgleichheit. Das Bürgertum ist die Vergesellschaftung von Mittelschichten, die Bürgerlichkeit ist die typische Art der Lebensführung dieser Vergesellschaftung.“ Vgl. Koselleck 2006. Vgl. die einschlägigen Abschnitte in Nipperdey 1983; Wehler 1996a und 1996b; darüber hinaus sei verwiesen auf Conze, Kocka und Koselleck u.a. (Hgg.) 1985-1992; Engelhardt 1986; Hahn und Hein (Hgg.) 2005; Kocka (Hg.) 1987; Kocka (Hg.) 1995; Lundgreen (Hg.) 2000; Maurer 1996; Riedel 1972; Vierhaus (Hg.) 1981; Schulz 2005; Vierhaus 1987; Fahrmeir 2005a, 2005b und 2005c; Schmale 2005 mit weiterer Literatur. Vgl. z.B. Hein und Schulz (Hgg.) 1996, 10, wo es heißt, die Verbindung von Antike und bürgerlicher Kultur werde „als eigenständiges Thema in diesem Band nicht behandelt“. Vgl. hierzu auch Kloft 1994.

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2. DER INSTITUTIONELLE RAHMEN Die Bedeutung Wilhelm von Humboldts für die Verstaatlichung der gelehrten Stände und für die neuhumanistische Bildungsreform ist in der Forschung umstritten. Die wenigen Monate, die Humboldt als Geheimer Staatsrat und Chef der Sektion für Kultus und öffentlichen Unterricht im preußischen Innenministerium von Februar 1809 bis April bzw. Juni 1810 tätig war,10 lassen ihn in den Augen mancher zum einflussreichsten Kultusminister der deutschen Geschichte werden.11 Mitten im Zusammenbruch Preußens forderte er die Reform des Schulwesens, für die er in seinen beiden Denkschriften, dem „Königsberger“ und dem „Litauischen Schulplan“ focht,12 und stellte den erfolgreichen Antrag auf Errichtung der Universität Berlin, der Ideen von Schelling, Schleichermacher und Fichte aufgriff.13 Man hat behauptet, dass dieser Mann außer „der gewiß bedeutenden Leistung der Gründung der Berliner Hochschule nichts von Belang im Leben durchgesetzt“ habe.14 Andere meinten, sein Reformversuch sei im Grunde eine folgenlose Episode geblieben,15 und in jüngster Zeit ist argumentiert worden, dass die Vorstellung einer „Humboldtschen Universität“ eine Erfindung des späten 19. und 20. Jahrhunderts sei.16 Nun ist völlig unstrittig, dass zwischen der idealen Bildungskonzeption Humboldts und deren praktischer Umsetzung Divergenzen bestanden,17 dass es im Wissenschafts- und Bildungsbereich Reformen vor der Humboldtschen Reform gab,18 dass die ältere Literatur zur Idealisierung Humboldts neigte19 und dass die Aktualisierung des „Mythos Humboldt“ in zahlreichen bildungs- und hochschulpolitischen Krisen eine herausragende Rolle gespielt hat.20 Doch ebenfalls unstrittig ist, dass Humboldts Überlegungen zu Inhalt und Aufgabe der Bildung und seine Ideen zu den verschiedenen Formen des Unterrichts in Schule und Universität nach 1810 über die Kabinettspolitik hinaus eine anhaltende Wirkung entfaltet haben. Nachdem Humboldt zum Chef der neugegründeten Sektion für Kultus und Unterricht im Ministerium des Innern ernannt worden war, konnte er die Reformeuphorie, die in dem nach der militärischen Niederlage darniederliegenden preußischen Staat herrschte, nutzen, um in seiner kaum sechzehn 10

11 12 13

14 15 16 17

18 19 20

Humboldt reichte seine Entlassung am 29. April 1810 ein; der König gab dem Gesuch am 14. Juni 1810 statt. Vgl. zu Humboldts Tätigkeit im Ministerium des Inneren etwa Sweet 1980, 3106. Vgl. Berglar 2003, 81. GS XIII 259-283 (IV 168-195). Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über die innere und äußere Organisation der höheren wissenschaftlichen Anstalten in Berlin, in GS X 250-260 (IV 255-266). Vgl. Muhlack 1978, zitiert nach Muhlack 2006, 223-353; vom Bruch 2001. Kaehler 1927. Menze 1975, 47f. Paletschek 2002; vgl. dies. 2001. Vgl. Benner 1995, der überdies die Entwicklung der Humboldtschen Theorie überzeugend nachzeichnet. Vgl. Neugebauer 1990. Vgl. etwa Spranger 1910 und 1909. Vgl. dazu Ash (Hg.) 1999.

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Monate währenden Amtszeit wichtige Impulse zum Aufbau eines einheitlichen öffentlichen Schul- und Universitätssystems zu geben, das seine Ideen einer allgemeinen Menschenbildung reflektierte. Seine Vorstellungen kommunizierte er zudem durch zahlreiche persönliche und briefliche Kontakte einem großen Freundeskreis.21 Für unsere Fragestellung ist indes vor allem wichtig, dass Humboldts Reform ein neues Verständnis der Antike kanonisierte. Der historische Bezugspunkt seiner Überlegungen war das griechische Altertum.22 Zugleich gelang es Humboldt, durch sein Bildungsideal, das Anregungen und Gedanken unterschiedlicher Herkunft amalgamierte,23 die politischen Ansprüche des Bürgertums aufzuwerten. Er definierte „Bildung“, wie Georg Bollenbeck treffend formulierte, wirkungsvoll „als allseitige und harmonische Entfaltung individueller Anlage, als zweckfreie Aneignung der Welt von innen heraus, als unabgeschlossenen Prozeß, Resultat und Maßstab, „Kultur“ schließlich als deren Medium“.24

3. ANTIKE UND BÜRGERLICHE KULTUR Perfektibilität: Bildung als permanenter Prozess der Selbstvervollkommnung Bildung zählte zu den zentralen Werten bürgerlicher Mentalität und Kultur. Sie ermöglichte die Entwicklung des Individuums und die Veränderung der Gesellschaft. Zur Bildung der eigenen Individualität diente Humboldt zunächst und vor allem die Betrachtung der griechischen Antike, denn dort finde sich „eine vollendete Form“, die „sich uns zur Nachbildung darbietet“. Humboldt feierte der Griechen „Feinheit und Richtigkeit des Sinns“, ihre „Stärke“ und ihr „Feuer der Einbildungskraft“, ihre „Beweglichkeit und Lebhaftigkeit der Empfindung“, ihr „fruchtbares Genie zur bildenden Kunst und Dichtung“, ihre „edle Freiheit der Gesinnungen“, ihre „schöne Einheit des Gemüths“ und ihre „einfache Weisheit, das Leben unmittelbar zu benutzen und zu geniessen“. 25 Dabei forderte er nicht die Reproduktion der antiken Verhältnisse, sondern die schöpferische Auseinandersetzung mit der griechischen Welt, um an der historischen Individualität die eigene Individualität zu bilden. Im Charakter der Griechen fänden sich, wie Humboldt ausführte, „mit aller Bestimmtheit der Umrisse, allem Reichthum der Form, aller Mannigfaltigkeit der Bewegung, und aller Stärke und Lebendigkeit der Farben“ die „formalen Bestandtheile der menschlichen Bestimmung“, welche „richtiges Verhältniss zwischen Empfänglichkeit und Selbstthätigkeit, innige Verschmelzung des Sinnlichen 21

22

23 24 25

Ich verweise hier nur auf Jeismann 1996; vgl. des weiteren Jeismann und Lundgreen (Hgg.) 1987; vom Bruch 1999; Rüegg 1999; Ungern-Sternberg 2005 sowie Kraus 2008, 69f. Vgl. hierzu Flashar 1986; Jecht 2003, 85-139; Matthiessen 2003; Menze 1992, 45-60; Quillien 1983; Rehm 1936, 229-254; Stadler 1959. Zu den Traditionen, die Humboldt aufgriff, vgl. etwa Menze 1975, 9ff. Bollenbeck 1996, 147f. Vgl. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Das achtzehnte Jahrhundert, in GS II 25 (I 402f.).

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und Geistigen, Bewahren des Gleichgewichtes und Ebenmasses in der Summe aller Bestrebungen, Zurückführen von Allem auf das wirkliche, handelnde Leben, und Darstellen jeder Erhabenheit im Einzelnen in der ganzen Masse der Nationen und des Menschengeschlechts“ seien.26 Der Charakter der Griechen sei in seiner Vielseitigkeit und seiner harmonischen Ausbildung der „Idee der heilen Menschheit“, dem „Charakter des Menschen überhaupt“ am nächsten gekommen, „welcher in jeder Lage, ohne Rücksicht auf individuelle Verschiedenheiten da sein kann und da sein sollte“.27 Das neuhumanistische Bildungsprogramm, das Wilhelm von Humboldt in Preußen und Friedrich Immanuel Niethammer in Bayern entwarfen, machte das als edel und erhaben angesehene griechische Altertum zum zentralen Gegenstand des gymnasialen Unterrichts. Die griechische Sprache als Produkt des griechischen Geistes und als Ausdruck des griechischen Charakters besaß den absoluten Vorrang, da in ihr Einheit und Vielheit, Sinnliches und Geistiges, Objekt und Subjekt, Welt und Gemüt harmonisch verbunden seien und sie individueller Ausdruck des Geistes des griechischen Volkes und seines Nationalcharakters sei:28 Die Griechen zeichnet aber auch die Eigenthümlichkeit aus, dass die Sprache viel lichtvoller und bestimmter aus dem Wesen des ganzen Volkes zurückstrahlt. [...] Aus den dichterischen und prosaischen Werken leuchtet die Lebendigkeit und die Richtigkeit des Sprachsinnes der Nation hervor, die wahrhaft künstlerische Liebe und das Geschick, mit welchem sie ein Werkzeug behandelte, das gerade wegen seiner Vollendung grössere Gewandheit, Sicherheit des Taktes und Zartheit des Gefühles erforderte.

Das Erlernen einer so komplex strukturierten Sprache wie des Griechischen sollte nicht nur die eigene Sprachkompetenz fördern, sondern vielmehr dem Menschen helfen, sich umfassend zu bilden und sich die Welt zu erschließen. Die griechische Sprache wurde zu einem den Menschen formenden Instrument, das ihm den Weg wies, sich ohne utilitaristische Interessen die Vielfalt der ihn umgebenden Welt anzueignen. Das Erlernen der Sprache der Griechen diente folglich nicht mehr dazu, in Wort und Schrift die Formen eines vergangenen Äons zu imitieren, sondern zielte auf die allseitige und harmonische („proportionirliche“) Entfaltung individueller Anlage.29 Bildung war deshalb Selbstzweck und zugleich ein permanenter Prozess der Selbstvervollkommnung:30 26

27

28

29 30

Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über den Charakter der Griechen, die idealische und historische Ansicht desselben, in GS VII 613 (II 69). Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über das Studium des Alterthums, und des griechischen insbesondere, in GS I 264 und 275 (II 9 und 19). Vgl. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über die Verschiedenheit des menschlichen Sprachbaues und ihren Einfluss auf die geistige Entwicklung des Menschengeschlechtes, in GS VI 112 (III 145). Vgl. Vierhaus 1972; Landfester 2001; Walther 2005. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Ideen zu einem Versuch die Gränzen der Wirksamkeit des Staates zu bestimmen, in GS I 106 (I 64).

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Der wahre Zwek des Menschen – nicht der, welchen die wechselnde Neigung, sondern welchen die ewig unveränderliche Vernunft ihm vorschreibt – ist die höchste und proportionirlichste Bildung seiner Kräfte zu einem Ganzen.

Auch die Universität, die Humboldt entwarf, ruhte auf dem idealisierten Griechenbild. Sie diente der Bildung durch Wissenschaft, die wiederum durch zweckfreies Forschen, die Verbindung von Forschung und Lehre, durch Reflexion auf das Ganze und das permanente Bemühen um Erkenntnisfortschritt charakterisiert war. Wissenschaft, in den Worten Humboldts, war ein „noch nicht ganz Gefundenes und nie ganz Aufzufindendes“, die „als solche zu suchen war“, und musste in „Einsamkeit und Freiheit“, will sagen unabhängig von politischen und gesellschaftlichen Zwängen ausgeübt werden.31 Die Suche nach Wahrheit und das Streben nach Erkenntnis um ihrer selbst willen verlangten Kenntnisse auf allen Gebieten menschlichen Wissens. In zeitkritischer Absicht wandte sich Humboldt gegen Spezialisierung und Fragmentierung der Bildung und der Wissenschaft, die dazu führten, dass die Welt nicht mehr als Ganzes verstanden würde:32 Der Mathematiker, der Naturforscher, der Künstler, ja oft selbst der Philosoph beginnen nicht nur jetzt gewöhnlich ihr Geschäft, ohne seine eigentliche Natur zu kennen und es in seiner Vollständigkeit zu übersehen, sondern auch nur wenige erheben sich selbst späterhin zu diesem höheren Standpunkt und dieser allgemeineren Uebersicht.

Als Gegenentwurf zu der als defizitär empfundenen Gegenwart diente Humboldt – nach dem Konzept Friedrich Schillers – die griechische Antike. Denn „der vorherrschende Zug“ der Griechen sei gewesen, „Achtung und Freude an Ebenmass und Gleichgewicht, auch das Edelste und Erhabenste nur da aufnehmen zu wollen, wo es mit einem ganzen zusammenstimmt“. Deshalb sei ihnen das „Misverhältnis zwischen innerem und äusserem Daseyn, das die Neueren so oft quält“ schlechterdings fremd gewesen.33 Die Vielfalt der Lebensbereiche habe im antiken Hellas nicht zu Widersprüchen und Gegensätzen geführt, die den modernen Menschen so sehr verunsicherten, sondern seien zu einer Einheit verbunden worden. Ebendiese Harmonie in der Pluralität menschlicher Existenz hätten die Griechen zum „Ideal dessen“ gemacht, „was wir selbst seyn und hervorbringen möchten“.34 An den Griechen lernte man, dass das Streben nach Bildung nie abgeschlossen werden konnte, sondern ein lebenslanger Prozess der Selbsterziehung war.35 Es ist offenkundig, dass sich Humboldts Konzept gegen die Ständewelt des Ancien Régime richtete und eine neue Bildungselite konstituierte, die nicht mehr durch 31

32 33

34 35

Vgl. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über die innere und äußere Organisation der höheren wissenschaftlichen Anstalten in Berlin, in GS X 253 und 255 (IV 257 und 259). Wilhelm von Humboldt, Theorie der Bildung des Menschen, in GS I, S. 282f. (I 234). Wilhelm von Humboldt, Geschichte des Verfalls und Untergangs der griechischen Freistaaten in GS III 197f. (II 102). Ebd., in GS III 188 (II 92). Vgl. Landfester 2001, 210-213.

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Geburt und Herkunft, sondern Leistung und Bildung legitimiert wurde.36 Das Ideal einer an der griechischen Antike orientierten höheren Bildung war der Theorie nach allen Menschen zugänglich, denn der gemeinste Tagelöhner und der am feinsten Ausgebildete muß in seinem Gemüth ursprünglich gleich gestimmt werden, wenn jener nicht unter der Menschenwürde roh und dieser nicht unter der Menschenkraft sentimental, schimärisch 37 und verschroben werden soll.

Doch diese Bildungsidee war keineswegs egalitär. Eine Bildung, die den Zweck in sich trug und den praktischen Nutzen gering schätzte, musste man sich leisten können. Es war das aufstrebende Bürgertum, das sich zu Beginn des 19. Jahrhunderts Humboldts Ideal der Bildung (durch Wissenschaft) zu eigen machte. Die Verehrung der Griechen begründete die für das kulturelle Selbstverständnis der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft in Deutschland zentrale Vorstellung von Bildung als eines permanenten Prozesses, der auf Selbstvervollkommnung gerichtet war. Die „bürgerliche“ Welt der Griechen ersetzte zugleich die aristokratische Antikenkultur, die durch die französische Hofkultur stark lateinisch geprägt war. Bildung wurde zum eigentlichen und wahren Adelsprädikat. Das Signum bürgerlicher Vornehmheit war nunmehr die souveräne Beherrschung der griechischen Sprache.

Normativität und Historizität: Zeitlose Größe und paradigmatische Geschichtlichkeit Die Griechen offenbarten Humboldt die „reine, um ihrer selbst willen verwirklichte Menschlichkeit des Menschen“. Sie „sind für uns, was ihre Götter für sie waren“.38 Die Römer wurden nur als Vermittler des griechischen Erbes wahrgenommen und akzeptiert. Die Überhöhung der Griechen ging einher mit der Abwertung der römischen Tradition: „Denn insofern antik idealisch heisst, nehmen die Römer nur in dem Masse daran Theil, als es unmöglich ist, sie von den Griechen zu sondern.“39 Humboldt teilte die Grundüberzeugung des Klassizismus, das Eigene am Fremden zu verstehen. In der Auseinandersetzung mit dem Gegenüber und in der Aneignung fremden Geistes sollten der eigene Geist entdeckt und erzogen werden. Humboldt warf mit der Rezeption des antiken Hellas die für das deutsche Bürgertum wichtige Frage auf, unter welchen Voraussetzungen und Bedingungen und mit welchem Ziel sich ein Individuum und eine Nation Fremdes erschließen 36 37

38

39

Vgl. etwa Nipperdey 1983, 59-61. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Der Königsberger und der Litauische Schulplan, in GS XIII 278 (II 189). Vgl. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über den Charakter der Griechen, die idealische und historische Ansicht desselben, in GS VII 609-616 (II 65-72). Wilhelm von Humboldt, Geschichte des Verfalls und Untergangs der griechischen Freistaaten, in GS III 196 (II 101); vgl. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über den Charakter der Griechen, die idealische und historische Ansicht desselben, in GS VII 610 (II 66).

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und anverwandeln könne.40 Immer wieder betonte er in diesem Zusammenhang die Bedeutung der griechischen Sprache, in der sich der griechische Geist in seiner Ursprünglichkeit, Kraft und Fülle manifestiere. Pointiert formulierte er, dass „alle wahrhafte Geistesbildung aus den Eigenthümlichkeiten des Attischen Dialektes“ hervorgehe.41 Doch nicht allein die Sprache sollte gelernt werden. Es hieß, die griechische Kultur in ihrer Mannigfaltigkeit und den griechischen Charakter in seiner Totalität zu erfassen. Zwar räumte Humboldt prinzipiell jeder Nation die Möglichkeit ein, einen individuellen Charakter auszubilden, schränkte aber zugleich ein, dass nur die griechische Antike von überragender Bedeutung sei:42 Durch alle diese Züge wurde der Charakter der Griechen insofern das Ideal alles Menschendaseyns, dass man behaupten kann, dass sie die reine Form der menschlichen Bestimmung unverbesserlich vorzeichneten, wenn auch die Ausfüllung dieser Form hätte hernach auf andre Weise geschehen können. […].

Das Studium eines solchen Charakters müsse, so Humboldt, in jeder Lage und jedem Zeitalter allgemein heilsam auf die menschliche Bildung wirken, „da derselbe gleichsam die Grundlage des menschlichen Charakters überhaupt ausmacht“.43 Humboldts Idealisierung des griechischen Altertums war eine späte Variante der Querelle des Anciens et des Modernes, die im 17. Jahrhundert allerdings ein weitgehend romanozentrisches Antikenbild vermittelt hatte.44 Im Anschluss an Winckelmann, der die „edle Einfalt und stille Größe“ der griechischen Kunstwerke gefeiert und die „Nachahmung“ der Griechen gefordert hatte, um selbst groß zu werden,45 schwelgte Humboldt im Pathos klassizistischer Griechenbegeisterung. Doch er redete nicht der Imitation des historischen Exempels das Wort, denn dies war in seinen Augen eine Unmöglichkeit:46 Die Griechen sind uns nicht bloss ein nützlich historisch zu kennendes Volk, sondern ein Ideal. Ihre Vorzüge über uns sind von der Art, dass gerade ihre Unerreichbarkeit es für uns zweckmässig macht, ihre Werke nachzubilden.

Nicht die blinde Nachahmung konnte das Individuum zur harmonischen Entfaltung der eigenen Anlagen führen, sondern die stete Auseinandersetzung mit einem idealisierten Hellas-Bild, das nicht ein historischer Ort, sondern vielmehr eine Utopie, eine „nothwendige Täuschung“ war. Das Altertum war vergangen, 40 41 42

43

44 45 46

Vgl. Oesterle 1996, 307. Haym (Hg.) 1859, 134f. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über den Charakter der Griechen, die idealische und historische Ansicht desselben, in GS VII 613 (II 69); vgl. auch ders., Über das Studium des Altertums und des griechischen insbesondere, in GS I 262f. (II 7ff.). Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über das Studium des Altertums, und des griechischen insbesondere, in GS I 275 (II 19). Vgl. hierzu Schmitt 2002. S. auch den Aufsatz von François Hartog in diesem Band. Uhlig (Hg.) 1988, 24. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über den Charakter der Griechen, die idealische und historische Ansicht desselben, in GS VII 609 (II 65).

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und die moderne Welt konnte nicht aus der alten deduziert werden.47 Normativität und Historizität standen nebeneinander:48 Humboldt wollte die Griechen nicht mehr in ihrer zeitlosen Größe, sondern in ihrer paradigmatischen Geschichtlichkeit darstellen. Damit wurden sie aber auch zu einem Objekt historischer Forschung, deren Aufgabe die Beschreibung der einzigartigen Individualität des griechischen Nationalcharakters war. Für deren Erforschung war die „moderne“ Altertumswissenschaft zuständig, die Humboldt als Student in Göttingen bei Christian Gottlob Heyne kennengelernt hatte und für die Friedrich August Wolf stand, mit dem Humboldt intensiv korrespondierte.49 Man stimmte darin überein, dass es nicht mehr alleinige Aufgabe der Altertumswissenschaft sein konnte, die aus der Antike überkommenen Texte zu edieren und zu kommentieren, sie mussten vielmehr nach den Regeln der Quellenkritik der historischen Auswertung und Interpretation unterworfen werden. Die Klassische Philologie wurde damit zu einer historischen Disziplin, die die Antike noch als vornehmstes Objekt des historischen Interesses betrachtete und sich deshalb als die erste unter den historischen Disziplinen verstand. An antiken Gegenständen wurde die Frage nach den Bedingungen der Möglichkeit objektiver Erkenntnis in der Geschichte diskutiert, und die Prinzipien der neu konstituierten Hermeneutik wurden auf die philologischhistorische Analyse griechischer und lateinischer Texte angewandt.50 Damit stand Humboldt am Anfang einer Entwicklung, die das griechische Altertum historisierte und seine normative Funktion relativierte. Wissenschafts- und Bildungsideal drifteten im Laufe des 19. Jahrhunderts auseinander. Humboldt selbst konzentrierte sich in späteren Jahren nicht allein auf die Erforschung der Alten Welt, sondern verfolgte universalhistorische Fragestellungen, zunächst noch in der Absicht, durch Vergleich die Einzigartigkeit des griechischen Nationalcharakters zu bestätigen, später jedoch ohne expliziten Bezug auf die Exzeptionalität der europäischen Antike. In seinen späten sprachwissenschaftlichen Untersuchungen distanzierte er sich von jeder auf die europäische Antike verengten Kulturhierarchisierung.51 August Böckh und Johann Gustav Droysen gingen den von Heyne, Wolf und Humboldt vorgezeichneten Weg konsequent weiter, an dessen Ende die Erkenntnis stand, dass die Alte Welt nur eine Epoche neben anderen war. Der Beitrag der Altertumskunde, die die Griechen zunächst zu ihrem primären Erkenntnisgegenstand machte, ist für die Entwicklung eines modernen Geschichtsverständnisses und einer wissenschaftlichen Methodologie von nicht zu unterschätzender Bedeutung. In seiner Akademierede von 1821 „Über die Aufgabe des Geschichtsschreibers“ begründete Humboldt das Programm einer forschenden Geschichtsschreibung, die die Aufzählung der Fakten hinter sich ließ und in deren Zentrum die Einbildungskraft, die Phantasie, stand. Dieser bedarf es, um die inneren Zusam47

48 49 50 51

Vgl. Wilhelm von Humboldt an Goethe, 23. August 1804, zitiert nach Wilhelm von Humboldt, Werke in fünf Bänden (wie Anm. 1), V 215-217. Vgl. hierzu auch Saure 2007, 12f. Vgl. Muhlack 1988, 179f. Vgl. Mattson (Hg.) 1990. Vgl. hierzu Muhlack 1979, 232-236; Grafton 1983; Muhlack 1986. Vgl. hierzu jetzt Messling 2008, bes. 227-276.

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menhänge der Geschichte, die Gesetze der historischen Entwicklung erfolgreich zu erkunden. Humboldt zielte auf die Ideen, die die Geschichte strukturieren und aus dem Faktenstoff ein Gewebe machen. Die Ideen liegen ihrer Natur nach zwar „ausser dem Kreise der Endlichkeit“, aber sie durchwalten und beherrschen die Weltgeschichte „in allen ihren Theilen“.52 Aufgabe des Historikers sei es, die transzendenten Ideen als die treibenden Kräfte der Geschichte mit Hilfe seines „Ahndungsvermögens“ und seiner „Verknüpfungsgabe“53 aufzuspüren und ihr Wirken in der Immanenz darzustellen: „Das Geschäft des Geschichtsschreibers in seiner letzten, aber einfachsten Auflösung ist Darstellung des Strebens einer Idee, Daseyn in der Wirklichkeit zu gewinnen“.54 Im Übergang von der Aufklärungshistorie zum Historismus konstituierte Humboldt die Einheit des Vergangenen nicht durch die Abbildung des Geschehenen, sondern der Ideen, die dem Historiker im Geschehenen erkennbar sind. Die schöpferische Phantasie des Historikers war nicht länger stigmatisiert, sondern wurde die eigentliche Voraussetzung historischer Erkenntnis überhaupt. Am antiken Beispiel wurde die bürgerliche Gewissheit entfaltet, durch Geschichtsschreibung den Gang der Zeitläufe beeinflussen zu können. Die exklusive Kompetenz – und Aufgabe – der Historiographie war es, „die Gegenwart über ihr Werden aufzuklären und damit über den historischen Moment, dem sie zugehört und dem sie gerecht werden muss“.55 Der Bürger konnte und musste vom Altertum verantwortungsvolles politisches und gesellschaftliches Handeln lernen. Historische Reflexion, die ihren Ausgang in der griechischen Antike nahm, wurde zu einem wesentlichen Bestandteil bürgerlicher Kultur. Die fundamentale Historisierung der Vorstellungen von Mensch und Welt und der beispiellose Aufstieg der historisch orientierten Fächer an den Universitäten und in der öffentlichen Wahrnehmung kennzeichneten Politik, Gesellschaft und Mentalität des Bürgertums im 19. Jahrhundert. Dieser dynamische Prozess nahm seinen Ausgang in der ästhetisierenden Begeisterung für die griechische Antike, dem neuhumanistischen Bildungskonzept, der rationalen Methode einer quellenkritischen Altertumswissenschaft und der Neubegründung der Geschichtsschreibung.56 Humboldt trug maßgeblich zur Entwicklung eines Theoriekonzepts der Geschichts- und Altertumswissenschaften bei, das der bürgerlichen Sinndeutung diente.57 Der Rekurs auf das antike Hellas als eines „Ideals zur Vergleichung“58 hatte zudem eine kritische Bewertung des Christentums zur Folge, das – wie Humboldt ausführte – in dem Zeitraum vom 4. bis zur Mitte des 16. Jahrhunderts den Verfall 52 53 54 55 56

57 58

Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über die Aufgabe des Geschichtsschreibers, in GS IV 51 (I 600f.). Ebd., in GS IV 37 (I 587). Ebd., in GS IV 56 (I 605). Vgl. hierzu auch Süßmann 2000, bes. 75-112. Vgl. Muhlack 1998, 276. Vgl. hierzu allgemein Nipperdey 1983, 498-533 sowie zu der Entwicklung in den Altertumswissenschaften Rebenich 2000 und 2008 mit weiterer Literatur. Vgl. Jaeger 1994 sowie Leghissa 2007. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Das achtzehnte Jahrhundert, in GS II 24 (I 401).

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des Geschmacks und der wissenschaftlichen Kultur zu verantworten hatte. Es habe den Menschen „so mürbe“ gemacht, dass natürliche Ruhe, ungestörter innrer Friede auf ewig für ihn verloren war [...]. Man spaltete seine Natur, setzte der Sinnlichkeit eine reine Geistigkeit entgegen und 59 erfüllte ihn mit nun nie mehr weichenden Ideen von Armuth, Demuth und Sünde.

Den „Zeiten der Barbarei“, die „mit dem sehr schicklichen Namen des Mittelalters belegt“ würden, stellte Humboldt das „Ideal“ der „Griechischen Vorwelt“ entgegen.60 Damit verabschiedete er sich von der seit dem Humanismus vorherrschenden Überzeugung, dass die vorchristliche und die christliche Antike eine Einheit bildeten, und setzte an ihre Stellung eine exklusiv pagane Vergangenheit, deren Studium die Erneuerung der Gegenwart bewirken sollte. Bereits Friedrich Paulsen beschrieb die Folgen eindrücklich:61 Im Griechentum fand die neue Zeit das Bild des Vollkommenen, statt im Christentum: das Bild des vollkommenen Menschen, statt des Mensch gewordenen Gottes. […] Der hellenische Humanismus ist eine neue Religion, die Philologen sind ihre Priester, die Universitäten und Schulen ihre Tempel.

Humboldt konzipierte eine säkulare Bildungsreligion, die in der bürgerlichen Welt des 19. Jahrhunderts die Entchristianisierung der Gesellschaft beschleunigte und eine quasi-religiöse Verehrung des Griechentums zur Folge hatte.

Freiheit und Bildung des Individuums: Zur Genese der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft Humboldt, an Herder anschließend, entfaltete in seinen Studien zur Alten Welt den Begriff der Individualität. Individualität war ihm das „Geheimniss alles Daseyns“, das in jedem Menschen zu finden war und unterschiedlichste Einflüsse aufgriff und entwickelte. „In demselben Element liegt ein unaufhörliches thätiges Bestreben, seiner inneren, eigenthümlichen Natur äusseres Daseyn zu verschaffen“.62 Aus der Französischen Revolution hatte Humboldt gefolgert, dass in einer bestimmten historischen Situation alles auf die schöpferischen Kräfte des Individuums ankomme. Der Politiker müsse folglich solche Bedingungen schaffen, die es ermöglichten, dass diese Kräfte sich frei entfalten könnten, wolle er die Verhältnisse zum Besseren verändern; der Historiker wiederum müsse in den vergangenen Epochen die individuellen Kräfte in ihrer jeweils spezifischen Erscheinungsform erkennen und beschreiben. Dieser Individualitätsbegriff emanzipierte

59

60 61 62

Ebd. Vgl. Wilhelm von Humboldt an Goethe, 23. August 1804, zitiert nach Wilhelm von Humboldt, Werke in fünf Bänden (wie Anm. 1), V 215. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Das achtzehnte Jahrhundert, in GS II 24 (I 402). Paulsen 1921, 311. Vgl. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über die Aufgabe des Geschichtsschreibers, in GS IV 52ff. (I 601f.) sowie Muhlack und Hentschke (Hgg.) 1972, 73f.

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das Individuum, das nun nicht mehr einem Kollektiv untergeordnet, sondern in seiner Einzigartigkeit anerkannt wurde.63 Humboldts Forderung, das Individuum zur Selbständigkeit, zur Selbsttätigkeit und zur Selbstverantwortung zu erziehen, setzte individuelle Rechte und persönliche Freiheit voraus und richtete sich an den Staat, der als einziger diese Rechte und diese Freiheit zu garantieren vermochte:64 Der so gebildete Mensch müsste dann in den Staat treten und die Verfassung des Staats sich gleichsam an ihm prüfen. Nur bei einem solchen Kampfe würde ich wahre Verbesserung der Verfassung durch die Nation mit Gewissheit hoffen […].

Humboldt bestimmte als den höchsten Zweck des modernen Staates die Befreiung des Bürgers zum selbsttätigen Menschen. Folglich durfte der Staat die Bildung des Individuums nicht behindern, durfte nicht in Erziehung, Religion und Moral eingreifen, sondern musste die Freiheit als die erste und unerlässliche Bedingung von Bildung und Wissenschaft akzeptieren. Dazu war es notwendig, die staatliche Wirksamkeit zu begrenzen.65 Die „Staatsverfassung“ war nur „ein nothwendiges Mittel“ und, „da sie allemal mit Einschränkungen der Freiheit verbunden ist“, nicht mehr als „ein nothwendiges Übel“.66 Humboldt verknüpfte den neuen Staatsgedanken und den neuen Bildungsgedanken:67 Der Staat wurde berufen, die Erziehung des Menschen ohne alle Nebenzwecke von Macht und Interesse, allein um des Menschen selbst willen, in die Hand zu nehmen, doch von der neuen Bildung erwartete man zugleich, dass sie kraft des ihr innewohnenden Gesetzes die Hingabe an Volk und Staat erziehen werde.

Humboldt verfocht die Idee einer aktiven Teilhabe der politisch tätigen Bürger und integrierte sie in sein Modell einer Gesellschaft, die sich als eine Gemeinschaft von Bürgern konstituierte, die ihr Gemeinwesen weitgehend selbständig regelten. Der Ort der freien Wirksamkeit des Menschen war für Humboldt indes nicht der Staat, sondern die Nation. Humboldt schied scharf zwischen Staat und Nation. Der Staat zeichnete verantwortlich für die innere und äußere Sicherheit, während die Nation durch das freiwillige Zusammenwirken der Bürger in verschiedenen Bereichen gekennzeichnet war. Die Verbindung zwischen Staat und Nation konnte einzig der Bürger herstellen, indem er sich selbstbewusst und politisch handelnd betätigte. Das „freie Wirken der Nation unter einander“, das „alle Güter bewahrt, deren Sehnsucht die Menschen in eine Gesellschaft führt“,68 anti63

64

65 66

67 68

Die hier vorgetragenen Überlegungen richten sich auch gegen Kost 2004, der den Nachweis zu führen versucht, dass Humboldt keinen Anteil an dem bürgerlichen Diskurs, ein vom Individuum her gedachtes Gemeinwesen zu etablieren, gehabt habe. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Ideen zu einem Versuch die Gränzen der Wirksamkeit des Staates zu bestimmen, in GS I 144 (I 106). Vgl. Benner 1995, 55-67. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Ideen zu einem Versuch die Gränzen der Wirksamkeit des Staates zu bestimmen, in GS I 236 (I 212). Schnabel 1948, 410. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Ideen zu einem Versuch die Gränzen der Wirksamkeit des Staates zu bestimmen, in GS I 236 (I 212).

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zipierte die Konzeption einer bürgerlichen Gesellschaft, deren Kennzeichen die Separierung vom Staat war69 – mit dem Ziel, den Bürgern einen vom staatlichen Einfluss weitestgehend freien Bereich zu sichern, denn „das Menschengeschlecht“ stand jetzt auf einer Stufe der Kultur, von welcher es sich nur durch Ausbildung der Individuen höher emporschwingen kann; und daher sind alle Einrichtungen, welche diese Ausbildung hindern, und die Menschen mehr in Massen zusammendrängen, jetzt 70 schädlicher als ehmals.

Auch hier setzte Humboldt Vergangenheit und Gegenwart in ein produktives Verhältnis zueinander. Das Altertum diente als Vergleichspunkt, eine Rückkehr zu den antiken Zuständen war jedoch nicht intendiert. Humboldt ließ in seinen staatstheoretischen Überlegungen keinen Zweifel daran, dass die griechische polis und die römische res publica überkommene politische Modelle darstellten:71 Jene Staaten waren Republiken, ihre Anstalten dieser Art waren Stützen der freien Verfassung, welche die Bürger mit einem Enthusiasmus erfüllte, welcher den nachtheiligen Einfluss der Einschränkung der Privatfreiheit minder fühlen, und der Energie des Charakters minder schädlich werden liess. Dann genossen sie übrigens einer grösseren Freiheit, als wir, und was sie aufopferten, opferten sie einer andren Thätigkeit, dem Antheil an der Regierung, auf. In unsren, meistentheils monarchischen Staaten ist das alles ganz anders.

Im Altertum war zwischen Staat und Gesellschaft noch nicht geschieden, und der Bürger des antiken Stadtstaates ordnete seine individuelle Freiheit dem Allgemeinwohl unter. Hier kontrastierte Humboldt die politischen Verhältnisse in den Monarchien seiner Zeit mit der historischen Situation in der Antike. Die Diskussion der Verhältnisse im Altertum führte Humboldt zur Kritik der zeitgenössischen Verhältnisse in Staat und Gesellschaft.72 Humboldts Antikenbild diente der Legitimation und Konstitution seiner Vorstellungen eines modernen Staates, der Bildung und Freiheit garantierte und beförderte. Die Beschäftigung mit dem Altertum hatte folglich eine zeitkritische, eminent politische Dimension. Die antiken Beispiele verdeutlichten die Notwendigkeit, in der Gegenwart bürgerliches Engagement und Patriotismus mit dem Ideal individueller Autonomie zu verbinden. Nur ein solcher Staat vermochte stark zu sein, der seinen Bürgern persönliche und institutionelle Freiheit ermöglichte und die Herrschaft des Menschen über den Menschen unterband. Freiheit war in Humboldts Worten „die nothwendige Bedingung, ohne welche selbst das seelenvollste Geschäft keine heilsamen Wirkungen [...] hervorzubringen vermag“.73 Der Entwurf eines politisch tätigen Bürgers und das Modell einer bürger69 70

71 72 73

Vgl. Sauter-Bergerhausen 2002; Spitta 2004. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Ideen zu einem Versuch die Gränzen der Wirksamkeit des Staates zu bestimmen, in GS I 142f. (I 105). Ebd., in GS I 142 (I 104f.). Vgl. auch Benner 1995, 58f. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Ideen zu einem Versuch die Gränzen der Wirksamkeit des Staates zu bestimmen, in GS I 118 (I 77).

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lichen Gesellschaft, das den Liberalismusdiskurs des 19. Jahrhunderts prägte, orientierten sich an der idealen Projektion politischen Handelns in den griechischen Stadtstaaten und der römischen Republik.74

Wahlverwandtschaft: Die Griechen der Neuzeit Humboldt empfahl die Beschäftigung mit der griechischen Nation in all ihren Aspekten.75 Doch zunächst hatte er kaum Interesse an der politischen Geschichte, da er den Charakter einer Nation eher in deren literarischen, wissenschaftlichen und künstlerischen Leistungen zu erkennen glaubte. Erst die Befreiungskriege gegen Napoleon sensibilisierten ihn für das politische Geschehen in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart. Im Jahr 1807 lag Preußen nach den verlorenen Schlachten gegen das napoleonische Heer bei Jena und Auerstedt am Boden. Als Gesandter im Vatikan war Humboldt zumindest räumlich weit entfernt von der politischen Stimmung in seiner Heimat. Neben sprachwissenschaftlichen Studien, die er in Rom betrieb, widmete er sich in einem Fragment gebliebenen Text auch jener Frage, die angesichts der Zeitumstände für einen preußischen Aristokraten von bestürzender Aktualität sein musste: der „Geschichte des Verfalls und Untergangs der griechischen Freistaaten“.76 In einer der Einleitung vorangestellten Vorrede begründete Humboldt sein Vorhaben: Er habe einen dreifachen Zweck vor Augen: erstlich mich in eine Zeit zu versetzen, in welcher der tief rührende, aber immer anziehende Kampf besserer Kräfte gegen übermächtige Gewalt auf eine unglückliche, aber ehrenvolle Weise gekämpft ward; zweitens zu zeigen, dass Entartung die Schuld des Verfalls Griechenlands nur zum Theil trug, der mehr verborgene Grund aber eigentlich darin lag, dass der Grieche eine zu edle, zarte, freie und humane Natur besass, um in seiner Zeit eine, damals die Individualität nothwendig beschränkende politische Verfassung zu gründen; drittens einen Standpunkt zu fassen, von dem sich die alte und neue Geschichte in ihrem ganzen Umfange bequem überschauen lässt.77

So stellten die Betrachtungsweisen, die Humboldt für die Verfallsgeschichte Griechenlands vorschwebten, nichts weniger dar als drei verschiedene Arten, Geschichte zu schreiben: Von einer anrührenden, ästhetischen Betrachtung des Zustands Griechenlands vor dem Verfall wollte er über die Analyse des historischen Geschehens zu einem Standpunkt gelangen, der einen universalhistorischen Blick auf Vergangenheit und Gegenwart eröffnete. Doch was lehrte die Geschichte des Verfalls und Untergangs der griechischen Freistaaten? Makedonen und Römer, die Eroberer Griechenlands, waren Barba74 75

76

77

Vgl. hierzu auch Vick 2007. Vgl. Wilhelm von Humboldt, Über das Studium des Altertums, und des griechischen insbesondere, in GS I 256 (II 2). Wilhelm von Humboldt, Geschichte des Verfalls und Untergangs der griechischen Freistaaten, in GS III 171-218 (II 73-124). Ebd., in GS III 171 (II 73).

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ren: „Der bessere und edlere Theil erlag, und die rohe Übermacht trug den Sieg davon.“ Wie damals, so geschehe es „fast immer“, dass „barbarische Völker“ die „höher gebildeten“ besiegten, „einseitige, kalt berechnende, unruhige Nationen ihre humaneren, sich treuer und inniger den Beschäftigungen des Friedens weihenden Nachbarn“. Wer nicht „im Verzweiflungsmuth“ untergehe, der suche „die Freiheit im Inneren wieder“, die im Äußeren verloren gegangen sei.78 Und das siegreiche Rom bildete „in vielfacher Hinsicht immer den Körper, dem Griechenland die Seele einhauchen sollte“.79 Die Aktualisierung der griechischen Verfallsgeschichte ist augenfällig, der Vergleich zwischen Hellas-Deutschland und Rom-Frankreich drängt sich geradezu auf. Die Geschichte des nachklassischen Griechenlands spiegelte die jüngste Demütigung Preußens durch das napoleonische Frankreich. Zugleich betonte Humboldt in seiner Schrift mit Nachdruck, dass sich Deutsche und Griechen besonders nahe seien: Die Deutschen besitzen das unstreitige Verdienst, die Griechische Bildung zuerst treu aufgefasst, und tief gefühlt zu haben […] Andre Nationen sind hierin nie gleich glücklich gewesen, oder wenigstens haben ihre Vertraulichkeit mit den Griechen weder in Commentaren, noch Übersetzungen, noch Nachahmungen, noch endlich (worauf es am meisten ankommt) in den übergegangenen Geiste des Alterthums auf ähnliche Art bewiesen. Deutsche knüpft daher ein ungleich festeres und engeres Band an die Griechen, als an irgend eine andere, auch bei weitem näher liegende Zeit oder Nation.

Weiter heißt es, dass Deutschland „in Sprache, Vielseitigkeit der Bestrebungen, Einfachheit des Sinnes, in der föderalistischen Verfassung, und seinen neuesten Schicksalen eine unläugbare Aehnlichkeit mit Griechenland“ zeige.80 Damit waren die wesentlichen Argumente für die Verbreitung der Idee einer deutschgriechischen Verwandtschaft benannt. Der Vielseitigkeit des griechischen wie des deutschen Nationalcharakters entsprach die Einseitigkeit des römischen und des französischen. Zum ersten Mal hatte sich Humboldt beiläufig in einem Schreiben an Schiller vom 22. September 1795 über seine „Grille von der Aehnlichkeit der Griechen und Deutschen“ geäußert.81 Er wiederholte seinen Gedanken, dass eine „Wahlverwandtschaft“ zwischen Deutschen und Griechen bestehe, in anderen Briefen, bis er ihn dann ausführlich in seiner „Geschichte des Verfalls und Untergangs der griechischen Freistaaten“ von 1807 entwickelte. Humboldt verwandelte den aus früheren Jahrhunderten geläufigen Epochenvergleich zwischen Antike und Mo78 79 80

81

Ebd., in GS III 173f. (II 74f.). Ebd., in GS III 183 (II 86). Ebd., in GS III 184f. (II 87 und 88f.). Vgl. auch Wilhelm von Humboldt an Johann Georg Schweighäuser (hg. von Albert Leitzmann, Jena 1934, 42): „Zugleich kann ich nicht läugnen, dass ich dem armen, zerrütteten Deutschland ein Monument setzen möchte, weil, meiner langgehegten Ueberzeugung nach, Griechischer Geist auf Deutschen geimpft, erst das giebt, worin die Menschheit, ohne Stillstand, vorschreiten kann.“ Vgl. Landfester 1996, 208f. (mit Belegen).

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derne in einen doppelten Kulturvergleich: einerseits zwischen dem antiken Griechenland und dem antiken Rom und andererseits zwischen der Kulturnation Deutschland, das er mit Hellas parallelisierte, und der Staatsnation Frankreich, das er mit dem römischen Imperium verglich. Nicht nur bildungs-, sondern auch kulturpolitisch sollte eine Antwort auf die militärische Niederlage Preußens und den politischen Triumph Napoleons gefunden werden. Die Botschaft, die Wilhelm von Humboldt 1807 verkündete, lautete: Der barbarische „Unterjocher“ war kulturell zu überwinden.82 Im Anschluss an Herder und die Antikerezeption des deutschen Idealismus propagierte Humboldt das Konzept einer kulturell definierten Nation, die auf staatliche Integration verzichten konnte, weil sie über kulturelle Kohäsion verfügte.83 An die Stelle der politischen Einheit trat das Bewusstsein eines Zusammenhaltes, der auf kulturellen Gemeinsamkeiten beruhte, die wiederum die geistige Überlegenheit der politisch fragmentierten Nation begründeten. Die von Humboldt vollzogene Aktualisierung der Dichotomie, die zwischen der Kulturnation Hellas und der Staatsnation Rom bestand, kompensierte die politischen und militärischen Niederlagen Preußens und die Auflösung des Heiligen Römischen Reiches deutscher Nation. Humboldt hatte damit eine Tradition erfunden, die eine kollektive Identität zu stiften verstand. Dem deutschen Bürgertum bot die Vergegenwärtigung der klassisch-griechischen Vergangenheit eine willkommene Alternative zur französischlateinischen Kulturhegemonie in Europa. Der nationale Griechenmythos des preußischen Aristokraten richtete sich gegen Frankreich und die „Gallomanie“ des deutschen Adels, gegen den absolutistischen Staat und die Ständegesellschaft. Dieser Mythos, der in Deutschland durch Gymnasien und Universitäten verbreitet wurde, war zugleich ein wichtiges Instrument der nationalen Identitätssicherung und der Gegenwartsbewältigung. Der neue, in einer bestimmten historischen Situation entstandene Mythos von der Verwandtschaft zwischen Deutschen und Griechen wurde Teil der bürgerlichen Sinnstiftung und festigte die Vorstellung, Bürger einer überlegenen Kulturnation zu sein.84

4. ZUSAMMENFASSUNG UND AUSBLICK Die Beschäftigung mit der antiken, insbesondere der griechischen Geschichte begründete seit der zweiten Hälfte des 18. Jahrhunderts neue, oft auch miteinander konkurrierende Auffassungen von Erziehung, Bildung und Wissenschaft, aber auch von Nation, Staat und Gesellschaft. Gegenwarts- und Vergangenheitsinterpretation waren eng miteinander verschränkt. Die Gegenwart wurde nicht nur an 82

83 84

Vgl. hierzu Fuhrmann, Die Querelle des Anciens et Modernes, der Nationalismus und die deutsche Klassik [1979], zitiert nach: Fuhrmann 1982, 129-149; Lohse 1997; Rüegg 1985; ders., Die Antike als Leitbild der deutschen Gesellschaft im 19. Jahrhundert [1975], zitiert nach: ders. 1978, 93-105. Vgl. hierzu auch Proß 1996; Saure 2006. Vgl. Landfester 1996, 211.

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dem antiken Griechenland gemessen, sondern die für die Gegenwart relevante Utopie wurde in die Vergangenheit rückprojiziert. Wilhelm von Humboldt beschwor kein zeitloses Modell, das es zu imitieren galt, sondern konstruierte einen idealen Ort, dessen Betrachtung der Überwindung des status quo dienen sollte. In der Auseinandersetzung mit der Antike nahm das bürgerliche Geschichtsdenken, der Aufstieg der historischen Wissenschaften und die Begründung einer der bürgerlichen Sinnbildung dienenden Theorie der historischen Hermeneutik ihren Ausgang. Bei der für die bürgerliche Gesellschaft grundlegenden Definition von Bildung als eines permanenten Prozesses der Selbstvervollkommnung, bei der Beschreibung des Verhältnisses von Freiheit und Bildung und der Beziehungen zwischen Individuum, Gesellschaft und Staat sowie bei der Diskussion sozialer Organisations- und Strukturprinzipien war die griechische (und im geringeren Umfange auch die römische) Antike zentraler Bezugs- und Vergleichspunkt. Schließlich wurde die Vorstellung der Kulturnation im Dialog mit dem griechischen Altertum entwickelt; die idealisierten Griechen wurden zum festen Bestandteil einer deutschen Nationalkultur, in der manche eine „tyranny of Greece over Germany“ entdecken zu können glaubten.85 Ein funktionales Griechenbild diente dem produktiven Vergleich der Moderne mit dem klassischen Altertum. Humboldt vertrat keine einheitliche und affirmative Position gegenüber der Antike. Normativität und Historizität kennzeichneten sein Bild des Altertums. Sein Rekurs auf die Antike hatte gesellschafts- und zeitkritische Intentionen. Die absolutistische Welt der Stände sollte endgültig überwunden, bürgerliche Formen des Zusammenlebens verwirklicht werden. Bildung war für Humboldt die Grundlage für eine umfassende Erneuerung von Staat und Gesellschaft. Die Identität des modernen Menschen beruhte auf Bildung. Das ambitionierte Reformkonzept erstreckte sich auf Schulen und Hochschulen. Es machte die deutsche Universität zum international wirkmächtigen Vorbild einer modernen Bildungspolitik und leitete den Aufstieg der historischen Wissenschaften ein. Humboldts Antikeideal bildete das Fundament der klassischen Altertumswissenschaft und der bürgerlichen Kultur des 19. Jahrhunderts. Das emanzipatorische Potential des Humboldtschen Antikenbildes ging jedoch rasch verloren. Man fürchtete, die Jugend könne sich in ihrer Begeisterung für das griechische Altertum mit republikanischen Ideen infizieren. Hinzu trat die Konkurrenz einer von der Romantik inspirierten Germanen- und Mittelalterforschung.86 Die „humanistische“ Bildung gewährte nicht nur Freiheit gegenüber den Zwängen von Staat und Gesellschaft, sondern unterstützte auch die Flucht in die Innerlichkeit, die den bürgerlichen Fortschrittsoptimismus konterkarierte,87 und sie verschärfte die Dichotomie zwischen „Kultur“ und „Wirtschaft“ und zwischen „Geist“ und „Materialismus“.88 Ein zunehmend veräußerlichter Bildungsbegriff machte aus dem Humanistischen Gymnasium im Kaiserreich eine Exerzieranstalt, 85 86 87 88

Butler 1935. Vgl. hierzu sowie zum Folgenden Marchand 1996; Sünderhauf 2004. Vgl. hierzu auch Bruford 1975. Vgl. Ulf 2006.

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die auf Drill und Routine setzte. Man begnügte sich damit, die Verba auf -[
einzupauken. Nicht mehr der Bildungsinhalt, sondern das Bildungspatent zählte, das in der Klassengesellschaft des 19. Jahrhunderts zu einem wirksamen Instrument sozialer Exklusion wurde. An den Universitäten triumphierte die „klassische“ Altertumswissenschaft, die die griechisch-römische Antike verabsolutierte, das Interesse am Vorderen Orient verlor und die Geschichte des frühen Christentums vernachlässigte. Aber die Historisierung des Altertums bedeutete gleichzeitig das Ende der idealisierten Antike. Humboldt und seine Zeitgenossen hatten nie einen Zweifel daran gelassen, dass die Kultur der Griechen die Grundlage der „humanistischen“ Bildung sei. Eine solche normative Betrachtung der Antike war der methodisch professionalisierten Altertumswissenschaft fremd. Ihr moderner Realismus zerstörte die Sonderstellung der Griechen, die dem deutschen Bildungsbürger zur lieben Gewissheit geworden war. Gegen die Relativierung klassischer Bildung wandten sich seit der Mitte des 19. Jahrhunderts einzelne Gelehrte, zumeist akademische Außenseiter wie Friedrich Nietzsche. Sie kritisierten eine Wissenschaft vom Altertum, die nur hochspezialisiertes Fachwissen anhäufte, und versuchten unter Rückgriff auf Winckelmann und Humboldt, die europäische Antike als zeitloses Leitbild, das erzieherische Funktionen haben sollte, zu bewahren. Ihre Anstrengungen, die humanistische Bildung wiederzubeleben, waren aber von einem tiefen Kulturpessimismus geprägt, und ihre alternativen Entwürfe propagierten zugleich grundlegende gesellschaftliche und politische Veränderungen.89 Doch der umfassende Formenwandel, der die bürgerliche Kultur am Übergang vom 19. zum 20. Jahrhundert erfasste, und die manifeste Konkurrenz unterschiedlicher Lebensstile und Handlungsmuster ließ nur noch eine Minderheit an das erzieherische und emanzipatorische Potential des klassischen Griechenland glauben.

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Marchand, S.L. (1996) Down from Olympus: Archaeology and Philhellenism in Germany, 17501970, Princeton. Matthiessen, K. (2003) Wilhelm von Humboldt und das Studium des Altertums, in G. Lohse (Hg.), Aktualisierung von Antike und Epochenbewusstsein: Erstes Bruno Snell-Symposion der Universität Hamburg am Europa-Kolleg, Leipzig, 179-197. Mattson, P. (Hg.) (1990), Wilhelm von Humboldt: Briefe an Friedrich August Wolf, Berlin. Maurer, M. (1996) Die Biographie des Bürgers: Lebensformen und Denkweisen in der formativen Phase des deutschen Bürgertums (1680-1815), Göttingen. Menze, C. (1966) Wilhelm von Humboldt und Christian Gottlob Heyne, Ratingen. — (1975) Die Bildungsreform Wilhelm von Humboldts, Hannover. — (1992) Das griechische Altertum und die deutsche Bildung aus der Sicht Wilhelm von Humboldts, in F.-P. Hager u.a. (Hgg.), Aspects of Antiquity in the History of Education, Hildesheim, 45-60. Messling, M. (2008) Pariser Orientlektüren: Zu Wilhelm von Humboldts Theorie der Schriften, Paderborn. Muhlack, U. (1978) Die Universitäten im Zeichen von Neuhumanismus und Idealismus, in P. Baumgart und N. Hammerstein (Hgg.), Beiträge zu Problemen deutscher Universitätsgründungen in der frühen Neuzeit, Nendeln, 299-340. — (1979) Zum Verhältnis von Klassischer Philologie und Geschichtswissenschaft im 19. Jahrhundert, in H. Flashar u.a. (Hgg.), Philologie und Hermeneutik im 19. Jahrhundert: Zur Geschichte und Methodologie der Geisteswissenschaften, Bd. 1, Göttingen, 225-239. — (1986) Historie und Philologie, in H.E. Bödecker u.a. (Hgg.), Aufklärung und Geschichte: Studien zur deutschen Geschichtswissenschaft im 18. Jahrhundert, Göttingen, 49-81. — (1988) Von der philologischen zur historischen Methode, in C. Meier und J. Rüsen (Hgg.), Historische Methode, München, 154-180. — (1998) Johann Gustav Droysen: Das Recht der Geschichte, in S. Freitag (Hg.), Die 48er, München, 263-276. — (2006) Staatensystem und Geschichtsschreibung: Ausgewählte Aufsätze zu Humanismus und Historismus, Absolutismus und Aufklärung, Berlin. Muhlack, U. und A. Hentschke (1972), Einführung in die Geschichte der Klassischen Philologie, Darmstadt. Neugebauer, W. (1990) Bildungsreformen vor Wilhelm von Humboldt: Am Beispiel der Mark Brandenburg, Jahrbuch für Brandenburgische Landesgeschichte 41, 26-249. — (1992) Das Bildungswesen in Preußen seit der Mitte des 17. Jahrhunderts, in O. Büsch (Hg.), Handbuch der preußischen Geschichte, Bd. 2, Berlin - New York, 605-798. Nipperdey, T. (1983) Deutsche Geschichte 1800-1866: Bürgerwelt und starker Staat, München. Oesterle, G. (1996) Kulturelle Identität und Klassizismus: Wilhelm von Humboldts Entwurf einer allgemeinen und vergleichenden Literaturerkenntnis als Teil einer vergleichenden Anthropologie, in B. Giesen (Hg.), Nationale und kulturelle Identität: Studien zur Entwicklung des kollektiven Bewußtseins in der Neuzeit, Frankfurt, 304-349. Paletschek, S. (2001) Verbreitete sich ein „Humboldtsches Modell“ an den deutschen Universitäten im 19. Jahrhundert?, in R.C. Schwinges (Hg.), Humboldt International: Der Export des deutschen Universitätsmodells im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, Basel, 75-104. — (2002) Die Erfindung der Humboldtschen Idee: Die Konstruktion der deutschen Universitätsidee in der ersten Hälfte des 20. Jahrhunderts, Historische Anthropologie: Kultur, Gesellschaft, Alltag 10, 183-205. Paulsen, F. (31921) Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts auf den deutschen Schulen und Universitäten vom Ausgang des Mittelalters bis zur Gegenwart – mit besonderer Rücksicht auf den klassischen Unterricht, hg. und in einem Anhang fortgesetzt von Rudolf Lehmann, Bd. 3, Leipzig. Proß, W. (1996) „Gens sui tantum similis“ – Johann Gottfried Herders Beitrag zur Entstehung des deutschen Philhellenismus, Museum Helveticum 53, 206-216. Quillien, J. (1983) G. de Humboldt et la Grèce : Modèle et histoire, Lille.

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Rebenich, S. (2000) s.v. Historismus: I. Allgemein, in Der Neue Pauly 14, Sp. 469-485. — (2008) Umgang mit toten Freunden: Droysen und das Altertum, in V. Rosenberger (Hg.), „Die Ideale der Alten“: Antikerezeption um 1800, Stuttgart, 131-152. Rehm, W. (1936 [41968]) Griechentum und Goethezeit: Geschichte eines Glaubens, Bern München. Riedel, M. (1972) s.v. Bürger, Staatsbürger, Bürgertum, in Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe, Bd. 1, 672-725. Rüegg, W. (1978) Bedrohte Lebensordnung: Studien zur humanistischen Soziologie, Zürich München. — (1985) Die Antike als Begründung des deutschen Nationalbewußtseins, in W. Schuller (Hg.), Antike in der Moderne, Konstanz, 267-287. — (1999) Ortsbestimmung: Die Königlich Preußische Akademie der Wissenschaften und der Aufstieg der Universitäten in den ersten zwei Dritteln des 19. Jahrhunderts, in J. Kocka (Hg.), Die Königlich Preußische Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Berlin im Kaiserreich, Berlin, 2347. Saure, F. (2006) „... das ganze Reich der Ideen“: Karl Friedrich Schinkels Geschichtsphilosophie zwischen Wilhelm von Humboldts Antikebild und Fichtes Freiheitsmetaphysik, BerlinBrandenburgische Akademie der Wissenschaften. Berichte und Abhandlungen 10, 307-324. — (2007) „Körperliche Stärke und Behendigkeit zu ehren“ oder Olympia in Berlin: Der deutsche Idealismus, die Sportwettkämpfe im antiken Griechenland und das moderne Deutschland, German as a Foreign Language 2, 7-27. Sauter, C.M. (1989) Wilhelm von Humboldt und die deutsche Aufklärung, Berlin. Sauter-Bergerhausen, C. (2002) Vom „blutigen Krieger“ zum „friedlichen Pflüger“: Staat, Nation und Krieg in Wilhelm von Humboldts „Ideen zu einem Versuch, die Gränzen der Wirksamkeit des Staats zu bestimmen“, Forschungen zur Brandenburgischen und Preußischen Geschichte 12, 211-262. Schmale, W. (2005) s.v. Bürgerliche Gesellschaft, in Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit 2, 558-564. Schmitt, A. (2002) s.v. Querelles des Anciens et des Modernes, in Der Neue Pauly 15.2, 607-622. Schnabel, F. (41948) Deutsche Geschichte im 19. Jahrhundert, Bd. 1, Freiburg. Schulz, A. (2005) Lebenswelt und Kultur des Bürgertums im 19. und 20. Jh., München. Spitta, D. (2004) Die Staatsidee Wilhelm von Humboldts, Berlin. Spranger, E. (1909) [21928;31965] Wilhelm von Humboldt und die Humanitätsidee, Berlin. — (1910) [21960] Wilhelm von Humboldt und die Reform des Bildungswesen, Berlin. Stadler, P.B. (1959) Wilhelm von Humboldts Bild der Antike, Einsiedeln. Sünderhauf, E.S. (2004) Griechensehnsucht und Kulturkritik: Die deutsche Rezeption von Winckelmanns Antikenideal 1840-1945, Berlin. Süßmann, J. (2000) Geschichtsschreibung oder Roman? Zur Konstitutionslogik von Geschichtserzählungen zwischen Schiller und Ranke (1780-1824), Stuttgart. Sweet, P.R. (1980) Wilhelm von Humboldt: A Biography. Bd. 2: 1808-1835, Columbus. Uhlig, L. (Hg.) (1988) Griechenland als Original: Winckelmann und seine Rezeption in Deutschland, Tübingen. Ulf, C. (2006) Elemente des Utilitarismus im Konstrukt des „Agonalen“, Nikephoros 19, 67-79. Ungern-Sternberg, J. von (2005) Wilhelm von Humboldts Bildungsideen: Von der freien Entfaltung des Individuums zum Schulmodell, Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 87, 127-148. Vick, B. (2007) Of Basques, Greeks, and Germans: Liberalism, Nationalism, and the Ancient Republican Tradition in the Thought of Wilhelm von Humboldt, Central European History 40, 653-681. Vierhaus, R. (1972) s.v. Bildung, in Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe 1, 508-551. — (Hg.) (1981), Bürger und Bürgerlichkeit im Zeitalter der Aufklärung, Heidelberg. — (1987) Umrisse einer Sozialgeschichte der Gebildeten in Deutschland, in R. Vierhaus (Hg.) Deutschland im 18. Jh.: Politische Verfassung, soziales Gefüge, geistige Bewegungen, Göttingen, 183-201.

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Vöhler, M. (2002) Christian Gottlob Heyne und das Studium des Altertums in Deutschland, in G.W. Most (Hg.), Disciplining Classics – Altertumswissenschaft als Beruf, Göttingen, 39-54. vom Bruch, R. (1999) Langsamer Abschied von Humboldt? Etappen deutscher Universitätsgeschichte 1810-1945, in Ash (Hg.) 1999, 29-57. — (2001) Zur Gründung der Berliner Universität im Kontext der deutschen Universitätslandschaft um 1800, in G. Müller, K. Ries und P. Ziche (Hgg.), Die Universität Jena: Tradition und Innovation um 1800, Stuttgart, 63-77. Walther, G. (1998) Adel und Antike: Zur politischen Bedeutung gelehrter Kultur für die Führungselite der Frühen Neuzeit, Historische Zeitschrift 266, 359-385. — (2005) s.v. Bildung, in Enzyklopädie der Neuzeit 2, 223-242. Wehler, H.-U. (31996a) Deutsche Gesellschaftsgeschichte, Bd. 1: Vom Feudalismus des Alten Reiches bis zur defensiven Modernisierung der Reformära 1700-1815, München. — (31996b) Deutsche Gesellschaftsgeschichte, Bd. 2: Von der Reformära bis zur industriellen und politischen „Deutschen Doppelrevolution“ 1815-1848/49, München.

„ALS DIE RÖMER FRECH GEWORDEN“ HISTORISCHE KONTEXTE EINES „VOLKSLIEDS“ Kai Brodersen

1. ALS DIE RÖMER FRECH GEWORDEN Als die Römer frech geworden, sim serim, serim, sim, sim, Zogen sie nach Deutschlands Norden, sim serim, serim, sim, sim, Vorne mit Trompetenschall, räcke täcke tährä, Ritt der Generalfeldmarschall, räcke täcke tährä, Herr Quinctilius Varus, Wau, Wau, Wau, Wau, Wau, Herr Quinctilius Varus, Schnäderäng täng, Schnäderäng täng, Schnäderäng täng, täräng, täng, täng.

„Als die Römer frech geworden“ ist das wohl populärste neuzeitliche Lied zur römischen Antike. Erstmals 1849 ohne Nennung eines Autorennamens in den Fliegenden Blättern publiziert,1 galt das Gedicht bereits im 19. Jahrhundert als Lied, das „allüberall gesungen wird“ und „seinen Weg in die Volksliederbücher gefunden“ hat.2 Seine Popularität ist seither ungebrochen: Bis heute tragen viele aktuelle Liederbücher und WWW-Seiten für Jugendgruppen, Wanderer und Chöre zur großen Bekanntheit des Liedes bei, oft und oft ist es zu einer Marschmelodie gesungen worden. Ja, so beliebt ist die erste Verszeile, dass sie als leicht wiedererkennbarer Hinweis auf die Antike auch in anderen Medien oft verwendet wurde und wird: für Bilderhefte für Kinder und Jugendliche (Fix und Foxi,3 Wastl4) ebenso wie für eine plattdeutsche Komödie,5 für ein „linkes“ historisches Sachbuch6 ebenso wie für ein Buch zur Motorrad-Weltmeisterschaft 1998,7 für Kinderführungen durch archäologische Museen8 ebenso wie für eine

1

2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Fliegende Blätter Bd. 10, Nr. 229, 1849, 100-102: „Die Teutoburger Schlacht“. – Das Gedicht erschien ohne Nennung eines Autors; am Ende stehen nur die Initialen „J.S.“. Beyer 1883, 114. Kauka 1967. Wastl 1970. Kreye 1963. Völker 1981. Kirn 1998. So (nach den WWW-Angaben 2009) u.a. im Westfälischen Römermuseum Haltern und in der Archäologischen Staatssammlung München.

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Probe „Lippsker Mundart“,9 für einen „Erwachsenen-Comic“10 ebenso wie für eine ZDF-Fernsehsendung über archäologische Entdeckungen in Deutschland.11 Sucht man allerdings nach Text und Melodie des Liedes, findet man in verschiedenen Text- und Liederbüchern unterschiedliche Versionen: „Als die Römer frech geworden“ umfaßt einmal 13, ein andermal 15 Strophen und gibt sich teils als humorvolles Gedicht (,,Er geriet in einen Sumpf, / Verlor zwei Stiefel und ein’ Strumpf / Und blieb elend stecken“), teils als studentisches Trinklied (,,Wem ist dieses Lied gelungen? / Ein Studente hat’s gesungen / In Westfalen trank er viel ...“) oder aber auch als Militärmarsch (,,Und zu Ehren der Geschichten / Tat ein Denkmal man errichten, / Deutschlands Kraft und Einigkeit / Kündet es jetzt weit und breit: / ,Mögen sie nur kommen!‘“). Auch die drei verschiedenen Melodien, die für das Lied genutzt werden, unterscheiden sich deutlich. Ja, ist dieses so vertraut scheinende Lied überhaupt ein „Volkslied“? Wie erklären sich die unterschiedlichen Versionen von Text und Melodie? Inwiefern spiegeln sie die Entwicklung eines Autors und die Politik ihrer Entstehungszeit? Kurz: In welche historische Kontexte gehören die unterschiedlichen Versionen von „Als die Römer frech geworden“?

2. SO BRECHE ROMAS JOCH Thusneld 1

Ein Kind – ein Kind! des Vaters Bild, Wie schlägt mein Herz so hoch! Doch soll ich fühlen Mutterlust – So breche Romas Joch.

3

Nicht reich’ ich deinem Kind die Brust, Teut, höre diesen Eid! Bis von der Knechtschaft grauser Schmach Mein Vaterland befreit. –

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Auf! Hermann, auf! Zur Römerschlacht! Nicht Sklave sei dein Sohn! Bring mir des Varus Schild und Helm Für meiner Schmerzen Lohn!

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Da zieht der Held zur Römerschlacht In wilder Kampfeslust. Sein Weib legt, eh’ die Sonne sinkt, Den Säugling an die Brust.12

Bei der „Römerschlacht“ im Teutoburger Wald 9 n. Chr. waren drei römische Legionen samt Hilfstruppen und Troß unter dem Kommando des in Diensten des Augustus agierenden Feldherrn Publius Quinctilius Varus von einer Truppe unter dem (zuvor in römischen Diensten stehenden) Cherusker Arminius besiegt worden; Publius Cornelius Tacitus sollte in seinen Annalen (2,88) Arminius als liberator haud dubie Germaniae bezeichnen. Jüngst sind – vor allem im Vorfeld der bevorstehenden 2000-Jahr-Feier der „Römerschlacht“ – eine Vielzahl von 9 10 11 12

Sass 2007. Korth und Pitter 1992. Prestel 2001. Scheffel 1892, 112.

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Publikationen zur Lokalisierung, zum Verlauf und zur Bedeutung13 der Schlacht erschienen oder werden noch erscheinen;14 sie zu würdigen ist im Blick auf die Fragestellung dieser Studie hier nicht der Ort. Fest steht aber, dass die Figur des Arminius – seit der Reformationszeit nannte man ihn auch „Hermann den Cherusker“ – vor allem seit dem späten 18. Jahrhundert vermehrt öffentliches Interesse gefunden hatte: Als Nationalheld, der nicht nur einem einzigen Kleinstaat zuzuordnen war, schien Arminius eben besonders geeignet.15

Abb. 1 Albert Gräfle, „Schilderhebung Hermanns des Cheruskers nach der Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald im Jahre 9 n. Chr.“ (1846). Kunsthalle Karlsruhe, Inv. 531 – Wiedergabe mit freundlicher Genehmigung.

Greifbar wird dieses Interesse an Hermann im späten 18. und insbesondere im 19. Jahrhundert in der „hohen“ Literatur16 ebenso wie in Initiativen zur Errichtung eines Hermann-Denkmals, am prominentesten in dem von Ernst von Bandel (1800-1876) im Jahr 1838 initiierten, durch öffentliche Subskriptionen finanzierten Vorhaben, bei Detmold ein solches Denkmal für Arminius zu errichten.17 Greifbar wird das Interesse auch in der bildenden Kunst, etwa in dem monu13 14

15 16 17

Vgl. dazu die Überlegungen in Brodersen 2001. Vgl. zuletzt Wiegels 2007. Sicher trägt auch die aktuelle Kontroverse über die Lokalisierung der Schlacht zur derzeit großen Nachfrage nach Publikationen zur Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald bei. Vgl. vor allem die Beiträge in Engelbert (Hg.) 1975 und Wiegels und Woesler (Hgg.) 1995. Vgl. von Essen 1998. Vgl. außer der bereits in Anm. 15 genannten Literatur etwa auch [Bandel] 1976; Bötel 1984; Meier und Schäfer 2000.

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mentalen Gemälde „Schilderhebung Hermanns des Cheruskers nach der Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald im Jahre 9 n. Chr.“ (Abb. 1) des badischen Historienmalers Albert Gräfle (1809-1889), das im Pariser Salon 1846 eine Goldene Medaille errang und bei Kunstausstellungen 1850 in der Berliner Akademie, 1853 in München gezeigt wurde, bevor es in die Karlsruher Sammlungen aufgenommen wurde.18 Greifbar wird das Interesse an Hermann aber auch in Einzelzeugnissen wie dem eines erst später berühmt gewordenen Studenten, der 1820 durch den Teutoburger Wald wanderte und darüber schrieb: 19 Ich höre noch immer, wie ein uralter Stein mir zuruft: „Wanderer, sieh, hier hat Armin den Varus geschlagen“.

Und greifbar wird es nicht zuletzt auch in den eingangs zitierten Versen „Thusneld“ einer Gelegenheitsdichterin, Josephine Scheffel, geb. Krederer (18031865), die – womöglich in Kenntnis von Gräfles Gemälde – in nur vier Strophen aus Sicht der Thusneld(a), der Gattin des Hermann, das private Ereignis der Geburt eines Sohnes mit dem als welthistorisch erfaßten Auftrag, „Romas Joch“ zu brechen, in Verbindung bringt. Sicher ging der Enkel der Dichterin nicht fehl, als er die postume Publikation des Gedichts nicht mit dem Zweck verbunden wissen wollte, „die deutsche Lyrik um eine neue Perle zu bereichern“,20 doch veranschaulicht auch ein Gelegenheitsgedicht wie die „Thusneld“ die Popularität des Hermann-Mythos im 19. Jahrhundert.

3. GERADE NEBEN DEM GRÖßTEN ERNSTE DER ZEIT MUß AUCH DER HUMOR UM SO REICHLICHER WACHSEN Die zunehmende Popularität der Figur des Hermann als Nationalheld führte im Vormärz auch zu kritischen Reaktionen. So war Heinrich Heine (1797-1856), der 1820 noch selbst von Armin geschwärmt hatte, auf seiner Harzreise 1824 einem Greifswalder „Musensohn“ begegnet, der „an einem Nationalheldengedicht zur Verherrlichung Hermanns und der Hermannsschlacht“ arbeitete. Ihm gab Heine „manchen nützlichen Wink“:21 Ich machte ihn darauf aufmerksam, dass er die Sümpfe und Knüppelwege des Teutoburger Waldes sehr onomatopöisch durch wäßrige und holprige Verse andeuten könne, und dass es eine patriotische Feinheit wäre, wenn er den Varus und die übrigen Römer lauter Unsinn sprechen ließe.

Zwanzig Jahre später setzte sich Heine, der 1831 nach Frankreich emigriert und nun nur als Reisender nach Deutschland zurückgekehrt war, erneut mit der

18

19 20 21

Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe, Inv. 531 (Öl auf Leinwand, 210 x 286 cm); vgl. Lauts und Zimmermann 1971-1972, I 91 und II 133 (Abb.). Heinrich Heine, Briefe aus Berlin, 26.1.1822, in Heine 1973, 9. Viktor von Scheffel in Scheffel 1892, vi. Heinrich Heine, ,,Die Harzreise“ (1826), in Heine 1973, 123.

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Hermannsschlacht auseinander. In seinem 1844 erschienenen Werk „Deutschland, ein Wintermährchen“ schreibt er:22 Caput XI 1

Das ist der Teutoburger Wald, Den Tacitus beschrieben, Das ist der klassische Morast, Wo Varus stecken geblieben. 2 Hier schlug ihn der Cheruskerfürst, Der Hermann, der edle Recke; Die deutsche Nationalität, Die siegte in diesem Drecke. 3 Wenn Hermann nicht die Schlacht gewann, Mit seinen blonden Horden, So gäb es deutsche Freyheit nicht mehr, Wir wären römisch geworden! 4 In unserem Vaterland herrschten jetzt Nur römische Sprache und Sitten, Vestalen gäb’ es in München sogar, Die Schwaben hießen Quiriten! 5 Der Hengstenberg wär’ ein Haruspex Und grübelte in den Gedärmen Von Ochsen. Neander wär’ ein Augur Und schaute nach Vogelschwärmen. 6 Birch-Pfeiffer söffe Terpentin, Wie einst die römischen Damen. (Man sagt, dass sie dadurch den Urin Besonders wohlriechend bekamen.) 7 Der Raumer wäre kein deutscher Lump, Er wäre ein röm’scher Lumpazius. Der Freiligrath dichtete ohne Reim, Wie weiland Flaccus Horazius. 8 Der grobe Bettler, Vater Jahn, Der hieße jetzt Grobianus. Me hercule! Maßmann spräche Latein, Der Marcus Tullius Maßmanus! 9 Die Wahrheitsfreunde würden jetzt Mit Löwen, Hyänen, Schakalen Sich raufen in der Arena, anstatt Mit Hunden in kleinen Journalen. 10 Wir hätten Einen Nero jetzt, Statt Landesväter drey Dutzend. Wir schnitten uns die Adern auf, Den Schergen der Knechtschaft trutzend. 22

Heinrich Heine, ,,Deutschland, ein Wintermährchen“ (1844), in Heine 1985, 114-116.

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11 Der Schelling wär’ ganz ein Seneka, Und käme in solchem Conflikt um. Zu uns’rem Cornelius sagten wir: Cacatum non est pictum. 12 Gottlob! Der Hermann gewann die Schlacht, Die Römer wurden vertrieben, Varus mit seinen Legionen erlag, Und wir sind Deutsche geblieben! 13 Wir blieben deutsch, wir sprechen deutsch, Wie wir es gesprochen haben; Der Esel heißt Esel, nicht asinus, Die Schwaben blieben Schwaben. 14 Der Raumer blieb ein deutscher Lump In unserm deutschen Norden. In Reimen dichtet Freiligrath, Ist kein Horaz geworden. 15 Gottlob, der Maßmann spricht kein Latein, Birch-Pfeiffer schreibt nur Dramen, Und säuft nicht schnöden Terpentin, Wie Roms galante Damen. 16 O Hermann, dir verdanken wir das! Drum wird dir, wie sich gebühret, Zu Detmold ein Monument gesetzt; Hab selber subskribiret.

Heine nimmt die Hermannsschlacht zum Ausgangspunkt kontrafaktischer Überlegungen23 und stellt sich in Auseinandersetzung mit der restaurativen Politik des „Romantikers auf dem Thron“ Friedrich Wilhelm IV. ein Deutschland vor, in dem die Theologen Ernst-Wilhelm Hengstenberg (1802-1869) und Johann August Wilhelm Neander (1789-1850), die Schauspielerin und Autorin Charlotte BirchPfeiffer (1800-1868), der Staatsrechtler und Historiker Friedrich Ludwig Georg von Raumer (1781-1873), der Dichter Ferdinand Freiligrath (1810-1876), der „Turnvater“ Friedrich Ludwig Jahn (1778-1852) und der Germanist und Turner Hans Ferdinand Maßmann (1797-1874), der Philosoph Friedrich Wilhelm von Schelling (1775-1859) und der Maler Peter von Cornelius (1783-1867) – die meisten von ihnen wirkten damals im Berlin Friedrich Wilhelms IV. – zu Römern geworden wären; schließlich nimmt Heine auf Bandels geplantes, aber mangels Subskriptions-Einnahmen noch nicht vollendetes Hermannsdenkmal Bezug. Heines „Wintermährchen“ gewann in der unruhigen zweiten Hälfte der 1840er Jahre in Deutschland eine große Leserschaft. Sein ironisch-kritischer Tonfall fand gerade bei den Studenten Beifall und regte zu eigenen Versuchen auch einer Auseinandersetzung mit der allgemeinen Hermann-Begeisterung an. Ein Beleg dafür ist ein Gedicht, das am 31.10.1848 ein eben promovierter Mitarbeiter des Carl Theodor Welcker (1790-1869), der als liberaler Abgeordneter 23

Vgl. dazu allgemein die Beiträge in Brodersen (Hg.) 2000.

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der Frankfurter Nationalversammlung in der Paulskirche angehörte,24 der Redaktion der Wochenzeitung Fliegende Blätter mit folgenden Worten anbot:25 Gerade neben dem größten Ernste der Zeit muß auch der Humor um so reichlicher wachsen. Ich erlaube mir, Sie besonders auf das abnorme Epos „Die Teutoburger Schlacht“ aufmerksam zu machen, das, wie mir scheint, zu einer Reihe ebenso gelungener Illustrationen ... Veranlassung geben könnte.

In der Tat publizierten die Fliegenden Blätter im Jahr darauf – fünf Jahre nach Heines „Wintermährchen“ – ein nur mit den Initialen „J.S.“ gezeichnetes, mit acht humorigen Zeichnungen illustriertes Gedicht:26 Die Teutoburger Schlacht 1

Als die Römer frech geworden Zogen sie nach Deutschlands Norden, Vorne mit Trompetenschall Ritt der Generalfeldmarschall Herr Quinctilius Varus.

6

Da sprach er voll Aergernussen Zum Centurio Titiussen; „Kamrade! zeuch mein Schwert hervor Und von hinten mich durchbohr Da doch alles futsch ist!“

2

Doch im Teutoburger Walde, Huh! wie pfiff der Wind so kalte! Raben flogen durch die Luft Und es war ein Moderduft Wie von Blut und Leichen.

7

In dem armen römischen Heere Diente auch als Volontäre Scaevola, ein Rechtscandidat, Den man schnöd gefangen hat, Wie die Andern Alle.

3

Plötzlich aus des Waldes Duster Brachen krampfhaft die Cherusker; Mit Gott für Fürst und Vaterland Stürmten sie voll Wuth entbrannt Gegen die Legionen.

8

Diesem ist es schlimm ergangen: Eh’ dass man ihn aufgehangen, Stach man ihn durch Zung und Herz, Nagelte ihn hinterwärts Auf sein corpus iuris.

4

Weh! das war ein großes Morden, Sie erschlugen die Cohorten; Nur die römische Reiterei Rettete sich noch ins Frei, Denn sie war zu Pferde.

9

Als das Morden war zu Ende Rieb Fürst Herrmann sich die Hände, Und um sich noch mehr zu freu’n, Lud er die Cherusker ein Zu ’nem großen Frühstück.

5

O Quinctili! armer Feldherr! Dachtest Du, dass so die Welt wär? – Er gerieth in einen Sumpf, Verlor zwei Stiefel und ein’ Strumpf Und blieb elend stecken.

10 Nur in Rom war man nicht heiter, Sondern kaufte Trauerkleider. Grade als beim Mittagsmahl Augustus saß im Kaisersaal, Kam die Trauerbotschaft.

24 25 26

Zur Person vgl. von Weech 1896. Faksimile in Linse 1909, 11. S. Anm. 1. Die Angabe von Steinitz 1969, 348, das Gedicht sei bereits 1848 in den Fliegenden Blättern erschienen, ist irrig. Ein Faksimile der Seiten samt der Illustrationen findet sich auf den WWW-Seiten http://digi.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/diglit/fb10/0104, http://digi.ub.uniheidelberg.de/diglit/fb10/0105 und http://digi.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/diglit/ fb10/0106.

Kai Brodersen

126 11 Erst blieb ihm vor jähem Schrecken Ein Stück Pfau im Halse stecken; Dann gerieth er außer sich Und schrie: „Varus, schäme Dich! Redde legiones!” 12 Sein deutscher Sklave, Schmidt geheißen, Dacht’: „Ihn soll das Mäusle beißen, Wenn er je sie wieder kriegt, Denn wer einmal todt da liegt, Wird nicht mehr lebendig!“

13 Und zu Ehren der Geschichten Will ein Denkmal man errichten, Schon steht das Piedestal, Doch wer die Statue bezahl Weiß nur Gott im Himmel.

Hinter den Initialen „J.S.“ verbirgt sich der zum Zeitpunkt der Publikation 23jährige Joseph Victor Scheffel (1826-1886, geadelt 1876) aus Karlsruhe, der von 1843 bis 1847 an der Universität Heidelberg Rechtswissenschaften studiert hatte und 1848 promoviert worden war. Scheffels Mutter war die Autorin des eingangs zitierten, das traditionelle Hermann-Bild wiedergebenden Gedichts „Thusneld“. In Auseinandersetzung vielleicht mit der Mutter,27 sicher aber mit der HermannBegeisterung seiner Zeitgenossen sieht Scheffel – wie Heinrich Heine im „Wintermährchen“ – die Schlacht im Teutoburger Wald mit „Humor“; wie Heine bietet er Anspielungen auf seine eigene Zeit, und wie Heine nimmt er Bezug auf das Hermannsdenkmal bei Detmold, zu dem Bandel anhand der Subskriptionen bis 1846 den Sockel hatte errichten, die Statue selbst aber nicht mehr hatte erstellen lassen können; die letzte Illustration zu dem Gedicht in den Fliegenden Blättern 1849 zeigt dementsprechend den leeren Sockel des geplanten Denkmals. Der erste historische Kontext von Scheffels Gedicht „Als die Römer frech geworden“ ist also das Jahr seiner Entstehung, nämlich das Revolutionsjahr 1848. Wie Heinrich Heine in seinem vier Jahre zuvor erschienenen „Caput XI“ von „Deutschland, ein Wintermährchen“ setzt sich auch Scheffel in einer als „Humor“ deklarierten Weise kritisch mit dem Hermann-Mythos und damit der von „Nationalgefühl“ geprägten Politik seiner Zeit auseinander und macht sich insbesondere über die zeitgenössischen Bemühungen um ein Hermannsdenkmal lustig.

4. EIN STUDENTE HAT’S GESUNGEN Joseph Victor Scheffel hat diesen ersten historischen Kontext seiner „Teutoburger Schlacht“ später nicht mehr für bedeutend gehalten; er hat vielmehr einmal bemerkt, das Gedicht sei „ursprünglich“ nur „ein lustig Studentenlied“ gewesen.28 Auch wenn, wie wir gesehen haben, der „ursprüngliche“ Kontext des Gedichts die politisch bewegte 1848er-Zeit und sein Anlaß mehr als nur ein „lustig Studentenlied“ gewesen war, so wurde ein zweiter Kontext von „Als die Römer frech geworden“ in der Tat der des Studentenlieds. Scheffel nahm seine – 27

28

Proelß 1907, 26f., sieht eine solche Auseinandersetzung mit der Mutter auch in der Behandlung der Rodenstein-Sage durch Mutter und Sohn; anders Linse 1909, 18. Scheffel bei Beyer 1883, 114.

Als die Römer frech geworden

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nunmehr in eigenem Namen publizierte – „Teutoburger Schlacht“ nämlich zwanzig Jahre nach ihrer Entstehung in seine Sammlung „Gaudeamus! Lieder aus dem Engeren und Weiteren“ auf, die er 1868 erstmals publizierte – und dieses Buch wurde ein überaus großer Erfolg: Bereits vier Jahre später, 1872, erschien nicht nur die 10. Auflage, sondern auch eine Übertragung ins Englische (s. Anhang), 1875 die 20., 1882 die 40. und im Todesjahr des Dichters, 1886, die 50. Auflage; über zwanzig weitere, postume Auflagen und schließlich die Publikation in „Reclams Universal-Bibliothek“ (Bd. 5919/20, Leipzig 1917 u.ö.) führten auch nach Scheffels Tod zu einer weiten Bekanntheit und zur hohen Popularität dieser Sammlung.29

Abb. 2. Melodie „Die Hussiten zogen vor Naumburg“ (1832, nach Mitzschke 1907, 21).

Als „lustig Studentenlied“ wurde die „Teutoburger Schlacht“ zunächst zur Melodie des 1832 entstandenen Studentenliedes „Die Hussiten zogen vor Naumburg“ (Abb. 2) gesungen.30 Es fand bald auch Eingang in studentische Liederbücher, so 1855 in das Commersbuch für den deutschen Studenten (Magdeburg-Leipziger Commersbuch)31 und 1858 in das damit konkurrierende 29 30

31

Scheffel 1868 (u.ö.); die englische Übersetzung bei Leland 1872, 44-47. Vgl. Mitzschke 1907. Dass diese Melodie genutzt wurde, belegen etwa Linse 1909, 19f., und Beyer 1883, 114, der über „Als die Römer frech geworden“ sagt, dass es „rasch zum beliebten Volksliede wurde und nach der Melodie ‚Die Hussiten zogen vor Naumburg’ allüberall gesungen wird“. – Steinitz 1969, 349, leugnet dies, da er zu der Melodie „Die Hussiten zogen vor Naumburg“ meint, „die Kehrreimteile wie ‚Simserim’ fehlen völlig“. Er übersieht dabei, dass dieser Kehrreim in der Studentenlied-Fassung noch gar nicht enthalten war. [Commersbuch] 1855 (u.ö.), 300f. (mit Hinweis auf die Melodie „Die Hussiten zogen vor Naumburg“ und der Quellenangabe „Aus den Fliegenden Blättern“, aber ohne Hinweis auf

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Allgemeine Deutsche Commersbuch (Lahrer Commersbuch), 32 später auch in das Allgemeine Reichs-Commersbuch für Deutsche Studenten.33 An den Schluß des Liedes wurde dabei oft folgender Vers hinzugefügt:34 Wem ist dieses Lied gelungen? Ein Studente hat’s gesungen. In Westphalen trank er viel, Drum aus Nationalgefühl Hat er’s angefertigt.

Außerdem wurde – einer von Scheffels Mutter wenig geschätzten35 studentischen Lied-Tradition folgend – das Gedicht oft um eine feucht-fröhliche Strophe erweitert. Auf die Zeilen „Lud er die Cherusker ein / Zu ’nem großen Frühstück“ folgte im Allgemeinen Deutschen Commersbuch nun der Vers:36 Hui, da gab’s westphäl’schen Schinken, Bier soviel sie wollten trinken. Selbst im Zechen blieb er Held; Doch auch seine Frau Thusneld Trank als wie ein Hausknecht.

Im Allgemeinen Reichs-Commersbuch ist dieser neue Vers in folgender Fassung wiedergegeben:37 Hui, da gab’s westfäl’sche Schinken, Bier, so viel man wollte trinken. Selbst im Zechen blieb er Held; Doch auch seine Frau Thusneld, Soff als wie ein Hausknecht.

In diesem Buch wird dem Gedicht, das nun unter dem Titel „Quinctilius Varus“ geboten wird, auch eine neue, von A. Anger komponierte Melodie unterlegt (Abb. 3), die sechs Zeilen umfaßte und daher die Wiederholung der jeweils letzten Zeile verlangte; zugleich wurde darauf verwiesen, dass man das Gedicht auch nach der offenbar vertrauteren Weise „Die Hussiten zogen vor Naumburg“ singen könne.38 Der zweite historische Kontext von Scheffels Gedicht „Als die Römer frech geworden“ ist also „ein lustig Studentenlied“, das seit den 1850er Jahren sowohl über weit verbreitete studentische Kommersbücher als auch über Scheffels höchst

32 33 34 35

36 37

38

„J.S.“; vgl. Anm. 1); an späteren Auflagen war Scheffels Mitarbeit dann gesichert; s. Linse 1909, 20. Schauenburg und Silcher 1858, zahlreiche spätere Auflagen, z.B. Schauenburg (55-58o.J.). Müller 1875/21876, 289; zahlreiche spätere Auflagen. Schauenburg und Silcher 1858, zitiert bei Beyer 1883, 114ff. Nach Linse 1909, 20f., äußerte Josephine Scheffel „wiederholt die Befürchtung, dass ihr Joseph nach dieser Richtung zu wenig Rücksicht auf seinen guten Namen walten lasse“. Schauenburg und Silcher 1858, zitiert bei Beyer 1883, 114ff. Müller 1875/21876, 289f. Vgl. Linse 1909, 39: ,,Hui! da gab’s westfäl’schen Schinken, / Bier, so viel man wollte trinken, / Auch im Trinken blieb er Held, / Und selbst seine Frau Thusneld, / Soff als wie ein Hausknecht“. Müller 1875/21876, 289. Diese zweite Melodie übersieht Steinitz 1969 ganz.

Als die Römer frech geworden

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erfolgreiche Sammlung „Gaudeamus!“ zur Melodie „Die Hussiten vor Naumburg“ gesungen wurde und sehr populär war.

Abb. 3. Melodie ,,Quinctilius Varus“ (A. Anger 1875, nach Müller 1875/21876, 289)

5. MÖGEN SIE NUR KOMMEN! Das in der kritischen Auseinandersetzung mit einem auf die Arminius-Gestalt konzentrierten „Nationalgefühl“ entstandene, dann zum feucht-fröhlichen Studentenlied gewordene Gedicht gelangte nach dem Deutsch-Französischen Krieg 1870/71 und der Gründung des Deutschen Kaiserreichs 1871 in einen neuen Kontext: Es wurde, wie Scheffel später schrieb, „1875 zur Einweihung des Hermannstandbildes am 16. August neu ausstaffiert, umredigiert und mit einer volkstümlichen Melodie versehen. Es wurde auch – eigentlich wider die eigentliche Stimmung bei seiner Abfassung – das Festlied jenes Tages und als fliegendes Blatt mit Illustrationen und Noten vielfach verbreitet“.39 Ernst von Bandels 1846 aus Finanznot eingestelltes, 1863 allmählich wieder begonnenes Denkmalprojekt war nämlich wieder populär geworden. Der neue deutsche Reichstag wie auch Kaiser Wilhelm I. ermöglichten schließlich mittels Großspenden die Fertigstellung und am 16.8.1875 die festliche Einweihung des Baus40 – einem Fest, das nun zum dritten historischen Kontext für Scheffels „Als die Römer frech geworden“ werden sollte. Zum einen wurde für das Fest von 1875 die Melodie geändert. Der Dortmunder Musikalienhändler und -verleger Ludwig Teichgräber (1840-1904), der bei dem Fest das „fliegende Blatt“41 vertrieb, unterlegte dem Gedicht an der 39 40 41

Scheffel bei Beyer 1883, 114. Vgl. die in Anm. 15 und 17 genannte Literatur. Teichgräber 1875; Faksimile in Linse 1909, 39ff. – Steinitz 1969, 349, hielt es für „eigenartig, dass bei einem seit der Mitte des vorigen [= 19.] Jahrhunderts so bekannten Lied

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Stelle der „Hussiten vor Naumburg“ und der neuen Melodie von Anger nun – wenn auch ohne Nennung des Urhebers – eine Fassung des als „Kriegers Lust“ bekannten und beliebten „Sturmmarsches“ (Opus 26) des österreichisch-ungarischen Militärkomponisten Joseph Gungl (1810-1889).42

Abb. 4. Melodie „Als die Römer frech geworden“ (1875, nach Teichgräber 1875, 39)

Da diese Marschmelodie (Abb. 4) aber über den Text von Scheffels Gedicht hinausgehende Passagen aufwies, wurde jeweils die fünfte Zeile wiederholt und hinter jede der nunmehr sechs Verszeilen ein Kehrreim neu eingefügt,43 nämlich: ... sim serim, serim, sim, sim, ... sim serim, serim, sim, sim, ... räcke täcke tährä, ... räcke täcke tährä, ... Wau, Wau, Wau, Wau, Wau, ... Schnäderäng täng, Schnäderäng täng, Schnäderäng täng, täräng, täng, täng.

Zum anderen wurde auch der Text des Gedichts geändert. Neben manche sprachliche Anpassung (aus „stürmten sie voll Wuth entbrannt“ wurde etwa nun „stürzten sie sich wutentbrannt“ und aus „mein Schwert“ nun „Dein Schwert“) traten deutlichere Veränderungen: Über Thusneld hieß es nicht mehr, wie in der feucht-fröhlichen Fassung, sie „soff als wie ein Hausknecht“, sondern sie „trank walküremäßig“. Und anders als in der Fassung von 1848 war nicht mehr vom

42

43

wie ,Als die Römer frech geworden‘ um 1880 plötzlich eine neue, sehr charakteristische Melodie aufkommt, ohne dass man über ihre Herkunft etwas sagen kann“. Steinitz 1969, 351, gibt über Gungls „Sturmmarsch“ an: „Schon seit 1846 waren 12.000 Exemplare davon verkauft. Aus der flotten Melodie wurde der preußische Geschwindmarsch Nr. 129 geformt; alle Welt spielte, sang, pfiff ihn“. Vgl. gegen Steinitz 1969 oben Anm. 30.

Als die Römer frech geworden

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„Morden“ („Als das Morden war zu Ende“) die Rede, sondern von der „Waldschlacht“ („Als die Waldschlacht war zu Ende“), und aus der Freude Hermanns („Und um sich noch mehr zu freu’n“) wurde die Siegesweihe: „Und um seinen Sieg zu weih’n“. Diese – auch in der neuen Melodie erkennbare – „Militarisierung“ des Gedichts fand aber vor allem in der Neufassung der letzten Verse ihren Ausdruck. An die Stelle des an Heine gemahnenden Spottes über das unvollendete Denkmal und der Verulkung des „Nationalgefühls“ eines „Studente“ tritt nun das nationale Pathos. Mit der nach Westen blickenden Statue Hermanns wendet sich das Lied jetzt gegen Frankreich: 1

Und zu Ehren der Geschichten That ein Denkmal man errichten, Deutschlands Kraft und Einigkeit Kündet es jetzt weit und breit: „Mögen sie nur kommen!“

2

Endlich nach so vielen Mühen Ist von Bandels Werk gediehen Hermann ist jetzt aufgestellt Zusammen kommt die ganze Welt in dem Lipp’schen Reiche.44

In seiner „Deutschen Poetik“ sah Konrad Beyer in diesen Strophen einen Beleg für die Kraft des Volkslieds: „Mit großer Kühnheit brachte das Volk unbekümmert um den Dichter seine Änderungen an, ja, es dichtete sogar neue Strophen hinzu. Und in dieser neuen Volks-Redaktion hat das Gedicht seit 1875 seinen Weg in die Volksliederbücher gefunden“.45 Tatsächlich stammten die Änderungen aber von Scheffel selbst: Das Autograph seines Korrekturexemplars ist erhalten,46 und in späteren Auflagen des Lahrer Commersbuchs wurde folgende Bemerkung zur Schlußstrophe („Und zu Ehren ...“) abgedruckt:47 Ich bin sehr erfreut über die jetzt korrekte Herstellung des Liedes von der Varusschlacht, die ich längst als eine Ehrenschuld an Herrn v. Bandel betrachtet und selbst so hergestellt haben würde, wäre die unbekannte Redaktion mir nicht zuvorgekommen. Möge die jetzige Fassung der recipierte Text werden und bleiben. Dr. Scheffel

Der dritte historische Kontext von Scheffels Gedicht „Als die Römer frech geworden“ stellt das Gedicht also aus der Zeit, „da weder die Vollendung des Denkmals noch die der deutschen Einheit sehr wahrscheinlich erschien“,48 in die Zeit der Gründung des Deutschen Kaiserreichs – und mit dem Kontext wurden auch Text und Melodie geändert. Scheffel selbst hatte sich mittlerweile ge44

45 46 47 48

Dieser zweite Vers geht nach Linse 1909, 24, auf „die dichterisch begabte Gattin des ... Kaufmanns Karl Maßmann aus Herford“ Charlotte Maßmann, geb. Wehdeking, zurück, die vorgeschlagen hatte: „Endlich nach so vielen Mühen / Von Bandel sieht sein Werk erblühen / Hermann steht jetzt aufgestellt / Zusammen kommt die ganze Welt / In dem Lipp’schen Reiche“. Im Allgemeinen Reichs-Commersbuch (Müller 1875/21876, 289f.) findet sich diese Fassung (statt „steht“ wird „ist“ und statt „kommt“ wird „kam“ geboten); die oben wiedergegebene Fassung beruht auf den von Scheffel 1875 vorgenommenen Änderungen. Beyer 1883, 114. Ein Faksimile bei Linse 1909, 39ff. Schauenburg (55-58o.J.), 566. Irrig datiert Schauenburg das Gedicht auf „um 1846“. Scheffel bei Beyer 1883, 114.

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wandelt: Er war nicht mehr der liberale Anhänger der 1848er, die sich in kritischhumorvoller Weise über das Bild Hermanns lustig machten, das in Literatur, Kunst und Denkmalplan (und auch in Mutters „Thusneld“-Gedicht) aus „Nationalgefühl“ verbreitet worden war. Er war auch nicht mehr der trinkfreudige Verbindungs-Student, der sich über die Trinkfestigkeit Hermanns und seiner „wie ein Hausknecht“ saufenden Gattin amüsierte. Er war nun, 1875, der Dichter des zur Melodie des Marsches „Kriegers Lust“ gesungenen „Festlieds“ für die Eröffnung des (nach dem Deutsch-Französischen Krieg 1870/71 gegen Frankreich gerichteten) Nationaldenkmals des Deutschen Kaiserreichs. Dieses belohnte den Dichter von „Als die Römer frech geworden“ ein Jahr später, 1876, mit der Erhebung in den Adelsstand.

6. HISTORISCHE KONTEXTE EINES „VOLKSLIEDES“ Das populäre, bis heute häufig gesungene oder als leicht verständliche Bezugnahme auf die Antike zitierte Lied „Als die Römer frech geworden“ ist kein anonymes „Volkslied“, sondern ein seit 1848 in mehreren Kontexten und dementsprechend auch mehreren Varianten belegtes Gedicht des Josef Victor Scheffel. Die Varianten des Gedichts erhellen den Wandel seines Urhebers vom aufmüpfigen Rechtskandidaten (und Sohn) über den erfolgreichen Verfasser studentischer Trinklieder zum gefeierten und bald geadelten Autor des militärischen „Festlieds“ bei der Einweihung des Hermannsdenkmals 1875. Sie spiegeln aber auch die drei politischen Kontexte wider, denen sich das Gedicht und seine Vertonung wiederholt anpaßte: die kritische und satirische Auseinandersetzung mit dem in der Deutung des Arminius (Hermann) als Nationalhelden deutlich werdenden „Nationalgefühl“ um 1848, die unbekümmerte, aber auch unpolitische studentische Lied- (und Trink-)Kultur der darauffolgenden Generation und die Umdeutung des Hermann zum Symbol des Siegs über Frankreich 1870/71 und zum gegen Frankreich gewandten Nationalhelden, zu dessen Feier Scheffels Gedicht in Text und Melodie gewissermaßen „militarisiert“ wurde. Dass es just dieser letzte Kontext (und die mit ihm verbundene dritte Melodie) ist, in dem sich „Als die Römer frech geworden“ bis heute großer Beliebtheit erfreut, ist in der Tat, wie Josef Victor von Scheffel es später formulierte, „wider die eigentliche Stimmung bei seiner Abfassung“.

BIBLIOGRAPHIE [Bandel, E. von] (1976) Ernst von Bandel 1800-1876: Bildhauer in Hannover. Beiheft zur Ausstellung Ernst von Bandel, das Hermannsdenkmal und andere Arbeiten, Hannover. Beyer, C. [Konrad] (1883) Deutsche Poetik: Theoretisch-praktisches Handbuch der deutschen Dichtkunst. Bd. II, Stuttgart. Bötel, B. (1984) Joseph Ernst von Bandel, 1800-1876: Das bildhauerische Werk, Diss., Göttingen. Brodersen, K. (Hg.) (2000) Virtuelle Antike: Wendepunkte der Alten Geschichte, Darmstadt.

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(2001) Wir wären römisch geworden! Wendepunkte der Beziehungen zwischen Rom und Germanien um die Zeitenwende, in S. Krimm und U. Triller (Hgg.), Europäische Begegnungen: Die Faszination des Südens, München, 9-28. [Commersbuch] (1855) Commersbuch für den deutschen Studenten, Magdeburg. Engelbert, G. (Hg.) (1975) Ein Jahrhundert Hermannsdenkmal 1875-1975, Detmold. Essen, G. von (1998) Hermannsschlachten: Germanen- und Römerbilder in der Literatur des 18. und 19. Jahrhunderts, Göttingen. Heine, H. (1973) Historisch-kritische Gesamtausgabe („Düsseldorfer Heine-Ausgabe“), Bd. VI, hg. v. J. Hermand, Hamburg. — (1985) Historisch-kritische Gesamtausgabe („Düsseldorfer Heine-Ausgabe“), Bd. IV, hg. v. W. Woesler, Hamburg. Kauka, R. (1967) Fix und Foxi super Tip Top Nr. 4: Als die Römer frech geworden, Rastatt. Kirn, F. (1998) Als der Römer frech geworden: Die Rennen zur Motorrad-WM 1998, Stuttgart. Korth, M. und K. Pitter (1992) Als die Römer frech geworden, Frankfurt. Kreye, W.A. (1963) Als die Römer frech geworden, Verden. Lauts, J. und W. Zimmermann (1971-1972) Staatliche Kunsthalle Karlsruhe: Katalog Neuere Meister. 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, 2 Bde., Karlsruhe. Leland, C.G. (1872) Gaudeamus! Humorous Poems, translated from the German of Joseph Victor Scheffel and others, London. Linse, E. (1909) J.V. v. Scheffels Lied von der „Teutoburger Schlacht“: Eine Studie, Dortmund. Meier, B. und L. Schäfer (2000) Das Hermannsdenkmal und Ernst von Bandel, Detmold. Mitzschke, P. (1907) Das Naumburger Hussitenlied: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte der deutschen volkstümlichen Dichtung, Naumburg. Müller, F.K. (Hg.) (1875) Allgemeines Reichs-Commersbuch für deutsche Studenten, hg. v. Müller von der Werra, Leipzig (zitiert nach der 2. Aufl. 1876). Prestel, P. (2001) Als die Römer frech geworden, Mainz. Proelß, J. (Hg.) (1907) Biographische Einleitung, in J.V. von Scheffels gesammelte Werke, Bd. I, Stuttgart. Sass, R.-R. (2007) http://www.varusschlacht.de. Schauenburg, H. und F. Silcher (Hgg.) (1858) Allgemeines Deutsches Commersbuch, Lahr. Schauenburg, M. (Hg.) (55-58o.J.) Schauenburgs Allgemeines Deutsches Kommersbuch, ursprünglich herausgegeben unter musikalischer Redaktion von Friedrich Silcher und Friedrich Erk. Neue Beabeitung, 55.-58. Auflage, Lahr. [Scheffel], J.V. von (1849) Die Teutoburger Schlacht, Fliegende Blätter Bd. 10.229, 100-102. — (1868) Gaudeamus! Lieder aus dem Engeren und Weiteren, Stuttgart. — (1892) Gedichte, hg. v. V. von Scheffel, Stuttgart. — (1907) J.V. von Scheffels gesammelte Werke, 6 Bde., hg. v. J. Proelß, Stuttgart. Steinitz, W. (1969) Woher stammt die Melodie zu „Als die Römer frech geworden“? in H. Wegener (Hg.), Musa – Mens – Musici: Im Gedenken an Walther Vetter, Leipzig, 347-356. Teichgräber, L. (Hg.) (1875) Zur Enthüllungs-Feier des Hermanns-Denkmals am 16. August 1875: Die Varus-Schlacht. Gedicht von J.V. Scheffel, mit vom Dichter genehmigten neuen Strophen, für Solo, Chor und Clavier bearbeitet von Ludwig Teichgräber, Dortmund. Völker, W. (1981) Als die Römer frech geworden, Berlin. Wastl (1970), Wastl Nr. 104: Als die Römer frech geworden, Bergisch Gladbach. Weech, F. von (1896) Karl Theodor Welcker, in Allgemeine Deutsche Biographie (ADB) XLI, Leipzig, 660-665. Wiegels, R. (Hg.) (2007) Die Varusschlacht: Wendepunkt der Geschichte?, Stuttgart. Wiegels, R. und W. Woesler (Hgg.) (1995) Arminius und die Varusschlacht: Geschichte – Mythos – Literatur, Paderborn.

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ANHANG „Als die Römer frech geworden“, übersetzt von Charles G. Leland (1872) The Teutoburger Battle 1

WHEN the Romans, rashly roving, Into Germany were moving, First of all – to flourish, partial – Rode ‘mid trumps the great field-martial, Sir Quinctilius Varus.

8

E’en his hoped-for death was baffled, For ere they got him to the scaffold He was stabbed quite unaware, And nailed fast en derrière To his Corpus Juris.

2

But in the Teutoburgian Forest How the north wind blew and chorussed; Ravens flying through the air, And there was a perfume there As of blood and corpses.

9

When this forest fight was over Hermann rubbed his hands in clover; And to do the thing up right, The Cheruscans did invite To a first-rate breakfast.

3

All at once, in socks and buskins Out came rushing the Cheruskins Howling, ‘Gott und Vaterland!’ They went in with sword in hand, Against the Roman legions.

10 But in Rome the wretched varmints Went to purchase morning garments; Just as they had tapped a puncheon, And Augustus sat at luncheon, Came the mournful story.

4

Ah, it was an awful slaughter, And the cohorts ran like water; But of all the foe that day, The horsemen only got away, Because they were on horseback.

11 And the tidings so provoked him, That a peacock leg half choked him, And he cried – beyond control – ‘Varus – Varus – d-n your soul! Redde legiones!

5

O Quinctilius! wretched general, Knowest thou not that such our men are all? In a swamp he fell – how shocking! Lost two boots, a left-hand stocking, And, besides, was smothered.

12 His German slave, Hans Schmidt bechristened, who in the corner stood and listened, Remarked, ‘Der teufel take me wenn He efer kits dos droops acain, For tead men ish not lifin.’

6

Then, with his temper growing wusser, Said to Centurion Titiusser, ‘Pull your sword out – never mind, And bore me through with it behind, Since the game is busted.’

13 Now, in honour of the story, A monument they’ll raise for glory. As for pedestal – they’ve done it; But who’ll pay for a statue on it Heaven alone can tell us.

7

Scaevola, of law a student, Fine young fellow – but imprudent As a youth of tender years, Served among the volunteers, – He was also captured.

INSIDE OR OUTSIDE OF THE UNIVERSITY CLASSICAL SCHOLARSHIP IN TWENTIETH-CENTURY GREECE Constanze Güthenke 1. INTRODUCTION* The relationship which classicists outside Greece enjoy with Greek institutionalized scholarship has, more often than not, oscillated between the ill-defined, the anecdotal, and the ambivalent, not least because, until relatively recently, few well-known Greek classicists seemed to be operating from within Greece, but instead were establishing a presence mainly abroad. It makes sense, therefore, to address the question and challenges of twentieth-century, and in particular of postWar, classical scholarship in Greece in terms of its relative visibility, both within Greek society, or its cultural sphere, at large, and within the academic sphere outside Greece. Which, in turn, allows the question of why the state of classical scholarship in Greece should be of interest to an audience of foreign classicists in the first place? What is in it for the classicist, who usually thinks of his or her field as dealing with a subject that may be personally or nationally relevant, but that is, surely, more or less universally accessible? Pierre Bourdieu has a characteristically strong opinion on the matter, when addressing transnational ideas and the traffic between academic systems:1 What can one do today, if one has a genuine desire to further the internationalization of intellectual life? People often have a tendency to think that intellectual life is spontaneously international. Nothing could be further from the truth. Intellectual life, like all other social spaces, is a home to nationalism and imperialism, and intellectuals, like everyone else, constantly peddle prejudices, stereotypes, received ideas, and hastily simplistic representations which are fuelled by the chance happenings of everyday life, like misunderstandings, general incomprehension, and wounded pride (such as might be felt at being unknown in a foreign country). All of which makes me think that a truly scientific internationalism, which to my mind is the only possible ground on which internationalism of any sort is going to be built, is not going to happen of its own accord.

In consequence, Bourdieu makes a case for making the scientific knowledge of ‘national fields of production and national categories of thought that originate there’ a firm component of the study of foreign languages, civilizations and phi*

1

I would like to thank the organizers and audience of a conference on ‘Politics, Culture and the Ancient World in Post-War Greece’, held at Oxford in June 2008; Angelos Chaniotis for his invitation to the present volume; and Oliver Leege, Peter Mackridge, and Gonda Van Steen for comments and additional material. Bourdieu 1999, 220.

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losophies.2 In other words, in order to understand a knowledge (such as the knowledge of the ancient world), which we assume is in the international domain and is produced by specialists adhering to international standards, we need to understand the respective contexts of its production if we want to avoid, reduce, and analyze mutual misunderstandings. Structural misunderstandings can of course be productive – this is, after all, what ‘traveling theory’, to use Edward Said’s term, and much academic work does: encourage transfer. To evaluate how the constitution of classical knowledge and Classics as a discipline are part of generative international transfers, what is needed would essentially amount to a comprehensive social history of academic fields and their national developments, an analysis that goes far beyond the scope of this chapter and would take into account the relationship with outside academic systems and their ostensibly similar but often diverging categories. In Greece, a developing area of research is focussing on the disciplinary and social-institutional history of Modern Greek philology in its national context, examining its categories and the rise of the literary field as a part of modernization (beginning with Apostolidou 1992). However, while ‘philology’ in a Greek institutional context has always included or at least related to classical philology, the history of classical philology in the Greek nation state has not received much attention of its own. There are some recent comprehensive studies of Greek education,3 and one or two much older and largely enumerative ones of classical scholarship in particular,4 but philology is not usually addressed in its relation to other branches of classical scholarship or in terms of its disciplinary shape overall. Of those other branches, archaeology has received by far the most study, as the most prominent and most authoritative manifestation of classical scholarship in Greece,5 but again there is little overlap with other studies on the institutional history of philology. If we ask, with Bourdieu, what the main categories of classical scholarship and knowledge of antiquity in Greece have been, and what its main structures, three of them stand out: the issue of historical continuity; the language question (or Language Question) over what kind of Greek to use as the language of the nation state; and the organized study of classical antiquity as a token of modernization, with its findings the currency of recognition by foreign standards. The link to Greece’s classical past, in other words, was built into the fabric of the Greek nation state, and its institutions, as an internationally recognizable parameter for national legitimization.

2 3 4 5

Bourdieu 1999, 227. Kyprianos 2004; Dimaras 1973 and 2008; in English, Dimaras 1978. Kalitzounakis 1958. Hamilakis 2007; Damaskos and Plantzos (eds.) 2008.

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2. THE INSTITUTIONAL CONTEXT OF CLASSICAL LEARNING IN GREECE: A SHORT HISTORY To go back and identify some of the factors that have shaped the profession and its institutions since the actual foundation of the nation state in the 1820s and 1830s, let me begin with an unusual example. In 1867, Alexandros Rizos Rangavis, then Greek ambassador to the United States of America, found himself with the local mayor on a tour of Boston’s public institutions and the local industrial landscape. In his Memoirs, he describes his visit by way of the following episode:6 The first establishment which we visited was the Public Hospital, one of twenty-eight in the city, on the foundation of which 200,000 dollars had been spent, while the annual upkeep amounted to then 75,000 dollars. From there we went further on for another 230 feet to stand before a tall chimney, which had been saved from an old factory as a ruin that had not been torn down, because its echo, the precision of which and clarity of voice was rare, made it a true curiosity. After I entered with the others, I could not confound the chimney at all when I offered her some verses of Homer in Greek, and she answered, not word by word, but verse by verse, as if she was a model pupil and had steadily learned her Greek from the earliest time she was founded.

From Rangavis’ successful ambassadorial imposition of epic poetry on an industrial chimney, set between dereliction and progress, several of the dominant issues of classical scholarship in Greece can be unravelled: the importance of language (in the crystalline Homeric hexameter), the question of modernity and modernization (the industrial site as a setting), the status of archaeology and of material remains (the preservation of ruins on the industrial site), the authority of institutional positions (Rangavis is speaking as ambassador of his country), the standing of education (the chimney answers like a dutiful schoolchild), and, last but not least, the relationship between inside and outside of the university (which is mirrored in Rangavis’ own chequered career). Rangavis’ path is a good and in some ways representative entry point to characterizing the structures of Greek professional and academic life of the new nation state of the mid-nineteenth century, and the issues dominating it. Born outside the territory of what becomes the newly minted (and very small) kingdom of Greece, Rangavis, in the 1820s, studied at the Military Academy in Munich, spending the initial months in the house of the classicist Friedrich Wilhelm Thiersch, with whom he established a life-long connection and who himself sought to take on an advisory role in the new Greek state. In 1829, he returned to Greece, where in Nafplio, the then Greek capital, he rose in the ranks of the administration. Following the appointment as Director of the National Press and a period at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, he had to step down in 1844, when a new law rendered all Greeks who were not born within the liberated provinces of the Greek State (the so-called ‘heterochthons’) or not active veterans of the War ineligible to hold state 6

Rangavis 1999, vol. 3, 209.

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positions. Exempted from the bill were the military, the consular service and the teaching profession – and for the next 23 years, Rangavis held a chair as Professor of Archaeology at Athens University, while from 1856 onwards, under a new government, he was rehabilitated to serve as Minister of Foreign Affairs. Between 1867 and 1874 he served as Ambassador to the United States, France, Turkey and Germany, retiring from diplomatic life in 1887. His literary work spans an equally broad range: political essays, archaeological and historical treatises, educational books, translations (of classical texts as much as of contemporary poetry and drama), poems, prose fiction, plays and a history of modern Greek literature, published in three different languages.7 How could someone with training in public administration, as we would now call it, become professor of archaeology? After the granting of the nation state by the Protecting Powers, England, France, and Russia, Greece became a monarchy with a Bavarian head of state, chosen from a European pool. Under King Otto, state building and institution building proceeded largely along Western European models, mostly German and French in character. The University of Athens, Greece’s first university, and one of the few institutions of higher learning up to then that was not clerical, was founded in 1837 (shortly after the move of the capital from Nafplio to Athens, largely for symbolic reasons, so as to cement the material link between the glory of antiquity and the present-day state), and its four faculties of Medicine, Law, Theology and Arts (including everything else) with initially 52 professors and 33 enrolled students, were installed with a view to training civil servants.8 In the narrow circles of the newly forming society there was, in the 1830s, no structure of an established middle class. The social strata taking up the functions of the upper and middle classes were composed of foreigners, administrators and functionaries, captains of the local bands and members of the local elites (with no small amount of animosities between them). The wealthy merchant communities that had gradually formed abroad in the late eighteenth century largely continued to stay abroad, and it took several more decades before the hierarchies of the upper and middle classes were filled and determined by new groups of merchants, manufacturers, bankers and intellectuals. Within this set-up, the first generation of teachers was therefore largely foreign, mainly German, or at least German-appointed – an editorial of the (German and Greek) bilingual newspaper Elpis complains in 1837 against the charlatanism of the university (instead of funding schools and the press), and against the fact that Germans were given preferred treatment: ‘If [senior university administrator] Herr Brandis should wish to find a position for his boot cleaner, he would for sure

7 8

Güthenke 2008, 143-151. For early figures and documentation of the University of Athens, see the electronic address of its gradually digitized, but as yet not transcribed and uncommented historical archive: http:// uoa.gr/uoagr/uoaindex.htm

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submit an application to have a chair of Boot Cleaning established.’9 The syllabi, as much as the structures, were German-inspired, and included a good deal of ancient Greek readings as a core curriculum, without, however, making Philology a particularly strong subject when compared to Medicine or Law. The categories of Greek classical scholarship mentioned above had shaping power for the development of learning, the production of knowledge, and its institutions throughout the nineteenth century, and beyond: the role of historical scholarship as a means of demonstrating continuity; the language question; and, especially at the outset of the nation building process, the crucial role of archaeology as the most tangible authority of classical scholarship. With becoming a nation state, one of Greece’s greatest assets in foreign eyes, and in the Greek perception of those foreign eyes, was the simple fact that it was materially there and materially (still) present. An inordinate amount of attention and of value, which for many different reasons had to do with the intellectual climate as much as or even more than with geopolitics, attached to the link that could be made between the modern Greek land, ancient ideals, and the literal remains of antiquity.10 Archaeology, whether in the exploits of Grand Tour travellers or in the increasing professionalization and scale of fieldwork and excavations, became the default marker of a classical tradition within this framework. It is no coincidence that one of the first institutions set up in the new Greek state was a national archaeological service, with ongoing competition between foreign and native officers, and still wielding enormous power today.11 What really transformed the landscape of the universities, though, and of the social standing of institutions of learning, was the question of national historiography, and here again, the issue of continuity was paramount. As the anthropologist Loring Danforth summarized the state of affairs in a seminal article a good twenty years ago, ‘[t]he assertion or denial of the continuity of Greek culture must be seen for what it is, a rhetorical strategy that is effective in a variety of contexts’.12 The discussion of continuity, whether it is detected in the elements of language, motifs or the characteristics of the nation imagined as a developing human organism, has been an issue largely in the context of historiography, and in Greece and regarding Greece it is heavily associated with the framework of nineteenth-century historicism and romantic nationalism, hardening in its parameters as the century wore on. Its clearest expression came in reaction against Jakob Philipp Fallmerayer’s incendiary claim that there was no racial link between the ancient and modern Greeks, 13 and it was articulated in Konstantinos Paparrigopoulos’ large-scale project of a history of Greece from antiquity through 9

10 11 12 13

‘Es ist gewiss, dass wenn Herr Brandis auch seinen Stiefelputzer unterzubringen wünschen sollte, er gewiss einen Lehrstuhl für die Stiefelputzerkunst beantragen wird’ (Elpis 64/65, 280). Güthenke 2008. Hamilakis 2007, 57-123. Danforth 1984, 84. Fallmerayer 1830-36 and 1835.

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the Medieval or Byzantine period to the modern age.14 Much philological energy, therefore, went into the field that in Greece is (still) known as laographia – a term adapted from the study of folklore as a discipline that sought to identify, collect, and classify the customs and textual materials of a paradoxically timeless popular culture, especially as they betrayed traces of survival or the continuity of older strata. One of the more unintended consequences of that boost to historical scholarship along the lines of continuity, in addition, is that the teleological linking of periods of Greek culture on Paparrigopoulos’ historiographical model, has, paradoxically, also led to compartmentalization into three distinct fields, ancient, Byzantine and modern, with a sense of mutual rivalry and anxiety of trespass15 – a distinction that still persists today in university curricula: whether one studies Philology, or History, the separation into those three broad phases remains, each of them has to be covered for a degree, and yet the three subsections operate independently in terms of outlook and content within larger departmental structures. Lastly, it is impossible to overestimate the impact of the so-called Language Question on the structures and status of philology, which explains why philology is and was not simply an academic discipline among many, but why, historically, there has been an extraordinary amount of interference, or interaction, between university structures and cultural politics at large. The Language Question (Glossiko Zitima) is the debate over which form of Greek should be adopted as the official written language of the nation state. The Greek-speaking ecumene had been faced with the historical experience of a factual diglossia since late antiquity and the Byzantine period, when a written language closely modelled on ancient Greek coexisted above a demotic register, developed from the koine, that could be used both in spoken and written form – though with a fairly large amount of overlap on a gliding scale. The debate over which form to favour in the modern nation state reached its peak, that is to say its most far-reaching political and cultural intensity, in the interwar years, but it had had currency, and political explosiveness, since the late eighteenth century (and so since before the establishment of the nation state proper), and opinion ranged widely, from a recovery of classical Attic Greek, through a purified, archaizing Greek free of loanwords, to a radical, phonetically written demotic.16 Around 1800, the Greek private scholar Adamantios Korais, for example, had promoted the education of a budding Greek national consciousness by way of text editions of classical texts – so as to avoid uninformed enthusiasm but also so as to encourage real knowledge of the content of a classical heritage. Korais, after initial training as a merchant in the Netherlands and later retraining in France as a 14

15 16

Paparrigopoulos 1885-87. The historian and traveler Jakob Philipp Fallmerayer published a series of investigations on Greek history in the 1830s, motivated mainly, however, by a fear of future pan-Slavic claims. Paparrigopoulos’ History of the Greek People started life as a school textbook before flowering into a five-volume edition. Alexiou 2002, xx. Mackridge 1990 and 2009.

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physician, became a freelance classical scholar, based in France, whose textual criticism and editions were relatively well-known, generally well-regarded and referenced within the academic community of the time. To be an independent scholar is certainly not an oddity in the network of philological study that covers the Europe of that period, and it reminds us not to equate institutional scholarship with scholarship tout court; at the same time, Korais’ example speaks to the relative position and power of classical scholarship inside and outside of the academy strictly speaking, especially in a Greek context. Even without an institutional, or even private, context of scholarly networks within Greece, he firmly links philology, as a parameter, to a national agenda, so as to prove that nation’s international standing. With the arrival of the nation state the ostensible demands of a classicizing makeover of the new state rendered katharevousa the language of education and administration from early on, a tendency that became only more pronounced as the nineteenth century wore on. After an increasingly rigid focus in the late nineteenth century, and into the early twentieth, on ancient Greek as the only language of literature and instruction in the Greek school system, this was a state of affairs that had also made the linguistic nature of translations of classical texts a highly politicized, usually contentious, and often outright violent event, with national feelings running high on either side of the divide. A notorious high (or low) point was reached with the so-called Gospel Riots of 1901, when two modern Greek translations of the New Testament had aroused suspicions of proselytizing by foreign agents, one of the two translations was promoted by the Protestant Bible Society, and pan-slavist seditiousness – the other was initiated by Queen Olga of Greece, herself of Russian origin.17 Similar rioting happened two years later over a new translation, and performance, of Aeschylus’ Oresteia, which, even though not even strongly demotic, provoked scenes of verbal outrage and physical boycott, in which the classical philologist George Mistriotis and his enlisted students, who had already staged prominent protests two years earlier during the Gospel Riots, played a vocal role.18 The role played by the established universities (or rather university: at the time of both the Gospel Riots and the Oresteiaka, Athens was still the only university on Greek territory and would remain so until the foundation of the University of Thessaloniki in 1926) and by the (classical) philologists as guardians of an inviolate priority of classical Greek no matter its context, may surprise us in its strength. However, at a time when universities had been established in their function to authorize qualification and to act far less as research institutions than as gatekeepers to the state administration and its increasingly large civil service, and, in addition, against a background of classical Greek being understood as the signifier and the guarantor of the modern nation, conservative philologists such as Mistriotis may have found themselves quite easily at the forefront of resistance against reform, when reform was inevitably perceived as related to the question of 17 18

Carabott 1993. Kaiapha 2005; Van Steen 2008; on Mistriotis as a translator of Homer, Ricks 1989.

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who owns and determines language, including the language of interpretation of ancient texts. The turn of the twentieth century saw in fact a range of reform movements that had an impact on the situation of classical scholarship, among them the rise of an educational demoticism alongside the today more frequently discussed literary one. Within the outlook of the educational demoticists (such as Photis Photiadis in Constantinople and, a little later, Dimitris Glinos, Alexandros Delmouzos and Manolis Triantafyllidis), ancient Greek was no longer to be treated as the mother tongue of Greek school children, but instead as a historical subject matter to be taught in the higher classes of school.19 Two additional features bear stressing, when it comes to positioning educational (as much as literary) demoticism. It is important to bear in mind that demoticism is neither of a fixed political orientation, nor does it preclude an engagement with the issue of continuity. The Greek language question, though highly politicized, is not an issue that maps easily onto designated political positions of ‘left’ or ‘right’. The demoticism of the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, for example, covers an enormous political spectrum, from communist to die-hard nationalist perspectives. As for the issue of continuity as part of the attitude towards classical texts, the institutional historiography based on continuity shaped the outlook of the demoticists no less: in the context of classical learning the demotic was, at least until the later end of the twentieth century, often equated or tinged with notions of folk culture. In other words, it was the belief in the continuity of folk motives that allowed, for example, to identify Homeric motives in Greek folklore, and vice versa, or to translate Homeric Greek in a register that owed much to the conventions of popular song.20 Like the controversies over modern Greek translations of classical texts, attempts at educational reform provoked strong reactions. In 1908, for example, Delmouzos, an advocate of educational reform and later one of the first professors (of Education) at the newly founded University of Thessaloniki (which quickly acquired a reputation as a reform university), used his directorship of the Girls’ School of Volos to introduce demotic Greek as the language of instruction and of text books, and to teach classical texts through what we would call a literary close reading approach – in Delmouzos’ pilot project Homer was also taught in Alexandros Pallis’ recent, extremely demoticizing translation. The experiment was forced to close down in 1911, under political pressure, followed three years later by a court case against Delmouzos and other city officials.

19 20

For an overview in English, Eliou 2000. Compare the samples of school textbook translations from Homer collected in Peponi 1998, 22-26, including those of Sideris, Kazantzakis and Kakridis, and, most recently, Maronitis. The examples show how an essentially folklorized Homer was popular until the late twentieth century, with Maronitis’ (very successful) program for a Homeric translation without demotically arcane vocabulary and much more closely modeled on the syntax, word order and meter of the ancient Greek being a relatively recent development.

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In another example, in 1925, a ‘National Congress against the Enemies and Detractors of Religion, Language, Family, Property, Morality, National Consciousness, and the Fatherland’ was called, which asked for the abolition of demotic text books and the re-instatement of katharevousa in all primary school classes; it included members of the Archaeological Society, the Association of Doctors and the Trade Association, the Society for Byzantine Studies, the Geographical Society, the Association of Professors of Theology, members of the Technical University, Schoolteachers’ Associations, and the Association of Employers of the National Bank, among others.21 The array of lobbyists may strike us as extreme and even grotesque, but the status of the ancient Greek language in its pedagogical and subsequently its academic context was far from being an academic matter pure and simple, and the way from linguistic ambivalence to charges of national treason was unsettlingly short. The risk of being categorized as less than loyal to the absolute and inflexible standing of classical Greek affected even, and especially, those who made its actual academic study their profession. Among those whose actual importance as classical scholars has been largely eclipsed by their position at the shifting centre of snowballing culture wars, the cases of Ioannis Sykoutris and Ioannis Kakridis stand out. Sykoutris’ bilingual edition and extensive commentary of Plato’s Symposium in 1934 led to allegations of decadence, anti-nationalism, and impiety, which cut short not only his life but also his larger attempts to reform the practice of classical philology in Greece.22 A few years later, in 1941-42, under German occupation and at a time of heightened national tension, the Homeric scholar Ioannis Kakridis was at the centre of the so-called ‘Trial of Accents’ (Diki ton tonon). Kakridis, holding a position at Athens University, was campaigning for the introduction of the monotonic system (that is, a simplified system of accents and diacritics of written modern Greek) both into the academic sphere and scholarly writing, as well as into translations of Homer (Mackridge 2009). His colleagues at the at any rate always rather more conservative University of Athens protested his publications as a matter of national urgency and called for his suspension and later expulsion, which meant that much of his subsequent scholarship, actually quite sympathetic to scholarly consideration of Greek linguistic and literary continuities, was carried out largely abroad.23 To return to the early twentieth century, actual short-lived reforms did take place in the late 1920s under Venizelos’ prime-ministership, though they were reversed only a few years later during the dictatorial government of Metaxas. The upheavals of the mid-twentieth century, with the German-Italian occupation followed immediately by a far-reaching civil war conducted over several years along lines of left or right political affiliation, did not contribute to foster an open climate at universities in general, and in their institutions of classical learning in particular. 21 22 23

Hering 1995, 240-251. Güthenke forthcoming. Kakridis 1949, 1967, and 1971.

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Between the end of the civil war in 1949 and the 1967 military coup and subsequent right-wing dictatorship of the generals that lasted until 1974, it was a small-c conservatism that, despite the alteration between conservative and socialist governments, defined the outlook of classical learning and its institutions. The reform program suggested by the conservative Karamanlis government in 1957 may articulate well the reigning sense of educational priorities: it aims for a humanism based on Greek-Christian values and heritage, in order to foster understanding of historical continuity and to contribute in this way to national unity. During the Cold War period, in addition, the Greek government was encouraged to maintain a strong commitment to the West and to its educational system – which, among other things, meant also the influx of educational funding from abroad. In a set of sweeping social reforms of the mid-1980s, the socialist PASOK party moreover modified the system of secondary and higher education, not least in line with a new economic need for larger amounts of qualified degree-holders, and a need for a flexible higher education system, including more vocational training. Nonetheless, national values remained attached to the teaching of Classics, and Classical languages (including Latin) continued as a school staple, even though classical Bildung let itself be increasingly uncoupled from the primary knowledge of Classical Greek as mandatory.24 In the (growing number of) universities meanwhile, with their steady trickle of new disciplines, and larger numbers of students, other foreign, modern philologies were introduced, which deflected from philology being equalled by default with classical languages and modern Greek. During the seven years of military dictatorship, almost all educational reforms were rolled back to where they had been in the 1930s.25 Katharevousa, once more, became the language of textbooks from year four of primary school, and ancient Greek texts were exclusively read in the original without a phase of teaching them in translations. Ancient Greek, at the same time, serves also as a language of political education, which is to say that contemporary political sentiments are presented as based on the values and sentiments of classical Greek texts. One of the results was that classical scholarship and training was to an extent pushed out of the academy, in a way that reinforced a trend that had always been present for classical scholarship in relation to its institutions – either by exile to foreign universities, by scholars working freelance, or by trained classicists accepting positions in private schools. In fact, one could make a claim that for the first two thirds of the twentieth century much independent and innovative scholarship had come not so much from the centre of the Greek academy as from its margins, geographically as much as institutionally speaking. After the reestablishment of democracy in 1974, the educational system reverted to the status quo of the mid-1960s, also establishing demotic Greek as the official and only language of education and administration. As for the knowledge 24 25

Papadopoulou-Ainalidou 1995. Anastasiou 1969.

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of classics before and at university, the situation of a first-year student at the end of the twentieth century presented itself roughly as follows. In 1976, compulsory ancient Greek at the level of the gymnasio (that is, the first three years of secondary school) had been abolished; in 1993, it was reintroduced, yet in the form of an anthology of general ‘older Greek’; in other words, there has been no concerted effort at teaching ancient Greek systematically as a historical linguistic subject, for its linguistic properties and independent of its later stages.26 At university, until today, philology students will study ancient Greek for the initial semesters of their degree course, whether or not they decide to specialize in classical philology.

3. CURRENT TRENDS IN CLASSICAL SCHOLARSHIP With this broad overview of the institutional context of classical learning in twentieth-century Greece, what trends can be identified of what this means for professionalized classical scholarship and its relative visibility even now? One factor is the strong legitimizing function of universities as national institutions that began with the establishment of the new nation state but that has had effects well into the twentieth century and beyond. ‘National’ in this case always invokes a link, however much problematized, between modernity and classical antiquity. Newer universities, beginning with that of Thessaloniki and followed, for example, more recently by universities in Patras, Crete, Volos and Cyprus, were in a position to evade that structural function to a somewhat larger degree. At the same time, the institution of the modern university has historically been a token of the nation state on a Western European model. This, together with the slow growth of universities until the later twentieth century, goes towards explaining the high mobility of Greek students and their willingness to complete training outside Greece. Until the second half of the twentieth century, moreover, the Greek universities, despite the adoption of German and French structural models, were not encouraged to conceive of themselves as mainly research universities, nor would they receive strong, necessary financial support for that. The National Hellenic Research Foundation (EIE), as a national pure research institution, was established in 1958, with the Institute of Greek and Roman Antiquity (KERA), the youngest of its three historical institutes, founded only in 1979. Until today, research is additionally supported by a range of other private and public educational foundations which are not universities. The relatively hierarchical system of the university, that owes much to its German and French models, corresponds to a division of academic labour that has tended to treat classical scholarship not as institutionally unified, as in the AngloAmerican ‘Classics’, but rather as institutionally separate disciplines, for example Philology, History, and Archaeology. Despite the relative strictures of internal, interdisciplinary exchange, the Greek academic world has at the same time shown remarkable permeability between the roles of academic teacher and researcher and 26

Mackridge 2006.

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that of cultural critic. Historically, in a numerically relatively small educated elite, the function of critic, writer, scholar, journalist, and translator have often been very close, an effect that may also be seen in the large number of well-regarded non-academic (or rather non-university) journals as a publishing forum for literary and scholarly research. In addition, a considerable number of researchers, given the relatively conservative outlook of professionalized classical scholarship, especially at times such as the war and civil war period, and the junta, have produced scholarship outside the world of the university, often from the vantage point of private school teaching or freelance writing. One such example, whose work has recently come back into focus in Greece again, is Panagis Lekatsas, author of a substantial anthropological study of Dionysos,27 and the translator of the works of George Thomson and some of the Cambridge Ritualists into Greek. The result of the strong institutional distribution between highly conservative and marginal meant that actual classical scholarship, as it impacted on the perception and reception of antiquity, tended to be either so orthodox as to be ignored in its details, or so marginal as to be of very low visibility. Or, alternatively, considered to be such a provocation that its actual scholarly details, again, were sidelined. It is a reflection of the (in-)visibility of scholarship, for example, that in Van Steen’s in-depth, contextual study of Aristophanes on the modern Greek stage and in the modern Greek conscious, the existence (or lack of) Aristophanic scholarship in Greece should play only a very minor role.28 Much is changing, especially with the recent reorientation of national educational systems and agendas to be more inclusive on a European level. Still, it is significant that among recent voices on the state of classical scholarship at the turn of the twenty-first century, in Greece and elsewhere, the Latinist Theodore Papangelis concludes that a Greek discussion of the contemporary role of the classical Humanities has not only been slim, but has also so far failed to address the issue in a way that takes account of national as much as international categories in combination.29

4. STRUCTURAL MISUNDERSTANDINGS Some years ago, at a symposium On Philology – when, at a high point of the theory era, philology was scrutinized as a necessary part of literary studies – Margaret Alexiou commented in the following way on ‘Greek philology’ as an umbrella term for the study of classical, medieval and modern Greek language sources, suggesting that

27 28 29

Lekatsas 1971. Van Steen 2000. Papangelis 2002.

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[t]he relevance of Greece to the current debate concerns the marginalization of its post-classical cultures, which places it at the center of critical discourse. Situated at the intersection of East and West, with a classical heritage appropriated by the West as an idealized image of its own civilized origins, but also with medieval and modern cultures that do not always conform to Western patterns of development, Greece can become a test case for the validity of scholarly assumptions on both sides of the critical fence. Third, since Greece is a young and developing nation-state, Greek scholars and speakers alike will have a significant voice in shaping the future of Greek philology. In other words, the matter is not one for purely academic debate.30

Some of the material presented here has shown that the normative affiliation of the ancient world with its post-classical manifestations can be precisely one of the structural misunderstandings Bourdieu speaks of when it comes to the internationalization of scholarship. There may, however, also be merit in Alexiou’s suggestion that we see a larger Greek philology (that is to say one that includes postclassical Greek) as a test case if it is examined in dialogue from both sides of the divide: to see ancient Greek not primarily as a comment on an exceptional Greek tradition, but as a subject among many, in its own right and on its own terms; but also, to ruffle the presumption of an easily transposable and universally accessible antiquity that provides varying and controllable degrees of distance or proximity on demand, of a subject matter that is self-contained. The highly ambivalent sense of classical antiquity as a tradition that is constructed and practiced as an obligation as much as a lure, also in scholarship, may be best expressed by a Medieval Greek commentator of Homer now little read either in Greece or abroad. Eustathius, the twelfth-century archbishop of Thessaloniki and scholar of Homer’s epics, opens the introduction to his massive comment on Homer’s Iliad as follows:31 It is probably a good thing if someone keeps away from the source (arche) of Homer's sirens, either blocking his ears with wax or turning to some other means, so that he may avoid their charm. Even if he does not keep away, but passes through this song, he will not, so I believe, pass by lightly, even if he is held back by many bonds, nor will he be greatly thankful (eucharis) going by. And should someone count, like the seven wonders that are so much talked about, the things that are worth to return to so one can listen to them again, then Homeric poetry will surely be among them, since I would be surprised if any of the old sages had not tasted of it, and especially those who draw from the [pagan] wisdom that is outside our reach.

Eustathios sums up perfectly a ‘tyranny of Greece over Greece’ (with apologies to Eliza Butler): the sense both of a painful duty towards a body of work that he considers both original and somehow threatening to the present; and the curiosity to approach it almost against better intentions. His brief reflection, which introduces a substantial work of scholarly engagement with Homer, highlights some of the issues that may also characterize the study of ancient Greece in a modern Greek context. While the Greek academic system currently can be moving to30 31

Alexiou 1990, 53. Eustathius, Praefatio, ed. Van der Valk 1971.

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wards a greater ‘independence’ of classical scholarship from national issues, seeing it as a less exceptionalist subject, Eustathius’ sentiment also highlights and breaks the illusion of the classical world and its texts as operating at a ‘safe distance’, a distance that leaves us completely in control of how close we want it to come.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Alexiou, M. (1990) Greek Philology: Diversity and Difference, in I. Ziolkowski (ed.), On Philology, University Park, 53-61. — (2002) After Antiquity. Greek Language, Myth, and Metaphor, Ithaca. Anastasiou, D. (1969) L’enseignement grec et son démantèlement par la junte, Les Temps Modernes 276.2, 161-193. Apostolidou, V. (1992)  !    , "       [Kostis Palamas, historian of modern Greek literature], Athens. Bourdieu, P. (1999) The Social Conditions of the International Circulation of Ideas, in R. Shusterman (ed.), Bourdieu. A Critical Reader, Oxford, 220-228. Carabott, P. (1993) Politics, Orthodoxy and the Language Question in Greece. The Gospel Riots of November 1901, Journal of Mediterranean Studies 3, 117-138. Damaskos D. and D. Plantzos (eds.) (2008) A Singular Antiquity. Archaeology and Hellenic Identity in Twentieth-Century Greece, Athens. Danforth, L. (1984) The Ideological Context of the Search for Continuities in Greek Culture, Journal of Modern Greek Studies 2.1, 53-85. Dimaras, A. (1973) ,  # 1 . ( [The reform which did not take place], Athens. — (1978), The Movement for Reform. A Historical Perspective, Comparative Education Review 22.1, 11-20. — (2008) %#   $  % . 1830-2000,  #  D !#"  %   , D #   # [From pen to computer. 1830-2000, one hundred and seventy years of Greek education, in words and images], Athens. Eliou, M. (2000) Dimitri Glinos (1882-1943), Prospects. The Quarterly Review of Comparative Education 23.3/4, 559-574. Fallmerayer, J.P. (1830/36) Geschichte der Halbinsel Morea, Stuttgart. — (1835) Über die Entstehung der Neugriechen, Stuttgart. Güthenke, C. (2008) Placing Modern Greece. The Dynamics of Romantic Hellenism 1770-1840, Oxford. — (forthcoming) Editing the Nation. Classical Scholarship in Greece, ca. 1930, in S. Stephens and P. Vasunia (eds.), Classics and National Cultures, Oxford. Hamilakis, Y. (2007) The Nation and its Ruins. Antiquity, Archaeology, and National Imagination in Greece, Oxford. Hering, G. (1995) Die Auseinandersetzungen über die neugriechische Schriftsprache, in M. Stassinopoulou (ed.), Nostos. Gesammelte Schriften zur südosteuropäischen Geschichte, Frankfurt, 189-264. Kaiapha, O. (ed.) (2005)   (1901) –    (1903). "  %    "     [Evangelika (1901) – Oresteiaka (1903): Modern Pressures and Social Opposition], Athens. Kakridis, I. (1949) Homeric Researches, Lund. — (1967) Die alten Hellenen im neugriechischen Volksglauben, Munich. — (1971) Homer Revisited, Lund.

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Kalitzounakis, I. (1958) , % ! 6  6 6 ' ) %0 4 %$!  / '5 [The Renaissance of classical studies in Greece, from the Greek War of Independence onwards], Athens. Kyprianos, P. (2004)        [Comparative history of Greek education], Athens. Mackridge, P. (1990) Katharevousa (c. 1800-1974): An Obituary for an Official Language, in M. Sarafis and M. Eve (eds.), Background to Contemporary Greece, volume 1, London, 25-51. — (2006) Anarchaia: the Teaching of Ancient Greek, Athens News 22 September, 7-11. — (2009) Language and National Identity in Greece, 1766-1976, Oxford. Papadopoulou-Ainalidou, W. (1995) Der altgriechische Unterricht in der Sekundarstufe des neugriechischen Schulwesens von 1836 bis 1976. Implizite Erwartungen und explizite Lernziele, Munich. Papangelis, T. (2002)
    :     [Greek classical philology. In search of a future], in A. Rengakos (ed.),    ;        21 $ [Dead letters? Classical Studies in the twenty-first century], Athens, 225231. Paparrigopoulos, K. (1885-87) - 5 )5 *, %0 6 % ! "!   6  3 +2 [History of the Greek people from earliest antiquity until the present age], Athens. Peponi, A.-E. (1998)               "        [The teaching of ancient Greek in translation at the secondary school level], Thessaloniki. Rangavis, A. (1999) &#  , 4 volumes, Athens. Ricks, D. (1989) The Shade of Homer. A Study of Modern Greek Poetry, Cambridge. Van der Valk, M.H.A.L.H. (ed.) (1971) Eustathius, Commentarii ad Homeri Iliadem pertinentes ad fidem codicis Laurentiani editi, Leiden. Van Steen, G. (2000) Venom in Verse. Aristophanes in Modern Greece, Princeton. — (2008) ‘You unleash the tempest of tragedy’: The 1903 Athenian Production of Aeschylus’ Oresteia, in L. Hardwick and C. Stray (eds.), A Companion to Classical Receptions, Oxford, 361-372.

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DIE KRISE DER KLASSISCHEN BILDUNG WÄHREND DES ERSTEN WELTKRIEGS Thomas A. Schmitz

1. DAS ALTERTUM IM DIENST DER KRIEGSPROPAGANDA* Wer zu Beginn des 21. Jh. professionell mit der Vermittlung klassischer Bildung zu tun hat, wird wohl öfter mit Wehmut auf die Zeit vor rund 100 Jahren zurückblicken: Um die Wende vom 19. zum 20. Jh., so scheint es im Rückblick, war der Platz der Altertumskunde im Bildungskanon noch fest verankert. Das Erlernen der Alten Sprachen nahm auf den Gymnasien unangefochten breiten Raum ein; andere Wege zur Erlangung der Studierfähigkeit gab es kaum. Die Vertreter der Altertumskunde an Schule und Universität konnten ihren Kollegen anderer Fächer mit großem Selbstbewusstsein entgegentreten. Insbesondere die Klassische Philologie war eine Leitdisziplin, die für andere in Hinblick auf Methodik, Forschungsorganisation und Qualität der geleisteten Arbeit vorbildlich wirkte. Dass ein solcher Rückblick verklärend ist und wahrscheinlich mehr über Zeit und Situation des Rückblickenden als über die ins Auge gefasste Epoche aussagt, ist jedoch inzwischen zu einem Topos der Bildungsforschung geworden: Unangefochten und unbestritten war der Wert der klassischen Bildung niemals.1 Dieser Beitrag widmet sich einem exzeptionellen historischen Augenblick, in dem ein bereits seit längerem schwelender Konflikt um den Wert klassischer Bildung in Deutschland mit besonderer Heftigkeit ausbrach. Mir scheint, dass eine solche historische Untersuchung für uns auch im 21. Jh. nützlich ist, wenn wir Überlegungen über die Rolle und Funktion der „Klassischen Bildung im Spannungsfeld von Elitisierung und Popularisierung“ anstellen – nicht in dem naiven Sinn, dass wir von der Geschichte lernen könnten, um eigene Fehler zu vermeiden, sondern weil die grundsätzlichen Fragen und Probleme ähnliche geblieben sind *

1

Dieser Beitrag ist aus einem mündlichen Referat auf der Tagung ,,Klassische Bildung im Spannungsfeld von Elitisierung und Popularisierung“ (Bad Honnef, Juni 2005) erwachsen; nicht alle Spuren von Mündlichkeit wurden getilgt. Vgl. etwa Landfester 1988, 22: „Nicht wenige Humanisten blicken noch heute wehmütig auf die Geschichte des Humanismus im 19. Jahrhundert zurück. […] Durch das eigene Harmoniebedürfnis tragen sie dabei in die Geschichte des Humanismus die Vorstellung hinein, dass die Inthronisation und Geltung dieser Bildung nicht nur geschichtlich zwangsläufig und notwendig, sondern auch weitgehend selbstverständlich und unangefochten gewesen sei. Sie beneiden so ihre Vorgänger, weil sie es leichter gehabt hätten. Davon kann keine Rede sein. Im Konflikt mit Gegnern ist vielmehr diese Bildung als Nationalbildung bereits eingeführt worden, und sie hat sich im Konflikt behaupten müssen.“

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wie damals und wir im Rückblick erkennen können, welche Konsequenzen es zeitigt, sich für diese oder jene Antwort zu entscheiden. Was also hat der Erste Weltkrieg mit der Antike zu tun? Dass dieser Krieg insofern eine neue Dimension erreichte, als in allen beteiligten Ländern gewaltige Gruppen, ja sogar die gesamte Bevölkerung an den Kriegsanstrengungen beteiligt war, ist in der historischen Forschung reich belegt. Auch und gerade die geistigen Eliten versuchten, in einer Propagandaschlacht von bisher unbekannter Intensität den Standpunkt ihrer jeweiligen Seiten zu fördern. Dass dabei auch die Altertumswissenschaftler eine bedeutende Rolle spielten, kann nicht erstaunen. Wie oben bereits erwähnt, war die Altertumskunde damals eine besonders herausgehobene Leitdisziplin unter den Geisteswissenschaften, deren Vertreter nicht nur im akademischen Bereich großes Ansehen und Prominenz besaßen, sondern auch einer breiteren gebildeten Öffentlichkeit bekannt waren. Eindrucksvollstes Beispiel ist hier zweifelsohne Ulrich von Wilamowitz-Moellendorff (1848-1931). Er war der vielleicht größte Geisteswissenschaftler seiner Zeit und der wohl bedeutendste Altertumskundler aller Zeiten. Im akademischen Jahr 1915-1916 war er Rektor der Universität Berlin und damit in einer besonders herausgehobenen Stellung. Daher wurde von ihm, im Rahmen des oft beschworenen „Augusterlebnisses“, wonach die gesamte Bevölkerung geschlossen hinter den Kriegsanstrengungen der Regierung stehe, Mitwirkung bei der geistigen Mobilmachung, der Propagandatätigkeit und der Unterstützung der Truppen erwartet, und Wilamowitz hat, seiner Sozialisation und politischen Einstellung entsprechend, diese Aufgaben nicht nur mit Pflichtbewusstsein, sondern mit Enthusiasmus erfüllt. Immer wieder hielt er während des Krieges vor größerem Publikum, auch vor Soldaten, Vorträge, die er gesammelt herausgeben ließ. Auf diesen Teil seines Werkes blickte er auch nach Kriegsende mit besonderem Stolz zurück.2 Noch wichtiger als dieser Einsatz im Innern des Deutschen Reiches war sein Engagement für die Außenpropaganda. Bekanntlich sah sich Deutschland seit dem Beginn des Krieges, insbesondere nach dem Einmarsch in das neutrale Belgien, mit Berichten über Greuel und Kriegsverbrechen in der ausländischen Presse konfrontiert. Dagegen versuchte sich die deutsche Führung zu rechtfertigen. Eine solche Apologetik war insbesondere gegenüber den Vereinigten Staaten wichtig und nötig, weil man auf diese Weise sicherzustellen hoffte, dass sie neutral bleiben und nicht etwa auf Seiten der Entente in den Krieg eingreifen würden. Wilamowitz war Anreger und Verfasser der am 16.10.1914 publizierten „Erklärung der Hochschullehrer des Deutschen Reiches“ und Mitunterzeichner des noch wesentlich schärferen Aufrufs „An die Kulturwelt“ vom 4.10.1914, dessen rassistische Hetze sich in Kenntnis der späteren deutschen Geschichte erschreckend liest:3 2

3

Wilamowitz-Moellendorff 1915; vgl. dazu Canfora 1985; zum akademischen Kontext seines Engagements ferner Hardtwig 2004. Erklärung der Hochschullehrer des Deutschen Reiches, Berliner Akademische Nachrichten 3, 1914/15; An die Kulturwelt! Ein Aufruf, Frankfurter Zeitung, 4.10.1914; vgl. dazu Vom Brocke 1985 [dort 718 ein Faksimilenachdruck, nach dem oben zitiert wird]; UngernSternberg und Ungern-Sternberg 1996.

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Sich als Verteidiger europäischer Zivilisation zu gebärden, haben die am wenigsten das Recht, die sich mit Russen und Serben verbünden und der Welt das schmachvolle Schauspiel bieten, Mongolen und Neger auf die weiße Rasse zu hetzen.

Ein solcher Einsatz allerdings ist nicht spezifisch für die Altertumskunde. Wenn Wilamowitz oder etwa der Althistoriker Eduard Meyer hier besonders prominent in Erscheinung traten,4 so liegt dies an ihrer herausgehobenen Stellung im Wissenschaftsbetrieb ihrer Zeit (und wohl auch an ihrer politischen Einstellung). Hier aber soll es um die spezielle Frage gehen, auf welche Weise sich die aktuelle Situation der Kriegszeit in der altertumskundlichen Forschung niederschlug; dies soll im Folgenden an einer Reihe von Beispielen demonstriert werden. Eine Einschränkung aber sei gleich vorweg genannt: Gewiss war in den Jahren 1914-1918 der Krieg das alles beherrschende Thema der Zeit, und aus zahlreichen Berichten etwa über Versammlungen von Verbänden oder Schulfeiern geht klar hervor, dass ihn bei öffentlichen Anlässen kaum ein Redner überging. In der Forschung hingegen bietet sich auf den ersten Blick ein anderes Bild: Wenn man die Jahrgänge der renommierten wissenschaftlichen Periodika (etwa den Hermes, den Philologus oder das Rheinische Museum) aus den Kriegsjahren durchsieht, ist man zunächst überrascht davon, wie wenig Niederschlag der Krieg findet. Der ganz überwiegende Teil der Veröffentlichungen gilt weiterhin den historischen, philologischen und archäologischen Problemen, die die Zunft auch vor dem Krieg beschäftigt hatten, zünftigen und recht esoterischen Themen wie den Persiusscholien oder der Metrik der Chorlyrik. Direkte Erwähnungen des Kriegsgeschehens sind eher die Ausnahme. Lediglich als Kuriosum sei ein Aufsatz Theodor Birts über die Laus im Altertum genannt, der, wie der Autor zu Beginn selbst schreibt, angeregt wurde durch die Entlausungsstätten hinter der Front.5 Wer Periodika wie die Berliner Philologische Wochenschrift oder die Wochenschrift für Klassische Philologie durchblättert, stellt mit Erstaunen fest, dass deren Ausgaben in der Woche vom 1. August 1914 genauso regelmäßig erschienen wie in der vom 11. November 1918, ohne jeden Hinweis auf das Zeitgeschehen. Wären da nicht die deutlich verschlechterte Papierqualität und die im Laufe der Jahre immer häufiger werdenden Traueranzeigen für die „den Heldentod Gestorbenen“, man müsste sich fragen, ob der Krieg überhaupt jemals stattgefunden hat. Deutlich mehr für unseren Untersuchungsgegenstand relevantes Material lässt sich finden in Zeitschriften, die der Verbindung von Schule und Wissenschaft gewidmet waren. Genannt seien hier besonders drei: die Neuen Jahrbücher für das Klassische Altertum. Geschichte und Deutsche Literatur; Das humanistische Gymnasium. Zentralblatt des Gymnasialvereins; schließlich Sokrates. Zeitschrift für das Gymnasialwesen. Für diesen Beitrag habe ich vor allem diese drei Publikationen ausgewertet. Wenn sich dabei auch bereits viel Material finden ließ, so stellt dies doch noch keine wirklich systematische Unter-

4 5

Zu Meyers Einsatz vgl. Ungern-Sternberg 1991; ders. 1992. Birt 1916.

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suchung dar, eher eine Augenblicksaufnahme, die noch zu erweitern und methodisch auf eine sicherere Grundlage zu stellen wäre. Grob gesagt lassen sich zwei verschiedene Arten unterscheiden, wie sich der Krieg in den Arbeiten der Altertumskundler niederschlug. Die erste kann man in gewissem Sinn als Variante und Fortsetzung der zu Beginn dieses Beitrags erwähnten Propagandatätigkeit verstehen. Immer wieder versuchen Gelehrte, Parallelen zur aktuellen Kriegslage im Altertum zu finden (oder zu konstruieren) und daraus Argumente für die Gerechtigkeit der deutschen Sache und Gründe für eine Hoffnung auf Sieg abzuleiten. Wie wichtig solche Parallelen in einer Zeit waren, als beinahe die gesamte politische und militärische Funktionselite das humanistische Gymnasium durchlaufen und dort die Geschichte der Alten Welt intensiv kennengelernt hatte, ist aus der bekannten Tatsache ersichtlich, dass Alfred Graf von Schlieffen 1909 nach einer Analyse des Vorgehens Hannibals bei Cannae die Taktik der „klassischen Vernichtungsschlacht“ auch für die Moderne zur Nachahmung empfahl, woraus sich dann der berüchtigte „Schlieffenplan“ entwickelte.6 So hält etwa der Philologe Oskar Viedebantt 1915 anlässlich des Jahrestags der Schlacht bei Tannenberg einen Vortrag „Hannibal und die Römische Heeresleitung bei Cannae“, in dem er die Schlacht von Tannenberg als erfolgreiche Nachahmung von Hannibals Taktik feiert.7 Die meisten solcher Parallelen entstammen allerdings nicht der römischen, sondern der griechischen Geschichte. Der Weltkrieg lässt ein bereits seit der Goethezeit existierendes und während des gesamten 19. Jh. sorgsam gepflegtes Klischee in besonderer Weise wieder aufleben, dass es nämlich zwischen Griechenland und Deutschland eine spezielle Geistesverwandtschaft gebe, dass die Deutschen also den antiken Griechen besonders nahe stünden. 8 So publiziert der als Herausgeber und Kommentator alexandrinischer Dichtung bekannte Ernst Maass 1916 einen Vortrag „Vom Wesen der Deutschen und Griechen“, in dem er Deutsche und Franzosen mit den sattsam bekannten Stereotypen kontrastiert: Den oberflächlichen, rhetorisch versierten, eben „lateinischen“ Franzosen werden die tiefsinnigen, wahrheitsliebenden, metaphysischen Deutschen entgegengestellt.9 Da man das „lateinische Erbe“ eher auf der Seite der Kriegsgegner sieht, greift man lieber zur griechischen Geschichte, um sich selbst zu spiegeln und wiederzufinden. Zwei Parallelen werden hierbei besonders häufig und gern aufgegriffen: der Peloponnesische Krieg und der Kampf der Griechen gegen die Perser.

6

7

8

9

A. Graf von Schlieffen, Die Schlacht bei Cannae (Berlin 1909), Nachdruck in Christ 1974, 222-226; vgl. dazu Christ 1982, 90. Viedebantt 1916. Viedebantt war damals ausweislich des Inhaltsverzeichnisses der Zeitschrift in Potsdam tätig; nach dem Ersten Weltkrieg unterrichtete er an verschiedenen Gymnasien in Deutschland, so in Jülich und Lingen. So etwa in J. I[lberg]s Anzeige von Otto Kerns Rektoratsrede „Krieg und Kult bei den Hellenen“, Halle 1917, Neue Jahrbücher 20, 1917, 144: „‚Dass wir Deutschen jetzt auch für die hellenische Kultur kämpfen‘, scheint wie ein Leitmotiv durchzuklingen […]“. Maass 1916.

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Der Peloponnesische Krieg als Vergleichspunkt Der Peloponnesische Krieg der Jahre 431-404 v. Chr. war als antiker Vergleichspunkt in schulischen und populären Situationen sicher nicht in erster Linie (oder nicht ausschließlich) wegen seiner historischen Bedeutung prominent, sondern weil Thukydides von Athen ihn in seinem Geschichtswerk in so großartig nüchterner Weise analysiert hatte. Thukydides war auf dem humanistischen Gymnasium ein wichtiger Schulautor, daher konnte man davon ausgehen, dass viele Angehörige der Bildungselite zumindest in Grundzügen mit diesem Ereignis vertraut waren. Für die historische Parallelisierung ergiebig war ferner, dass die beiden Kriegsparteien so grundverschiedene Strategien anwendeten: Während der Plan des Perikles für Athen eine „moderne“ Kriegsführung, gestützt insbesondere auf die überlegene Flotte, vorsah und durch eine Politik der Nadelstiche die Allianz der Gegner zermürben und entzweien wollte, führte der Peloponnesische Bund einen konventionellen Landkrieg mit sommerlichen Infanterieeinfällen in das Feindesland, die zunächst kaum Wirkung zeigten, weil Athen durch seine „Langen Mauern“ geschützt war und auf dem Seeweg versorgt werden konnte. Erst als die Athener bei Flottenexpeditionen herbe Rückschläge erlitten und es den Spartanern schließlich gelang, sich durch geschickte Diplomatie persische Mittel zu verschaffen und mit Hilfe einer eigenen starken Flotte die Athener zur See vernichtend zu schlagen, war Athen am Ende und musste kapitulieren. Dieser Gegensatz zwischen dem „modernen“ Athen und den „bewahrenden“ Kräften des Peloponnesischen Bunds ließ sich, mit viel gutem Willen, auf die Gegenwart übertragen. Eine Vielzahl von Beiträgen sieht daher in dieser antiken Auseinandersetzung eine Parallele für den Weltkrieg. Als ein Beispiel unter vielen sei hier auf einen 1917 publizierten Aufsatz des Homer-Forschers Erich Bethe verwiesen; darin erklärt Bethe:10 Der Peloponnesische Krieg war für den Mikrokosmos des Griechentums, was der heutige Krieg für Europa ist. Der unvermeidliche Kampf zweier grundsätzlich verschiedener aber aus derselben Kultur entwickelter Staatsanschauungen, das Ringen um Handelsvormacht nicht weniger als um politisches Übergewicht zerfleischte die führenden Mächte und entkräftete sie.

Zwar meint Bethe, „es wäre töricht, Athen mit England, Deutschland und Österreich-Ungarn mit dem Peloponnesischen Bunde gleichzusetzen“, und zieht auch einmal einen (historisch überaus schiefen) Vergleich, der genau in die entgegengesetzte Richtung zielt: Wie 1914 England seine Bundesgenossen Frankreich und Rußland, so hat 431 Korinth den ganzen Peloponnesischen Bund mit der Vormacht Sparta vor seinen Wagen gespannt.

Aber insgesamt sieht er doch die Mittelmächte in der Rolle des Peloponnesischen Bundes – sicher nicht nur wegen vermeintlicher Parallelen (Brasidas’ „Zug nach Amphipolis war Gedanke und Tat eines rechten Strategen. Er hat manche Ähn10

Bethe 1917; die Zitate finden sich 73f. und 83.

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lichkeit mit der Balkandiversion der Mittelmächte. So unbekümmert um die Bedrängung Lakoniens durch die attischen Besatzungen in Pylos und Kythera, wie Deutschland um die französische Septemberoffensive bei Reims, erschien er mit überlegenen Kräften, wie im Herbst 1915 Mackensen, an unvermuteter Stelle und riß sogleich Makedonien, wie dieser Bulgarien, auf seine Seite“), sondern vor allem wegen des Ausgangs des antiken Kriegs: Natürlich hoffte 1917 auch Deutschland noch, am Schluss in der Rolle der Peloponnesier zu stehen und seine Gegner zu besiegen.

Die Kriege gegen Persien als Vergleichspunkt Die zweite, zweifelsohne noch wichtigere Parallele war der Kampf der Griechen gegen die Perser. So sieht etwa der Düsseldorfer Altphilologe Leo Weber im Angriff des Xerxes eine schlagende Parallele für den Weltkrieg, und zwar vor allem wegen des Charakters eines Zweifrontenkriegs. Damals hätten Karthager und Perser gemeinsame Sache gemacht, um die Griechen von beiden Seiten zu vernichten:11 Der Vergleich mit dem heutigen Kriege ist schlagend. Von zwei Seiten zugleich wird das verhaßte Deutschland gepackt, die Gruppierung der Mächte, die gegen uns kämpfen, vollzieht sich nach den im Grunde gleichen Beweggründen.

Auch die Parallele zu den Feldzügen Alexander des Großen wurde immer wieder gezogen. Es ist gewiss kein Zufall, dass Wilamowitz im April 1916 in Warschau vor Offizieren des Generalgouvernements Polen einen Vortrag mit dem Titel „Alexander der Große“ hält. Man weiß, dass er eine Eroberungs- und Annexionspolitik im Osten befürwortete. In einen noch größeren Rahmen stellt Franz Cramer 1916 den Weltkrieg: Welthistorisch könne man immer wieder aggressive Züge des Ostens gegen den Westen beobachten, ob es sich nun um die Perser, die Phönizier, die Hunnen oder die Araber gehandelt habe:12 Die heutige krampfhafte Anstrengung des großbritischen Imperialismus ist bei Lichte besehen ein Versuch, die Kräfte des Ostens gegen den Westen auszuspielen: Oder sind nicht Indien und Ägypten und das, was dazu gehört, die britischen Kraftquellen?

Als Reaktion darauf habe es aber regelmäßig Gegenstöße des Westens gegeben, etwa den Zug Alexanders oder die Kreuzzüge:13 Ist aber nicht unser Werk des Friedens, das im weitausschauenden Unternehmen der Bagdadbahn sich verkörpert, und ebenso unser Waffenwerk, das jetzt vom alten Donauwege her zum Goldenen Horn sich den Weg gebahnt hat, ein sprechendes Beispiel solcher westöstlichen Gegenstöße?

11 12 13

Weber 1915, 75. Cramer 1916, 8. Ebd.

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Eine ähnliche Parallele zieht auch Friedrich Cauer:14 Denn Rußland und allmählich auch England sind beide überwiegend asiatische Mächte, denen gegenüber wir die Unabhängigkeit Europas verteidigen wie einst die Griechen gegen die Perser.

Noch pathetischer hatte ein Jahr vorher Karl Hönn formuliert:15 Durch alle Furchtbarkeit des Krieges gegen die Perser leuchtete den Griechen der große Glaube, der auch uns aufrecht erhält wider die Welt unserer Feinde: Wenn sie versänken, so versänke die ganze Menschheit mit ihnen, ohne Hoffnung auf einstige Wiederherstellung.

Ähnlich wie in dem zu Beginn zitierten Passus aus dem Aufruf „An die Kulturwelt“ finden wir auch in dieser Passage den Versuch, den Weltkrieg zu einer rassischen Auseinandersetzung zu machen; hierbei muss die Entente in die Rolle von „Mongolen und Negern“ gedrängt werden. Es handelt sich hier um eine Denkfigur, die in der deutschen Propaganda auch des Zweiten Weltkriegs eine traurige Kontinuität zeigen sollte.16

2. DER KRIEG ALS PROPAGANDA FÜR DIE ALTERTUMSKUNDE In den Beispielen, die wir bisher gesehen haben, stellte sich die Altertumskunde gewissermaßen in den Dienst der Kriegspropaganda: Mit Hilfe von antiken Parallelen sollte erwiesen werden, dass die Sache des Deutschen Reiches gerecht sei und am Ende des Krieges auch triumphieren werde. In der zweiten Gruppe von Texten ist das Verhältnis genau umgekehrt: Hier, so könnte man in paradoxer Weise sagen, wird umgekehrt der Krieg benutzt, um Propaganda für die Altertumskunde zu machen. Um dies zu verstehen, muss man ein wenig über die damals virulenten Diskussionen um Organisation und Art der Schulbildung in Deutschland wissen. Seit der Mitte des 19. Jh. befand sich die höhere Schule in einem Prozess ständiger Reformierung, der auch 1914 noch längst nicht abgeschlossen war. Das humanistische Gymnasium war aus verschiedenen Gründen (dazu später noch mehr) zunehmend in die Defensive geraten, daher erschienen immer wieder Streit- und Denkschriften, die den Nutzen und die Notwendigkeit humanistischer Bildung gerade jetzt erweisen sollten. Der erste Weltkrieg brachte eine Welle solcher Pamphlete und Aufsätze hervor, die diese Sache vor dem Hintergrund der neuen gesellschaftlichen und politischen Situation des Krieges vertraten. So publiziert 1916 Otto Immisch sein Pamphlet „Das alte Gymnasium und die neue Gegenwart“,17 in dem er den Humanismus gegen alle Angriffe verteidigt; bereits 1915 weist der Philologe Hans von Armin darauf hin, dass der Mut der Soldaten nicht nur durch deutsche Kriegslieder, sondern auch durch die 14 15 16 17

Cauer 1916, 127 [nachgedruckt bei Kipf 1999, 166]. Hönn 1915, 91 [nachgedruckt bei Kipf 1999, 167]. Vgl. hierzu Koller 2001. Immisch 1916.

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Dichtung des Tyrtaios gehoben werde.18 Die Zeitschrift Das humanistische Gymnasium veröffentlicht einen Aufruf, Feldpostbriefe zu sammeln, in denen Soldaten auf die Vorzüge ihrer humanistischen Schulbildung hinweisen; daraus wird dann die regelmäßig erscheinende Rubrik „Im Zeichen des Krieges“. Hier sei ein Beispiel aus dem Jahr 1917 zitiert:19 Lieber Herr Geheimrat! Eben Bauchschuß bekommen, habe noch das Bedürfnis, Ihnen zu danken. Für das griech. humanist. Bildungsideal, das so herrlich ist! Das mich jetzt noch ruhig sein läßt.

Dass wir es bei den Herausgebern dieser Notiz mit professionellen Philologen zu tun haben, bemerken wir gleich, wenn wir die editorische Anmerkung lesen: „Schrift ist sehr hastig, die Buchstaben ungleich und ungenau“; sodann folgt die patriotische Ergänzung, der Schreiber sei „glücklicherweise entgegen dem ersten Eindruck völlig wiederhergestellt und schon an die Front zurückgekehrt“. Wer könnte, bei solch schlagenden Argumenten, am Wert der humanistischen Bildung zweifeln? Die enge Verbindung zwischen Altertumskunde und dem gegenwärtigen Krieg versucht eine Reihe von Schullehrern auf noch unmittelbarere Weise darzustellen und damit den direkten Wert ihrer Disziplin vor Augen zu führen. So berichtet etwa Wilhelm Felsch 1917 davon, wie er der Caesarlektüre in der Obertertia größere Lebendigkeit verlieh:20 Im V. Buche (5.4) beschließt Cäsar, die Mehrzahl der gallischen Häuptlinge ,als Geiseln‘ nach Britannien mitzunehmen, quod motum Galliae verebatur. Als Kriegsteilnehmer war der Verf. in der glücklichen Lage, aus eigener Anschauung das entsprechende Vorgehen unserer militärischen Organe beim Vormarsch durch Belgien und Frankreich schildern zu können. Auch wir haben stets gleich beim Einrücken in die feindlichen Dörfer Gemeindevorsteher, Gutsbesitzer und andere principes obsidum loco festgesetzt mit dem für beide Teile erfreulichen Erfolge, dass dadurch jeder motus verhindert wurde. Natürlich wurden diese Leute als Unter-pfänder durchaus rücksichtsvoll behandelt, und ihre Zahl wurde auf ein Mindestmaß beschränkt. Wie so ganz anders sind die Russen mit den unglücklichen ostpreußischen Geiseln verfahren, die sie zu Tausenden verschleppt, ja oft ohne Grund erschossen haben!

Durch Aktualisierungen mittels Karten und Feldpostbriefen, so erklärt ebenfalls 1917 Johannes Ilberg, lasse sich eine ganz neue Dimension in der Caesarlektüre gewinnen.21 Die Krone für solche Aktualisierungen gebührt jedoch zweifelsohne dem Lehramtsassessor Dr. Kohl aus Bingen. Er ließ seine Schüler Latein an selbstverfassten Übungssätzen aus der Welt des Kriegs lernen, unter Überschriften wie Cur patriae pecuniam praebere debeamus („Warum wir dem Vaterland Geld geben müssen“, Werbung für Kriegsanleihen), De nostris navibus submarinis 18 19 20 21

Arnim 1915. Anonym 1917. Felsch 1917, 261. Ilberg 1917.

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(„Unsere Unterseeboote“), De arte volandi („Die Kunst des Fliegens“), De classe nostra („Unsere Flotte“), De impetu Russorum („Der Angriff der Russen“) oder De perfidia Italicorum („Die Treulosigkeit der Italiener“). Hier seien aus diesem bemerkenswerten Dokument einige Sätze zitiert:22 Copia hostium tanta erat, ut locis nonnullis progredi et oppida pauca capere possent. Tum autem duces nostri imperaverunt, ut copiae maiores contra hostes proficiscerentur. Nunc milites nostri ex fossis egrediuntur et animo forti hostes aggrediuntur. Ita Russi non iam progredientur, sed fugabuntur. Die Menge der Feinde war so groß, dass sie an einigen Stellen vorrücken und wenige Städte einnehmen konnten. Da jedoch befahlen unsere Führer, dass mehr Truppen gegen die Feinde ausrücken sollten. Jetzt verlassen unsere Soldaten die Gräben und greifen die Feinde tapferen Mutes an. So werden die Russen nicht mehr vorrücken, sondern in die Flucht geschlagen werden.

Man kann nicht anders, als die zwanglose Verbindung von kriegerischem Nationalismus und dem Grammatikdrill in Deponentien bewundern. All diese bemüht wirkenden, oftmals bizarren Versuche, der Altertumskunde in der Erhaltung der Wehrtüchtigkeit der Deutschen eine eindrucksvolle Rolle zuzuschreiben, lassen sich nur vor dem Hintergrund der fortwährenden Schulreformen verstehen. Die Schulfrage wurde auch und besonders während der Kriegsjahre heftig debattiert. Der heutige Beobachter mag sich erstaunt fragen, ob diese Menschen während des Krieges nichts Dringenderes zu tun hatten, als solche Diskussionen fortzuführen. So beginnt auch eine Reihe solcher Aufsätze mit einer Apologie: Gewiss gebe es scheinbar Dringenderes, aber gerade jetzt, in der Kriegsnot, sei die richtige Erziehung der Jugend besonders wichtig.23 War das bloße Taktik? Wie verhielten sich solche Debatten zu den immer wieder beschworenen Idealen des Augusts 1914, das deutsche Volk stehe „wie ein Mann“ in diesem Krieg? War diesen Menschen nicht klar, dass sie etwa mit der „Leipziger Erklärung“ für das humanistische Gymnasium und gegen andere Schularten innenpolitische Grabenkämpfe ausfochten?

22 23

Seidenberger 1918. Ilberg 1917, 40: „Warum lehren wir schon den Zehnjährigen die Sprache eines fremden Volkes, noch dazu der Vorfahren einer Nation, die uns jahrhundertelange Vorliebe, ja Begeisterung mit schnödem Verrat vergolten und uns just an Goethes Geburtstage vor sechs Wochen den Fehdehandschuh offen hingeworfen hat? Dem heutigen Senatus populusque Romanus sind wir ja doch die schändlichen Barbaren. Was soll den Söhnen und Brüdern der Helden gegen eine ganze Welt von Feinden der sagenhafte Streit um das einzige Troia?“ Solche Fragen sind hier allerdings keineswegs Ausdruck genuinen Zweifelns, sondern lediglich die rhetorische Vorbereitung eines triumphierenden Nachweises von Nutzen und Wichtigkeit der Altertumskunde für die moderne Welt.

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3. DER HISTORISCHE KONTEXT: DIE ANTIKE IN DER SCHULE DES KAISERREICHS Um dieses Paradox zu verstehen, ist ein Blick auf die Geschichte der schulischen Institutionen im Kaiserreich nötig.24 Hier kann dieser Prozess nicht ausführlich entfaltet werden, sondern es sollen lediglich einige Eckpunkte skizziert werden. Bereits seit der Mitte des 19. Jh. gab es ein Unbehagen dagegen, dass allein das (selbstverständlich humanistische, d.h. Latein und Griechisch intensiv und extensiv lehrende) Gymnasium Zugang zu den Universitäten und damit zu den gehobenen Beamtenkarrieren eröffnete. Opposition gegen diesen Zustand erhob sich zunächst seitens der Befürworter einer mehr naturwissenschaftlich-technischen Ausbildung; sie führte zur Schaffung der Realgymnasien. Der Widerstand gegen das humanistische Gymnasium setzte sich bis in die Kriegsjahre fort (und ist im Grundsatz, wenn auch unter veränderten Vorzeichen, noch heute virulent). Doch besonders seit 1888 musste das humanistische Gymnasium auch an einer anderen Front kämpfen (die martialische Metapher sei verziehen: so sahen die Humanisten der Zeit selbst ihre Situation): Unter dem neuen Kaiser wurden Forderungen nach einem „nationalen Gymnasium“ laut, das mehr Zeit auf den Unterricht in deutscher Sprache und Literatur verwenden solle, und zwar zu Lasten besonders des Lateinischen; sie wurden begierig aufgegriffen von Vertretern der Fächer, die von einem solchen Revirement zu profitieren hofften, also besonders von den Deutschlehrern und Germanisten. Symptomatisch in dieser Hinsicht ist der berühmte Auftritt Wilhelms II. vor der preußischen Schulkonferenz 1890, bei der er forderte, „wir sollen nationale junge Deutsche erziehen und nicht junge Griechen und Römer“.25 Im Deutschland Wilhelms II. war die Forderung, Aufgabe der Schule sei es, Vaterlandsliebe und nationale Bildung zu vermitteln, grundsätzlich nicht anfechtbar, daher stand das humanistische Gymnasium hier unter einem besonderen Legitimierungsdruck: wenn andere Unterrichtsfächer, insbesondere das Deutsche, glaubhaft machen konnten, sie seien besser geeignet, dieses Ziel zu erreichen, so war die raison d’être des Unterrichts in den Alten Sprachen direkt in Frage gestellt.26 Es ist leicht verständlich, warum der Weltkrieg diesen Druck auf die Alten Sprachen von beiden Seiten noch erhöhte: Einerseits entstand hier ein noch größerer Bedarf nach erkennbarem, unmittelbaren Nutzen einer naturwissenschaftlichen Ausbildung, andererseits produzierte der Krieg eine überschnappende nationale Hysterie. Hatte die humanistische Bildung bisher auch (gewiss nicht ausschließlich oder überwiegend) allgemeinmenschliche und kosmopolitische Ideale vermittelt und damit mäßigend gewirkt, so brachen nun alle Dämme: Altertumskundler, sowohl in den Schulen als auch auf den Universitäten, fühlten sich verpflichtet, den Nachweis zu führen, sie seien noch glühendere Nationalisten als alle anderen. Damit wollten sie sowohl ihren Teil zum herbeigesehnten Sieg Deutschlands 24

25 26

Zu diesem umfangreich erforschten Thema kann hier lediglich eine kleine Literaturauswahl geboten werden: Landfester 1988; Paulsen 1921, 481-797; Kaul 1984. Vgl. Landfester 1988, 149. Vgl. dazu etwa die Kampfschrift von Eggerding 1915.

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beitragen als auch den Bestand der verehrten Alten Sprachen sichern. In diesem Zusammenhang müssen die oben zitierten Beispiele für die Parallelisierung des Kriegs mit antiken Ereignissen gesehen werden. Subjektiv, so kann man zugespitzt formulieren, waren für die Altertumskundler der Zeit die beiden oben skizzierten Verwendungsweisen der Antike (Antike als Propaganda für das Kaiserreich im Krieg; der Krieg als Werbemittel für die Altertumskunde) lediglich zwei Seiten derselben Medaille: Beides diente der Erhaltung einer verklärten Welt der preußischen Zucht und Ordnung und der Abwehr der „Barbaren“, ob sich diese Barbaren nun in Gestalt von auftrumpfenden Germanisten oder von „Mongolen und Negern“ zeigten. Damit wird verständlich, warum sich die Altertumswissenschaften als Stand so konservativ in allen Bedeutungen des Worts zeigten. Das Festhalten am Überkommenen diente der Sicherung der eigenen Pfründen und war zugleich die Verwirklichung des in den Texten der Antike gesehenen Ideals. Eine luzide, glänzend formulierte Analyse dieser Einstellung hat Heinrich Mann in seinem Professor Unrat geliefert. Sein Latein- und Griechischlehrer Rat zeigt genau diese Kombination von glühendem Nationalismus, reaktionärem Festhalten am Überkommenen und Verachtung all derer, die an diesem Tradierten etwas ändern möchten: Er gehörte, seinem Bewußtsein nach, zu den Herrschenden. Kein Bankier und kein Monarch war an der Macht stärker beteiligt, an der Erhaltung des Bestehenden mehr interessiert als Unrat. Er ereiferte sich für alle Autoritäten, wütete in der Heimlichkeit seines Studierzimmers gegen die Arbeiter – die, wenn sie ihre Ziele erreicht hätten, wahrscheinlich bewirkt haben würden, dass auch Unrat etwas reichlicher entlohnt wäre. [...] Er wollte sie stark: eine einflußreiche Kirche, einen handfesten Säbel, strikten Gehorsam und starre Sitten.

4. LEHREN UND PERSPEKTIVEN Wir haben damit zumindest in Grundzügen gesehen, wie sich die deutsche Altertumskunde während des Ersten Weltkriegs verhielt und was die Ursachen dieses Verhaltens gewesen sein könnten. Zum Schluss dieses Überblicks möchte ich versuchen, auf einen zu Beginn erwähnten Punkt zurückzukommen und zumindest anzudeuten, welche historischen Lehren sich aus diesem kuriosen Abschnitt der Geschichte unseres Faches ergeben könnten. Die anschließenden Gedanken sind vorläufig und subjektiv; sie verstehen sich nicht als letztgültige Schlüsse, sondern als Denkanstöße und Diskussionsgrundlage – diese Apologie sei hier betont vorausgeschickt. Aus der notwendigerweise partikularen Sicht eines Menschen, der die Erforschung der klassischen Antike und die Vermittlung ihrer Kultur zu seinem Beruf gemacht hat, scheint es unbestreitbar, dass die Beschäftigung mit dieser Antike ein wichtiger Bestandteil unserer eigenen kulturellen Identität ist. Wenn ich nicht überhaupt auf jeglichen Blick in unsere Vergangenheit verzichten will, wenn ich nicht völlig ausschließlich im Hier und Jetzt leben will (kann man das

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wirklich?), so scheint mir unverzichtbar, den Blick auch ins Altertum zurückzulenken, weil lange Epochen unserer deutschen und europäischen Geschichte ohne Kenntnis dieser Antike teilweise unverständlich bleiben – dies ist keine Frage von Wertungen und Einstellungen, sondern einfach eine Tatsache. Die entscheidende Frage lautet jedoch, in welcher Form wir uns mit der Antike beschäftigen, wie wir die Ergebnisse unserer Arbeit vermitteln und den Sinn dieser Arbeit begründen sollen. Und hier kann man, bei allen Unterschieden und kontingenten Faktoren, doch Parallelen zu dem hier skizzierten, inzwischen beinahe ein Jahrhundert zurückliegenden Geschehen ziehen. Die Beschäftigung mit der Antike, insbesondere mit den Alten Sprachen, insbesondere mit dem Lateinischen, war seit der Antike selbst aus einer Vielzahl von Gründen Bestandteil der formalen Bildung und damit Voraussetzung für den Zutritt zu den Bildungseliten, also zu gesellschaftlichem Prestige, Karriere und Teilhabe an der Macht. In der Geschichte der europäischen Bildungsinstitutionen gab es Zeiten, in denen diese Rolle der Alten Sprachen innerhalb der formalen Bildung fast grotesk übersteigert waren (und auch dies ist ein Zustand, für den wir bereits in der Antike Belege finden, wenn wir etwa an den Attizismus und seine artifizielle Wiederbelebung einer längst vergangenen Sprachform denken); und es gab Zeiten, in denen diese formale Anforderung lediglich in Schrumpfformen existierte, wie etwa heute, wo das Latinum (oft selbst noch in der Schrumpfform von „Lateinkenntnissen im Umfang von…“) die letzte Bastion solcher Zugangsbeschränkungen in einer Reihe universitärer Fächer darstellt. Ein gravierender Fehler der Legitimationsdebatte während des Ersten Weltkriegs und bereits zuvor scheint mir darin zu bestehen, dass man nicht klar genug unterschied zwischen solchen formalen, allein auf gesellschaftlichem Übereinkommen basierenden Kriterien einerseits und den intrinsischen Vorteilen klassischer Bildung andererseits. Gerade weil sie ausschließlich auf gesellschaftlichem Konsens beruhen, unterliegen solche formalen Kriterien einem ständigen, zu gewissen politisch und sozial unruhigen Zeiten auch radikalen Wandel – eine Gesellschaft ist frei, statt einer Beherrschung des Lateinischen auch eine Beherrschung der Mathematik und der Naturwissenschaften zur Kontrolle des Zutritts zur gesellschaftlichen Elite zu nutzen oder gesellschaftliches Prestige aufgrund des Kriteriums zu vergeben, wer am schnellsten mit einem roten Auto im Kreis fahren kann. Versuche, solche formalen Strukturen gegen den Widerstand großer Gruppen (und gerade der Beteiligten) aufrechtzuerhalten, um so etwa den Unterricht in den klassischen Sprachen zu fördern, scheinen mir ein Fehler zu sein. Man kann nicht auf Dauer den Zugang zu universitärer Bildung allein auf Absolventen des humanistischen Gymnasiums beschränken; man kann nicht das Latinum als Pflicht gegen den Willen der Mehrheit in den betroffenen Fächern durchsetzen: Auf Dauer schadet ein Beharren und Festhalten an solchen instabilen, sich ständig verändernden Kriterien der Sache der Altertumskunde mehr, als es nützt. Dass dieser Standpunkt beispielsweise unter Lateinlehrern an deutschen Gymnasien, die mit dem Argument „Man weiß nie, wozu man später das Latinum brauchen wird“ Werbung für den Lateinunterricht machen, nicht sonderlich beliebt sein wird, ist

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mir bewusst; dennoch bin ich der Ansicht, dass ein solches Beharren der falsche Weg wäre. Eine zweite Schlussfolgerung lässt sich meiner Ansicht nach ziehen aus dem verzweifelten Wettlauf darum, welches Schul- und Universitätsfach denn jetzt besser geeignet sei, Sekundärtugenden wie Patriotismus und Pflichterfüllung einzuüben. Auch hier ergibt sich das Problem, dass zwischen den eigentlichen Leistungen des Fachs und kontingenten Faktoren nicht deutlich genug unterschieden wird. Selbstverständlich kann man griechische Kriegselegien lesen und damit zur Wehrertüchtigung beitragen – aber im Zweifelsfall findet sich eben doch ein anderes Fach, das solche Serviceleistungen direkter und mit geringeren Kosten (intellektueller Art) zu erbringen versteht. Natürlich kann man „Seneca für Manager“ herausgeben und darauf verweisen, die klassische Bildung biete genau die nötigen Schlüsselqualifikationen und „soft skills“, die unsere Wirtschaft brauche, um „vollautomatische Bratapfelschäler herzustellen und sie den Japanern zu verkaufen“, wie dies Dieter Simon, damals noch Präsident der BerlinBrandenburgischen Akademie, wunderbar ironisch formulierte.27 Aber im Zweifel findet sich dann doch jemand, der solche Qualifikationen schneller und direkter bieten kann. Wenn die Altertumskunde ihr geistiges Kapital in der Münze des Patriotismus, des Ökonomismus, der Drittmittelfähigkeit oder der Verwendbarkeit bemisst, dann wird sie immer als arm dastehen. Wir sollten m.E. vielmehr die Leistungen unseres Fachs aus seinem Inneren entwickeln: den Umgang mit der longue durée, mit den Traditionen, die das Fundament der europäischen Kultur bilden, das Weiterentwickeln der philologisch-kritischen Methoden, die in unserem Fach überhaupt erst erfunden und aufgrund der Natur der Gegenstände nirgendwo so intensiv gepflegt wurden; das Entschlüsseln von Texten und Kulturmonumenten, die aufgrund ihrer spezifischen Mischung von Fremdheit und Vertrautheit dem modernen Verständnis zwar Widerstände entgegenbringen, aber uns doch so nahe sind, dass sie nicht in den Zustand einer bloßen anthropologischen Kuriosität versinken, um nur einige wenige Beispiele solcher spezifischer Leistungen zu nennen, die nicht von anderen Fächern ebenso gut und ebenso fundiert erbracht werden können. Dass man solche Leistungen auch im Vokabular der Zeit verkaufen darf, ja muss, möchte ich damit keineswegs völlig ausschließen. Wenn wir solche intellektuellen Fähigkeiten heute eben in Modulbeschreibungen als „Schlüsselqualifikationen“ bezeichnen sollen, so sei es. Natürlich muss man die Sprache seiner Umwelt sprechen, wenn man überhaupt mit ihr ins Gespräch kommen will. Aber es gilt, in jedem Augenblick zu bedenken, wie weit man in dieser Anpassung an die Umwelt gehen möchte. Wir Fachvertreter sehen uns zu Recht ständig in der Pflicht, für unsere Disziplin zu werben und öffentlichkeitswirksam zu sein. Dass wir uns nicht im Elfenbeinturm abschotten, dass wir Vorträge auch für ein großes Laienpublikum halten, dass unsere Vorlesungen nicht zu Mysterienkulten für Eingeweihte werden, dass wir uns bemühen, unser Publikum auch außerhalb der Schulen und Universitäten zu finden – all dies setze ich als 27

Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung vom 18.6.2005, 37.

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selbstverständlich voraus. Aber wenn uns eine Boulevardzeitung oder ein Rundfunkredakteur bittet, in 15 Zeilen oder 30 Sekunden zusammenzufassen, was Thukydides uns über den Irakkrieg und den amerikanischen Imperialismus lehrt, dann muss man auch den Mut haben, Nein zu sagen. Dass unsere modernen Massenmedien keine durchsichtigen Vermittlungsagenten sind, sondern tief in die Botschaft eingreifen, die sie scheinbar nur vermitteln, dass sie einen Diskurs produzieren, in dem nur gewisse Aussagen gemacht werden können, ist keine neue Erkenntnis mehr. Forscher wie Neil Postman und Günther Anders haben das bereits vor Jahrzehnten gezeigt, und Pierre Bourdieu hat darüber kurz vor seinem Tod ein kluges kleines Buch geschrieben.28 Wer Sophokles bei „Wetten dass...“ vorstellen möchte, wird auch nur Sophokles auf dem Niveau von „Wetten dass...“ vorstellen können – da scheint es mir in vielen Fällen besser zu verzichten, als sich zur Verabreichung kultureller Placebos missbrauchen zu lassen. Dass ein solcher Verzicht kurzfristig auch Einbußen bedeuten kann, will ich nicht in Abrede stellen: Einbußen in den Stundentafeln des Gymnasiums, Einbußen an Planstellen und Instituten, Einbußen an Drittmitteln und Prestige; und ich will auch nicht verharmlosen, wie gravierend solche Einbußen sein können. Aber institutionellen Erhalt durch einen Substanzverlust in der Sache zu erkaufen, scheint mir ein zu hoher Preis. Ein letzter Punkt sei noch genannt: Weil sich die Alten Sprachen bereits seit langer Zeit in der Defensive befinden, wenn es um ihre Legitimation geht, hat sich eine bestimmte Verteidigungshaltung bereits fest etabliert, zu der auch ein apokalyptischer Diskurs gehört. Scharf warnten Hochschullehrer zu Beginn des 20. Jh., wenn der Anteil der Alten Sprachen an den Gymnasien noch weiter reduziert werde, sei keine wissenschaftliche Forschung mehr möglich, bereits jetzt seien die meisten Studenten sprachlich unfähig.29 Dass hier etwas Wahres gesehen ist, will ich gar nicht bestreiten. Nicht nur das sprachliche Niveau der Studenten, auch das ihrer Lehrer ist in den vergangenen 100 Jahren gesunken. Aber wieviel Wissen haben wir auf anderen Gebieten dazugewonnen, von denen unsere Kollegen vor einem Jahrhundert nicht einmal etwas ahnten! Dass sich unsere Kenntnisse heute anders gewichten als vor einigen Generationen, bedeutet nicht das Ende der klassischen Bildung, auch nicht das Ende der philologischen Forschung. Dass nur ihre eigene Art, Forschung zu betreiben, legitim und fruchtbar ist, alles andere hingegen das Ende des Abendlands bedeuten muss, ist eine Illusion, der gerade ältere Hochschullehrer gern zu unterliegen pflegen und in der man nicht viel mehr sehen sollte als die ganz normalen Reibungs- und Ablösungsschmerzen, die mit jeder Generationenablösung einherzugehen pflegen (und die, da gebe ich mich keinen Illusionen hin, auch mich in wenigen Jahren ergreifen werden). Mit anderen Qualifikationen lernen wir, andere Fragen zu stellen, andere antike Dokumente anders zu lesen. Auch diese neuen Fragen sind wichtig, interessant und legitim, und von der Qualität dieser Fragen und unserer Antworten wird es abhängen, wie gut wir in dieser ewigen Legitimationsdebatte 28 29

Anders 1956 und 1980; Postman 1985; Bourdieu 1996. Für ein Beispiel unter vielen s. Mensching 1990.

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dastehen. Der erwähnte apokalyptische Ton ist da eher kontraproduktiv, und wie in der bekannten amerikanischen Erzählung von dem Kind Crywolf nutzt er sich bald ab. Gerade dies ist hinderlich, wenn tatsächlich ernsthafte Gefahren für die Wissenschaft und die Grundlagen unserer Kultur drohen. Wir sollten daher keine Rückzugsgefechte führen, sondern für unsere Fächer und die Traditionen, für die sie stehen, optimistisch, mutig und stolz eintreten.

BIBLIOGRAPHIE Anders, G. (1956) Die Antiquiertheit des Menschen, Bd. 1: Über die Seele im Zeitalter der zweiten industriellen Revolution, München. Anders, G. (1980) Die Antiquiertheit des Menschen, Bd. 2: Über die Zerstörung des Lebens im Zeitalter der dritten industriellen Revolution, München. Anonym (1917) Im Zeichen des Krieges, Das humanistische Gymnasium 28, 156. Arnim, H. von (1915) Humanismus und Nationalgefühl, Das humanistische Gymnasium 26, 8-16. Bethe, E. (1917) Athen und der Peloponnesische Krieg im Spiegel der Weltkriege, Neue Jahrbücher 20, 73-87. Birt, T. (1916) Laus und Entlausung, Rheinisches Museum für Philologie 71, 270-277. Bourdieu, P. (1996) Sur la télevision, suivi de l’emprise du journalisme, Paris. Canfora, L. (1985) Wilamowitz: „Politik“ in der Wissenschaft, in W.M. Calder III, H. Flashar und T. Lindken (Hgg.) Wilamowitz nach 50 Jahren, Darmstadt, 56-79. Cauer, F. (1916) Neue Ziele und Wege des Geschichtsunterrichts, Neue Jahrbücher für Pädagogik 19, 120-134. Christ, K. (1982) Römische Geschichte und deutsche Geschichtswissenschaft, München. Christ, K. (Hg.) (1974) Hannibal, Darmstadt. Cramer, F. (1916) Geschichtliche Bildung: Etwas zum Kapitel Krieg und Erziehung, Neue Jahrbücher für Pädagogik 19, 1-19. Eggerding, F. (1915) Mehr Deutsch?, Das humanistische Gymnasium 26, 150-152. Felsch, W. (1917) Das V. und VI. Buch von Cäsars Bellum Gallicum im Unterrichte der Kriegszeit, Neue Jahrbücher für Pädagogik 20, 261-264. Hardtwig, W. (2004) The Prussian Academy of Sciences and Humanities during the Weimar Republic, Minerva 42, 333-357. Hönn, K. (1915) Die alten Sprachen, in F.W. Foerster (Hg.), Der Weltkrieg im Unterricht: Vorschläge und Anregungen zur Behandlung der weltpolitischen Vorgänge in der Schule, Gotha, 88-111. Ilberg, J. (1917) Eine Antrittsrede in der Kriegszeit, Neue Jahrbücher für Pädagogik 20, 34-42. Immisch, O. (1916) Das alte Gymnasium und die neue Gegenwart, Berlin. Kaul, M. (1984) Das deutsche Gymnasium 1780-1980, Frankfurt. Kipf, S. (1999) Herodot als Schulautor: Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte des Griechischunterrichts in Deutschland vom 15. bis zum 20. Jahrhundert, Köln. Koller, C. (2001) „Von Wilden aller Rassen niedergemetzelt“: Die Diskussion um die Verwendung von Kolonialtruppen in Europa zwischen Rassismus, Kolonial- und Militärpolitik (19141930), Stuttgart. Landfester, M. (1988) Humanismus und Gesellschaft im 19. Jahrhundert: Untersuchungen zur politischen und gesellschaftlichen Bedeutung der humanistischen Bildung in Deutschland, Darmstadt. Maass, E. (1916) Vom Wesen der Deutschen und Griechen: Ein Vortrag, Neue Jahrbücher für das Klassische Altertum, Geschichte und Deutsche Literatur 19, 613-653. Mensching, E. (1990) Sprachliche Probleme der Studierenden in einer früheren Zeit, Latein und Griechisch in Berlin, Mitteilungsblatt des Landesverbandes Berlin des deutschen Altphilolo-

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genverbandes 34, 248-251 (= Nugae zur Philologie-Geschichte 4, Berlin 1991, 117-120). Paulsen, F. (1921) Geschichte des gelehrten Unterrichts auf den deutschen Schulen und Universitäten vom Ausgang des Mittelalters bis zur Gegenwart, mit besonderer Rücksicht auf den klassischen Unterricht, Bd. 2; dritte, erweiterte Auflage herausgegeben und in einem Anhang fortgesetzt von Rudolf Lehmann, Berlin. Postman, N. (1985) Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business, New York. Seidenberger, [J.B.] (1918) Lateinische Kriegsexerzitien, Das humanistische Gymnasium 29, 6263. Ungern-Sternberg, J. von (1991) Eduard Meyer und die deutsche Propaganda zu Beginn des Ersten Weltkrieges, in Eduard Meyer (1855-1930): Zu Werk und Zeit, Wissenschaftliche Zeitschrift der Humboldt-Universität zu Berlin. Reihe Geistes- und Sozialwissenschaften 40, 3743. — (1992) Ein Historiker am Scheideweg: Eduard Meyer im Herbst 1914, in B. Degen, F. Kurmann, A. Schluchter und J. Tanner (Hgg.), Fenster zur Geschichte: Festschrift Markus Mattmüller, Basel, 219-231. Ungern-Sternberg, J. von und W. von Ungern-Sternberg (1996) Der Aufruf „An die Kulturwelt!“: Das Manifest der 93 und die Anfänge der Kriegspropaganda im Ersten Weltkrieg, Stuttgart. Viedebantt, O. (1916) Hannibal und die Römische Heeresleitung bei Cannae, Neue Jahrbücher für das Klassische Altertum, Geschichte und Deutsche Literatur 19, 321-336. Vom Brocke, B. (1985) „Wissenschaft und Militarismus“: Der Aufruf der 93 „An die Kulturwelt“ und der Zusammenbruch der internationalen Gelehrtenrepublik im Ersten Weltkrieg, in W.M. Calder III, H. Flashar und T. Lindken (Hgg.) Wilamowitz nach 50 Jahren, Darmstadt, 649719. Weber, L. (1915) Der Völkerkrieg und die Zukunft des deutschen Humanismus, Das humanistische Gymnasium 26, 65-76. Wilamowitz-Moellendorff, U. von (1915) Reden aus der Kriegszeit, Berlin.

THE CAMPAIGN FOR THE ANCIENT HISTORY A-LEVEL IN GREAT BRITAIN Thomas Harrison

Towards the end of March 2007, the news began to leak out that the Oxford Cambridge and RSA Awarding Body (formerly an ‘exam board’) was about to announce the abolition of the ‘A-level’ qualification in Ancient History, the standard qualification for school-leavers in the UK – other than Scotland.1 The formal announcement of this on 30 March triggered a public row between OCR and school and university classicists (and others) that, if not unprecedented, certainly had no recent parallel in terms of the public discussion of the value of the classical world – and that led eventually to the formal reinstatement of the subject less than two months later. This noisy, occasionally eccentric public spat was ultimately quite avoidable. It was also a distinctly English episode, full of acronyms for (variously toothless) government quangos and subject associations. But in spite or because of the slight tawdriness and complexity of the story, it sheds some interesting light on the state of Classics in the UK more broadly.

1. AITIAI My own role in the affair came about through the chance of my being the chair of the Ancient History committee of one of the (many) British subject associations for Classics: the Joint Association of Classical Teachers, or JACT. When I was invited to take this on, it was in the expectation that JACT would be asked to help to draw up specifications for a new A-level. The existing A-level had been a joint venture between JACT and the exam board OCR, dating back to the time of Moses Finley, who had first been responsible for its demanding, heavily sourcebased focus. Its latest incarnation, for which his Cambridge successor, Robin Osborne, and a team of teachers and academics had been responsible, was coming to the end of its life, due to a government requirement that (amongst other changes2) all A-levels should move from having six units to having four.

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The following abbreviations are used: AQA: Assessment and Qualification Alliance (UK awarding body for A-levels). JACT: Joint Association of Classical Teachers. OCR: Oxford Cambridge and RSA Awarding Body. QCA: Qualifications and Curriculum Authority. Another was the introduction of a mysterious ‘stretch and challenge’, designed to obviate the criticism that ever-improving results reflected a ‘dumbing down’ in standards.

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When I had taken over the chairing of the Ancient History committee, we enthusiastically restocked the committee with younger academics (supplementing a number of experienced teachers) likely to be useful for this rewriting. But it was not long after this that OCR (in a curiously secretive way, designed to avoid a noisy backlash3) let it be known that the ‘formal agreement’ between the two bodies would not last beyond the end of the current qualification. From that point on then we had little to do (or so we thought): we lobbied to play some part at least in informing the design of the new specifications, but were increasingly frozen out; we were met by the insistent line that OCR were taking note of a wider range of ‘stakeholders’ and that as an organisation we were insufficiently representative of UK schools.4 JACT was divided between those who thought that we should remain on good terms with OCR in hope of retaining some influence (OCR had claimed that every time there was a bad news story, more schools gave up Classical subjects) and others (including myself) who felt that they had treated teachers’ subject body with such contempt that this craven position would also be fruitless. Then at a meeting of the JACT Ancient History committee on 24 March, 2007 two teachers arrived with the news (leaked from within OCR) that the qualification was to be scrapped; instead, OCR claimed, their Classical Civilisation Alevel would ‘incorporate’ Ancient History. I summarised what we then understood in an email written that night to a group of university ancient historians: What OCR have done, it seems, is shrink ancient history so that it provides the context for literary study. They are keeping a module on archaeology (which only 100 people did last year) and the Greek historians module, but dropping Greek history 5 and Roman history (about 500 entrants at AS, 300 at A2); there is no study of Roman republic or empire, no Persian wars, no democracy apart from as context for Aristophanes, no Athenian empire. History consists of a few bullet points in the specs for modules on e.g. Aristophanes or the Aeneid; it is doubtful that class[ical] civ[ilisation] examiners will know how to cope with an infusion of history in their syllabus, and the specimen exam papers for these modules seem to have been set, so the likelihood is that this minimal presence for A(ncient) H(istory) is not really worth anything. (And there is no sense of an acknowledgement that A(ncient) H(istory) might require different skills/ methodology.) There is no obvious reason why they have done this – there has been minimal coordination or communication – so the likelihood is that it seemed a good idea in the abstract to those involved in ‘product development’ (in Coventry). There is clearly an imperative in OCR’s mind to reduce the no. of units to minimise cost (and the previous plans achieved this), but the nos. for entrants in A(ncient) H(istory) have roughly trebled since the new specifications 3

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The letter to JACT officers letting them know of the end of the formal agreement was sent on a Saturday so as to avoid it being known on the day of JACT’s Council and other committees’ meeting. This last claim had – and has – some validity: much as we were trying to address the issue, our membership was disproportionately drawn from established classics teachers, often in private schools; on the other hand, OCR’s consultation appeared to be highly selectively focused and designed to confirm their own views. AS is the first year, and a separate qualification if a student chooses not to proceed; A2 the second year.

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came in 2000 (from 300 to 1000 at AS-level), and the biggest growth area is in FE [Further Education] colleges (over half of the entrants now), where it is taught by historians who would be very wary, it seems, of something with class[ical] civ[ilisation] as a label.

The claim, in other words, that Ancient History was continuing within the parallel Classical Civilisation qualification was in our view already ridiculous. As we later learnt, there had scarcely been any serious attempt to fuse the two syllabuses (a course that at least for some would have been intellectually creditable); in fact the decision to axe Ancient History had been made too late for any but the most cosmetic changes to be made to the ‘Classical Civilisation’ syllabus and so history was – with the exception of a peculiar bundle of social-historical topics reduced to introductory material for classical literature. (A course, or ‘unit’, on Homer’s Odyssey, for example, included the formulaic sentence ‘Homer’s Odyssey (p. 15): The unit is also concerned with history and archaeology’.) Our other strongest reason for outrage was the growth in numbers, especially in the Further Education (state) sector. Numbers of students taking Ancient History at AS or A2 level (see note 5) were small, although not by comparison with Greek or minority modern languages. But they were growing, and growing fast in precisely the schools which we in our subject association were criticised for not representing. The Achilles heel of our case – on which we remained completely silent through the coming campaign – was the existence of another Classical Civilisation A-level (that run by the Assessment and Qualification Alliance/AQA, a rival ‘awarding body’) with a much more substantial historical component (though no emphasis on distinct historical skills). But, crucially, as it was made clear to us, historians teaching in the Further Education sector would simply not have felt qualified (or even conceived of) running a ‘classical’ course. The campaign was cast from the outset as a campaign to ensure both the distinctness of a historical approach and (most importantly) the continued broadening of access to classical culture. Our initial sense – and indeed our sense for some time to come – was that there was little hope. At best, I suspect, we thought that we might be able to pressure OCR to increase the Ancient History component of ‘Classical Civilisation’. There was some hope that the government quango responsible for authorising school qualifications (the Qualifications and Curriculum Authority/QCA) might insist on modifications to the proposals. Some of us ruefully thought that at least we would be saved some work. But at any rate, it was agreed, we would give OCR a bloody nose, whilst cosying up to AQA to ensure the best possible transition for schools and teachers migrating from one curriculum to another (and to try to ensure that ancient history persisted in some form).6

6

Unsurprisingly, AQA quickly began to plan for a new set of training days for teachers on their qualifications, though it was too late for them to make significant modifications to their specifications as they had already submitted them to QCA for approval. At a later stage, we also had some indirect contact with another awarding body about the prospect of their extending the History A-level to incorporate Ancient History units.

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2. FIRST CONTACT The six days before the formal announcement by OCR of their qualifications saw a blizzard of emails – all designed to ensure the loudest possible response on the 30th. Key to this opening salvo, as he was to the whole campaign, was Peter Jones – formerly of Newcastle University, but for a long time now a professional journalist and passionate campaigner for classics (especially through Friends of Classics, an association for devoted non-professional classicists which he co-runs). On this occasion, and on numerous subsequent ones – whenever we had anything newsworthy or titillating that we felt that we could present to the press – Peter’s approach was first to get a piece in the Times Educational Supplement and then to use its publication as an opportunity to send out press releases on the same theme to a stream of other press contacts. The publication of the specifications on the 30th was met with (in addition to a notice in the Times Educational Supplement) a long article in the Education section of the Guardian, quoting Boris Johnson (now Mayor of London but then an already very high-profile Conservative spokesman for Higher Education), and an appearance by Robin Osborne the following morning on the Today programme (the BBC’s flagship current affairs radio show). Boris Johnson’s exuberant tirade set the tone for much of the broader response that was unleashed, in particular the theme of civilisation versus barbarism.7 (The) recommendations, which follow earlier public consultation, alarmed the shadow higher education minister, Boris Johnson, who is taking over the presidency of the Joint Association of Classical Teachers in May. He said: ‘The birth of Athenian democracy, the transition of Rome from republic to empire: these were critical events in the shaping of our civilisation. How can we understand ourselves if we cut ourselves off from our past? You can’t just subsume the study of ancient history into the study of classical civilisation. You might as well say that you can learn English history through the study of English language and literature.’ He claimed only by studying ancient history can students become ‘properly familiar’ with the texts of Greek and Roman historians, and with the use of historical sources. Mr Johnson said if ancient history disappeared as an A-level it would be ‘another battle in the general dumbing-down of Britain.’ He said: ‘Once again, a tough, rewarding, crunchy subject is poised to give way to the softer option.’ The decision, he said, was perverse because the number of students taking the subject had risen by 300% since 2000. He said: ‘Look at the immense interest in the Persian wars, and the success of the new film about Leonidas and the Spartans. It is demented that the authorities should now be cutting off the supply, just when the demand is rising. The Spartans were fighting to save their civilisation – and so are we.’ 7

Debbie Andalo, ‘Ancient History A-Level Faces Axe’, Guardian 30 March 2007. This persisted with coverage in the Sunday Telegraph two days later of a letter sent to the government department for education from Lord Dearing, asked to review language provision, in which Latin and Greek were judged to be harmful to modern language learning. These and other pronouncements, the Sunday Telegraph leader writer thundered, ‘make the barbarians who destroyed the Roman Empire look like paragons of sophisticated civilisation’.

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Alongside the media campaign, as Boris Johnson’s involvement indicates, another first thought had been to call on political friends. An ‘All Party Parliamentary Group for Classics’ was in actual fact already in loose existence (it had met at least once for a drinks reception a few years before, though different lists of enthusiastic classicists in the Houses of Commons and Lords circulated), chaired by the acute former (Conservative) Education minister Michael Fallon. As well as asking for meetings with Qualifications and Curriculum Authority (QCA) and OCR, Michael Fallon had prompted Boris Johnson into action (aware of his profile), and set about trying to engage members from other political parties: as with the media campaign, which tended to focus on the more politically conservative papers, there was a concern – in tension with Boris Johnson’s instinct to decry ‘dumbing down’ and non-crunchy subjects, and to suggest that it was all mysteriously connected with New Labour – that the political campaign should not be seen as a conservative cause. In addition, we encouraged letters to be written, by schools, university departments or individuals, to express their concern or outrage – to newspapers, to QCA (as the deadline for their approval loomed) or to OCR’s parent company, Cambridge Assessment. In order to make sure that the message remained broadly consistent, we circulated key points for inclusion in any letter – the lack of consultation, the lack of rationale, OCR’s misrepresentation of the specifications, QCA’s statutory duty to protect minority subjects, and so on. Around the same time, a student at Nottingham initiated an electronic petition on the Downing Street website, asking for government intervention to prevent Ancient History’s demise. Finally, we began early on to investigate legal means of challenging OCR’s decision. The idea of doing so had been raised early in April 2007 by a teacher who wrote in to the JACT office to ask what was being done and if she could help. Crucially, Jenny Ramsay was not only starting up Ancient History in her large Further Education college on the south coast; she was also a former solicitor and head of Law at the college. It was her asking whether we had considered if OCR’s decision was subject to judicial review, which first made me at least realise that we were not as powerless as we had imagined. In brief, the case for judicial review focused on QCA’s approval (not yet given) rather than OCR’s decision: OCR are a company, owned by Cambridge Assessment, owned by Cambridge University, whereas QCA were a public body subject to review of their decisions in certain specific circumstances.8 We began both to seek more specialist legal opinion and (led by Jenny Ramsay) to dig for documents – for example those setting out the terms in which QCA operate – that might strengthen our case. The legislation which established QCA (the Education Act 1997) at least made clear that they were answerable to the Secretary of State – the precise relationship between government and QCA was never wholly clarified, as we will see – and that they were a public body liable to judicial review, but was otherwise 8

For example, if the decision reviewed can be shown to be based on an error of law, irrational, based on a material error of fact, contrary to a relevant policy, without justification, procedurally unfair, contrary to Human Rights legislation or EU law.

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very open in its terms (not specifying for example any duty of consultation). On the other hand, QCA’s own regulatory criteria mentioned, for example, as a key principle of regulation that the ‘regulatory authorities are seen as accountable to the public, whose interests they seek to safeguard’ (p. 6), ‘the appropriateness and robustness of the awarding body’s processes for developing qualifications’ being a criterion by which they decide how heavily to scrutinise an awarding body (p. 7), and the need to ensure that qualifications meet demand and to provide a safety net for users (p. 9). Other more detailed documents gave further routes in. QCA had published elaborate procedures for the withdrawal of qualifications. Did OCR, we wondered, think that they were subject to these procedures and that they were indeed withdrawing the subject? QCA’s published procedures for regulating the ‘qualifications market’ gave them a responsibility to monitor numbers taking qualifications, to recommend rationalising or discontinuing them. Their ‘rationalisation report’ for 2005 justified another board’s decision (AQA) to withdraw from Greek and Latin but only on the basis that they were ‘traditional subjects catered for elsewhere’. So, did the same principle apply to Ancient History? (And how did our numbers compare with other subjects?9) At the time of AQA’s withdrawal of classical languages, there had been discussion in the House of Commons, in which a question from Tim Loughton MP, raising the lack of consultation, had received the answer from the then junior Minister, Stephen Twigg: ‘Of course, if the AQA had been the only body offering classical subjects, the QCA would have acted to ensure that they continued to be available, as it would with other minority subjects.’ Equally valuable to us, we thought finally, were the subject criteria for classical subjects which QCA had established. These criteria, which had been the basis for a lengthy consultation to which OCR had of course contributed, laid out what was distinct about any subject area and what standards any proposed qualifications from whichever awarding body needed to satisfy in order to obtain QCA’s approval. Ancient History was included as a distinct subject area within the Classics criteria to the extent of spelling out (paragraph 3.5) the knowledge and understanding required of candidates, including a number of listed subject areas: relations between Greek and non-Greek civilisations; Athenian democracy and society; the politics and culture of Periclean Athens; the Peloponnesian War and its causes; the politics and culture of late Republican Rome; the Age of Augustus; the Julio-Claudians; social and political developments in the Roman empire. OCR, we imagined, could not claim that they are providing a route through for ancient historians unless they cater for all these subject areas. Another paragraph (3.6) spelled out the skills required of candidates that distinguished Ancient History from other subjects including Classical Civilisation. Again, how could this be justified?

9

Only 45 pupils nationwide sat Gujurati, 41 Hebrew and 176 Persian.

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How should we proceed? It was agreed that we needed to check our facts, seek more specialist legal opinion, and (whilst adopting a lawyerish tone) make no passing mention of any legal route until we were sure that such sabre-rattling would be convincing. An appeal for help from Friends of Classics to its members resulted in about a dozen offers of pro bono help from senior judges as well as junior barristers. It was clear that the threat of judicial review was not a threat that we would easily be able to see through, and legal advice reinforced this. But the offers of pro bono help and early talk of establishing a fighting fund to cover other costs gave some grounds for believing that we could at last make our sabrerattling plausible.

3. MEETING WITH THE ‘ENEMY’ It was against this backdrop that we asked for a meeting with OCR themselves. This took a while to arrange (it took place on 24 April). By this stage – led by a JACT colleague, David Taylor, a former head of the inspectorate of schools – analysed OCR’s proposals to death. The OCR staff who, we had been told, would attend the meeting were largely high-up managers with overall responsibility for ‘stakeholder relations’ or for developing qualifications across all subjects: ‘flakabsorbers’, as Jenny Ramsey warned us, not people who were likely to engage in a meaningful dialogue over the contents of papers or to be prepared to give ground. So we resolved to use the opportunity to collect evidence that would be useful to our case, and to reveal ourselves as serious in our attempt to overturn their decision, but not to engage in deal-making even if it were possible – to accept for example a beefed-up historical content to the Classical Civilisation Alevel. We worked out a series of questions to which we wanted answers, and reinforced by Jenny (who admitted to being head of law at her college as well as an ancient history teacher at the outset of the meeting, and who was constantly checking through a precisely ordered and colour-coded file) adopted as forensic a tone as we could muster. We nominated one of ourselves, Katharine Radice, as a note taker. As I wrote in a pompous email peroration to a group of colleagues two days before the meeting: On tone, Jenny and I have spoken briefly about how we mean to go about the AH issue, and our feeling (we plan to flesh it out more tomorrow evening on the phone) is that we want in essence to cross examine them on a sequence of points – starting from the alleged historical content, through their various procedures – and by doing so a) to collect info that we can use subsequently and b) to reveal to them how little they know and how weak the ground is on which they stand. It should be relentless and lawyerish. I feel with Jenny very strongly that we should absolutely not start banging on about the intrinsic value of the subject because that is flak they can easily absorb. We need to give them a taste of what they will get through QCA and the media if they persist with their foolhardy approach – and to unsettle them, not to confirm their prejudices of a whingeing Luddite special interest group that can’t see the wood for the trees.

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The meeting began tetchily over the issue of our taking notes. The OCR representatives did not want notes to be made, and wanted the discussion to be confidential, though they reluctantly agreed to a compromise that we could pass on the headlines or outline of the meeting but not the details. We then described JACT and its history, and they in turn outlined the process of development that they had been through for all their A-levels, and emphasised the pressures of time. After this nervous preamble, and a coffee break, we opened up discussion on Ancient History, beginning by presenting a copy of the Downing Street Petition (already up to 2353 signatures). First, then we asked for the rationale behind the withdrawal. (One concern was to get confirmation that they accepted that they were indeed withdrawing the subject.) We probed whether economics had been crucial (in a statement to the BBC History magazine, OCR had claimed that economic viability had nothing to do with the withdrawal) and eventually received an answer that the decision had not been ‘purely’ a matter of economic viability. A good deal of emphasis was put instead on the ‘awardability’ of the qualifications, a term which we struggled to understand but which seemed to come down to the issue of comparability between the different A-level ‘routes’; they had sought to explore whether a ‘named route’ (i.e distinct A-level) within the Classics Suite was viable, but had been advised, they told us, to withdraw the A-level by the developers as they had been ‘struggling’ to develop Ancient History units that fitted into the format and framework. We knew that it had been at a late stage that the decision had been made as we had by this stage seen various draft grids of the papers planned; OCR insisted that these were no more than ‘back of envelope’ plans (which we should not have been shown) with no status as the formal development process had not begun at the time that the grids were drawn up. In actual fact the whole development of the subject criteria had been predicated on the grids; they had been formally proposed to an OCR committee (QUARC: Qualifications Approval and Review Committee) by the previous October, and had been the basis of an expensive consultation, undertaken by external consultants, with schools taking AQA qualifications. We then moved on to the issue of the quantity of historical content in the new specifications. Since they had insisted that, though the ‘named route’ had been withdrawn, the content was still there, we asked where it was, in which specific papers. There was a certain amount of dispute over how much historical content there was, but we also questioned how this content could satisfy the ‘subject criteria’ established by QCA for Ancient History; we were told straightforwardly that this was irrelevant as they met the criteria for ‘Classical Civilisation’. We then claimed that they did not constitute Ancient History, as they dealt with it in a very different way with a different focus and approach to sources. We questioned the coherence of the package of ‘historical’ papers available. We were told that it was ‘not trying to be’ coherent. The final substantial point we raised was over their consultation. We began by asking, if when they had consulted with ‘stakeholders’, they had consulted them specifically on scrapping Ancient History as a named route. (We knew very well

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that they had not, but wanted it confirmed, as they had made a good deal of noise about how the new specifications were in response to teachers.) Their reply (distinctly tetchy) was that they could not have done since at the time of consultation they had no idea of doing so. Our response then was that the most controversial decision in their specifications had not then been consulted on as their publicity had claimed. They were consulting now, they said. As they had admitted, however, the timing was such that making any significant changes would be well-nigh impossible. In short then, the meeting gave little ground for suggesting that any ground would be given. We had indeed, though, picked up useful information, and had discovered (to our satisfaction) at least a discomfort at our legalistic approach and a sensitivity to the press coverage that OCR had attracted. Towards the end of the meeting, one of the OCR representatives had snapped back at us that it would be easier to talk without the ‘media barrage’. In the absence of any pulling back on their part, we determined to maintain the barrage.

4. A WAR ON SEVERAL FRONTS From this point on, it became increasingly difficult to keep any hold on the different aspects of the dispute. On the political front, the main development was an adjournment debate in the House of Commons that took place on 25 April.10 The debate was evidently the product of a lot of backroom pre-discussion, and was also the opportunity for some mildly humorous grandstanding – sharing of views on Hollywood blockbusters (300, Troy, or Alexander – which the Minister admitted he thought ‘a pretty execrable effort’), teasing on the nature of each other’s qualifications, and eloquent statements of the foundational nature of classical civilisation. As one MP, Peter Luff, put it, ‘although the subject [for debate] may not seem that important at first glance, in truth it is of profound importance to our culture and civilisation’. Speakers focused on the subjects which would now be beyond study, fifth-century Athens or Republican Rome and mocked the idea that you could understand these periods of history through their literature alone: As Michael Fallon put it,11 one does not have to be my hon. Friend the Member for Henley (Mr. Johnson) to understand that literature cannot explain events. The Aeneid cannot explain the Age of Augustus. We do not teach English history just through Milton or Shakespeare – of course we do not.’

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Hansard 25 April 2007, columns 1004-1014. A similar line was pursued in a joint letter by Robin Osborne and Robert Parker to The Times, 7 May 2007: ‘The board claims that the needs of the growing numbers of candidates taking the subject can be met by the A-level in Classical Civilisation. This is like saying that those interested in current affairs can meet their needs by reading a newspaper’s cultural pages, skipping the news.’

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At the same time, the debate had a more substantial element, focusing on the lack of consultation by OCR, the growth in numbers of ancient history students in the state sector, the supervision of exam boards by the QCA, and the duty to protect minority subjects that had been expressed in parliament by a previous minister. Michael Fallon also developed a theme which had also featured in newspaper correspondence – the silence from OCR as to any rationale. (In actual fact, they felt tied by the fact that QCA was considering their proposals). The response by the Minister, Jim Knight, to a large extent towed the party line, repeating much of OCR’s publicity, and insisting that ‘awarding bodies such as OCR are independent organisations regulated by the QCA, so Ministers cannot directly intervene in their decisions’; on the other hand, there was an offer of a meeting with QCA and concerned MPs, and an insistence that the ‘discontinuation of ancient history is only a proposal, not a foregone conclusion’. And this was never going to be the end of the political road: the main parliamentary supporters continued to work independently to put pressure where it would be effective, with Boris Johnson for example making a trip to Cambridge on 3rd May to meet OCR face to face. (They repeated their rationale based on ‘awardability’; he felt that they were ‘trying to blind him with science’.) At the same time, we did our best to maintain the rate of press coverage in the absence of any news. Despite this, the relentlessness of the press coverage that Peter Jones marshalled was remarkable, with regular letters and articles in (amongst other papers) the Times Educational Supplement, the Daily and Sunday Telegraph, the Independent, The Times, and the satirical magazine Private Eye. The Eye memorably mocked OCR for their claim of consultation (in their Educashun news), listing all the bodies which had not been consulted.12 The tabloid Sunday Express repeated data on the lower numbers of students taking other Alevels such as Gujurati or Persian, and cited ‘Oxford University Professor Chris Felling [sic, for Chris Pelling] denouncing the decision as scandalous’.13 One problem we faced, however, was to get coverage in any left-leaning publications.14 When the news had formally broken, I had been at a conference in New York with (amongst others) Tom Holland, the author of the popular histories Rubicon and Persian Fire. Eventually his name persuaded the Guardian to run what Tom referred to as ‘the socialist case for Ancient History’, an opinion piece, ‘All

12 13 14

Private Eye No 1183, 27 April – 10 May 2007. Sunday Express 29 April 2007. The parliamentary sketch of Education Questions, from The Times 27 April, gives an idea of the class colour that could be given to the topic. In response to a question from Boris Johnson, asking for agreement with the proposal that abolishing the A-level was ‘tragic’, ‘up sprang Mr Skinner, at 75 still the dingo of the Commons. … “Isn’t it becoming increasingly obvious that the kids who are going to Eton school and are educated beyond their intelligence, like some of those on the front bench,” he said, looking at Boris, who was thrilled beyond belief to be attacked, “are being given additional opportunities to go to the posh universities while working-class kids don’t get the same chance?”’

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roads lead to Rome’, ingeniously connecting the issue of the A-level with the New Labour obsession with ‘citizenship’:15 We are not the first society … to be faced with this problem. The reason why, in the past, ancient history was studied with such urgency and passion was precisely because it was recognised by so many educationalists as providing the perfect solution. Most of the civic values that Alan Johnson [then Education Secretary] has said he wants to see promoted in schools – from free speech to respect for the rule of law – derive ultimately from Greece and Rome; but the classical world is nevertheless sufficiently remote from us to be politically neutral. Students who study it will rarely find themselves being given easy answers. Yes, Athenian democracy was a glorious and heroic achievement; but was it dependent for its vibrancy upon overseas adventures and exploitation of the disenfranchised? Yes, Roman citizenship was a stirring ideal; but did the liberties of the Republic end up inevitably breeding autocracy? To ponder these questions is to find a whole line of political enquiry opening up before one – a line which leads, of course, directly to the present day.

Significantly also, the article included a hint of realism, acknowledging that there were more burning issues (protecting us then against the aura of being an absurdly overexcited special interest group), whilst clearly sticking the knife into OCR: Admittedly, when one lists all the problems faced by the world, the fact that for the first time since the Renaissance British schools will no longer be teaching ancient history might not seem to rank very high. Nevertheless, with its peculiar blend of penny-pinching, philistinism and misplaced utilitarianism, OCR is taking a terrible wrong turn – and a badly-timed one.

The publication of this piece gave us a breach to take advantage of. On 7 May the Guardian published coordinated letters of response (to an article we had ourselves solicited) by Peter Jones and myself. Peter’s expressed studied mystification at the rationale: it could not be educational, it cannot be financial (look at their profits), it cannot be numbers of entrants – ‘So why? From OCR, nothing but silence’. Mine underlined the lack of consultation, hinted at knowledge of what had gone wrong within OCR, stated that QCA should step in as it had a statutory duty to do, and developed a new line of the relationship between OCR and Cambridge University (‘All this from an exam board which is itself owned by Cambridge University’). A number of Cambridge academics had been making representations for some time – asking why one part of the University was developing a pioneering outreach programme (the Cambridge School Classics Project) while another was abolishing an A-level which was successful in broadening participation to Classics. A source within Cambridge Assessment, OCR’s parent body, had also suggested that the relationship with the university was a point of weakness that we could usefully exploit. Increasingly then we invited people to write letters to the head of Cambridge Assessment as well as QCA.

15

Guardian 5 May 2007.

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5. DENOUEMENT It was in this context, with our battering at every door in sight, with a further debate planned in the House of Lords on the 16th May, and with the timetable for QCA’s approval (or otherwise) fast approaching, that the idea emerged for a protest outside parliament – four days before the QCA deadline, on May 14th. This was something I first learnt of through the Sunday Express – the impetus having come from the girls of a West London school, Godolphin and Latymer, who had wondered what they could do. There was a good deal of concern that it might make us look silly (a concern that I shared), so JACT adopted the tone of the reasonable honest brokers, unable to marshal or restrain the groundswell of outrage. So, while the JACT office was busy copying leaflets for the demonstration, I wrote to one of the OCR directors suggesting that we might talk informally to try to avoid further escalation. Their response was conciliatory, the first suggestion that they might be considering a climb-down – making clear that they could not do anything until QCA had responded, accepting that the ‘consultation’ had not been a success, and asking for JACT’s help in developing the detail of any changes.16 The demonstration proved a bizarrely, splendidly British event. (A gossip column later ran a story about a Byelorussian dissident who had come to London and, hearing that a demonstration was happening outside parliament, went to see how they were organised in Britain, only to by mystified.) Our press release had promised slave girls from West London presenting a petition to a togate Boris Johnson. The protesters (initially a very small group, though the numbers swelled to a decent crowd as the afternoon went on) met in the centre of Parliament Square, straightened their eccentric placards and talked to journalists, before – at a pre-agreed time – we were ushered by a policeman to the doors of parliament where we crushed up against concrete barriers along the pavement. (Protests outside parliament are now heavily circumscribed by the terms of the ‘Serious and Organised Crime Act’.) Here we waited for some time, confounding passing civil servants, until Boris Johnson eventually appeared like a champion boxer draped in a sheet and was crowned with a wreath and presented with his petition (fig. 1). Boris then proceeded to give an ex tempore Latin rendering (with suitable substitutions) of Winston Churchill’s ‘We will fight them on the beaches’. After this, a group of academics, teachers, MPs and school children were invited inside to one of the committee chambers, where (chaired by Michael Fallon with great ceremony) we were invited to make speeches on the progress of the campaign and the iniquitousness of the original decision – and where Tom Holland was memorably shell-shocked by being fawned upon by school girls and then complimented on his Rubicon by a former head of the civil service.

16

Help which we happily undertook to give if, and only if, ‘OCR is serious about the reinstatement of the Ancient History A-level and about developing a decent product on the basis of real consultation.’

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Fig. 1. Boris Johnson (with Michael Fallon behind his shoulder) addresses protesters outside the Houses of Parliament (16 May 2007); cartoon from Private Eye, 25 May 2007.

The realisation that all this effort had not been in vain occurred two days later, however, when I was rung in my office to be told (by Peter Jones) that the government would be instructing OCR to reinstate the A-level later that afternoon – a call that prompted light-headed jigging round the room. The Lords debate (which I heard reported on the national radio news, and heard that night in full) was a delight. It began with a pre-planned question and answer, with Lord Faulkner of Worcester asked Her Majesty’s Government ‘whether they will invite the examinations board, OCR (Oxford, Cambridge and RSA), to abandon its proposal to discontinue the subject of ancient history at AS and A-level’. The Education Minister Lord Adonis then responded: ‘My Lords, the Government are not content to see the withdrawal of ancient history as a free-standing A-level, and we have invited OCR and the QCA to come forward with proposals for its continuance.’ From this point on, the debate was a part-serious, part-playful rehearsing of the arguments of the campaign. ‘My Lords, what a splendid Answer – gaudeamus igitur!’, Lord Faulkner reacted, expressing the joy of students and academics, and asking the Minister gently to remind QCA of their duty to minority subjects. Lord Adonis then rehearsed the rise in numbers in the study of Classics, suggesting that he ‘would like to think that that had something to do with the appointment of an Adonis as Schools Minister’ but that he was told there were other factors. Their lordships then used the opportunity to make other points. Baroness Walmsley

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made a dig at the ‘coronation of the leader of the government’, Gordon Brown’s uncontested succession to Tony Blair, suggesting that the study of the roots of democracy emphasised the importance of real contests. ‘My Lords’, Lord Adonis replied, ‘the Romans were also quite good at dictatorship and subverting established governments, so, as ever in history, you can take your pick.’ Most gratifyingly, though, the philosopher Mary Warnock spoke for the ‘extraordinary useful[ness]’ of ancient history: ‘It is a tool subject for pupils at A-level because it teaches them in a manageable way what it is to seek and use evidence, both literary and archaeological. It is an ideal A-level subject.’

6. RETROSPECT So why did it happen? Why did OCR make the decision in the first place? ‘My Lords, I have no idea’, had been Lord Adonis’ response. We were later told (by sources from inside OCR) that the key decision had been made around the end of November 2006, and that it had been made on the basis that the developers had been ‘difficult to work with’ in that they had insisted that the template (derived from other subjects) did not fit Ancient History. Our internal source suggested also that the reason for the difficulties had been that the non-linguistic qualifications had been left to too late by a ‘subject officer’ within OCR who had been more concerned with Greek and Latin. OCR (or Cambridge Assessment) had been warned by insiders at the likely consequence of abolishing Ancient History. Why was the decision reversed? The straightforward answer that it was reversed because of Lord Adonis’ instruction was hotly denied by OCR, who insisted that the government had no business telling them what to do (notwithstanding the fact that QCA was answerable to the government). QCA – despite informal comments that they had been incensed by OCR’s behaviour – stuck firmly to the public line that exam boards could do what they wanted, provided they gave notice. A QCA spokeswoman said that there ‘is no statutory duty that requires particular subjects to be offered’. Ultimately it is impossible to tell whether the political embarrassment had been the straw that broke the camel’s back – it seems likely that OCR had been considering a climb-down for a while (motivated as much, perhaps, by embarrassment locally as nationally) and yet was constrained in terms of announcing it by the timetable of QCA approval. Rumours suggested that Lord Adonis had been in contact with other university classicists, so who can tell what other behind the scenes contacts there had been? Was it all a fuss about nothing? There were times when I formed the thought that so much campaigning energy might have been dedicated to a more pressing international issue – ignobly, the desire to win was perhaps the most burning driving force day to day. I also had a particular reason to be uncomfortable perhaps. As an ancient historian with a research focus on cultural history and historiography (on ‘classical civilisation’ in terms of the School curriculum) I found some of the hard distinctions between a traditional ‘crunchy’ (in Johnson’s term) ancient history and a soft ‘Classical Civilisation’ disconcerting. If OCR’s integration of

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Ancient History had been better planned (rather than hasty and petulant), if the historical content had not been cosmetic, and if an intellectual case had been made, it would have been hard to gainsay. It is certainly the case that university ancient historians are not drawn exclusively, or even predominantly, from those who do Ancient History as an A-level subject, so though the change would have undoubtedly reduced access to the classical world in the Further Education sector, the claim that Ancient History would, as night follows day, then have withered in universities was absurd. Relations with OCR, still the only awarding body for school qualifications in Latin, Greek and Ancient History, are much better. Though there has been no return to a ‘formal agreement’, JACT and OCR began a series of twice-yearly meetings to discuss issues of concern – though the timing of these meetings has begun to slip, and though there have been other major problems (over the changes in GCSE qualifications, taken at around the age of 16) in general there has been a fairly constructive relationship in which OCR have more clearly listened. The whole affair was something of a boost to JACT, whose membership rose for the first time in some years. We are now introducing a class of ‘supporter’ membership for those non-teachers who gave their support during the campaign, and (together with Friends of Classics) are developing a fundraising appeal, Classics for All, designed to support the expansion of access to classics in the state sector. Within OCR there was clearly a good deal of self-examination, in particular of their approach to ‘stakeholders’; Ancient History was moved to a new subject officer. The picture conjured up in a Private Eye cartoon, of a body lying in the street with daggers in its back, while one man told another inside OCR’s offices that ‘he was the man who abolished the Ancient History A-level’ was, needless to say, an exaggeration – business continued pretty much as usual. One question left unresolved was precisely whose job it was to stop this kind of decision in the future. In our view, there had been a dreadful lack of clarity and QCA had been toothless in (at least in its public pronouncements) simply backing the exam boards. I tried to stir the pot by writing to The Times on May 23rd (by now I did not think twice about writing to newspapers or ringing journalistic contacts), comparing QCA’s denial of any statutory duty to preserve particular subjects with their own document (Principles and Approaches to Statutory Regulation), which states a duty ‘to ensure that specialist qualifications catering for minority interests are protected’. Which is it? If exam boards ever again threaten to abolish an academic discipline, is there anyone – bar the intervention of a Lord Adonis, the Education Minister – whose job it is to prevent them? Or is street protest the only route open to us?

The same point was made at greater length, and with supportive quotes from political supporters, in a lengthy and reflective piece in the Times Educational Supplement, concluding again that if your subject was threatened the only course

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open to you was to make a fuss.17 Later in the year, the government acted to separate QCA’s regulatory role from its development of curricula, but one could have little confidence that a similar move today would be met with a firmer response from the regulators. Finally, what did the episode say about the state of Classics in the UK? One thing that the campaign brought into sharp focus was that there are very different understandings of what ‘Classics’ or ‘Ancient History’ actually was. Where university courses might, as in Nottingham, teach ‘Classical Civilisation’ and Ancient History cohorts together during their first year, at school level there was a sharper – more old-fashioned – distinction. (Students pursuing ‘Classical Civilisation’ from school to university are often perplexed by the different range of subjects included.) A project based in the Durham ‘Subject Centre’ for Classics is now seeking to ‘map’ what Classics means at different levels today. The campaign revealed the existence of a much more widespread popular enthusiasm for Classics than one might have supposed. Undoubtedly, the ‘socialist case for Ancient History’ was one rarely voiced; one reason why the story gained traction in the national press was that it confirmed fears of the ‘dumbing down’ of the school curriculum. On the other hand, with news stories focusing on the uptake of Classics in the Further Education sector, some progress was made in reversing Classics’ reputation as necessarily restricted to Old Etonians like Boris Johnson – though even as they sought to up-end the clichés they managed to sustain them.18 The campaign also masked various fissures in the Classics ‘community’. Private school pupils taking timetabled lessons in Latin over a number of years take the same GCSE exams as other school pupils whose only Latin is taught in a lunch hour or remotely through the electronic Cambridge School Classics Project. Such issues, and the tensions they provoke, were put aside when arguing for the survival of a whole subject at school level. Similarly, the various subject associations – the Hellenic and Roman Societies, the Classical Association, JACT, Friends of Classics, the Council of University Classics Departments – all played their part by weighing in the public debate. But it is not clear that they cooperate so well during peace time, as it were, or that the interests of Classics are really served by persisting with such a range of associations – each with its own, often unclear, specialist brief. The challenges of maintaining and building the numbers of Classics students, or of better coordinating the efforts to improve the position of Classics, lie ahead.

17

18

Warwick Mansell, ‘A famous victory: but will other exams become ancient history?’, Times Educational Supplement 1 June 2007. John Crace, ‘Cradle of democracy’, Guardian 22 May 2007.

THE MAKING OF A CLASSIC LASTING SIGNIFICANCE OF HIPPOCRATIC MEDICINE Elizabeth Craik

PREAMBLE Homeric epic, lyric poetry, Attic drama and oratory, the philosophical works of Plato and Aristotle, and the histories of Thucydides and Herodotus are generally regarded as the main Greek ‘classics’. But the largest extant body of early Greek prose comprises works on the theory and practice of medicine. It is argued here that the treatises preserved under the name of Hippocrates deserve to be considered ‘classics’ alongside the great literary, philosophical and historical writings of antiquity, and the enduring importance and continuing influence of the Hippocratic Corpus is discussed. 1. HIPPOCRATES AND THE HIPPOCRATIC CORPUS1 Hippocrates, doctor and medical writer, was born on the island of Cos in or around 460 BC and spent part of his life in Thessaly, where he died at an advanced age. Only these facts are certain (and even these not completely so). The evidence for the life of Hippocrates is like the evidence for the lives of many other important figures of Greek antiquity: firstly, scanty scattered references in contemporary or near contemporary writers (in this case, in the comic poet Aristophanes and the philosopher Plato); secondly, biography of a sketchy and unreliable sort, from a much later period; thirdly, a collection of letters, allegedly written by or to him but apparently invented by adherents and admirers, also much later. From the first category, contemporary references, we learn that Hippocrates was soon known as a famous teacher of medicine, who might be regarded as an exemplar for the entire medical profession. The second and third categories contain much anecdotal ‘information’: some of this may be accepted with due caution, but some is not believable. For example: Hippocrates was taught medicine by his father (very plausible); Hippocrates was a pupil or follower of the rhetorician Gorgias and/or of the scientist-philosopher Democritus (plausible); Hippocrates was called in to treat Democritus when people thought Democritus had gone mad (implausible); Hippocrates burned down the temple of Asclepius, the

1

The standard text of the complete Corpus is that of Littré 1839-1861; see also Ermerins 18591864. Important general works are Smith 1979, Jouanna 1992, and Nutton 2004.

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god of healing, on Cos after making records of the temple cures there (very implausible). But the biggest fiction about Hippocrates is that he was the author – that is, the sole author – of the Corpus which has come down to us with his name attached to it. The Greek tendency to isolate and idealise a ‘first inventor’ of all arts and crafts is here evident. The writing style and medical knowledge are too diverse to belong to one author or even to one region or one century. Already in antiquity it was recognised that the collection of medical writings attributed to Hippocrates, largely coincident with that now referred to as the ‘Hippocratic Corpus’, was not (or not all) the work of Hippocrates, or of any one author. The aim of Erotian, Galen and other ancient commentators was to distinguish between works considered truly Hippocratic and works considered spurious. This trend continued until the nineteenth century,2 but has now largely been abandoned. Lately, the radical and challenging suggestion has been made that the so-called ‘Hippocratic’ canon may be based on no more than the arbitrary sanction of Hippocratic attribution at some point in a fluid and fluctuating process of transmission. The extreme consequence of this would be that the Hippocratic Corpus is nothing more than a construct of the later medical and philological tradition, and that there is no intrinsic unity or coherence binding the Hippocratic writings more closely with one another than with supposedly non-Hippocratic medical, scientific and philosophical writings of the fifth and fourth centuries BC. In this chapter, however, ‘Hippocratic medicine’ is understood simply with reference to the broadly similar theory and practice of medicine as presented in the Hippocratic Corpus, that vast and amorphous collection of some sixty to seventy works. A broad distinction can be made between ‘treatises’ proper (coherent and reasoned compositions, such as On Ancient Medicine) and ‘notes’ (collections of disjointed observations such as Aphorisms). Some works are very short – for example, Oath (a deontological statement), On Anatomy (an anatomical survey) and Dentition (observations on infant health) – others such as Coan Prognoses (a collection of medical generalisations) are very long. Some are primarily physiological: On the Nature of Man (which contains an important statement of the theory of four ‘humours’); On Flesh (which comprises an outline description of the origin and composition of bodily components). Some are surgical: On Fractures and On Articulations (on broken bones and dislocated limbs, probably intended for doctors of the gymnasium and palaestra); also On Head Wounds (on serious blows to the skull – probably intended for army surgeons). Some deal with dietetics: Regimen 1-4 (mainly on the relative values to the body of different foodstuffs). Some are theoretical or ideological: On Ancient Medicine and On the Art (on the evolution of the art, or profession, of medicine). Many are gynaecological: Diseases of Women, The Nature of Women (mainly on procedures to predict or promote a woman’s ability to conceive; not on obstetrics, the business of the midwife). Some are case histories: Epidemics (clinical case-notes, some describing the day by day progress of particular patients to death or recovery). Some are nosological, describing diseases rather than patients: Internal 2

See, for example, Adams 1849.

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scribing diseases rather than patients: Internal Affections, On Acute Diseases (containing much on the symptoms, course and interrelation of different diseases). Others are mixed in character: On the Sacred Disease (on epilepsy, and on causes of disease more generally); Airs, Waters and Places (on environmental health, but also on ethnography). Some works trans-mitted separately cohere (On Articulations and On Fractures; Fistulae and Haemorrhoids); some fall into two parts (Airs, Waters and Places); some have a duplicate start (Diseases 2) or an extraneous ending (Nature of Man); some are evident amalgamations (Bones) or summaries (Mochlicon) or reworkings (On Anatomy). There are affinities, more or less clear, between treatises, including those which are stylistically sophisticated (On Ancient Medicine and On the Art); there are works with blocks of material in common (gynaecological treatises; Epidemics, especially 5 and 7). The sections of this chapter – with the headings ‘Deontology’, ‘Anatomy’, ‘Physiology and Pathology’, ‘Therapy’ – do not represent clear divisions or demarcations in the Corpus. An attempt is made throughout to indicate both the nature and the extent of the evidence available. Quotation is used to convey a flavour of the texts discussed. In the long Hippocratic tradition, particular works – and indeed particular passages or even mere phrases of particular works – have been privileged. For example, On Ancient Medicine has frequently been regarded as quintessentially Hippocratic; and the statement in On the Sacred Disease that epilepsy is no more ‘sacred’ than any other disease has frequently been interpreted as a radical rejection of irrational medical method. Neither supposition is justified. The supposed authority of On Ancient Medicine rests on subjective opinion. Rational and irrational elements continued to exist even in the time, and in the writing, of Galen. In this chapter, a wide spectrum of works is analysed and discussed in terms of their enduring influence and significance.

2. DEONTOLOGY AND IDEOLOGY One of the most celebrated statements of medical ideals ever formulated is contained in the Hippocratic Oath:3 I swear by Apollo the Physician, by Asclepius, by Hygieia, by Panaceia and by all the gods and goddesses, making them my witnesses, that I will carry out this oath and this contract according to my ability and judgment. I will treat my teacher in this art like my own parents; give him a share in my livelihood; share with him my money if he is in need; consider his sons as my brothers; teach them this art without fee or contract if they wish to learn it. I will share written precepts, oral traditions and all other medical instruction with my own sons, the sons of my teacher, and with formally enrolled pupils under oath, but with no-one else. I will use treatment to help the sick according to my ability and judgment; but never with a view to their injury and detriment. I will not administer a drug to cause death, even if asked to do so; and 3

For discussion of all aspects of the Oath, see Journal of the History of Medicine and Allied Sciences, special issue, 1996.

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I will not secretly advocate use of such drugs. Similarly, I will not give a woman a pessary to cause abortion. I will keep pure and holy both my life and my art. I will not use the knife, even on sufferers from stone; in this I shall yield place to experts. Into whatever houses I enter, I will enter to help the sick, and I will abstain from all conscious wrongdoing and harm, especially from sexual relationships with women or with men, slave or free. And whatever I may see or hear in the course of my professional activities – and also things which should not be the subject of gossip arising in my ordinary dealings with people – I will never divulge, but treat as holy secrets. Now if I carry out this oath and do not break it, may I enjoy a good reputation for my life and my art for all time; but if I break it and transgress, may the opposite happen to me.

This statement of medical ethics has an immediate relevance to the modern world, in particular to the current debates on abortion and euthanasia; and it is timeless in its treatment of the perennial problems of medical confidentiality and respect for patients. A remarkable feature is the apparent recognition of medical specialisations, and delicacy in observing them. This interesting document, although the most famous of the group of Hippocratic writings broadly classified as ‘deontological’ (dealing with the duties of doctors) or ‘protreptic’ (urging certain types of conduct and actions), is not an isolated description of the ideals of medical theory and practice but can be linked with Law, The Surgery, Precepts, Decorum and Physician. In all of these, enduring views and values are present. The Law is most frequently linked with the Oath, but it is more reflective in character. Debate on the craft of medicine centres on the qualities required for medical expertise and understanding: innate ability, proper instruction and diligence. There is in conclusion a reference to the peripatetic nature of the profession and to the ‘sacred’ character of its knowledge. General medical practice can be glimpsed in The Surgery: the doctor’s office is merely a suitable room in the home where father and son(s) work with their assistants. The short work Precepts is made up of a disjointed amalgam of notes and remarks, where much is individually and collectively obscure; it describes the precepts to be followed by the ideal high-principled physician. The author of Decorum argues that personal physis ‘nature’ is necessary for progress in medical wisdom, as the prerequisites of this cannot be taught; indeed teaching in general is suspect. Here is an excerpt from the beginning of Physician, a short and vivid text: This is appropriate to a doctor: to cultivate dignity; he will have a good complexion and a good build, in accordance with his natural endowments – for those who are not themselves in good bodily condition are generally considered to be unable to take care of others. Then he must be clean in person and wear good clothes and fragrant, but not obtrusive, lotions … In mental disposition he should be disciplined, not only in maintaining silence, but also in having an altogether well-organised way of life. … In character he should be a good person, the sort of man who is respected by and kindly to everyone … he should be fair in all his dealings …

The qualities of appearance and character desiderated then, and surely in other societies, in the ideal doctor are specified (health, cleanliness, discretion, seriousness, fairness); both physical and mental attributes are outlined. The essential

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elements of basic medical education are then set out (situation of the surgery, proper ways of bandaging and appropriate types of instrument). The work with its practical tenor has an appealing immediacy: vulgar bravura is criticised; medicine demands not display but practical aid for the patient.

3. ANATOMY In anatomy, if anywhere, we might expect to find continuity, the human body being constant. Certain features of Hippocratic anatomical description – such as the regular ordering of information a capite ad calcem, from head to foot, and the stress on position in the body – had a long currency, seen in the regular anatomical terms superior, inferior; anterior, posterior, proximal, distal. Knowledge of anatomy was somewhat patchy. On Fractures and On Articulations are two works of immense importance, still praised by orthopaedic practitioners for their clinical excellence: they demonstrate a first rate familiarity with techniques of setting broken bones and manipulating dislocated limbs. Knowledge of internal anatomy was less secure. Ancient anatomical knowledge was based on extensive obser-vation of animals (probably sacrificial victims as well as laboratory specimens), possibly corroborated by some human dissection, for instance of the aborted foetus or of ‘exposed’ infants (unwanted children, abandoned and left to die), in conjunction with opportunistic observation of war wounded and accident victims. Very few Hippocratic works contain straightforward anatomical description: the Hippocratic authors do not aim to present abstract anatomical surveys, but rather to offer practical adjuncts to physiological understanding (as, with regard to flux theory, in Places in Man) or aids in therapeutic intervention (as, with regard to phlebotomy, in Nature of Man). An exception is a very short text (the shortest selfcontained work in the corpus), On Anatomy, here quoted in full:4 The trachea, taking its origin from each side of the throat, ends at the top of the lung; it is composed of similar rings to that of other creatures, the circular parts touching one another on the surface. The actual lung, inclined towards the left, fills the chest cavity. The lung has five projecting parts, which they call lobes; it has an ashen colour, is punctuated by dark spots, and is in nature like a honey-comb. In the middle of it the heart is situated: it is rounder than that of all creatures. From the heart to the liver a large tube goes down, and with the tube the vessel called the great vessel, by means of which the entire frame is nourished. The liver has a similarity to that of all other creatures, but is more blood-suffused than that of others. It has two projecting parts, which they call gates; it lies in the right part of the body. From the liver a slanting vessel extends to the parts below the kidneys. The kidneys are similar to those of other creatures and in colour are like those of sheep. From them slanting ducts reach to the top edge of the bladder. The bladder is all sinewy and large. At a distance from the bladder come, centrally, the genitals. In these six parts bodily nature has been arranged internally in the middle. The oesophagus, taking its origin from the tongue, ends at the belly; they call it ‘mouth’ for the putrefying belly. From the backbone, 4

See Craik 2006.

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behind the liver, comes the diaphragm. On the false side, I mean the left, the spleen begins, and extends, similar to a footprint. The belly, lying beside the liver, on the left side, is all sinewy. From the belly comes the intestine, which is similar to that of other creatures, long, no less than twelve cubits, in coils entangled in folds. Some call it the colon, and by it the passage of the food occurs. From the colon comes last the rectum, which has fleshy tissue, and which ends at the extremity of the anus. The rest, nature has organized.

This text is a unique testimonial to the nature and extent of ancient anatomical knowledge; it offers good basic topographical or regional anatomy (the organs studied as they lie in relationship with one another in the different regions of the body). The internal configuration of the human trunk is clearly described: two orifices for ingestion are linked by miscellaneous organs, vessels and viscera to two orifices for evacuation. That the work is concerned with human anatomy is certain from the precise description of lung and liver, with features peculiar to human organs; and is corroborated by frequent references to comparative anatomy, with which familiarity is apparently assumed. Comparative anatomy does not have a place in the modern medical school; but in veterinary medicine, where there is an absence of extensive clinical trials and specimens are not readily available, the reverse process – invoking human anatomy as a parallel to that of dogs or cats – is found to be useful. Furthermore, in the seventeenth century, experiments on small mammals were much used to facilitate anatomical discovery, with a view to understanding not animal but human anatomy. This methodology undoubtedly had Hippocratic antecedents. The degree to which Hippocratic writers truly understood the structure and workings of the body is still a matter for debate. Few would now argue, as Riolan did, responding to the discovery of the circulation of the blood, that Harvey’s findings were anticipated in Hippocratic texts: in many of these the head, rather than the heart, is viewed as central to the functioning of the vessels.5 And yet it is evident from a short treatise On Glands that the lymphatic system was broadly understood. It appears there, and is confirmed by the content of clinical comment in Epidemics, that the cervical, axillary and inguinal lymph nodes were familiar through simple observation and palpation. The intestinal lymph vessels noted in On Glands might have been known through animal dissection or close observation of sacrificial animals. Despite its many inaccuracies when viewed in modern terms, the work is often correct, or nearly so, or wrong in ways which are explicable. Although the author maintains an unswerving fidelity to theoretical notions of fluid motion in the body – both in relation to the standard idea of flux from the head and in relation to a more idiosyncratic idea of bodily interchange and equipoise – his work is clearly based also on some anatomical knowledge and much clinical observation. It can be viewed as a remarkable visionary conjunction of theory and practice. It is not surprising that the author lacks a full perception of the identity and location of glands and of lymph nodes or a true awareness of their importance. However, he shows a remarkable grasp of fundamental anatomical 5

See Harris 1973.

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and physiological concepts, especially that of essential bodily drainage. It is salutary to note that the exact mechanism by which lymph circulates in the body still remains unclear: it seems that the surrounding muscles squeeze the vessels so that the fluid is forced along, a system of valves preventing back flow, but until recently osmosis was thought to play a part.

4. PHYSIOLOGY AND PATHOLOGY A central idea in Hippocratic physiology is that all illness is caused by ‘flux’ to various sites in the body. Typically, as in Places in Man, seven fluxes are postulated: (1) to the nose, resulting in coagulated phlegm; (2) to the ears, resulting in pain and suppuration; (3) to the eyes, such that foreign matter – phlegm, mucus, blood – causes irritation and blurred vision; (4) to the chest, causing a range of troubles including fevers and empyema; (5) to the belly or digestive tract; (6) to the back, either (a) to the spinal fluid causing phthisis, ‘consumption’ or (b) to the vertebrae and flesh causing dropsy; and (7) to the hips, causing joint troubles.6 The body is viewed in terms of key parts (organs, viscera such as lungs, liver, kidneys) and orifices (including eyes, ears, genitals) linked by hollow tubes, ducts or channels of which the most important are the phlebes (especially, but not exclusively, blood vessels: veins and arteries, not distinguished), and solid threads for which the general term is neura (ligaments, nerves etc.). Disease is, in Hippocratic terms, regularly associated with peccant matter, noxious stuff, often described simply as ‘moisture’. Whereas in health the vessels carry ‘good’ fluids nourishing the body (primarily, but not only, blood), in illness these fluids are adulterated or unbalanced. Phlegm (especially) and bile are the fluids most regularly implicated in this process. Typically, it is supposed that unwanted or excessive moisture gathers in the head, then disperses in flux to some bodily part – eyes, ears, chest, etc. – which becomes affected by disease. It is commonly supposed that an initial flux of digestive residues from the belly to the head leads to this secondary flux to other sites in the body. There was thought to be a particular danger if matter should dry up and become stuck in the bodily ducts or if it could not be arrested in its progress from the head to other parts of the body. A distinction can be seen between a flux of noxious stuff localised in and flowing from the scalp above the skull and a flux of noxious stuff localised in and flowing from the brain below the skull: whereas the former was viewed as common and readily treated, the latter was thought serious and intractable. Diseases presenting at various points in the body were thought to be particularly difficult to treat when the causal flux was associated with the conduit of the myelos ‘marrow’, ‘spinal fluid’, rather than with other routes in or from the head via phlebes ‘channels’ (to ears or nose), via trachea (to chest) or via oesophagus (to belly). Diseases where the ‘marrow’ was implicated were commonly associated with excess of sexual activity: semen and spinal fluid were allied in 6

See Craik 1998 on flux theory.

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early Greek thought. Thus, a deep pathway or pathways from head to lower body, via the myelos, was invoked to explain various intractable conditions. Typically, as in Internal Affections, conditions associated with deep flux from the brain, involving myelos, were regarded as more serious than conditions associated with shallow flux from the top of the head, involving other fluids such as phlegma. These ideas have had a very long currency. Flux theory was a staple of medical thought until it was demonstrated in the seventeenth century that no route existed from the upper to the lower body.7 While the formal schema of the four humours – phlegm, yellow bile, black bile, blood – and, especially the supposed influence of humoral preponderance on temperament – phlegmatic, choleric, melancholy, sanguine – develops only later, its Hippocratic origins are clear. Dietary theory required that there should be balance, harmony and mixture in food in order to maintain balance, harmony and mixture in the body. The aim was to ensure that food ingested was neither too much nor too little, but in proper proportion to the body. It was commonly supposed that an upset in digestive balance, whether in qualitative terms (upset in ideal elemental composition of food for the individual’s requirements) or quantitative terms (upset in ideal amount of food for the individual’s requirements) would cause a flux of noxious fluids from belly to head; and that the head would then transmit the peccant matter to other parts of the body. Bodily health depended on maintenance of harmony and balance; illness resulted from disruption of harmony and balance; the individual could maintain health and avoid illness by careful dietary monitoring. Modern dietary theory, with its stress on balance between diet and exercise to maintain health, mirrors Hippocratic ideals. Closer resemblances still can be traced between Hippocratic and Eastern medicine. Traditional Chinese Medicine resembles Hippocratic theory in that anatomical structures and orifices are seen in terms of the channels which link them to one another and to other areas of the body. 8 Greek phlebes and Chinese mo are significant in physiology (normal – carrying blood and pneuma or qi) and pathology (abnormal – carrying noxious matter, inducing disease). Their supposed paths do not exactly coincide, but several are broadly similar (and more similar to each other than either is to the observed paths of arteries and veins). In particular, the route of the Chinese du channel (‘governor vessel’) from spine to back of head carrying life force is similar to that of the Greek vessel carrying vital myelos. Greek evidence for this vessel tends to be disregarded by commentators because it does not correspond with Harvey’s vascular realities. The du channel has been highly significant in Daoist asceticism and self-cultivation thought. Daoist ideas about the desirability of sexual abstinence and Hippocratic theories about the consequences of over-indulgence in sex are centred on belief in a similarly located bodily duct. Early Greek ideas about the routes of the phlebes have been much discussed, but always mapped against the system of veins and arteries, now known. It is natural that Harvey should be invoked in assessments of the accuracy 7 8

See Schneider 1660 and 1664. See Clavey 1995 and 2003 on Traditional Chinese Medicine.

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of Hippocratic models of vascular anatomy. However, anatomical accuracy is not their main thrust and their theoretical or pragmatic slant, with its stress on physiology and pathology, renders a comparison with Chinese systems more apposite. The parallel between the Greek channel carrying myelos and the oriental du channel bearing the life force is particularly striking. The Hippocratic Epidemics invite diagnostic comment on the patients and ailments presented. Although precise identifications are hazardous, there is lasting value in observing Hippocratic treatment of symptoms which suggest the presence and prevalence of such diseases as malaria and trachoma. Diseases mutate, but it is certain that many diseases of the modern world were present also in antiquity.9 It is striking that Hippocratic doctors observed the connection between manifestations in different parts of the body of systemic illnesses, in particular the connection between different types of phthisis ‘consumption’, or tuberculosis as it would now be called, affecting the spine or the chest. There was an awareness too of the connection between physical and mental health. Thus, the illness known as phrenitis is discussed in psycho-somatic terms. This disease affects the phrenes, variously located in head or in chest; the inconsistency is unsurprising, as these areas were variously seen as seat of the emotions and the intellect.

5. THERAPY ‘Those diseases that drugs do not cure, the knife cures; those that the knife does not cure, fire cures; those that fire does not cure must be considered incurable’ (Aphorisms 7. 87). Drugs were the first recourse, and here much continuity can be seen through the ages.10 Unquestionable similarities present themselves in the medicaments used in various countries. Copper derivatives were still applied in the nineteenth century, as in antiquity, for eye diseases. And even today, the traveller in Crete will find dittany, a Hippocratic panacea, on sale at stalls in the mountains. The drugs most commonly utilised by Hippocratic physicians were purgatives: emetics, laxatives and errhines (nasal insertions). The common aim was to eliminate noxious matter, by diverting it to a bodily orifice or, if necessary, to an opening created for the purpose. The more drastic expedients of cutting and cautery were used to address many conditions. The sites of surgery were chosen on the basis of supposed routes through the body, the aim being to change the constitution or the consistency of body fluids coursing through the vessels. Cutting and cautery fulfilled the broadly similar functions of reducing unwanted bodily moisture or eliminating fleshy tissue, and it seems that in the classical period individual practitioners or corporate groups favoured the use of one or the other method. Cautery might be practised almost anywhere in the body (for example: back, chest, neck, head), and applied 9 10

See Grmek 1989 on mutation of diseases. Nielsen 1987 demonstrates much comparative pharmacology.

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to fleshy as well as to venous areas, but cautery of the vessels was especially common. The dangers of the procedure were recognised and precautions were commonly advised. A passage from the treatise On Sight indicates the procedure:11 Then set the patient on a couch from which he can lean with his hands; get his legs outstretched; tie on a ligature. Let someone hold his waist. Then trace the vessels running to the back, and examine from behind. Then cauterise with thick (metal) instruments and heat gently, so that there is no haemorrhage as you cauterise. Let blood in advance, if it seems the right course. Cauterise towards the skull from behind.

The translation ‘cauterise’ and the Greek verb kaiein, literally ‘burn’, may be somewhat misleading. The sense may be simply ‘apply heat, using a cauterising instrument’ and the action merely the application of a gentle soothing warmth: the inherent sense ‘burn’ does not necessarily or always involve extreme heat, far less branding and scarring. Cautery might be dry (a less invasive treatment) or wet. In dry cautery, the instrument is used simply to apply gentle warmth over or alongside the blood vessels, with a view to changing the consistency or the movement of their contents. In wet cautery, the instrument is placed across them, apparently with the intent of actually breaking the wall of the vessel (hopefully vein, not artery) or even severing it. In both wet and dry procedures, sponges were used to mitigate the pain, to control the severity of the heat, or to mop up blood. Similarly, in dry cupping, the cupping instrument is applied to the surface of the skin and left there, with the aim of drawing out noxious stuff from the unbroken skin by suction; in wet cupping the skin is broken or scarified in order to remove blood or noxious matter from a vessel or elsewhere. These procedures were prevalent throughout the known world, with considerable local variation according to Celsus, writing in the first century AD (Celsus 7.7.15). The long debate in European medicine on how and when to ‘bleed’ the patient – or to apply leeches – has evident Hippocratic antecedents; various heat treatments too were long practised. Broad similarities between Hippocratic views of physiology and pathology and views held by modern practitioners of Traditional Chinese Medicine have been outlined above: anatomical structures and orifices are seen in terms of the channels which link them to one another and to other areas of the body, Greek phlebes and Chinese mo being parallel in normal physiological and abnormal pathological states. An extension of this relates to therapeutic method. Hippocratic treatment by cutting and cautery has broad similarities to Eastern treatment by acupuncture and moxibustion. It has been suggested that phlebotomy and acupuncture are connected;12 a parallel connection may be postulated between cautery and moxibustion or acumoxa. Even today, the reason for the undoubted effectiveness of the practice of acumoxa is not understood: the treatment seems to stimulate the body to resist disease and to become stronger; but its workings, especially in relation to particular dis11 12

See Craik 2006 on this surgical work. See Kuriyama 2002.

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eases, where it acts not merely as a palliative but actually as a remedy, are mysterious. It has been suggested that acupuncture raises the red corpuscle count and enhances blood circulation; that it stimulates the nervous system (perhaps through specific neurological reactions between parts treated and parts affected); that it provokes responses in the cerebral cortex which in turn react on the organs. Hippocratic doctors knew in practice how to apply similar treatments.

6. LASTING SIGNIFICANCE: INFLUENCE OR INDEPENDENT DEVELOPMENT It is easy to outline broad similarities between Hippocratic and modern medicine of both east and west; to determine the precise nature of the similarities is harder. It is always difficult to decide whether apparent similarities are ‘real’: this applies even when comparing two writers of the same genre and era (such as the Greek tragedians Sophocles and Euripides in the fifth century BC) or two roughly contemporaneous belief systems (such as the religious cults of Athens and Thebes in the Archaic age). Methodological problems arise when we compare material from different eras and different civilisations. How much may be put down to coincidence? How close must similarities be to become significant? Of course, there is a ready explanation for similarities in treatment: as human physiology is constant, it is intrinsically probable that doctors of different societies at different times should treat similar afflictions in a similar way simply because they separately have discovered an effective treatment on an empirical pragmatic basis. Common theory must then be regarded as a later common development. Doctors of Egypt, India, and China as well as of Greece and Rome and of later Europe used liver therapy to treat night blindness (but perhaps because all discovered independently that liver, which is rich in vitamin A, was actually beneficial in this deficiency disease); all applied derivatives of copper as an astringent or haemostatic, and dried lily root as an analgesic (but, again, perhaps because independent trial and error proved their effectiveness). However, not all similarities are of this kind. The comparison between ancient Greek and modern eastern medicine in particular demands a much more thorough exploration than can be offered here. 13 The similarities between these medical systems may have their ultimate explanation in contacts and interactions between peoples. There is good evidence for extensive contacts between Greece and Egypt throughout the classical period and long before it. Connections with Babylonia are similarly easy to substantiate. Persia, which conquered both Egypt and Babylonia, occupied in the classical period a pivotal position between Greece and the large non-Greek world loosely designated ‘Asia’. Though there was sporadic warfare between Greece and Persia, many Greek colonies, foundations where the original Greek population was adulterated by non-Greek settlers, such as Miletus on the coast of Asia Minor (modern Turkey) and Cyrene in Cyrenaica (North Africa), contrived to maintain friendly relations with Persia for at least part of the time. Many Greeks were in the pay of 13

See further Craik 2004.

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the Persian court. Prisoners of war must have passed between the regions. It is possible to name individuals who moved freely between the continents, among them the medical men Pythagoras (admittedly a nebulous figure) and Democedes (whose career can be plausibly reconstructed). In every age, top doctors have gravitated or have been attracted to royal courts where patronage guarantees prestige. It is known from the case-histories detailed in the Epidemics that the Hippocratic physicians practised on the fringes of the Greek peninsula: in regions to the north such as Thessaly, Thrace and the island of Thasos; and in regions to the east, including cities such as Cyzicus on the Asiatic side of the Propontis (Sea of Marmara). The most far-flung case recorded is at Odessos on the western shore of the Black Sea (modern Bulgaria). This is contiguous to the regions inhabited by the Scythians, a nomadic people with a wide-ranging habitat. Contacts between the continents and the cultures, with such nomadic peoples as intermediaries, are an elusive possibility. Another region which may have been an intermediary between the east and the Greek world is Bactria (modern Afghanistan); but the evidence for early Greek travel to this region is less reliable. Many of the cities mentioned in the Epidemics had a flourishing trade, exporting timber, grain, dried fish and various luxury goods to the Greek mainland. It is reasonable to suppose that ideas came along these trade routes with merchants and their goods. But how far east can we venture? It is certain that the Hippocratic doctors had access to medical specifics unavailable in Europe. Cinnamon and other spices are mentioned, quite casually. It is generally believed that Greek knowledge of India began with Alexander’s expeditions; but it is possible that he merely opened up routes already partially known. Certainly, the Greeks had contacts with India indirectly through Persia; India had contact with China. Chinese trade is almost synonymous with the silk-route. Now here is a coincidence. Cos was a centre not only of medicine but of sericulture. Where did Cos get the knowledge and the materials to produce silk? The earliest authority for silk spinning at Cos is Aristotle (History of Animals 5.19, 551 b 13), but he is quoting a well-known story (‘it is said that …’) and he implies antiquity in the names attributed to the first woman said to be responsible, and to her father – Pamphile, daughter of Plateus. These are heroic names, such as we find in Homer. It has been argued that the silk of classical Cos was not Chinese silk from silkworms but an inferior variety, such as that from one of the large Saturniae which furnished the tussore silk of India. It has been suggested, too, that the silk of Cos was raw silk, combed out like flax rather than reeled as a thread off the cocoon. But even if such suggestions are correct, sericulture implies contact with the Near East. It is surely possible that with it there was indirect access to oriental medical ideas. The debt of Homer to the Near East is now generally acknowledged; and a two way process for ideas is probable. The influence of Hippocratic medicine on western medicine is of a more obvious and ubiquitous kind. No one could question the widespread adoption and adaptation of Hippocratic technical terminology. Even where terms change mean-

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ing, the derivation is unmistakeable: in anatomy ‘cephalic’, in physiology ‘myeloid’, in pathology ‘pneumonia’, in therapy ‘crisis’ are just a few instances. Until the nineteenth century, doctors were philologists, reading Hippocratic texts for themselves, often in Latin translations. Through centuries of deference and dependence a typical medical vademecum would contain excerpts from Hippocratic works, with a special emphasis on aphoristic lore. Medical knowledge was drawn from compilations, purporting to contain the essence of Hippocratic medicine.14 In the nineteenth century, homeopathic practices were formulated on the basis of a reading of Hippocrates.15 The most important elements, apart from the core belief that ‘like cures like’, are these: first, the patient is an individual made up of body, mind and spirit; secondly, disease is literally disease, or physical disharmony, rather than being a matter of clinical findings; thirdly, drugs and medical intervention must aim to restore harmony, rather than act as lethal weapons against disease; fourthly, the body can mount its own defence against infections, withstanding them by its own vital force. Other pervasive Hippocratic ideals are the value of preventive medicine (that the doctor ought to have examined the patient in health before treating him in sickness) and the importance of environmental health (that a study of local conditions is a prerequisite for medical treatment of the populace); these have roots in the Hippocratic Airs, Waters and Places. Modern scientific medicine is something else. Technological developments, beginning in the nineteenth century and accelerating in the twentieth, have changed medical theory and practice beyond recognition. Hippocratic doctors and surgeons worked in relative isolation, seeing in individual patients only what could be seen with the naked eye, and depending on their own senses of smell, taste and touch for additional information. It is in ‘alternative’ or ‘holistic’ medicine that the lasting significance of Hippocratic medicine can be more clearly seen.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Adams, F. (1849) The Genuine Works of Hippocrates, London. Burnet, T. (1685) Hippocrates contractus, Edinburgh. Clavey, S. (1995 and 2003) Fluid Physiology and Pathology in Traditional Chinese Medicine, Amsterdam. Craik, E.M. (1998) Edition with Introduction, Translation and Commentary of the Hippocratic Treatise Places in Man, Oxford. — (2004) Knife and Fire: Medical Practice of East and West, in Proceedings of the COE (Centre of Excellence), Kyoto 2004, 227-243. — (2006) Two Hippocratic Treatises: On Sight and On Anatomy, Leiden. Ermerins, F.Z. (1859-1864) Hippocratis et aliorum medicorum veterum reliquiae, 3 volumes, Utrecht. Grmek, M.D. (1989) Diseases in the Ancient Greek World, Baltimore - London. 14 15

See Burnet 1685; Moffat 1778. Hahnemann 1939 is an accessible translation of the homeopathic principles first enunciated in 1835.

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Hahnemann, S.C.F. (1939) The Chronic Diseases: Their Peculiar Nature and their Homeopathic Cure, translated by L.H. Tafel, Calcutta [English translation of 1835 original]. Harris, C.R.S. (1973) The Heart and the Vascular System in Ancient Greek Medicine, Oxford. Jouanna, J. (1992) Hippocrate, Paris [English translation by M.B. DeBevoise, Baltimore - London 1999]. Kuriyama, S. (2002) The Expressiveness of the Body and the Divergence of Greek and Chinese Medicine, New York. Littré, E. (1839-1861) Œuvres complètes d’Hippocrate, 10 volumes, Paris. Moffat, J. (1778) The Prognostics and Prorrhetics of Hippocrates, London. Nielsen, H. (1987) Medicaments Used in the Treatment of Eye Diseases in Egypt, the Countries of the Near East, India and China in Antiquity, Odense. Nutton, V. (2004) Ancient Medicine, London. Schneider, V. (1660 and 1664) De Catarrhis, Wittenberg. Smith, W.D. (1979) The Hippocratic Tradition, Ithaca - London.

DE-MODERNIZING THE CLASSICS Sally C. Humphreys

‘Something there is that doesn’t love a wall’ (Robert Frost)

When I was a child, during World War II, hearing the radio at every news bulletin, I played with my cousin at night a game in which each of us reported the news from an imaginary country. His was Jupiter, equipped with the latest military technology; mine was ‘The Middle of Nothing Land’, ruled by a king and a magician. He learned Russian at school and became a journalist; I learned Greek and became a historical anthropologist. However: today’s ‘classical antiquity’ is not an exotic territory insulated from modernity by the onward movement of history; it is a modern construction, separated out from global flows of communication by processes of classification and boundary-maintenance, imagined simultaneously as universal and as localized.1 The ‘classics’ of the modern world were reconfigured at the intersection of the history of historicism2 and the ‘culture’ of anthropology, both constructing localness within a universal frame. What might it be like to think without historicism and without culturism? This is not just a matter of emphasizing the flow of people and ideas across cultural, political, linguistic, etc. boundaries, or pointing out that regions of intensive cultural interaction were not always shaped by such divisions;3 it means treating all boundedness as problematic, requiring analysis of the processes that produce and reproduce it.4 One of the boundaries produced and policed by modernity separated the past from a present blowing furiously on into the future.5 Since the past was no longer to be a storehouse of exempla used to guide future action,6 new strategies for mak1

2 3

4

5 6

See Latour 1991 and Keane 2007 on ‘purification’ as a modern fetish; n. 22 below on the universal in pre-modern imaginaries; Wright 2007 on ‘iron curtains’. On developments leading towards historicism see Grafton 2007. For examples of historical analysis of such cultural interactions see Fowden 1993; Subrahmanyam 2005; Flüchter and Jucker 2007; the anthropological interest in migrants, refugees, and diasporas is also relevant. See also Rancière 1992 on the problem of the subject of modern historical narrative. Openness can also produce boundaries; ‘free’ markets and democracies have their own mechanisms of exclusion. Wolf 1985 [1795] might be seen as an early example of a history of the production of a bounded entity (Homer). Benjamin 1940. Cf. Hartog, this volume.

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ing it meaningful had to be devised. It could be incorporated into grand narratives of human (or national) progress; it could still provide materials for reflection on human nature, psychology and ethics, regarded as immune from change;7 selected items could be treated as heirlooms, as human or national ‘heritage’. All these strategies radically reconfigured the past (in ways hard for us to see because so familiar), detaching it from contexts in which it had peopled the pre-modern habitus and constructing new contexts for viewing.8 Pre-modern readers had learned to arrange quotations and exempla under commonplace-book headings for future use: rhetorical tropes, military strategies, good or bad government;9 modern readers had to learn to rearrange the past into ‘periods’ and ‘cultures’. Professional historians found endless occupation in dating and contextualizing the elements of this new imaginary map of ‘facts’, which was to supply the layman with ‘background’ to the heirlooms preserved and presented to her. Modernity defined itself as secular, and thus drew a boundary between ‘religion’ and public life; religion was defined in terms of private beliefs and practices, supplemented by forms of community organization supposed to operate under the conditions governing other associations and clubs.10 Religious affiliation was conceptualized on the model of citizenship;11 syncretism was seen as something exceptional. Sacred books, in this new structure, were to be treated like other artefacts from the past: historicized, contextualized, related to stages of evolution, characterized by the criteria of modern disciplines (history, philology) rather than by their place in the lives and reading practices of the faithful.12 The articulation of ‘religious education’ with modern school and university systems became problematic,13 as did the relations between ‘religious law’ and the secular state.14 New dilemmas appeared: aspects of sacred texts that seemed incompatible with moder7

8

9

10 11 12

13 14

The evolutionist theme of progress from ‘savagery’ to civilization also occurs, but is less relevant for the present topic. Technologies of de-contextualization and re-contextualization proliferated in the modern period (as still today): the mezzotint and colour printing, followed by the photograph; improved transport for visitors and objects travelling from home to be rearranged in museums and world’s fairs. On the move of ‘art’ to museums see Tanaka 1994; Guha-Thakurta 2004. Grafton 2007; see also Yates 1966 on ‘memory theatres’ as frameworks for storing and retrieving knowledge. I am not aware of comparable studies for non-European cultures (the I Ching might be seen as a storage and retrieval system, but is used to predict the future – does that make a difference?). The relation between memorization, especially of whole texts, and storage of read material should be examined. Asad 2003; Scott and Hirschkind (eds.) 2006. And vice versa: citizens were expected to believe in the nation-state. See Howard 2006 on the conditions under which theology was admitted into the modern university; Morpurgo Davies 1996 on the history of the concept of language families, which had consequences for the relations between Jewish and Islamic studies and (for a time) between Sanskrit studies and ‘classical philology’. See e.g. Pernau 2006. See Pierce 2005 on inappositeness as a feature of the (colonial) legal system and a strategy of governance.

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nity (‘pre-scientific’ accounts of creation, forms of strict observance at variance with the rhythms of the wage-earner’s week) had to be allegorized, ‘liberalized’ or polemically defended. Modern conceptions of writing and reading were opposed to allegory as an artificial trope interfering with the play of the writer’s and reader’s imagination;15 yet modes of allegorical reading proliferated, as texts from the past were assessed in terms of their compatibility with modern standards, distributed among modern disciplines, or used to define modernity by constructing its others (the ‘traditional’, the stagnant, the habitus-bound, the enchanted...). The modern use of other cultures – past or present, close or distant16 – as ‘good to think with’ has been especially problematic for nations classed as notyet-modern, which in order to protect their cultural identity had to find foundations in their own pasts, and relocate the essence of culture in ‘spirit’ or in social spheres relatively sheltered from change (private life).17 But the search for prefigurations of modernity affected western readings, too. The Greeks and Romans, only recently relocated on the wrong side of a boundary between Ancients and Moderns, were repositioned as prematurely modern, forefathers of modern university disciplines (history, philosophy, science) and of the modern secular, republican state.18 They had progressed from mythos to logos, from religion to philosophy; they had never had a theology, their myths could be read as literature, and their educated elites had not taken their rituals seriously.19 Literature itself was a modern concept, only partly anticipated by earlier distinctions between poetry and prose or performance scripts and books for reading,20 and in a sense the modern approach to the ‘classical’ was to treat all texts as literature (and all artefacts as art).21 Herodotus and Hippocrates could be hailed as the fathers of history and medicine, but their authority was that of the historical ‘source’ rather than the modern textbook (or the modern professor). Despite the distinction made (in the west) between western ‘classics’ and oriental ‘sacred books’, classics acquired a kind of sacredness, while there was pressure to translate the earlier authority of sacred books into aesthetic value, historical interest or cultural essence. The secular state needed sacred texts for its construction of the modern self. Education and private reading were to supply moral formation and ‘values’ in ad15 16 17 18 19

20

21

Struck 2004; Humphreys 2004 on Creuzer. Cf. Linke 1997 on the European peasant as pre-modern other. See e.g. Chatterjee 1993; Pincus 1996; Prakash 1999; Wagner 2000; Zheng 2003. Humphreys 2004, ch. 1; Laks 2006. Cf. Feeney 1998 for Rome. Gilbert Murray (1912) labelled Hellenistic religion a ‘failure of nerve’. See Reiss 1992; his discussion is more concerned than mine, here, with the antecedents of the invention of ‘literature’, and with its public role (hence his time-span is earlier, mid-sixteenth to mid-nineteenth centuries), and he does not deal with non-European contexts, on which see e.g. Viswanathan 1989; Liu 1995; Zheng 2004. Whereas Reiss looks at women’s claims to equality with men in the public sphere, it might be argued that the modern emphasis on selffashioning as a private process led to a convergence of gender roles towards the feminine in reading practices. Tanaka 1994; Guha-Thakurta 2004.

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dition to modern knowledge. Literature was to extend the reader’s experience, provide material for thought-experiments. Though much of it was written in national languages,22 ‘classic’ texts still had the authority of distance and could more easily be constructed as representing timeless values. The classic text took to its logical conclusion the tendency of the modern writer to address an imagined reader in a purportedly time-free interaction, rather than joining an ongoing conversation with earlier writers or commentators on current events.23 The experience of this reader, floating in limbo, was mystified; literature would allow her to encounter the sublime, now associated with another mystifying concept, ‘genius’, and not only with distance from everyday life.24 This idea of a ‘polite’, civic self formed by reading – but with the act of reading transferred from the coffee-house to become a solitary pursuit – is so familiar that it is hard for us to see its strangeness. But it is a modern idea and has perhaps outlived its shelf-life.25 Works of literature are seen as bounded (and bound, as books), like the other institutions in which modernity glass-cased and reframed its pasts – the museum, the reservation, the picture gallery, the historic monument, etc.26 The author of a work of literature was an individual, assessed for his originality; allusion became problematic,27 and the ‘encyclopedic’ type of text that reconfigured a whole cultural past would have disappeared, had it not found a new home in academic writing (where allusion also flourishes).28 What we call literature has perhaps always had affinities with tourism, since Gilgamesh and the Odyssey. Pre-modern poets imagine universes seen by heroic circumnavigators or fliers.29 Universalistic projects of collection (of exotic flora 22

23

24 25

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27

28

29

This is a huge topic, involving questions of gender and (by the twentieth century) class, more and less colloquial registers of national languages (especially controversial in modern Greek; Zheng 2004 for China), dialect, and in colonized areas competition between the colonizers’ languages and vernaculars (Viswanathan 1989). The polyphony of the novel might be seen as a way of reincorporating into literature voices that it tended to exclude – as, perhaps, the historical novel (Lukács 1955) represented pasts seen in the modern period not only as ‘lost’ but also as marginalized by professional national histories. This reader was now often literally addressed (Iser 1972, cf. Iser 1976); the imagined reader of the ‘classic’ was however vanishingly distant from the author. For one example – marginal, but indicative – of the conversational character of pre-modern writing see Netz 1999. See Zheng 2004; Porter 2006. See Iser 1976; Viswanathan 1989, 60-1 on Indian reactions. The modern concept of reading is related to ‘leisure’, another modern invention (though ‘Sunday reading’ was still a special category in some Victorian households). Literary critics had to make an effort to rediscover intertextuality. On museums see e.g. Preziosi 2003; Guha-Thakurta 2004. Ricks 2002 traces the history of allusion, which in the modern period becomes increasingly self-conscious (Byron) and finally embarrassing (Bloom 1973). See also Hinds 1998. On encyclopedic texts: Florida 1995; Inden 2000. The French Encyclopédie stands on the borderline between this form of reconfiguration and the modern encyclopedia (with Bouvard et Pécuchet perhaps as a fictional comment). In the twentieth century encyclopedic writing seems to be associated with imprisonment: Pound’s Cantos, Braudel’s Méditerranée, Nehru’s Discovery of India. Florida 1995, Java; Rao et al. 1992, Tamil Nadu; Linke 1997 on early modern Europe.

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and fauna, ‘curiosities’, etc.) are found already in ancient Egypt.30 Imagining totality generated dynamics of both collection and representation; there is no justification for thinking of non-modern societies as imprisoned in localness and incapable of universalistic aspirations. Tourism, in the literal sense, is a modern phenomenon, as Walter Benjamin noted (the flaneur). The tourist sees without interacting, or interacts only in a limited manner in which many of the structural constraints and obligations of normal social life are absent, while other non-normal constraints (inadequate command of language and manners) loom large; interaction is a surrogate experience, like hands-on activities in museums. Visitors to museums get into trouble if they bring offerings to sacred objects, kiss them or even touch them. Museum guides, displays and labels tell the tourist how to look and what to see (and what not to see: the category-boundaries separating cases and rooms). The tourist does not see herself looking; she is outside the instructional perspective.31 The ‘classic’ of modernity is museumized, simultaneously presented as exemplifying eternal values and framed in historical information. Reception history troubles the study of the classic because it challenges both the fixed identity of the historicized object and the equally fixed, invisible position of the experiencing, self-improving viewer/reader. The professional work of framing the classic depends on belief that it is unique and can be unambiguously located in a specific, long-past, historical context. Evidence of tinkering with the object (textual emendation, ‘restoration’, cleaning...),32 or of changes in its ‘meaning’, is unsettling. So what would it be like to settle for being unsettled? Hans-Ulrich Gumbrecht claims that the role of the humanities in the contemporary university should be to encourage riskful thinking,33 thinking that questions assumptions: giving up certainties, asking what will happen if you saw off the branch of intellectual construction that you are sitting on. Tourism does not encourage riskful thinking;34 can humanities education be made less touristic? Assumptions in the humanities are structured by historicism, culturism and the language-based subdisciplinary divisions of philology: these shape conceptions of relevant knowledge and legitimate applications of it. One way to question assumptions is to look at fields where different ones prevail – other disciplines, other cultures, pre-modern periods – and to study reception history, to see how evidence of unfamiliar assumptions was screened out (for example by emending 30 31

32

33

34

Cf. Morenz 2003 on Egyptian fictional representatives of pasts. See Preziosi 1989 on the anamorphic positioning of the viewer of art; Preziosi 2003 on museums. Standards and fashions change over time in the interpretation of monuments and art objects (Davis 2003; Fowden 2004; Guha-Thakurta 2004) and in their physical treatment (cleaning, restoration), as in the interpretation and emendation of texts (cf. Bollack 1997, 99: ‘rien de plus historiquement déterminable que l’introduction des schémas d’explication considérés a priori comme historiquement applicables’). Gumbrecht 2007. On the positive valuation of risk-taking in contemporary capitalism see Boltanski and Chiapello 1999. Cf. Wright 2007.

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texts), problematized, domesticated or assimilated. In the case of the ‘classic’, comparative study of cultures in which the category was reconfigured in the modern period, along with its others (the ‘late’, ‘medieval’, ‘secondary’, ‘inauthentic’, ‘decadent’, etc.), may provide a starting-point. Such an approach would require some radical changes in attitudes. Humanities disciplines that deal with the ‘classic’ are structured by specific, bounded conceptions of philological and historical expertise. The teacher should know more than the student and would like the student to progress towards becoming an expert like the teacher; the student’s progress will follow the pattern of initiation among the Baktaman of Papua New Guinea, 35 where at each new stage the initiate was told that the knowledge he had been given earlier was inadequate and misleading. Boundaries are set between tasks: language teaching and learning, especially in its early stages, is not connected to literary appreciation, cultural variation in categories or the history of ideas. But why should a student learning to decline adjectives not also be introduced to Anne Carson’s idea that Stesichorus changed the use of adjectives in Greek poetry?36 Why should not a student learning to read Homer think about the variation in the styles of reading with which the text has been approached, from ancient literary critics looking for the sublime to philologists looking for the digamma or historians looking for the Dark Ages? The conventional teacher will protest that he does not have time for such excursions. But his ideas of time are based on maps of learning-tasks arranged in sequence: declensions, conjugations, irregularities, syntax; canonical authors, prose and poetry, Latin and Greek. We have to start asking whether it is the job of the contemporary university to teach what was taught to schoolboys (in a style adapted to their age) in every Gymnasium or grammar school. Jacques Rancière, using the example of the Enlightenment ‘ignorant schoolmaster’ Joseph Jacotot, argues that the teacher’s function is to show the student that basic human skills of decoding and recombining verbal communications can be used to master unfamiliar materials; the teacher is not there to explain and supplement, but to encourage the student to find explanations and think about how they are produced.37 While it would be unnecessarily radical to suggest that the student needs only one text,38 it is surely arguable that intensive work with a limited set of texts could be enough to develop skills of reading and raise questions about what ‘reading’ is. It also seems likely that encouraging students to follow questions raised by a single text across disciplinary boundaries might promote riskful thinking more effectively than historicist variations on the principle of explaining Homer by Homer. As a random example, take the frog chorus in Aristophanes’ Frogs. One of the hymns of the Rigveda compares Brahmins to frogs, while Aristophanes’ frogs 35 36 37 38

Barth 1975. Carson 1998. Rancière 1987. Cf. also Too 2000. Jacotot’s choice of Fénelon’s Télémaque (1699, in 24 volumes), though conservative by his own standards, was splendidly appropriate as an example both of universalistic fiction and of the Bildungsroman.

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are the initiates of the Eleusinian mysteries. Frogs are rather human in shape, and they swim like humans; does this make them good for thinking about relations between humans and the divine? Both texts are humorous, but perhaps the Rigveda is more satirical? Do we find it easier to accept satirical criticism of priests than the choice to represent the ‘saved’ as amphibians? Is that a Protestant attitude? Are the Eleusinian frogs rather maliciously smug, or is that an anachronistic view (how could one decide?)? Frogs in European folklore are ugly and repulsive; did ancient Greeks view them differently? (Space for historicist digressions into Aristotelian biology, pictorial representations of Nile river creatures, Egyptian art, ecology and climate, the place of water in the cosmos, cookery – did ancient Mediterranean peoples eat frogs?) The teacher’s function is not to control the itinerary of such a mystery tour but to ask insistently where the information has been found and whether it can validly be used to support an argument. No recipes for frogs in ancient cookery books? What other sources have we for eating habits? Accounts of banquets? Bones from archaeological sites (can archaeologists identify frog bones? When might they have begun to try?). This might sound like an assessor’s nightmare, yet assessors do deal with types of teaching that are not based on historicist assumptions. Students who learn to perform, in music or drama courses, are not expected to confine themselves to a limited historical period and may act or sing in languages they have not studied. Skills and attention to detail are more important than covering informational ground. Recent attempts to attract students to (western) Classical Studies have been based on widening the tourist experience while maintaining the historicist frame: programmes in ‘Ancient Mediterranean Studies’ have increased in number. This does not challenge students’ assumptions and expectations. But the justification for a more cross-disciplinary extension – studying constructions of the ‘classic’ cross-culturally – is not merely a question of challenging general cultural assumptions (a ‘classic’ philosopher who thought that intellectual progress was to be made by undermining commonsense preconceptions in argument and reaching a state of acknowledged ignorance might seem strange to Chinese); it also forces us to ask how our ideas of ‘our’ classics were shaped by modern readings of the whole global corpus. The idea of the book produced by many anonymous authors (the Jewish Bible, Homer, the Rigveda), the distinction between classics of religious law and classics of moral philosophy, the image of the commentator who does not reshape texts but merely footnotes them, were all reconfigured in this entangled history.39 Are we reading Plato as Confucius, but without the cosmology? At present, university students are offered (in varying proportions) choices between the bounded world-views of disciplines and a touristic smörgasbord of ‘otherness’ (distribution requirements, Great Books, etc.). The challenge for universities – not only in the Humanities – is to construct programmes that alternate 39

Debates between Christians and representatives of other religions, which have a long history, contributed.

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between boundedness and boundary-questioning, that encourage both disciplined attention to detail and critical risk-taking.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Al-Azmeh, A. (2007) The Times of History: Universal Topics in Islamic Historiography, Budapest. Asad, T. (2003) Formations of the Secular, Stanford. Barth, F. (1975) Ritual and Knowledge among the Baktaman, New Haven. Benjamin, W. (1940) On the Concept of History, Neue Rundschau 61/3, 1950. Bloom, H. (1973) The Anxiety of Influence, Oxford. Bollack, J. (1997) La Grèce de personne, Paris. Boltanski, L. and E. Chiapello (1999) Le nouvel esprit du capitalisme, Paris. Carson, A. (1998) Autobiography of Red, New York. Chatterjee, P. (1993) The Nation and its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories, Princeton. Davis, W. (2003) Archaism and Modernism in the Reliefs of Hesy-Ra, in Tait (ed.) 2003, 31-60. Feeney, D. (1998) Literature and Religion at Rome: Cultures, Contexts and Beliefs, Cambridge. Florida, N. (1995) Writing the Past, Inscribing the Future: History as Prophecy in Colonial Java, Durham, NC. Flüchter, A. and M. Jucker (2007) Wie globalisiert war die Vormoderne? Ein Plädoyer für einen neuen Blick in den asiatischen Raum, Traverse, 97-111. Fowden, G. (1993) Empire to Commonwealth: Consequences of Monotheism in Late Antiquity, Princeton. — (2004) Qusayr mra: Art and the Umayyad Elite in Late Antique Syria, Berkeley. Grafton, A. (2007) What was History?, Cambridge. Guha-Thakurta, T. (2004) Monuments, Objects, Histories: Institutions of Art in Colonial and Postcolonial India, New York. Gumbrecht, H.-U. (2007) A Future University without Humanities?, Tokyo. Hinds, S. (1998) Allusion and Intertext, Cambridge. Howard, T.A. (2006) Protestant Theology and the Making of the Modern German University, Oxford. Humphreys, S.C. (2004) The Strangeness of Gods, Oxford. Inden, R. (2000) Imperial Puranas, in R. Inden, J. Walters, and D. Ali, Querying the Medieval: Texts and the History of Practices in South India, Oxford, 29-98. Iser, W. (1972) Der implizite Leser, Munich. — (1976) Der Akt des Lesens, Munich. Keane, W. (2007) Christian Moderns: Freedom and Fetish in the Mission Encounter, Berkeley. Koselleck, R. (1984) Vergangene Zukunft, Frankfurt. Laks, A. (2006) Introduction à la ‘philosophie présocratique’, Paris. Latour, B. (1991) Nous n’avons jamais été modernes, Paris. Linke, U. (1987) Colonizing the National Imaginary: Folklore, Anthropology and the Making of the Modern State, in S.C. Humphreys (ed.), Cultures of Scholarship, Ann Arbor, 97-138. Liu, L. (1995) Translingual Practice: Literature, National Culture, and Translated Modernity, China 1900-1937, Stanford. Lukács, G. (1955) Der historische Roman, Berlin. Morenz, L.D. (2003) Literature as a Construction of the Past in the Middle Kingdom, in Tait (ed.) 2003, 101-117. Morpurgo Davies, A. (1996) La linguistica dell’Ottocento, Bologna. Murray, G. (1912) Four Stages of Greek Religion (New York; revised 1925, Five Stages), Oxford. Netz, R. (1999) The Shaping of Deduction in Greek Mathematics, Cambridge.

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Niranjana, T. (1992) Siting Translation, Berkeley. Pernau, M. (ed.) (2006) The Delhi College: Traditional Elites, the Colonial State and Education before 1857, Oxford. Pierce, S. (2005) Farmers and the State in Colonial Kano: Land Tenure and the Legal Imagination, Bloomington, IN. Pincus, L. (1996) Authenticating Culture in Imperial Japan, Berkeley. Porter, J.I. (2006) Feeling Classical, in J.I. Porter (ed.), Classical Pasts, Princeton, 301-352. Prakash, G. (1999) Another Reason: Science and the Imagination of Modern India, Princeton. Preziosi, D. (1989) Rethinking Art History: Meditations on a Coy Science, New Haven. — (2003) Brain of the Earth’s Body: Art, Museums and the Phantasms of Modernity, Madison. Rancière, J. (1987) Le maître ignorant, Paris. — (1992) Les noms de l’histoire, Paris. Rao, V.N., D. Shulman, and S. Subrahmanyam (1992) Symbols of Substance: Court and State in Nyaka period Tamilnadu, Delhi. Reiss, T.J. (1992) The Meaning of Literature, Ithaca. Ricks, C. (2002) Allusion to the Poets, Oxford. Schorske, C.E. (1998) Thinking with History: Explorations in the Passage to Modernism, Princeton. Scott, D. and C. Hirschkind (ed.) (2006) Powers of the Secular Modern, Stanford. Struck, P. (2004) Birth of the Symbol: Ancient Readers at the Limits of their Texts, Princeton. Subrahmanyam, S. (2005) Explorations in Connected History, vol. I-II, Oxford. Tait, J. (ed.) (2003) ‘Never had the Like Occurred’: Egypt’s View of its Past, London. Tanaka, S. (1994) Imaging History: Inscribing Belief in the Nation, Journal of Asian Studies 53, 24-44. Too, Y.L. (2000) The Pedagogical Contract, Ann Arbor. Viswanathan, G. (1989) Masks of Conquest: Literary Study and British Rule in India, New York. Wagner, R. (2000) The Craft of a Chinese Commentator, Albany. Wolf, F.A. (1985) Prolegomena to Homer 1795, edited by A. Grafton, G.W. Most and J. Zetzel, Princeton. Wright, P. (2007) Iron Curtain: From Stage to Cold War, Oxford. Yates, F. (1966) The Art of Memory, London. Zheng, Y. (2003) Cultural Traditions and Contemporaneity – the Case of the New Confucians, in W. Lepenies (ed.), Entangled Histories and Negotiated Universals, Frankfurt, 310-336. — (2004) The Romantic Transfiguration of a sublime Poetics, in C. Baillie, E. Dunn, and Y. Zheng (ed.), Travelling Facts, Frankfurt, 92-123.

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CAN WE LEARN FROM ANCIENT ATHENIAN DEMOCRACY? HISTORICAL AND MODERN PERSPECTIVES Josiah Ober

Ancient Greek democracy remains especially important to three branches of modern scholarship today – ancient history, political theory, and political science.1 Each of these fields has its own peculiar methods, history and modes of expression. The methods and aims of political scientists, political theorists and (to a lesser degree) ancient historians vary with national traditions of scholarship (I focus here primarily on Anglo-American approaches). Within the Anglo-American tradition, practitioners in each field approach the Greek legacy in quite different ways: ancient historians are variously committed to the positivist project of ‘history for its own sake’,2 and to self-conscious model building and theory testing.3 Classical political theory concerned with Greek democracy divides roughly into Straussian;4 intellectual historical;5 and critical/postmodern literatures.6 Within political science, comparativists have focused on how institutions allow for credible commitment to law,7 whereas international relations specialists tend to focus on the value of Thucydides’ analysis of power and conflict.8 In the face of this academic Tower of Babel the hope that ‘we’ might learn something of general value about democracy from the Greeks might seem to be a non-starter. But such a conclusion is too pessimistic. While most work on Greek democracy is done within a well defined academic subfield, some scholars seek to learn from the ancient Greek experience of democracy by crossing the boundaries of academic domains. Ancient historians interested in democracy are beginning to employ the methodologies of contemporary political science9 and political theory.10 Work on Greek democratic institutions by social scientists, especially in the area of political economy, makes extensive use of contemporary scholarship on 1

2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Good introductions to European traditions of scholarship on Greek democracy include, in German: Bleicken 1985; Kinzl and Raaflaub (eds.) 1995; French: Mossé 1986; Italian: Nardi 1971; Camassa 2007; Spanish: Adrados 1997. This chapter first appeared, in a different form, as ‘What the Ancient Greeks Can Tell Us About Democracy’ in Annual Reviews in Political Science 11, 2008, 67-91. Rhodes 2003a. Ober 1996, ch. 2; 2005, ch. 8. e.g. Orwin 1994; Kochin 2002 (see further, below). Ober 1998; Allen 2000; Balot 2006. Euben (ed.) 1986; Euben 1997, and 2003. Schwartzberg 2007. Lebow 2003. Quillin 2002; Teegarden 2007; Ober 2008. Ober 1996; Allen 2000; Balot 2001; Ober 2005.

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ancient history.11 Essay collections, some arising from conferences and symposia, point to the fertility of interactions between political theorists and historians.12 This chapter surveys recent Anglophone scholarship on Athenian democracy, by classicists, ancient historians, political scientists, and philosophers and relates work on Athenian democracy to contemporary scholarship in political science and political philosophy. The aim is to demonstrate the range, vitality, and relevance of contemporary discussions of ancient Greek democratic institutions, civic identity, political criticism, and the relationship between democracy and warfare, the economy, and culture. In each area, scholars from different disciplines have contributed substantially to our knowledge of how Athenian democracy worked in practice and how democratic thought and practice affected Greek social attitudes and behavior. The unabated scholarly attention to Athenian democracy, by classicists and non-classicists alike, seems motivated, in part, by a hope that better understanding the successes and failures of ancient Greek democracy may help us to answer a perennial question: how, by learning from the past, might we, as individuals and peoples, live better lives in the future?

1. HISTORY OF THE QUESTION The question ‘What might we learn from Athenian democracy?’ dates back to Greek antiquity. For a long time, the usual answer took the form of cautionary tales about the dangers inherent in rule ‘by the people’.13 Eric Nelson has shown that although the Greek political tradition was influential in European thought in the fifteenth through eighteenth centuries, it was Platonic elitism, not participatory democracy, that was the central theme of early-modern work. It was not until the nineteenth century that Athens and its democracy were taken as a positive model by political thinkers.14 A revolution in Anglophone thought about Athens came with the monumental Greek history of George Grote,15 although some of Grote’s ideas were anticipated by Edward Bulwer Lytton – today he is better known as the 11 12

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Fleck and Hanssen 2006; Kaiser 2007. Dunn 1992; Euben, Wallach, and Ober (eds.) 1994; Sakellariou 1996; Ober and Hedrick (eds.) 1996. The study of ancient Greek democracy tends to focus in the first instance on Athens – the most prominent and well documented of the classical Greek city-states. Athens remains the ‘model case study’ (Creager, Lunbeck and Wise, eds., 2007), but it is important to keep in mind that Athens was an exceptional city-state – much larger, more prosperous, and more influential than the median Greek polis (Brock and Hodkinson 2000; Hansen 2006). Scholarly opinion differs as to how many of the c. 1000 city-states that existed in the classical era (Hansen and Nielsen 2004) were democratic. Eric Robinson (1997 and forthcoming) has collected and analyzed the evidence for ancient Greek democratic institutions and ideology outside Athens. The best documented of the major non-Athenian democracies were Sicilian Syracuse (Rutter 2000; Robinson 2000) and Peloponnesian Argos (Piérart 2000). But there is no doubt that Athens must remain at the center of our inquiry. Roberts 1994. Nelson 2004. Grote 1869 (vol. 1 appeared in 1846).

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originator of the Gothic novel.16 Grote was closely associated with the progressive Utilitarians who sought to democratize British government in the mid-nineteenth century. Among them was John Stuart Mill, the greatest modern theorist of representative democracy. Mill’s seminal ideas on civic education and innovation were inspired by Athenian institutions and political culture.17 Yet political thinkers in the twentieth century made quite different uses of Athens: In the mid-twentieth century, the two most influential Greek-oriented political theorists writing in America, Hannah Arendt and Leo Strauss, were both refugees from Nazi Germany. Each rejected totalitarianism, looked to the Greek past for political alternatives to modern mass politics, and developed complicated answers to the question of whether and why ancient democracy might be valued. Anglophone political theory continues to learn from and struggle with their complex intellectual heritages.18 Meanwhile, an expatriate American ancient historian, Moses I. Finley, founded an influential school at the University of Cambridge. Finley was well versed in social science and sought to bring the study of Greek democracy to bear on contemporary debates in political sociology. Finley (1985) cited the success of Athens under the democracy in order to challenge the universal validity of the famous ‘Iron Law of Oligarchy’ proposed by the Swiss political sociologist Robert Michels (1962 [1911]), and to counter the arguments of prominent American ‘democratic elitists’ such as Walter Lippman (1922) and Joseph Schumpeter (1947), who sought to minimize popular participation in government. Finley’s fierce democratic advocacy, conjoined with his mastery of historical detail and his insistence on rigorous social scientific methodology, helped to keep the study of ancient democracy actively engaged with contemporary political debates. Finley’s Oxford University rival and critical interlocutor, the Marxist ancient historian Geoffrey de Ste. Croix,19 denounced Finley for preferring Weber to Marx as an analytic touchstone. But, like Finley, Ste. Croix was a passionate enthusiast for Athenian democracy; he argued that the struggle for and against democracy defined the cutting edge of the class struggle in the ancient Greek world. In the U.S., the Yale ancient historian Donald Kagan, who became a prominent intellectual leader of the hawkish American neoconservative political movement, spent much of his career writing the history of Athens during the Peloponnesian War. Like Finley and Ste. Croix, Kagan admired Athens, but he regarded Athenian democracy as a manifestation of its aristocratic leadership, most notably Pericles.20 Finley, Ste. Croix, and Kagan each taught and influenced many younger Anglophone Greek historians. Each was convinced that there was much to learn from Athenian 16 17 18

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Lytton 2004. Urbinati 2002. On Arendt and Greek democracy see Villa (ed.) 2000 (essays by Villa, Kateb, and Euben), Markell 2006. On Strauss, see Zuckert and Zuckert 2006; Stow 2007. Holmes 1979 exemplifies the tendency of liberal democratic theorists to reject the value of Greek democracy by reference to Straussian and Arendtian theory. Ste. Croix 1972, 1983, and 2004. Kagan 1991.

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democracy (although the lessons they took away were quite different). These three scholars, among many others, helped to ensure that the legacy of Athenian democracy would remain a central issue for Anglophone historians of ancient Greece into the twenty-first century.

2. INSTITUTIONS Before the nineteenth century it would have been difficult to learn much of value from democratic Athens because the institutional workings of Athenian democracy had remained largely mysterious – early modern political theorists (Hobbes and Rousseau) and constitutional designers (the American Founders) were careful readers of classical literary texts (notably Thucydides, Plato, Polybius and Plutarch), but they had neither the resources of critical history, nor much in the way of documentary evidence to work with. George Grote’s painstaking recuperation of Athenian democratic history was an influential and substantial advance; Grote’s interpretation of democratic institutions was based on an exhaustive analysis of available sources and is amazingly insightful. Yet much about the workings of democracy remained unclear until the twentieth century when a mass of new evidence came to light. The formal institutions of Athenian democracy are now quite well understood, thanks to the dedicated work of historians in analyzing new literary evidence (especially the Aristotelian ‘Constitution of Athens’ recovered in a near-complete papyrus copy in 1890), numerous public records of the democratic government inscribed on stone, and other forms of archaeological evidence. Much of the documentary and archaeological evidence was discovered in the American excavations of the Athenian Agora, beginning in the 1930s and continuing until today. Until the 1970s, the emphasis of standard surveys of Athenian democracy was on the fifth century, the ‘golden age of Pericles’.21 Due in substantial measure to the ground-breaking work of the Danish historian Mogens Hansen, the emphasis has now shifted to the better-documented fourth century BCE, the ‘age of Demosthenes’. Hansen’s (1999) survey is the best readilyavailable handbook of Athenian democracy, and arguably the best ever written. For the purposes of learning from democracy, both the developed fourth-century institutional apparatus itself, and historical studies of the developmental process that contributed to the making of that apparatus, are of value. Among general accounts of democratic institutions and their development, Sinclair (1988) focusing on the role of participation, and Ostwald (1986) on historical development to the end of the fifth century are outstanding. Much work by contemporary political theorists, following the lead of either Jürgen Habermas’ philosophical writing on the public sphere (1989) or John Rawls’ on political liberalism (1996), has argued that open and fair deliberations among citizens ought to be at the center of a reformed democratic theory and

21

e.g. Hignett 1952.

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practice. For the contemporary student of democratic deliberation,22 among the most striking formal Greek institutions is the Athenian citizen Assembly. The Assembly met (in the mid-fourth century) some 40 times each year to deal with all aspects of state policy; approximately 6,000-8,000 citizens attended each meeting.23 Yet experiments with deliberative groups have led some political scientists to doubt that deliberation could ever be of positive practical value, even in much smaller groups.24 How could thousands of amateurs – openly debating complex matters of (for instance) taxation, diplomacy, and military appropriations – have made good policy for a complex state? Evidently they did: Athens out-performed its rivals on various measures of overall state flourishing.25 The answer to this puzzle lies in several intertwined aspects of democracy as a system of governance: formal institutions, rhetoric and leadership, citizen identity and civic education. The system as a whole promoted the development of substantial agreement across a diverse population of citizens on core values, while encouraging vigorous debate on particulars. It sustained both deliberative (Council of 500) and non-deliberative (ostracism) decision-making practices that enabled effective policy formation and timely implementation. Athenian democracy lacked any formal system of checks and balances, even after the important legal reforms of the late fifth and early fourth centuries had established a formal distinction between ‘laws’ (nomoi: passed exclusively by formally constituted bodies of ‘lawmakers’) and ‘decrees’ (psêphismata: ordinarily passed by the citizen Assembly).26 In stark contrast to modern democratic systems, Athenian government bodies did not develop strong institutional identities.27 Most government bodies had a stable membership only for very short periods of time – ordinarily not longer than a year and sometimes, as in the case of the Assembly, for only a day. Many government offices were filled by lotteries rather than by elections. Terms in office were ordinarily limited to a year; iteration in office seems to have been relatively rare (the board of generals and certain financial magistrates are exceptions). All government officials were subject to strict accountability procedures. There was little motivation or opportunity for coordinated strategic behavior aimed at fostering the power of a given governmental body relative to that of others. In terms of making a participatory Greek democracy work, the key institution was a popular deliberative council chosen from the entire citizen body. The Greek recognition of the centrality of a popular council for democracy is underlined by a recently discovered inscription from Eretria, a major polis on the island of Euboea. In c. 340 BCE the Eretrian democracy promulgated a decree offering rewards to a potential tyrant killer, that is, to anyone who took direct and violent 22 23 24 25 26 27

Elster 1998. Hansen 1987. Sunstein 2007; Mutz 2006. Ober 2008. Ostwald 1986. Gomme 1951.

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action against those who sought to overthrow the existing democratic government. In a revealing passage, the decree orders all citizens to fight without waiting to receive orders if anyone tries to establish ‘some constitution other than a Council and a prytaneia (a subset of the Council) appointed by lot from all Eretrians.’28 The Athenian popular Council of 500 citizens29 was established in the immediate aftermath of a popular revolution in 508 BCE. Greg Anderson (2003) emphasizes the importance of the immediate post-revolutionary institutional changes for creating an ‘imagined political community’ of citizens. The members of the new Council, who served one-year terms and were selected by lottery, according to a new ‘deme/tribe’ system. The population of Athens was at this time divided into 139 demes (pre-existing villages or city neighborhoods), and the demes were aggregated into ten new and blatantly artificial tribes. The demes and tribes would play important roles in the new political system and would also become key markers of Athenian identity. 30 The new tribes were not territorially contiguous; each tribe drew about a third of its membership from demes located in coastal, inland, and urbanized regions of Athenian territory. The Council of 500 was made up of ten 50-man delegations – one delegation from each of the ten newly-created tribes. The members of each tribal delegation were in turn selected at deme level. Each year every deme chose by lot a certain number of Councilors, based on the deme’s citizen population. Each tribal team of 50 spent a tenth of the year in ‘presidency’ – i.e. it had a primary role in the Council’s main function of setting the agenda for the meetings of the citizen Assembly, as well as special responsibility for diplomacy and dayto-day administration of the polis. No citizen served more than two terms on the Council, and terms were in practice (and perhaps by law) non-consecutive. The experience of service on the Council was a common one for an Athenian citizen – although estimates vary with population models,31 it is certain that at least a third of all Athenian citizens who lived past the age of thirty (the minimum age for service) would have served a term on the Council. The point is that a very high percentage of mature male Athenians had the remarkable experience of spending a substantial amount of time engaged directly in the most important work of his polis. The inter-mixing of men from different villages, and different geographic regions, along with strong social incentives (useful contacts, public honors) served to integrate insular local social networks into polis-wide networks. As a result the Council effectively aggregated the useful knowledge dispersed across the Athenian population, built citizens’ practical experience in cooperative and public joint action, and gave direction to the mass meetings of the Assembly.32 Because the agenda for each Assembly meeting was set, and recommendations on many key 28 29 30 31 32

Knoepfler 2001 and 2002. Translation: Teegarden 2007. Rhodes 1985 remains the essential treatment. Osborne 1985. See Hansen 1986a. Ober 2008, ch. 4.

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items were formulated, by a representative cross-section of the entire native male population of the polis, the system was relatively immune from elite capture: the Council remained a genuinely democratic institution. Moreover, because so many Athenians were able to gain the educational experience of serving for a year on the Council, and because after his year as Councilor, an Athenian might well serve in other public offices, all other Athenian formal institutions were staffed, at least in part, by men with very substantial experience in the direct and daily workings of the democratic government. The army, the Assembly, the People’s Courts, the many boards of magistrates, all potentially benefited from the experience and social networks developed by former Councilors. A.W. Gomme (1951) accurately described the Council of 500 as a ‘linchpin’ institution; it is not hard to see why the democrats of Eretria so easily identified democracy with a Council-centered constitution, and contrasted that constitution with oligarchy and tyranny. The administration of law in democratic Athens was, in the first instance, in the hands of the People’s Courts. Large juries (of 200 or more citizens) listened to oral arguments made by litigants in both civil and criminal cases, and voted on the outcome. The last fifteen years have seen first-rate work on Greek law generally33 and on Athenian law in particular. Stephen Todd (1993) has argued persuasively that democratic Athenian law had a very strongly proceduralist emphasis – that is, it is concerned with establishing fair rules for resolving disputes and prosecuting criminal wrong-doing, rather than seeking substantively just outcomes.34 While proceduralist approaches to law are sometimes regarded as primitive, the social psychologist Tom R. Tyler and his collaborators35 have suggested that a procedural approach to law can produce important social goods, even if outcomes are not always consistent with distributive ideals of justice, and proceduralism is emerging as a major topic in democratic theory.36 The historian and legal scholar Adriaan Lanni (2006) emphasizes the extensive scope for discretionary decision-making on the part of Athenian juries, which she opposes to standard modern understanding of ‘the rule of law’ as legislatively framing judicial judgment in order to reduce the interpretive discretion of jurors to near zero. Lanni’s arguments in favor of the positive value of discretion exercised by a mass of amateur jurors, on the grounds that it allows for relevant aspects of social context to be factored into legal judgments, offers a counterpoint both to the recent American tendency to legislate legal sentencing guidelines (thereby reducing the discretion of judges) and to the European preference for highly expert judges with very specialized training. Lanni also notes, however, that not all Athenian legal procedures offered jurors a wide discretionary scope. In fourthcentury BCE Athenian ‘maritime cases’, in which individuals involved in longdistance trade were the litigants, jurors’ discretion was limited; impartiality and predictability of outcome appear the primary legal goals. 33 34 35 36

Gagarin and Cohen (eds.) 2005 is a helpful handbook. See, however, Carey 1998 for important qualifications. Lind and Tyler 1988; Tyler 1990; Tyler and Huo 2002. Estlund 2008.

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Rather than viewing Athenian law as moving developmentally, from a more ‘primitive’ discretionary approach to an advanced ‘rule of law’ approach, Lanni argues for a mixed legal regime, in which judicial discretion was recognized as one fundamental and valuable legal principle among others. The system implicitly recognized that predictability and discretion were each of primary value in particular legal venues. Danielle Allen (2000) also rejects an evolutionary interpretation of democratic Athenian law, arguing that Athenian law deliberately retained a role for the emotion of righteous anger. Allen’s conclusions illuminate the modern American practice of ‘victim testimony’ at sentencing hearings and examples of ‘jury nullification’ (jurors who seek to gain social justice by their verdict). The political scientist Melissa Schwartzberg (2004 and 2007) has made important contributions to the study of democracy and law by explaining the exceptional cases in which the Athenians used legal entrenchment clauses, that is, clauses attached to a law forbidding its future amendment. Schwartzberg notes that the capacity for legal innovation was, in antiquity, a well understood strength of the Athenian political system. Athenians employed entrenchment clauses, Schwartzberg shows, only in cases in which credible pre-commitment (to allies in foreign policy contexts and to non-Athenian traders in a mercantile context) was especially important and especially difficult to establish otherwise. Modern political science has struggled with the question of how to analyze the political impact of public speech. The Athenian experience is potentially instructive. Democratic decision-making in Assembly, Council, and People’s Courts was predicated on public speech-making, that is, on the public practice of rhetoric. Athenian democracy and Greek political and legal rhetoric are very closely identified; often negatively, in part because of Plato’s highly influential equation of rhetoric with the deceptive misuse of a technical skill that is antithetical to the pursuit of truth. Plato’s case against rhetoric has been restored to its original argumentative context by Nightingale (1995), Wardy (1996), and Ober (1998). The last twenty years have seen a revival of the study of Greek public rhetoric as an essential component of a vibrant democratic political culture, and as an effective means for exploring decision options in mass forums in which the deliberative ideal of each individual present expressing an opinion is not feasible.37 Ober (1989) argued that in the Athenian Assembly, Council, and lawcourts, mass audiences judged and responded vocally to speeches. As a result, elite speakers who hoped to win the audience’s approval were constrained to express allegiance to cherished values. This audience-response centered model of mass-elite rhetorical interaction was elaborated by D. Cohen (1995), Yunis (1996), and Hesk (2000). Lisa Kallet38 has argued, to the contrary, that elite leaders controlled the rhetorical situation through their monopoly of expertise, especially in the area of finance. This ‘elite monopoly of expertise’ model is disputed by Rhodes and Ober.39 37 38 39

Worthington 1994. Kallet-Marx 1994; see also Moreno 2008. Rhodes forthcoming; Ober 2008.

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The famous Athenian practice of ostracism is a striking example of a mass non-deliberative decision-making process. Each year, the Athenian Assembly voted whether to hold an ostracism. If the vote was positive, each citizen had the opportunity to cast a vote (in the form of a sherd of pottery – ostrakon – inscribed with the name of an individual) for expelling a citizen from the polis for ten years. The ‘winner’ (the recipient of the plurality of votes) need not have been accused (much less convicted) of a crime. His property was not forfeit, and his relatives could remain if they chose. But he was required to leave the city for a decade. Recent German archaeological investigations in the Kerameikos district of Athens have greatly increased the physical evidence (inscribed ostraka) for this practice. Ostracism has often been cited by Greek democracy’s critics as an example of the excesses of mob rule. But by taking account of all the relevant evidence and analyzing ostracism in the context of inter-elite struggles and the common use of mass exile as a political weapon by victors in Greek factional struggles, Sara Forsdyke (2005) has put the study of ostracism and democracy on a new footing. Forsdyke emphasizes the context of destructive intra-elite politics. She explains the Assembly’s annual decision of whether to hold an ostracism, and the occasional (only fifteen recorded instances) of actual ostracisms, as a repeated ritual through which the mass of ordinary Athenian citizens reminded Athenian elites of the power of the people to intervene in intra-elite conflicts if and when those conflicts threatened the stability of the polis. Forsdyke argues that the Athenian democratic revolution of 508 BCE is best understood as a mass intervention in what was formerly an exclusively elite field of political competition – and that the signal success of Athenian democracy was in the regime stabilization that emerged with the credible threat of mass intervention. Ostracism may also be understood as a knowledge aggregation mechanism that served to predict the likelihood of future political possibilities (rather like modern ‘prediction markets’),40 and to preclude certain of them.41 Ostracism is notable, among other reasons, because it involves writing. The Athenian democracy produced an unusually large amount of writing and was notably concerned with the principles of accountability and transparency; today these principles are regarded by political theorists as essential to democracy.42 Classical Athens was the Greek world’s major center of literary production, but it was also distinctive for what archaeologists call the ‘epigraphic habit’ of inscribing public decisions on stone and displaying them publicly. The strong association between this epigraphic habit and democracy has been analyzed in detail by Charles Hedrick (1999), who notes not only the extent of Athenian epigraphic production, but also the presence of ‘formulae of disclosure’ – formulaic language to the effect that the inscription has been produced and displayed specifically in order make its contents transparently available to anyone who wishes to know what had been decided. 40 41 42

Sunstein 2007. J. Ober, unpublished paper: http://www.allacademic.com/meta/p280154_index.html. Vermeule 2007.

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3. CIVIC IDENTITY AND VALUES Citizenship, civic identity and civic education are among the major areas in which the study of ancient democracy has been widely recognized as having value for modern assessments of how democracy works and why. W.R. Connor (1987) pioneered the employment of cultural anthropology (in the tradition of Geertz 1973) to explain how civic identity was constructed through public rituals, especially processions. Brook Manville’s (1990) important book on the origins of citizenship at Athens develops an anthropological model, focusing on the significance of the Solonian and Cleisthenic reforms for the construction of strong civic bonds. A collection of essays edited by Dougherty and Kurke (1993) brought Connor’s Geertzian anthropological approach together with literary approaches to ‘new historicism’. Subsequent collections, that include seminal essays on Athenian identity and civic ideology43 and civic education,44 have helped to elucidate how citizens in democratic Athens were educated by ‘working the machine’ of democratic institutions, as well as by attending to legal and political rhetoric. Does democracy have a political culture of its own? Among the key debates in recent work on Greek democratic civic ideology is whether or not it represented a substantially new and distinctively ‘demotic’ political psychology45 or whether Athenian civic ideology, and the identities that were formed by it remained beholden to a hierarchical and aristocratic world view. In an influential study of the Athenian institution of the Funeral Oration (a speech delivered by a prominent orator to commemorate the sacrifice of Athenian soldiers who had died in a given year), the French scholar Nicole Loraux (1986) argued that democratic discourse remained captive to an earlier aristocratic vocabulary of worth. Victoria Wohl (1996 and 2002) employs a Lacanian psychoanalytic model to make a similar argument. On the other side of the argument, Cynthia Farrar (1988) forcefully argued that identifiable forms of ‘democratic thinking’ originated in the fifth century in Athens as new ways to conceptualize leadership, human potential, and the public sphere. The association of democracy with equality (social as well as political) and with individual and collective liberty remains a staple of modern Anglophone political thought. Ancient commentators on democracy consistently equated democratic government with the values of freedom and equality. The fullest contemporary discussion of the Greek idea of freedom is by Kurt Raaflaub,46 who argues that the concept of freedom only gained currency in the context of the Greek wars against the Persians in the early fifth century, and that ideas of individual freedom were developed out of the idea of the freedom of the polis. The sociologist Orlando Patterson (1991) argues, however, that the origins of the Greek idea of freedom must be sought in the juridical condition of slavery, and thus suggests that a 43 44 45 46

Boegehold and Scafuro (eds.) 1994. Too (ed.) 2001; Poulakos and Depew (eds.) 2004. As argued, for example, by Ober (1989) and by Manville (1990). Raaflaub 2004 (an updated version of a book published in German in 1985).

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concern for individual freedom is considerably earlier. In a related line of inquiry, Mogens Hansen (1989 and 1996) seeks to refute Isaiah Berlin’s (1959) influential claim that the ancients knew nothing of ‘negative’ liberty, by showing that the liberty of the citizen against intrusive state magistrates was an important aspect of the Athenians’ understanding of democratic freedom. Arlene Saxonhouse (2006) fruitfully focuses on free speech in Athens as a rejection of traditional conceptions of the shameful, while Robert Wallace (1994 and 1996) argues that the Athenian commitment to freedom of thought and freedom of behavior were robust, in some ways more so than modern democracies with their residual concern for regulating morality (notably sexuality). Unlike freedom, equality, as a value and social practice, was not uniquely associated in Greek culture with democracy. Ian Morris (1996) argues that an analogy of what Robert Dahl (1989) called ‘the strong principle of equality’ was the common currency of pre-democratic Greek republicanism. Paul Cartledge (1996) contrasts the strong Spartan conception of equality as ‘all the way down’ social and behavioral ‘similarity’ among a citizen body with more constrained Athenian notions of political equality and equal right to engage in public speech. Martin Ostwald (1996; cf. 2000) contrasts Greek and contemporary American conceptions of equality, by emphasizing that the Greeks predicated the potential for equality upon a prior condition of freedom (non-slavery). Maureen Cavanaugh (2003), a classically trained legal scholar, discusses the relationship between the maintenance of political equality at Athens with the practice of differentially taxing the wealthy, and uses this history to argue against proposals, favored by some American conservatives, for the revision of progressive taxation of income in favor of a flat (fixed percentage) tax. While freedom and equality were, in antiquity as in modernity, the primary values associated with democracy, Greek democracy was associated with other fundamental values as well. In a study of Athenian laws against hybris (‘disrespecting’),47 Ober emphasizes the concern of the democracy for the protection of the personal dignity of individuals and for promoting the Hegelian value of mutual recognition.48 Ryan Balot argues that Athenian democrats developed a distinctive understanding of courage as grounded in risks that were rationally chosen.49 Balot emphasizes democratic courage’s difference from standard Greek conceptions of courage as innate or inculcated by disciplinary education, while also attending to the ‘dark side’ of democratic courage as encouraging aggressive militarism. One of the key roles of Athenian democratic political culture was to foster both a commitment to self-control and public good-seeking on the one hand, and to allowing people to do pretty much as they wished on the other; Brook Manville (1997) notes that this ‘both/and’ approach was essential to uniting democratic ideology with day-to-day practice. Manville and Ober (2003) suggest that a variety of valuable political principles (closure and jurisdiction as well as 47 48 49

See the massive study of Fisher 1992. Ober 1996, ch. 7. Balot 2001b, 2004a, and 2004b.

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transparency, accountability,) are implicit in the practices common to Athenian democratic institutions.

4. CRITICISM OF DEMOCRACY: ANCIENT AND MODERN The apparent contradictions among the values and behaviors endorsed or permitted by Athens’ democratic regime provided fertile ground for Greek critics, which has provided ammunition for opponents of popular rule ever since. Arlene Saxonhouse (1996) surveys some of the main lines of argument. Despite the notorious trial of Socrates (see below), the Athenian democratic regime tolerated, indeed in certain ways actively encouraged, a substantial level of political criticism. The dramas presented in the Theater of Dionysus were chosen by a lotteried magistrate and financed by the state system of liturgies – special taxes on the very wealthy.50 Comedies were typically sharply critical of political practices of the citizen masses and their leaders alike. While some scholars still regard even comedy as irrelevant to democratic politics,51 others point to the deep political critique of comedy.52 Moreover, a substantial body of scholarship argues that Athenian tragedies, like comedy, were fundamentally involved in a critical enterprise – investigating and challenging core democratic values.53 Ober (1998) argues that political criticism is essential for a healthy democracy and traces the emergence, in the late fifth and fourth centuries, of a self-conscious ‘critical community’ of Athenian intellectuals – including dramatists, philosophers, historians, and rhetoricians. These critical intellectuals engaged in what amounted to a collaborative project to expose inherent contradictions in the democratic political order and some of their arguments ultimately were engaged in the speeches of Athens’ prodemocracy orators and in governmental reforms. Intellectual critics pointed to a number of ways in which Athenian democracy fell short. For example, the democratic approach to distributive justice erred, some claimed, in seeking to distribute goods equally to persons who were inherently unequal. Some (for instance Callicles, as depicted in Plato’s Gorgias) contended that democracy conflicted with a natural order in which the strong dominated the weak and enjoyed a superabundant share of goods. The uneasy relationship between democracy and ‘natural hierarchy’ is a staple of Straussian political theorizing.54 Plato’s Socrates in the Republic argued that democracy violated the first principle of justice by encouraging individuals to engage in more than one domain of activity. The fear of diversity, social and political, was, according to Saxonhouse (1992), a leitmotif of Greek critical thought. Aristotle in the Politics was concerned that democracy encouraged majorities to employ arbitrary and selfish 50 51 52 53 54

Christ 2006. Rhodes 2003b. Rosenbloom 2002 and 2004. Euben 1986 (ed.) and Euben 1990; Goldhill and Osborne (eds.) 1999. Strauss 1953.

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rather than consistent and fair criteria when making judgments with public import, and led majorities to seek their own factional good to the detriment of the public good. The problem of greed was another fertile source of complaint. Thucydides and Aristophanes each emphasized ways in which democratic culture stimulated an unhealthy desire for excessive consumption and possession.55 Contemporary political theorists have paid special attention to ways in which the interchange between Athenian democratic political culture and a critical sensibility yielded distinctive insights into political psychology and practice, and have stressed the value of those insights for rethinking modern democracy. Recent work by political theorists on Plato has been surveyed by Danielle Allen (2006); Peter Euben (2003), John Wallach (2001), and Sarah Monoson (2000) are particularly concerned to relate Plato – his dialogic practice as well as his politicalphilosophical ideas – to the practice of modern democracy. There has been renewed attention among classicists56 and political theorists57 to Aristophanes as a critic of democracy with unique and valuable insights for students of democracy. Aristotle’s attempt to create a ‘democracy of distinction’ by merging democratic with aristocratic elements is fruitfully explored by Jill Frank (2005). Socrates and his relationship to the democratic city, and especially his trial and execution, were matters of central concern to ancient critics of democracy; the figure of Socrates continues to loom large in contemporary discussions of the moral and practical value of Greek democracy. Some contemporary critics regard the trial and execution as clear evidence of Athenian democracy’s moral turpitude: Samons (2004) offers a bill of particulars on the subject ‘What’s wrong with democracy?’. He concentrates on the wrongfulness of Socrates’ conviction, but also accuses ancient Greek and modern democracy alike of being inattentive to traditional forms of religious belief, disrespectful of the nuclear family, and insufficiently devoted to love of country. At the opposite extreme, but equally polemical, Isidor Stone (1988) argued that Socrates was an oligarchic sympathizer who more or less got what was coming to him.58 It is worth asking whether we have anything to learn from a slave-holding society that denied women the right to participate actively in government. Michael Jameson (1978) argued that slave-holding was essential to democracy because only slavery could provide the considerable leisure-time that allowed lower-class citizens the opportunity to participate in politics. That argument was challenged by Ellen Wood (1988), on the grounds that, by preventing the systematic exploitation of peasants by landlords and by declining to tax poor citizens, democratic government allowed free citizen-peasants to spend free time in political participa-

55 56 57 58

Balot 2001a. Ludwig 2002. Zumbrunnen 2006. Colaccaio 2001 is a detailed and balanced treatment of the ‘Socrates and Athens’ question. Schofield 2002 offers a measured and insightful critique of recent American work on ‘Socrates on Trial’; Schofield’s monograph on Plato’s political thought is superb (Schofield 2006).

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tion. Review essays by Michael Jameson (1997) and Marilyn Katz (1999)59 explore ways in which the solidarity of the all-male citizen body benefited from the exclusion of women from active political participation, while rejecting earlier views of the strict separation of public and private spheres, and recognizing the ways in which Athenian women played prominent public roles, especially in religion.

5. WAR, ECONOMY AND CULTURE In a world reawakened to the fact that history has not ended,60 warfare is once again a concern for democratic theory and practice. Violent conflict was endemic among the Greek city-states, and fairly often ended in state-death: while many inter-state conflicts, especially before the mid-fifth century BCE, were more or less ritualized contests with little demographic impact,61 some battles had extremely high casualties, 62 and the extermination or enslavement of entire state populations was a realistically possible outcome of inter-state war. The relationship between democracy and warfare has been a feature of analytic work on democracy from the very beginning; it is prominent in the work of both Herodotus and Thucydides. The apparent correlation between democratic regime and greater military capacity63 has been explained in terms of the enhanced morale of free men, selfconsciously fighting wars of liberation,64 much higher mobilization rates, following upon the bargaining between classes, with the result that political participation on the part of lower classes is offered in exchange for their willingness to fight,65 and the superior ability of democracies to make effective use of dispersed knowledge and thereby to inaugurate more innovative and flexible strategies.66 A closely related issue is the relationship between democracy and imperialism. Ian Morris (2005b) notes that the empire founded by democratic Athens was by far the largest and most successful imperial enterprise ever sustained by a Greek city-state. Moses Finley (1978 and 1983) noted that both lower and upper class Athenians profited from the empire, and regarded the increased wealth that came to Athens with imperialism as essential to the survival of democratic institutions. Kurt Raaflaub has argued that the institutions of democracy only emerge after 462 BCE,67 once the Athenian imperial project of the mid-fifth century is well under way, and that lower-class Athenians (thetes) remained in some ways marginal, and were grudgingly acknowledged by citizens of the hoplite class only 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67

Both reprinted in Robinson 2004. Pace Fukuyama 1992. Connor 1988. Krentz 1985 and 2002. A phenomenon traced in modern warfare by Reiter and Stam 2002. Hanson 1999. Especially as rowers in the fleet: Scheidel 2005; Morris 2005a. Ober 2008. Raaflaub 1996 and 1998; Raaflaub, Ober, and Wallace 2007.

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because they provided manpower essential to the empire-building project. Mogens Hansen (1999) has, however, pointed to the continuing vigor of democratic institutions in the (largely) post-imperial fourth century. While a ‘ghost of empire’ (Badian 1995) continued to haunt the Athenian democratic consciousness, fourthcentury Athenian revenues were not much drawn from imperial sources, and democratic institutions remained vibrant – the link between democracy and empire had become largely one of historical memory: whether that memory was one of nostalgia or disgust was one of the sources of attitudinal diversity with which Athenian democracy contended. International relations theorists have long been drawn to the world of the Greek poleis, which offers a non-modern field on which they test the robustness of their theories. Collections of essays edited by Lebow and Strauss (1991) and McCann and Strauss (2001) brought together classicists with international relations theorists to explore the nature of bipolar international systems in which one of the players is a democracy, and the relationship between democratic regimes and war using the test cases of the Peloponnesian and Korean Wars. The world of the city-states is particularly salient to scholars interested in ‘democratic peace’. Eric W. Robinson explores the issue in detail, arguing that the Greek democracies did in fact go to war with one another quite frequently.68 Robinson suggests that this does not necessarily undercut the validity of a modern democratic peace, because of the differences between ancient and modern democracies, and the fact that Greek city-states focused intensely on local interests rather than on constitutional issues. The last fifteen years have seen an extraordinary resurgence of work on the ancient Greek economy, much of it challenging the long-standard position of Finley (1999) that ‘the ancient economy’ was entirely ‘embedded’ in social relations, that market exchanges were limited and local, and that given the lack of capitalization and sustained technological innovation, essentially stagnant. Democratic Athens in the post-imperial fourth century provides an important test case. Work by Edward E. Cohen (1992 and 2000) has gone a long way in showing that fourthcentury Athens was well provided with formal (special legal provisions) and informal (unregulated banks) institutions that supported a vigorous market economy with some (although not all) of the relevant features of modern market economies – notably sophisticated credit instruments and impersonal third-party exchanges. Edmund Burke (1985 and 1992) argues persuasively that the very high level of public wealth in the 330s (comparable to that of the high imperial era of the 430s) must be explained in terms of successful Athenian attempts to attract transit trade. The democratic state actively and self-consciously promoted trade, for example by providing relatively impartial dispute resolution procedures,69 and by providing ‘Approvers’ of silver coinage who could guarantee traders that the specie in which they traded was good.70 Cohen (2002) has linked this expansion of access to eco68 69 70

Robinson 2001a, 2001b, and 2006. Cohen 1973; Lanni 2006. Van Alfen 2005.

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nomic and legal institutions to a generally expansive democratic Athenian attitude towards citizenship; his claim that the ‘Athenian nation’ has been based on residence rather than on nativity has, however, been challenged.71 Among the most important insights of recent work on embedded aspects of the Athenian economy is Paul Millett’s (1989)72 demonstration that democratic political culture at Athens effectively limited the development of formal relationships of personal patronage that figure so largely in other pre-modern economies – and remain a problematic feature of modern economies, especially in authoritarian states.73 Democratic Athenian taxation policies have attracted the interest of political scientists and economists. In a series of studies the Swedish social scientist Carl Lyttkens offers Athenian liturgies (special taxes on the wealthiest citizens) and other forms of taxation on wealth as examples of bargaining between elites and lower classes, suggesting that democratic politicians catered to their lowerclass constituents by seeking to establish a predatory regime of taxation, but that over time, elite bargaining power led to a more restrained taxation regime and lower transaction costs.74 Brooks Kaiser (2007), an economist, has developed a game theoretic model to explain the operations of the Athenian trierarchic (warship preparation tax) liturgy system, analyzing the Athenian citizens’ incentives within a game of asymmetric information to explain the democratic system’s relative success at meeting the conflicting goals of efficiency, feasibility, and budget balance. Classicists have drawn attention to the ways in which political institutions and social relations unique to democracy (including the issues of identity and ideology noted above) affected the emergence and development of cultural expression: performance/music, visual arts, architecture, literature, and philosophy.75 A collection of essays edited by Winkler and Zeitlin (1990) broke new ground by posing the question of how democracy changed public performance art and music (comedy, tragedy, choral singing and dancing). Subsequent studies, notably by Simon Goldhill and Peter Wilson, have made a very strong case that democracy had a pervasive affect on the evolving form and content of dramatic and musical culture.76 In the realm of visual arts, David Castriota (1992) looks at how the fifthcentury Athenian democracy reconfigured mythic narrative in public art (notably architectural sculpture). Richard Neer (2002) argues that the Athenian revolution of the late sixth century fostered the emergence of radical experiments in vasepainting (the so-called Pioneer Group of vase-painters) – with the new artistic forms borrowing from the new social relations made possible by the institutions of democracy.

71 72 73 74 75 76

Lape 2003. Cf. Zelnick-Abramowitz 2000. Haber 2000. Lyttkens 1992, 1994, and 1997. Goldhill and Osborne (eds.) 1994; Coulson 1994; Boedeker and Raaflaub (eds.) 1998. Goldhill and Osborne (eds.) 1999; Wilson 2000.

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6. CODA: THE AMERICAN EPHEBE Greek polytheistic religion was very different from the powerful religious traditions that have shaped the modern world: There was no question of separating religion from the Greek state, and basic questions of what would count as orthodoxy, conversion, even belief take on fundamentally different meanings in the ancient Greek context; Simon Price (1999) offers a thoughtful introduction. While all students of ancient Greek politics acknowledge that religious ritual remained a highly visible aspect of democratic Athenian public practice, there is no scholarly consensus on the importance of religion to Greek democracy, or the impact of democracy on religious belief or expression. Hugh Bowden (2005) has argued that communicating with the gods and doing their will was the most important undertaking of the democratic state. Other scholars, by contrast, emphasize the ways in which religious ritual furthered civic purposes.77 A notable characteristic of the democratic Athenian approach to religion was the state’s willingness to accept new gods into the community – but only if they had been officially granted entry (and the right to own property on which a temple could be constructed) by a vote of the democratic Assembly.78 The tendency to judge Athenian democratic attitudes toward religion by the anomalous trial of Socrates risks obscuring the ancient Athenians’ striking openness to foreign religions. The pressing issues associated with religion in modern democracies (from head scarves in France to school curricula in the United States) arise, of course, from monotheistic traditions foreign to the Greek poleis. It might appear then, in light of the different ways in which antiquity and modernity understand religion, that religious-civic ritual is one area in which modernity has little to learn from Greek antiquity. Yet Charles Hedrick (2004) has recently brought to light a relatively recent American appropriation of a highly distinctive Athenian religious ritual: the Oath of the Ephebes. In the later fourth century BCE (and perhaps much earlier) eighteen-year old Athenian (male) youths who were being inducted into military service took a sacred oath, witnessed by an array of gods, to acquit themselves well, along with their comrades in arms, in defending and extending their fatherland. In the middle decades of the twentieth century, students at a number of American colleges and universities were made to chant the ephebic oath:79 I will not disgrace my sacred arms / Nor desert my comrade, wherever / I am stationed. / I will fight for things sacred. / And things profane. / And both alone and with all to help me. / I will transmit my fatherland not diminished / But greater and better than before. / I will obey / the ruling magistrates / Who rule reasonably / And I will observe the established laws / And whatever laws in the future / May be reasonably established. / If any person seek to overturn the laws, / Both alone and with all to help me, / I will oppose him. / I will honor the religion of my fathers. / I call to 77 78 79

Zaidman and Schmitt Pantel 1992; Parker 1996. Garland 1992. Translated by Clarence A. Forbes, in Swift 1947, 4.

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witness the Gods … / The borders of my fatherland, / The wheat, the barley, the vines, / And the trees of the olive and the fig.

The explicit intention of university administrators who promoted this startling recreation of an ancient Greek ritual was to promote in the citizens of a modern state an active civic spirit capable of sustaining a great democratic nation through periods of military and social crisis. While the chanting of the ephebic oath is no longer commonly (if ever) practiced on American campuses, the sustained concern with uniting civic culture with democratic institutions is at least one reason that we moderns may continue to learn from the ancient Greeks.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Adrados, F.R. (1997) Democracia y literatura en la Atenas clásica, Madrid. Allen, D.S. (2000) The World of Prometheus: Politics of punishing in Democratic Athens, Princeton. — (2006) Platonic Quandaries: Recent Scholarship on Plato, Annual Review of Political Science 9, 127-41. Anderson, G. (2003) The Athenian Experiment: Building an Imagined Political Community in Ancient Attica, 508-490 B.C., Ann Arbor. Badian, E. (1995) The Ghost of Empire: Reflections on Athenian Foreign Policy in the Fourth Century B.C., in W. Eder (ed.) Die athenische Demokratie im 4. Jahrhundert v. Chr.: Vollendung oder Verfall einer Verfassungsform?, Stuttgart, 79-106. Balot, R.K. (2001a) Greed and Injustice in Classical Athens, Princeton. — (2001b) Pericles’ Anatomy of Democratic Courage, American Journal of Philology 122, 505525. — (2004) The Dark Side of Democratic Courage, Social Research 71, 73-106. — (2006) Greek Political Thought, Malden - Oxford. Berlin, I. (1959) Two Concepts of Liberty: An Inaugural Lecture delivered before the University of Oxford, on 31 October 1958, Oxford. Bleicken, J. (1985) Die athenische Demokratie, Paderborn. Boedeker, D.A. and K.A. Raaflaub (eds.) (1998) Democracy, Empire, and the Arts in FifthCentury Athens, Cambridge, Mass. Boegehold, A.L. and A.C. Scafuro (eds.) (1994) Athenian Identity and Civic Ideology, Baltimore London. Bowden, H. (2005) Classical Athens and the Delphic Oracle: Divination and Democracy, Cambridge. Brock, R. and S. Hodkinson (2000) Introduction: Alternatives to the Democratic Polis, in R. Brock and S. Hodkinson (eds.) Alternatives to Athens: Varieties of Political Organization and Community in Ancient Greece, Oxford, 1-31. Burke, E.M. (1985) Lycurgan Finances, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 26, 251-264. — (1992) The Economy of Athens in the Classical Era: Some Adjustments to the Primitivist Model, Transactions of the American Philological Association 122, 199-226. Camassa, G. (2007) Atene: La costruzione della democrazia, Rome. Carey, C. (1998) The Shape of Athenian Laws, Classical Quarterly 48, 93-109. Cartledge, P. (1996) Comparatively Equal, in Ober and Hedrick (eds.) 1996, 175-186. Castriota, D. (1992) Myth, Ethos, and Actuality: Official Art in Fifth-century B.C. Athens, Madison. Cavanaugh, M.B. (2003) Democracy, Equality, and Taxes, Alabama Law Review 54, 415-481. Christ, M.R. (2006) The Bad Citizen in Classical Athens, Cambridge.

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Cohen, D. (1995) Law, Violence, and Community in Classical Athens, Cambridge - New York. Cohen, E.E. (1973) Ancient Athenian Maritime Courts, Princeton. — (1992) Athenian Economy and Society: A Banking Perspective, Princeton. — (2000) The Athenian Nation, Princeton. Colaiaco, J. (2001) Socrates against Athens: Philosophy on Trial, New York - London. Connor, W.R. (1987) Tribes, Festivals, and Processions: Civic Ceremonial and Political Manipulation in Archaic Greece, Journal of Hellenic Studies 107, 40-50. — (1988) Early Greek Land Warfare as Symbolic Expression, Past and Present 119, 3-27. Creager, A.N.H., E. Lunbeck and M.N. Wise (eds.) (2007) Science without Laws: Model Systems, Cases, Exemplary Narratives, Durham, North Carolina. Dahl, R.A. (1989) Democracy and its Critics, New Haven. De Ste. Croix, G.E.M. (1972) The Origins of the Peloponnesian War, London. — (1983) The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World: From the Archaic Age to the Arab Conquests, London. — (2004) Athenian Democratic Origins and other Essays, Oxford - New York. Dougherty, C. (1993) The Poetics of Colonization: From City to Text in Archaic Greece, New York. Dunn, J. (1992) Democracy: The Unfinished Journey, 508 BC to AD 1993, Oxford - New York. Elster, J. (1998) Deliberative Democracy, Cambridge - New York. Estlund, D.M. (2008) Democratic Authority: A Philosophical Framework, Princeton. Euben, J.P. (ed.) (1986) Greek Tragedy and Political Theory, Berkeley. — (1990) The Tragedy of Political Theory: The Road not Taken, Princeton. — (1997) Corrupting Youth: Political Education, Democratic Culture, and Political Theory, Princeton. — (2003) Platonic Noise, Princeton. Euben, J.P., J. Wallach, and J. Ober (eds.) (1994) Athenian Political Thought and the Reconstruction of American Democracy, Ithaca. Farrar, C. (1988) The Origins of Democratic Thinking: The Invention of Politics in Classical Athens, Cambridge - New York. Finley, M.I. (1978) The Fifth-Century Athenian Empire: A Balance Sheet, in P.D.A. Garnsey and C.R. Whittaker (eds.) Imperialism in the Ancient World, Cambridge, 103-126, 306-310. — (1983) Politics in the Ancient World, Cambridge - New York. — (1985) Democracy Ancient and Modern, London. — (1999) The Ancient Economy, Berkeley. Fisher, N.R.E. (1992) Hybris: A Study in the Values of Honour and Shame in Ancient Greece, Warminster. Fleck, R.K. and F.A. Hanssen (2006) The Origins of Democracy: A Model with Application to Ancient Greece, Journal of Law and Economics 49, 115-146. Forsdyke, S. (2005) Exile, Ostracism, and Democracy: The Politics of Expulsion in Ancient Greece, Princeton. Frank, J. (2005) A Democracy of Distinction: Aristotle and the Work of Politics, Chicago. Fukuyama, F. (1992) The End of History and the Last Man, New York. Gagarin, M. and D. Cohen (eds.) (2005) The Cambridge Companion to Ancient Greek Law, Cambridge. Garland, R. (1992) Introducing New Gods: The Politics of Athenian Religion, London. Geertz, C. (1973) The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays, New York. Goldhill, S. and R. Osborne (eds.) (1994) Art and Text in Ancient Greek Culture, Cambridge New York. — (eds.) (1999) Performance Culture and Athenian Democracy, Cambridge - New York. Gomme, A.W. (1951) The Working of the Athenian Democracy, History 36, 12-28. Grote, G. (1869) A History of Greece: From the Earliest Period to the Close of the Generation Contemporary with Alexander the Great, London.

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Lind, E.A. and T.R. Tyler (1988) The Social Psychology of Procedural Justice, New York. Lippmann, W. (1922) Public Opinion, New York. Loraux, N. (1986) The Invention of Athens: The Funeral Oration in the Classical City, Cambridge, Mass. Ludwig, P.W. (2002) Eros and Polis: Desire and Community in Greek Political Theory, Cambridge - New York. Lyttkens, C.H. (1992) Effects of the Taxation of Wealth in Athens in the Fourth Century B.C., The Scandinavian Economic History Review 40, 3-20. — (1994) A Predatory Democracy? An Essay on Taxation in Classical Athens, Explorations in Economic History 31, 62-90. — (1997) A Rational-Actor Perspective on the Origin of Liturgies in Ancient Greece, Journal of Institutional and Theoretical Economics 153, 462-484. Lytton, E.B. (2004) Athens: Its Rise and Fall, with Views of the Literature, Philosophy and Social Life of the Athenian People, edited by O. Murray, London. Manville, B. (1990) The Origins of Citizenship in Ancient Athens, Princeton. — (1997) Pericles and the ‘both/and’ Vision for Democratic Athens, in C.D. Hamilton and P. Krentz (eds.) Polis and polemos: Essays on Politics, War & History in Ancient Greece, in honor of Donald Kagan, Claremont, 73-84. Manville, B. and J. Ober (2003) A Company of Citizens: What the World’s First Democracy Teaches Leaders about Creating Great Organizations, Boston. Marinovich, L.P. (1988) Le mercenariat grec au IVe siècle avant notre ère et la crise de la polis, Paris. McCann, D.R. and B.S. Strauss (eds.) (2001) War and Democracy: A Comparative Study of the Korean War and the Peloponnesian War, Armonk, N.Y. Michels, R. (1962) [1911] Political Parties: A Sociological Study of the Oligarchical Tendencies of Modern Democracy, New York. Millet, P.C. (1989) Patronage and its Avoidance in Classical Athens, in A. Wallace-Hadrill (ed.) Patronage in Ancient Society, London, 15-48. Monoson, S. (2000) Plato’s Democratic Entanglements: Athenian Politics and the Practice of Philosophy, Princeton. Moreno, A. (2008) Feeding the Democracy: The Athenian Grain Supply in the Fifth and Fourth Centuries B.C., Oxford. Morris, I. (1996) The Strong Principle of Equality and the Archaic Origins of Greek Democracy, in Ober and Hedrick (eds.) 1996, 19-49. — (2005a) Military and Political Participation in Archaic-Classical Greece, Princeton/Stanford Working Papers in Classics (http://www.princeton.edu/~pswpc/pdfs/morris/120511.pdf). — (2005b) The Athenian Empire (478-404 B.C.), Princeton/Stanford Working Papers in Classics (http://www.princeton.edu/~pswpc/pdfs/morris/120508.pdf). Mossé, C. (1986) La démocratie grecque, Paris. Mutz, D. and P. Martin (2001) Facilitating Communication Across Lines of Political Difference, American Political Science Review 95, 97-114. Nardi, M. (1971) Demos e kratos: la fondazione della democrazia ateniese, Pisa. Neer, R. (2002) Style and Politics in Athenian Vase-Painting, Cambridge. Nelson, E. (2004) The Greek Tradition in Republican Thought, Cambridge - New York. Nightingale, A.W. (1995) Genres in Dialogue: Plato and the Construct of Philosophy, Cambridge - New York. Ober, J. (1989) Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens: Rhetoric, Ideology, and the Power of the People, Princeton. — (1996) The Athenian Revolution: Essays on Ancient Greek Democracy and Political Theory, Princeton. — (1998) Political Dissent in Democratic Athens: Intellectual Critics of Popular Rule, Princeton. — (2005) Athenian Legacies: Essays in the Politics of Going on Together, Princeton.

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THE POWER OF IDENTITY A JAPANESE HISTORICAL PERSPECTIVE ON THE STUDY OF ANCIENT HISTORY Takashi Minamikawa

1. INTRODUCTION Japan is an Asian country. Since the time of the early state, Japan has been influenced by the great civilisation of China on the Asian mainland. Around the sixth century CE, the Chinese writing system, Confucianism, Buddhism and new arts were introduced from China and Korea to Japan. The Japanese islands are separated from the Asian mainland by the sea and had never experienced any invasions by the continental states of China except for the unsuccessful military attack by the Mongol Yuan Dynasty in the thirteenth century. But during the years before the full-scale westernisation of the nineteenth century, the Japanese people had learned a great deal from the Chinese civilisation. The Japanese not only imitated the Chinese model of civilisation, however, but also created their own cultural systems. For example, in the eighth century, they invented the Japanese writing system based on Chinese characters: hiragana and katakana. Both are original Japanese syllabaries and differ in orthographical form. Adding these two systems to the kanji (i.e. Chinese characters), they began to use three different kinds of symbols to write Japanese. They also created a literary tradition independent of the Chinese classics. So, before coming into contact with the European culture and classical antiquity, the Japanese already had two treasure troves of classics: Chinese classics and Japanese classics. With the rapid westernisation after the latter half of the nineteenth century, and especially in the years following the Second World War, however, people in Japan adapted themselves to a Western lifestyle and Western culture. They came to enjoy reading the European classics in translation. Nowadays, many Japanese tourists visit Europe each year in order to see the historical sites. Moreover, historical novels set in Ancient Rome written by Japanese authors are popular not only with students and intellectuals but also many businessmen. Japanese classicists studying Greek and Roman antiquity are therefore working in the context of this historical background and these contemporary conditions. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, what contribution can Japanese classicists make towards the progress of classical studies both in Japan and the world more generally?

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About forty years ago, Chiaki Matsudaira (1915-2006) gave an appropriate response to the same kind of question at a symposium held in Delphi in 1969 when he was the professor of Classics at Kyoto University. 1 He was a specialist in Greek literature, whose translations of Homer, Herodotus and Xenophon’s Anabasis are well known. In his paper for this symposium, he commented that in the field of Homeric studies alone, there were some particular areas of the subject in which Japanese classicists might be able to make contributions useful to Western scholars, such as the creation of the epic and its oral characteristics as seen in its formulae, epithets, and so on. And he closed his paper with the following observation:2 It is the keen desire of Japanese classicists to contribute in some way or other to the progress of classical studies of the world, in the firm belief that it is a significant task worthy of our efforts to demonstrate that classical studies can flourish also under a cultural climate totally different from Europe and America.

I take it for granted that his opinions on the Japanese attitude towards the Classics were based on his experience of the study and teaching of classical literature. In this chapter, I would like to give my own opinion on this question from the viewpoint of an historian and scholar of Roman History. I believe one reason why history is a different discipline from those of philosophy and literature is because it is more strongly restricted by the identity of its scholars. First, I will outline the process of development in the field of research and teaching in Ancient History (i.e. Greek and Roman History) in Japan. Secondly, I will investigate the possible role of non-European scholars of this field in the near future.3 Why should Classics be studied and taught in the twenty-first century? These days, all classicists are confronted with this difficult question. My hope would be that understanding efforts towards the progress of classical studies outside Europe may help European classicists to find an appropriate answer to that question.

2. ANCIENT HISTORY IN JAPAN: A HISTORY Europeans first appeared in the history of Japan in the middle of the sixteenth century, bringing with them guns (matchlocks) and Christianity. The Christian missionaries also brought European classics with them. One of them, Aesop’s Fables, was translated into Japanese and published at the end of the sixteenth century.4 But in the first half of the seventeenth century, the Japanese govern1 2 3

4

Matsudaira 1971. Matsudaira 1971, 154. This is an expanded and revised version of the paper read at the Kyoto-Cambridge International Symposium on Integrating the Humanities: The Roles of Classics and Philosophy, which was held at the Faculty of Classics, University of Cambridge, on 25 September 2006. I would like to thank Dr John Patterson of Magdalene College, Cambridge for his warm support. Yaginuma 1997, 311.

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ment of the Tokugawa Shogunate, committing itself to a policy of national isolation, closed the country except for a limited amount of exchange with China and Holland at their colony in Nagasaki-City. After the country closed, only a very small number of Japanese scholars could gain access to the wisdom of European science by means of Dutch and Chinese books. In the early 1850s, under pressure from American and European armies, the Tokugawa Shogunate government had to re-open the country. After the Meiji Restoration in 1868, which is one of the most significant political revolutions in the history of Japan and as a result of which the Tokugawa Shogunate regime collapsed, the new government saw westernisation as an important element in the building of a modern Japan. First of all, the western administrative and military institutions were introduced; and there was a gradual westernisation of society and culture. However, it took a great deal of time and much work by scholars before Classics and Ancient History came to be established in Japan. Research into and teaching of Ancient History was first introduced into Japan in the middle Meiji Period (1868-1912), as a new historical science developed in Germany. In fact, Ludwig Riess (1861-1928), a leading disciple of Leopold von Ranke, came to Japan in 1887. He continued to stay in Japan until 1902 and taught history at the University of Tokyo, which was the first national university to be founded in the country. Riess mainly taught European Modern History, but he also lectured on Ancient History in English. Under his guidance, two pupils, Kengo Murakawa (1875-1946) and Takashi Sakaguchi (1872-1928) started to study Ancient History. Kengo Murakawa subsequently became a professor in the Department of European History at the University of Tokyo and himself lectured on Ancient History. Takashi Sakaguchi moved to Kyoto and lectured on Ancient History as a professor of European History at Kyoto University, the second national university to be founded. Before the Second World War, Ancient History was mainly studied and taught at three national universities: Tokyo, Kyoto, and Tohoku University, which was founded in Sendai-City in the northern mainland of Japan. In those days, most professors teaching European history at Japanese universities had had the experience of visiting European countries by ship and staying there for one or two years to study. They introduced into Japanese academic society the new methods of historical studies and historiography then used by European scholars. These scholars, such as Takashi Sakaguchi of Kyoto University, 5 not only imitated the studies of their European counterparts but also published some brilliant, wide-ranging, and fully original books. Their main interest was in the field of political and cultural history. After the end of the Second World War, Kentaro Murakawa (1907-1991), son of Professor Kengo Murakawa of Tokyo University, became the leading figure in the studying and teaching of Ancient History in Japan. He focused neither on political history nor on cultural history but instead on social and eco5

Sakaguchi 1924.

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nomic history. He taught Ancient History at the University of Tokyo until his retirement in 1968. Kentaro Murakawa lectured mainly on Greek History and carried out much elaborate and detailed research. As a result, his colleagues called him seimitsu-kikai (a ‘precision machine‘). Regarding both the Greek poleis and Republican Rome as societies in which the role of the citizen was central, he wrote and published many articles, including ‘Demiurgos’ in Historia 6 (1957).6 He also established contact with Professor Sir Moses Finley of Cambridge University. His pupils at the University of Tokyo learned his method of study and developed it faithfully – in particular, the use of Greek inscriptions, to which Kentaro Murakawa attached special importance. The teaching of epigraphy and how inscriptions could be used became a particular tradition and strength of the Department of European History at the University of Tokyo. On the other hand, Kyoto University, which was established with a different academic emphasis from the University of Tokyo, made rapid progress in the study and teaching of the humanities. And it bred a characteristic academic tradition appropriate to Kyoto, the most historic and cultural city in Japan. Kenzo Fujinawa (1929-2000), my own teacher of Ancient History, is a fine example to illustrate this tendency. He was educated in the Department of European History at Kyoto University and taught there for 23 years. I would like to emphasise that he did not use Greek inscriptions for his study except for his research on Archilochus, the Greek iambic and elegiac poet. Reading the works of Greek authors from Homer to the early Byzantine period with great acuteness and fine sensibility, he published many books and articles on Greek historiography and social history in Japanese.7 We can call him the ‘Burckhardt of Japan’ because of his method of study and enthusiasm for Ancient Greece.

3. CLASSICAL STUDIES IN JAPAN: A HISTORY The reason why Kenzo Fujinawa used mainly literary sources, not inscriptions, is to be explained not only by his own perspective on historical studies but also by the academic circumstances of Kyoto University in the 1950s. Fujinawa was educated in the Department of European History, but he also studied in the Department of Classics and the Department of Western Philosophy. When Fujinawa was an undergraduate and graduate student, he was taught by the abovementioned Chiaki Matsudaira, the first ordinary professor of the Department of Classics, and Michitaro Tanaka (1902-1985), the famous specialist in Greek philosophy. These two professors were very important figures who urged the establishment of the Classical Society of Japan in 1950. In 1893, Raphael von Koeber (1848-1923), a Russian scholar teaching in Germany, was invited to the University of Tokyo as a teacher of philosophy. Under his guidance some scholars studied classical languages and literature. In 6 7

Murakawa 1986-87. Fujinawa 1983 and 1989 are his most important works.

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particular, one of his pupils, Hidenaka Tanaka (1886-1974) became a lecturer in classical languages at Kyoto University in 1920 and began to lecture on the history of classical literature as a professor of European literature in 1931. His successor, Chiaki Matsudaira, established the Department of Classics officially in 1953. Michitaro Tanaka came to the Department of Western Philosophy at Kyoto University in 1947 and was promoted to professor in 1950. He studied and taught Greek philosophy using detailed philological analysis until his retirement in 1965.8 Matsudaira and Michitaro Tanaka made great efforts to establish the Classical Society of Japan in 1950 together with professors of other universities, and the administrative office of this society was established at the Department of Classics at Kyoto University. In short, Kenzo Fujinawa had the good fortune to be educated as an undergraduate and graduate student in the enthusiastic atmosphere for the study of Classics, which prevailed at Kyoto University in the 1950s. Such a rapid development of Classics in Japan was supported and accompanied by the teaching of the classical languages and the translation into Japanese of the works of Greek and Roman authors. Before the Second World War, scholars in Japan began to translate the masterpieces of ancient philosophers and historians from their original Greek and Latin texts. And after the end of the Second World War, all the works of Plato and Aristotle, Greek tragedy and comedy, and so on were quickly translated into Japanese. In 1997, the Kyoto University Press started to publish a new series of Japanese translations of classical authors. Supported by its intellectual readership, the number of these publications amounted to 70 volumes in January 2008. In spite of the marvellous progress of classical studies in Japan, however, there are a very small number of professorial posts for classicists at universities. In the first place, there are no designated Faculties of Classics at Japanese universities. The Faculties of Letters at the older Japanese universities, in which research and teaching of Classics are taking place, are normally divided into three divisions: the teachers and students of Greek philosophy belong to the Philosophy division; those working on Ancient History and Archaeology to the History division; and the scholars and students studying classical literature are members of the Literature division. So, it is easier for scholars of Ancient History to collaborate on a day-to-day basis with their counterparts studying other periods of European or Oriental history than with scholars of Greek philosophy and classical literature.

8

His extensive writings were compiled into the 26 volumes of his Complete Works. See Tanaka 1968-1990.

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4. ANCIENT HISTORY TODAY Let us now shift the discussion away from Classics in general to the study of the history of the West. In Japan, for thirty years after the end of the Second World War, the main interest of scholars studying Western history was the social and economic history of Modern and Contemporary Europe and the United States. Seeking to contribute to the recovery of Japan from the war, professors and students eagerly studied European and American history. In those days, Britain was considered the most valuable country to study, because scholars believed that modern civic society had been established in Britain earlier than in other countries. They also tended to see Modern and Contemporary History as a significant field of study and Ancient and Medieval history as being of no use. Given this emphasis in Japanese academic society on Western history, most scholars of Ancient History devoting themselves to the study of the ancient world adopted a positivist approach. But some of them made a great effort to understand the ancient world and to gasp the fundamentals of world history according to the principles of Marxism. In this period, Toru Yuge (1924-2006) published many articles seeking to understand the significance of the Roman Empire in the broader theoretical context of world history. Influenced by Max Weber’s concept of ideal types and the community theory of Karl Marx, he advocated a historical model of ‘The Roman Community of Citizens’. Using this model, he tried to explain the development of the Roman State and Roman society as a historical process. 9 We have to see his attempt as an effort by a scholar of Ancient History to communicate with other scholars in the 1950s and 1960s. In the mid-1970s, influenced mainly by the Annales School of France, socalled Social History became fashionable in Japan and scholars of history began to move away from more old-fashioned styles of social and economic history. In the 1980s, some Japanese scholars of Ancient History started to study the social history of Greece and Rome using some new methods including historical demography. In the first half of the 1990s, the number of graduate students and young scholars studying Ancient and Medieval History began to increase. By contrast, the level of interest of scholars of Western history in the English Civil War and the French and Industrial Revolutions, which had been the main fields of study in the 1950s, had declined. In the field of Ancient History, it became difficult to find young scholars who were studying ancient slavery, the growth of large estates, and economic history in general. In addition, political history, which had been neglected by scholars since the 1950s as a reaction to pre-war studies of history and in response to its negative evaluation by the French school of social history, began to be studied by young scholars again in the 1990s.10 9 10

His masterpieces are Yuge 1964 and 1977. The Classical Society of Japan (ed.) (1998) and The Editorial Board of the Journal Kodai (ed.) (2000/2001) provide a list and summary of studies of the ancient world undertaken by Japanese scholars in the twentieth century.

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Scholars of Ancient History in Japan have continued to write articles and books in Japanese. However, in studying their own subject they have employed a full polyglot bibliography. In the latter half of the 1990s, more young Japanese scholars and graduate students are to be found studying European history in European countries and the United States. Their works are of a high standard. But I am sorry to say that it is not easy to find a particularly characteristic feature of the work of Asian scholars.

5. THE JAPANESE ATTITUDE TOWARDS THE STUDY OF ANCIENT HISTORY Kentaro Murakawa, a figure of authority in the community of scholars of Ancient History in Japan, died in 1991. As I said earlier, he was a pioneer in writing Ancient History in Japan, his work containing much detailed analysis of historical sources and well discussed bibliography. But he professed in his last essay that he was very puzzled by the increasing number of very detailed articles written by young Japanese scholars, and he recommended them to take a macroscopic view and to keep the whole of world history in mind. In particular, he recommended them to undertake comparative studies of the history and culture of the Ancient Greek and Roman World with those of the cultural area using Chinese characters, which European scholars usually do not try to read.11 Considering the trend of studies of European history in Japan over the last ten years, I have the same opinion as Murakawa. I think that history is strongly restricted by the identity of its scholars. Japan is a very distant country from Europe and does not have Greek and Roman civilisation and Christianity as a cultural substratum. Even if Japanese scholars employ the same methodologies and research techniques as European scholars, they have to keep the reason why they study Ancient History in mind. And they should be requested to show the results of researches suitable to Asian scholars. At this point, the works of Kenzo Fujinawa and Toru Yuge, despite the evident limitations resulting from the times at which they were written, can be seen as pioneering and original pieces of research, highly appropriate for Asian scholars of Ancient History. Needless to say, I do not mean that young Japanese scholars do not need to compete with European scholars in their specialist field. I would like to emphasise that it is not sufficient for Japanese scholars studying Ancient History to use only the same method and the same perspective as their European counterparts. Generally speaking, Japanese scholars of Ancient History have to cope with some practical disadvantages in order to study Classics smoothly; their daily research activities have to be undertaken far away from original inscriptions, papyri, coins, archaeological finds and ancient manuscripts of literary texts. And almost all Japanese classicists, including scholars of Ancient History, are adult beginners of Greek and Latin; before entering university (at the age of eighteen), Japanese students learn only one foreign language, i.e. American English. So, if 11

Murakawa 1992.

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they want to study Greek and Roman History at their university, they have to learn many languages before they are able to embark on a full-scale study of Ancient History. Senior classical scholars in Japan, however, made a great effort to overcome these difficulties. Nowadays, students at Japanese universities are better placed to study classical and modern European languages than their seniors. And many scholars and graduate students, awarded a grant from the Japan Society for the Promotion of Science, visit Europe every year. So young scholars and graduate students are gaining the possibility of direct access to original sources and archaeological finds. Therefore, it seems to me important for Japanese scholars to employ original and creative methods and discussions, which are different from those of European scholars. Writing papers not only in Japanese but also in European languages, they should release the results of their research to the international academic community. I will illustrate the type of work which might be appropriate for a Japanese scholar. Comparative study of Ancient History between East and West is a good example. Firstly, I want to show the possibility of a new approach in terms of historical sources. After the end of the Second World War, a considerable number of studies have been conducted in Japan on the frontier of the Ancient Chinese Empire, using wooden and bamboo strips as historical sources. These wooden strips were first discovered at the beginning of the twentieth century and so far more than 100,000 strips have already been excavated.12 The Chü-yen Han Wooden Strips from Ancient China of the Han dynasty (third century BCE - third century CE) provide the most important sources for the study of the imperial frontier.13 One of these strips (fig. 1) recorded a soldier’s name, the unit to which he belonged, his status, the name of the disease from which he suffered, and what happened after he became sick.14 We can find a similar document in the writing tablets excavated from the Roman fort of Vindolanda in Northern England, the strength report of the First Cohort of Tungrians: ‘sick: 15, wounded: 6, suffering from inflammation of eyes: 10.’15 Over the past ten years, some Japanese scholars of Chinese History and Archaeology have visited the historical sites of Roman Britain in order to advance their own research on the frontier of the Chinese Empire and have endeavoured to understand the condition of the Roman frontier with reference to scholarship written in English.16 But in the Japanese academic community of European historians, there has been no full-scale research that has tried to analyse the Roman frontier in comparison with the frontier of the Han dynasty. I anticipate that Japanese scholars, using these historical materials, will in due course undertake comparative studies on he or-

12 13 14 15 16

Tomiya 2003, 57-58. Nagata 1989. Nagata 1989, 97 with plate no. 12. Tabulae Vindolandenses II, 154; Bowman and Thomas 1994, 90-98. Momiyama 1999, 229-239.

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ganisation of the army, daily life and literacy on the frontier of the ancient empire.

Fig. 1. One of the Chü-yen Han Wooden Strips recording the name and unit of a sick soldier (photograph by courtesy of the Academia Sinica).

Moreover, wooden tablets were also used in ancient Japan. For example, more than 100,000 examples were discovered in a mansion of the early eighth century (Prince Nagaya’s mansion in Nara). One of them (fig. 2) is a document recording the tax paid on a piece of sea-staghorn (miru in Japanese) being transported from the province of ‘Shima’ to the capital city.17 Many tablets of similar character to this one can be noted among the Vindolanda tablets. 18 Using these historical materials, Japanese scholars can also undertake comparative studies on the relationship between literacy and government in the ancient world. 17 18

Text: Nara National Research Institute for Cultural Properties 1991, 17. Bowman 1994, 44-50; Birley 2002, 90-94.

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Fig. 2. Wooden tablet from Prince Nagaya’s mansion in Nara (Japan, eighth century) recording tax payment (photograph by courtesy of the Nara National Research Institute for Cultural Properties).

Secondly, in terms of the problems of historical concept: I work at Kyoto University. The city of Kyoto is the best-known ancient capital in Japan. It was established in 794 and remained the capital until 1868, when Tokyo took its place. Kyoto is full of historical sites, especially Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines. It is also the centre of traditional high-quality handicraft production. Most Japanese people regard Kyoto as the city most typical of Japanese culture

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and tradition; indeed, advertisements aimed at tourists often portray Kyoto as the heart of Japan. Japanese history teaches us that the culture and traditions of Kyoto spread to several new centres in the Medieval and Early Modern period: the provincial capital cities of Yamaguchi, Matsue and Kanazawa, which are today called ShoKyoto (small Kyoto). One might suggest that the historical phenomenon of the spreading of the culture of Kyoto could be termed ‘Kyotonisation’. However, we know that Kyoto was established according to the model of an eighth-century Chinese capital city. The city plan of Kyoto, with its grid-like pattern of palaces and city-blocks, is indeed the same as that of the ancient Chinese capital city. We can thus regard Kyoto as a kind of Chinese city. If we use the concept of ‘Kyotonisation’ for the spread of Kyoto culture in Medieval and Early Modern Japan, how should we consider the role of ‘Kyoto’ in the concept of ‘Kyotonisation’? I would suggest that this provides us with an analogy for the reconsideration of ‘Rome’ within the problematic concept of ‘Romanisation’.19

6. CONCLUSION There is a more important point to emphasise than drawing attention to the possibilities offered by comparative studies. This relates to scholars’ historical and ethnic identity. In historical studies, scholars have to understand that the modes of recognition inherent in their own cultural sphere might influence the way in which they read the historical sources. The modes or patterns of recognition might even set an unconscious limit on their understanding or interpretation of historical sources. Viewed in this light, Asian scholars of Ancient History can have the possibility of carrying out significant research, because the prevailing historical image of the Greek and Roman world which we have today was originally created by the Greek and Roman authors and directly produced by modern and contemporary European scholars. Classical antiquity is, so to speak, a spiritual motherland for Europeans, if not part of the ancient history of their own countries. Therefore, it is not easy for European scholars to take an objective view of classical antiquity. I think that this task should belong to Asian scholars. Japanese scholars can study the ancient world in a way emancipated from the way of thinking peculiar to modern Europeans. I think that there are many topics which can be reconsidered from an Oriental point of view. For example: the relationship between the Greeks and the Persians; or the relationship between the Roman Empire and the so-called ‘barbarians’ (in particular, the Celtic or German tribes). In the study and historiography of Ancient History in Europe, the life, culture and history of indigenous people before Hellenisation and the Roman conquest have not been sufficiently appreciated except through recent archaeological studies. Japanese scholars are also able to reconsider the prob19

Minamikawa 2004 refers to the problems associated with the concept of ‘Romanisation’ using this analogy.

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lematic character of the concept of ‘Romanisation’, which seems to have been created in connection with British imperialism.20 In addition, ancient literacy is one of these topics, which is worth reconsideration, because research on ancient literacy has traditionally tended to concentrate on Greek and Latin. I do not intend to recommend that Japanese scholars simply adopt a kind of multicultural approach to the ancient world. Nevertheless, I expect them to identify suitable topics for discussion, emancipated from ways of thinking influenced by European identity: the results of their research will be stimulating and useful to European scholars. Eventually, they will contribute towards the progress of classical studies at an international level. Since the end of the Second World War, Japanese scholars and graduate students studying European and American history have been working very hard, like the Japanese government and people after the Meiji Restoration in the nineteenth century, following the slogan ‘Catch Up and Overtake Europe and the US’. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, however, Japanese scholars of the humanities should reconsider their own role and how they should study their subject. One of the most important purposes of studying Ancient History in Japan is, I believe, to understand the differences between Asian society and European and American society, tracing these back to their diverse historical origins, even in the age of globalisation. Keeping this purpose in mind, Japanese scholars of Ancient History will be able to make a major – and distinctive – contribution to the international academic community of Ancient History and Classics. At the same time they will also be able to set the pace for the community of scholars in Japan.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Birley, A.R. (2002) Garrison Life at Vindolanda: A Band of Brothers, Stroud. Bowman, A.K. (1994) Life and Letters on the Roman Frontier: Vindolanda and Its People, London. Bowman, A.K. and J.D. Thomas (1994) The Vindolanda Writing-Tablets (Tabulae Vindolandenses II), London. The Classical Society of Japan (ed.) (1998) Forty Years of Journal of Classical Studies, Tokyo. Craik, E.M. (1999) Classics in the West and in Japan, Reconstruction of Classics 3, 37-39. Culham, P. and E. Edmunds (eds.) (1989) Classics: A Discipline and Profession in Crisis?, Lanham - London. Editorial Board of the Journal Kodai (ed.) (2000/2001) Bibliography: The Ancient Mediterranean World. Studies by Japanese Scholars in the 20th Century, Kodai 11/12, 1-203. Fujinawa, K. (1983) The Origin of Historiography: The Greeks and Their History, Tokyo (in Japanese). — (1989) Herodotus, the Father of History, Tokyo (in Japanese).

20

Nor should historians in Japan forget the Japanese experience of imperialism and colonialism before the end of the Second World War.

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Kobayashi, M. (1999) La cultura classica occidentale nelle università giapponese, Acme 52, 161169. Matsudaira, C. (1971) Japanese Attitude towards the Classics, in The Proceedings held at Delphi in 1969, Athens, 150-155. Minamikawa, T. (2003) Roman Empire beyond the Ocean: Britain and the Romans, Tokyo (in Japanese with English summary). — (2004) Aspects of Social and Cultural Change in the Ancient World: Hellenization, Romanization and Christianization. General Introduction, Kodai 13/14, 131-133. Momiyama, A. (1999) The Han Empire and Its Frontier, Tokyo (in Japanese). Murakawa, K. (1986-1987) Collected Works of Kentaro Murakawa, 3 volumes, Tokyo (mostly in Japanese). — (1992) Macroscopic View of Ancient History, The Monthly Report (Japan Society for the Promotion of Science) 45/1, 70 (in Japanese). Nagata, H. (1989) A Diplomatic Study of Chü-yen Han Wooden Strips, Kyoto (in Japanese). Nara National Research Institute for Cultural Properties (ed.) (1991) The Site of Prince Nagaya’s Mansion in Heijo Capital and Wooden Tablets, Kyoto (in Japanese with English summary). Sakaguchi, T. (1924) Greek Civilisation in World History, Tokyo (in Japanese). Tanaka, M. (1968-1990) Complete Works of Michitaro Tanaka, 26 volumes, Tokyo (in Japanese). Tomiya, I. (2003) Ancient China in the Wooden and Bamboo Strips, Tokyo (in Japanese). The University of Tokyo (ed.) (1986) One Hundred Years of the University of Tokyo, History of the Faculties 1, Tokyo, 643-660 (in Japanese). Wiseman, T. (ed.) (2002) Classics in Progress: Essays on Ancient Greece and Rome, Oxford. Yaginuma, S. (1997) A Brief History of Classical Studies in Japan, Kleos 2, 311-318. Yuge, T. (1964) The State and Society of the Roman Empire, Tokyo (in Japanese). — (1977) The Mediterranean World and the Roman Empire, Tokyo (in Japanese).

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THE VALUE OF POPULARIZING ALEXANDER THE GREAT AND THE CLASSICS Robin Lane Fox

1. CLASSICS AT RISK One of the Louvre’s biggest paintings is Ingres’s Apotheosis of Homer (1827). Against the background of a garlanded temple (with Ionic pillars, appropriate for an east Greek poet) great Homer sits in majesty while the great names of world literature pay homage, looking up from below or assisting the worshippers who honour the divine poet. Dante is there, with Virgil of course, but so are Shakespeare, Racine, Corneille and many others. There is, however, nobody born in Germany. Ingres was more prophetic than he knew. It is not just that the study of Homer as an oral poet has not been one of German scholarship’s recent strengths. It is that Germany, the former beacon of classical scholarship, learning and reception, is being cut off from the study of the world’s greatest poet by cuts inside its universities. Money is reduced from on high, and administrations are left to fight over its allocation, with a strong hint that ‘vocational’ or ‘business’ subjects are the ones which will draw most customers and do most for the economic state of the nation. They do least for its moral and ethical awareness. These ends are satisfied, instead, by publishing targets for the enlistment of as many ‘diverse’ social groups as possible into the only courses remaining on offer. Even here, Homer challenges our ideas of what is possible for a human being. He could not read and he could not write: the ancients believed he was blind. Neither he (nor they) knew anything about his personal life. Yet he remains the supreme poet, an example to an age for whom illiteracy is a ‘scandal’ and ‘disability’ in need of legislation to take away its stigma. The funders and organizers of German universities will end up with the distinction of having made Homer inaccessible to the next generation of German students, those who satisfy the bureaucratic scale by ‘accessing’ a university. In France, Ingres’s big picture of Homer’s divinization was made a centrepiece for the crowds at the Louvre’s big exhibition of the painter’s work. In spring 2006, the French captions, catalogues and wall-charts did not yet need to explain who Homer was. In January 2004, the national Le Figaro newspaper had published an admirably argued plea for increased teaching of the classical languages in French schools and universities. The author, the internationally-honoured Professor Jacqueline de Romilly, wrote it with the clarity and commitment of her life’s teaching and writings, both scholarly and ‘popular’. In December 2005, Le Figaro returned to the question in a second interview with her because her first article had led to ‘thousands’ of letters of support still being sent in to the newspaper’s of-

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fices. De Romilly had argued for the ethical value of ancient history and literature, for its sense of a civic community and its warnings on the dangers of excessive individualism. Many other arguments could be advanced, but the recent upheavals in French cities gave these ones a particular force. Her most striking argument was that nowadays, the ‘classics’ and their values do not belong to anybody or to any one controlling group. They are pre-Christian and are not propagated by a sect or church. They are pre-Islamic and are not owned by any one nationality. They are therefore accessible to all, without the need for any prior religious or national commitment. Being old values, intelligently argued and functional for a thousand years, they take us back behind the values of our own world’s religions. There are no ‘pagans’ nowadays: ‘pagan’ is the Christians’ own word for pre-Christian Greeks and Romans. But their values make us reflect on ours, just as our values make us reflect on theirs too. I wonder if a similar article by as distinguished a German professor has been published nationally and especially if it has caused so many thousands of letters in support. In Britain, our former Minister of Education, the Labour Party’s Charles Clarke, told a television interviewer in 2002 that he would not mind in the least if studies like ‘classics’ or ‘medieval history’ disappeared. The result was a flood of outraged comments in newspapers and a withering attack on his credentials to be a spokesman for education at all. It led him to withdraw his ‘reported’ comments and insist that he had not meant them. He had, of course, but these subjects have a high status among the class who write and comment in Britain and it obliged him to conceal his ignorant views. He has not repeated them since, but he was promptly changed from running Education. He now has no ministerial post. The difference between Germany (where classics are being ‘rationalized’ and phased out) and France and Britain is certainly not a pronounced difference in the content of their state-funded schooling. In Britain, state schools also do not offer Homer or any ancient Greek literature: they are not on the ‘national curriculum’. In France, even Latin (in a Catholic country) is retreating into the privatelyfunded sector. In Britain, a classicist who is trained young has to have parents who will pay heavily for schooling. In Britain you can start (and excellent students do) at university, learning Greek and Latin from the beginning. But a confident facility is a rare result. The difference, rather, is that France and Britain still have a vocal, ‘popularized’ respect for the classics and their appeal. I think that the ‘popularizing’ of these subjects is more widely practised in these countries, and that the result is a public who have a respect for them and a sense of why they matter. In turn, they include sharp minds who know little or no Greek but who put plain, hard questions to classical ‘professionals’, thus keeping them more alert. On present evidence, Germany will lose such a wider constituency for the classical world because the subject will soon become entirely professional in a very few centres indeed. No doubt the bureaucrats will then rename them ‘centres of excellence’: they have started to do so in Britain. In them, supposedly ‘excellent’ professionals will speak only to other ‘professionals’, as if the history of a

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thousand years or the divine Homer are subjects as rarefied as advanced theoretical physics. The result may still be impressive, but other dimensions of the subject and its place in people’s literary, artistic and ethical lives will be lost. I wish to support this view from my own experience, because I helped with a classical ‘popularization’ which reached more millions than any other popularization of a classical subject in this century (so far). It owed a major debt to a previous generation of German schooling. It was backed by German finance and although its reception was, to say the least, very turbulent, its making and ‘takings’ were on a financial scale which will probably elude most of the new German intake on business courses. An ossifying business-culture is replacing the ‘happy few’ who once studied Classics in Germany instead. But Classics can still attract cash.

2. VIEWING AND CONSULTING My role as a ‘popularizer’ has been both through books and, for me less predictably, through film. Before I touch on the particular film and its value (some would say its cautionary value) I would like to compare, very generally, the range and popular ‘outreach’ of the two media. Classical scholars teach, lecture and write books. Sometimes, they try to reach a wider audience than their own paying pupils. Sometimes they believe that they have written accessibly for a ‘popular’ audience, but then fail to reach more than two or three thousand readers. The printed word is no longer the main popular medium nor is it the only one which lives on and lasts. Professional classicists are all dependent on it and certainly we value it most, reviewing ‘popular’ books, enjoying to grumble about our colleagues’ versions of one and thereby ‘keeping up standards’. Beyond the library, we eventually go home and almost all of us (especially parents) confront a television. Television claims audiences on a far greater scale, millions rather than thousands, even if many of the ‘viewers’ are not really watching or concentrating on a whole programme. Television is a background presence in very many homes, but those homes are included in the TV channels’ allimportant measures and ratings. Authors prefer their own sales figures, but books, too, are often bought with good intentions and left wholly or partly unread. Unlike television programmes, they are given as presents: four-fifths of British book sales are at Christmas. So far from ‘popularizing’, gift books often lie around unread, filling shelves, attracting dust but not spreading any knowledge. Nonetheless, even after the semi-viewers are deducted, television is the medium with the vastly greater outreach. Historians, at least, are not wholly reluctant to work for it, although producers now force compromises and the days are sadly gone when the king of British ‘TV dons’, the historian A.J.P. Taylor, was allowed to lecture without aids or visual distractions. He spoke so spell-bindingly that he retained big popular audiences. Television audiences are often casually acquired

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while they flick from channel to channel or try out a programme on hearsay with the reassurance that it can be switched off or switched to something else. Good TV programmes live on on DVDs, but when they are screened they are all subject to the ruthless law of the viewing jungle: if they are briefly boring, the audience will melt away to a less dreary competitor. Beyond television lies film, a medium of which scholars have been traditionally wary, while relishing tales of Hollywood’s preposterous waste or ignorance. Yet films have a great advantage for thoughtful popularizers. Their audiences have chosen to pay and, with few exceptions, they will sit out the whole presentation, attending to it at a committed level. Films also live on through the DVD market, which now makes up half of a major movie’s expected takings. DVDs can be given explanatory features, including commentaries by a historian or a relevant expert. They can even show a reshaped version in which a director, unlike a TV producer, is allowed to adjust his screened version’s ‘mistakes’ and include or arrange the scenes which he would now prefer. Popular, serious and even specialist tastes can be addressed by separate accompanying soundtracks. Films then move on to TV all over the world. Yet few historians have the chance to work on a film (history films are still rare) and classical scholars are even less in demand to help with them. Until autumn 2004, there had been only two big Hollywood ‘classics’ films in the previous fifteen years, Gladiator and Troy. Gladiator’s director, Ridley Scott, did consult the Harvard expert on public shows in the arena at Rome, Kathleen Coleman. She wrote detailed answers to questions and a careful critique of the script, but none of her historical corrections was picked up. Eventually, she published an account of her dissatisfaction and her sense of futility, although the film still wanted to cite her as its consultant.1 Given its minimal historicity, classicists can only sympathize with Coleman’s reaction, successful though the film proved to be financially. Wolfgang Petersen’s Troy, by contrast, could appeal to an even greater ‘expert’: Homer himself (who was then miserably betrayed without any right (or need) of redress). Experts in Mycenaean and Bronze Age archaeology were consulted, but their comments were mainly on the sets, objects and interiors. The results suggest that they were not too influential either. After a poor start in cinemas and a chorus of critical derision Troy sold very strongly, especially on DVD, and pleased its commercial backers. From spring 2002 until January 2005, I acted as the one historical consultant to a film with a much closer link to history and a far wider attempted range across four ancient cultures: Oliver Stone’s Alexander.2 The project’s main producer and courageous backer was the German-born ‘mogul’ Moritz Borman, director of Intermedia Films. Alexander grew from a long-held ambition in Oliver Stone’s mind thanks to an initial submission by the Munich-based film producer, Thomas Schühly, in 1989. Behind Borman and Schühly lay the years of an early schooling in Latin and classical civilization in schools in Bavaria: Schühly had gone on to a 1 2

Coleman 2004. Lane Fox 2004.

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study of Plato and other philosophers and was the ‘godfather’ to Stone’s initial scripting. Both of them then brought financial partners into what became a complex pyramid of backers, distributors and insurers. Borman’s own public media company, IMG, played a crucial role: without German backing the film would never have been made. Not only was it to be a huge business venture (how many such ventures have come directly out of a subject studied only on ‘business studies courses’?). Its ‘making’ was executed on a scale which made even Gladiator seem small. More than a thousand soldiers were trained for months in long-dead ancient tactics and historically-based weaponry. Big battles and army scenes were staged in Morocco and Thailand and up on the borders of Laos. Babylon, Macedon, India, Bactria: all these locations were re-styled for the big screen. Yet the shooting schedule (92 days) was only three-quarters as long as the simpler and more concentrated schedule for Troy. The budget was no bigger than Troy’s, and much less than the film Titanic (admittedly it was still 160 million dollars). It will be years before we see such a film about the classical world again, let alone one with such a base (but not a constant foothold) in ancient history. One reason is that the critics almost universally attacked it and in parts of America tried to kill it.3 They expected a Gladiator and got a complex film which they dismissed as a muddle. In fact, it took in 170 million dollars during its first run at the global box office world-wide. In August 2005 it came out in two versions on DVD and in four months sold well over a million copies in America. The film was then extremely profitable on TV all over the world. As a result Warners asked Stone to return again to his vast pile of filmed material and try a third, longer cut. He came up with three hours and fifty minutes, broken (like Laurence of Arabia) with a strategic interval. The result, perhaps surprisingly, is far the best version of the film. Following a suggestion from a fan, Stone brought the Gaugamela battle up much nearer the beginning. We start with Alexander at his greatest, shown in new scenes. Colin Farrell’s performance regains its original strength and variety. So do the big battles. The film is much less linear and has a much more satisfying pace. There is even more in it for keen classicists. I am pleased to have sent Val Kilmer on set with lines about the mythical Titans which derive from the fifth-century AD Platonist Olympiodorus. The expectation is that this long Final Cut will be seen even more widely on TV channels and even more profitably as it falls into two programmes, not one. It is the Alexander which all classicists should see on DVD. Admittedly, my main terms as a consultant were unusual. In return for answering questions, I stipulated that I wished to ride in the first ten of every major cavalry charge which Oliver Stone was to film in his movie battles. I also wished my name to be preceded in the credits by the words ‘And Introducing…’. The second demand was impossible, as these matters are professionally significant and (to say the least) I am no actor. Graciously the BBC granted me it instead in a documentary film which they made about my involvement. As for the first condi3

For a different approach see especially Chaniotis 2008; cf. Petrovic 2008; Wieber 2008.

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tion Oliver Stone, typically, granted it, although he thought it crazy. Being Oliver (not Ridley Scott), he even put me at the front of his biggest battle’s crucial charge and then put the scene in his film. So, I can claim a unique view of ‘film and history’, the view of a popularizer with the biggest audience ever reached (and, at times, disconcerted) by any classical historian. It is a view not only ‘from the horse’s mouth’ but from between the horse’s ears, dressed in armour, with a ten-foot lance in one hand, dust clouds rising in the desert, and (historically correct) no stirrups, even at the gallop.

3. OLIVER STONE’S ALEXANDER Whether viewers like it or not, they do not easily forget Stone’s epic. It is by far the most widely-seen representation of a Greek world based on ancient history. It is not always accurate history, but it is a point of contact, an unusual one, with ideas of heroism, myth, sexuality, battle, religion and parenting in ways which film-going scholars now love to dispute, contest or admire. It certainly leaves viewers thinking and feeling that they have touched on a world far removed, but also not wholly removed, from their own. I would like to make a few summary statements about it, and then say a bit about ‘popularizing’ and its differing value in differing bits of classical studies. Alexander is not a simply or ‘cheaply’ constructed film. Oliver Stone once described it to me as a ‘wheel with five spokes, turning in three dimensions of time’. The ‘time’ is the future (the 280s BC, the time-line of an elderly Ptolemy who did indeed, in my view, write his history of Alexander in his older age). Ptolemy and his memories are characterized strongly as his own, rather than being ‘Stone’s own sermon’ (as facile critics chose to mis-interpret them). The ‘time’ also includes a past which Ptolemy makes ‘present’, as he tries to recall it: Alexander’s life, from c. 350 BC to 323 BC, from the age of six to thirty-two (his death). That ‘past’ also draws on a further ‘past’, Alexander’s own earlier memories, particularly the conflicts and violent scenes involving his parents in Macedon. In the cinema version, most of this particular ‘past’ was amalgamated into one block (after Cleitus’ murder), a format which the sample audiences in California urged on Oliver before distribution. In the DVD’s ‘Director’s Cut’ Stone returns to showing a bit by bit sequence of this earlier past, presenting it not as one ‘flashback’ but as he intended, a ‘parallel story’ touched off in Alexander’s mind by similar events later on in his life. Stone interpreted Alexander’s life as one which repeated itself, as if similar conflict and tension kept recurring as he grew older. In late July 2004, only months before the film’s November premiere, this complex ‘parallel’ structure was the one which he was preferring. The Director’s DVD now goes back to it giving it a greater pace and a more challenging range of implications. The Final Cut is even more artfully inter-cut. Within these two or three time frames (‘future’ Ptolemy; ‘present’ Alexanderstory; ‘past-present’ dramas of young Alexander c. 337-336 BC), each separate context has a distinctive lighting and colour-coding: a bright, crisp grey-white for

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Ptolemy; enhanced sunlight, clean whites and blue sky for youth in Macedon; desert-gold, dust and blood for battle; the blues and gold luxury for Babylon; the reds and chocolate browns for Roxane’s Bactria; orange and pink-and-green for sultry India; a fraught, almost psychedelic colouring for the last days in Babylon. The sunlit childhood is evoked as a cloudless memory, whereas at the end of Alexander’s life the clothes worn by Olympias have turned black and the lighting and decoration are closing round her. Many feel that the death scene of Alexander’s supremely-loved male Hephaestion is both too sentimental and too stereotyped. I am one of the many who find the scenes which follow it, from Alexander’s assault on Roxane (recalling his father’s assault on his mother), his final psychedelic drinking party and the amazing re-runs of battle and significant moments, lit at times as if by flames, while Alexander lies dying, to be free, final brush strokes of Stone’s genius, like nothing we have seen in previous epic films. How far is any of this long-planned enterprise ‘historical’ or ‘classical’? I learned, as a historian, what film makers cannot do: even in three hours, so much has to be left out, and so events (always in the knowledge of their true place) had to be combined into scenes that could be fitted in (for instance, Alexander did pay off his army’s debts, but not when he married Roxane, and so forth). I learned that a paying audience imposes its own censorship. There has to be a big battle within 25 minutes of the beginning. If not, the 16-25 year old majority will not relate to an ‘action’ film. I also did not realize how much of America is still homophobic. It is no use explaining publicly that ancient Greek (and Macedonian) societies were openly pederastic, Alexander included. ‘Gay cowboys’ are just about possible (way up on Broke Back Mountain, wrestling in a ‘macho’ sexual clinch and being way out of mainstream American culture). But a ‘gay’ world-conquering hero is out of the question, let alone one who fondly beckons a eunuch to bed. Christian clergy in Texas told their congregations that even the wish to see Stone’s Alexander was a sign that Satan had entered their heart. Their reason for deciding on this advice was that they had heard about a line which Stone gave to the narrator Ptolemy, taken (in fact) from my history book (about Alexander being defeated only by Hephaestion’s thighs). In reply Warner Brothers did massive market research: the film’s takings in ‘Middle America’ were very small, and the repeatedly-cited reason was that ‘we don’t want to see a gay conqueror’. Gays and the army do not mix in America, least of all in an epic film about a ‘hero’. The potential audience imposed its own censorship on Stone even while he was writing the script: the tone of any scene between Alexander and his beloved Hephaestion was the tone which he felt least free to exploit (in my view, the script is there at its least compelling). Scenes between Philip and Alexander’s mother, by contrast, had Stone’s typical pace and power, in a way which I found very effective. Film makers aim for sets with an ‘illusion of reality’. After years of reading and drawing, the brilliant production designer, Jan Roelfs, had looked at almost everything which any scholar now thinks we can know about the sites shown in the film. But the ‘illusion of reality does not need reality’: Roelfs wanted a ‘look’, one which would not bewilder or lose an audience which had vague preconceptions about how a place in another ancient country ‘must have been’. He car-

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ried us with him, but he also knew how little scholars still truly know about so much in the material world. Honest ones admitted as much to him and his designers. Yet an archaeologist recently complained to me about the wall ‘mosaics’ and the rounded shape of Ptolemy’s palace and study in Alexandria. The mosaics looked like ones back at Pella in Macedon. But she certainly did not know what the palace really did look like in c. 285 BC: we have none of it. Her idea of suitable wall decoration was a single plain band of colour: how dull, and how uninformative to an audience who would be beginning on a film about a remote era. Who is to say whether Ptolemy had wall-pictures, two recalling Alexander, like floor mosaics found at Pella? Why not? In a film those scenes of Alexander, his hunts and his battles set the scene, drawing viewers in. In a film the ‘look’ matters. In this film, much of the detail reinforces it, sometimes very subtly (look at the ‘Dionysiac’ grapes on Olympias’ bed hangings) and sometimes by distortion (the second big battle was set in a forest and jungle, not in ignorance of Alexander’s big Indian elephant battle, but because film makers know that a second battle in open flat country will have less impact, less of an ‘Indian’ pseudo-impact, if there has already been a first film battle on a big, bare open plain). Changes were made so as to vary the ‘look’ and give audiences a theme which would orient them (‘jungle’ = India; ‘seaside’ = back in Greece-Macedon). As a dramatist Oliver Stone wanted to cut ‘parallel stories’ from the past into similar events later in Alexander’s life. As a result, the order of that later life had to be changed so that the ‘parallel stories’ would unfold in a developing sequence, bit by bit. The last ‘parallel story’ is his mother Olympias’ reaction to Philip’s murder. For Stone, this acutely painful memory would best be brought back to Alexander’s mind by a near-fatal wound in battle, when all the trees turned purple and Alexander nearly died. Watch the film (again?) in his Final Cut, and you will see how and why the sequence runs as it does. My moral role as a historian was to tell Oliver Stone the order of the real events (he usually knew them anyway) so that nothing was dramatized in ignorance. It was easier to keep contributing when I was actually on set, drawing ‘blood’ from my Alexander’s battle enemies. History was constantly Oliver Stone’s springboard, but it had to be cut, inter-cut and re-shaped. Like an archaeologist insisting that only what is ‘archaeologically known’ could be shown, a historian wanting ‘nothing-but-history’ would kill a film dead. Babylon’s palace in the Persian era would have had to be an honest archaeological blank. Philip, Roxane and Olympias would have had to be silent. So would Alexander. We have no idea of any conversation which they actually had and very few words which our later sources try to attribute to them. Fiction, therefore, was built into the enterprise.

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4. IMAGE AND IMPACT Dialogue was invented, events were merged and taken out of context, strong interpretations of ‘character’ and physical appearance were imposed, objects and places were styled for a plausible ‘look’. Films may have a huge and haunting impact, but if these are the conditions, surely a profession of strictly ‘professional’ classicists is better off without them. If ‘Alexander’ owed any debt to German education of a previous generation, is it such a shame that this sort of education is being stamped out? Film betrayed fact and (in ways which are probably not yet always clear to us) reinforced ‘stereotypes’. With this conclusion I totally disagree. ‘What is the point of “popularizing”?’, one may ask. I would answer in several ways. ‘Popularizing’ affects the different branches of our subject differently: how can you really ‘popularize’ Homer or classical drama when the popular audiences cannot read the works in their original language? Betrayal here is inevitable and ‘popular’ books about classical authors or texts are indeed unsatisfactory: they can only aim at inspiring a wish to learn the original. Books about classical art are another matter. More could, indeed, be written with advantage for readers who will not put up with evasive jargon. Archaeology, too, is publicly presentable, although the technical detail of stratigraphy and dating is harder going and not enough is always said about the limits of the ‘answers’ archaeologists give. As texts become less accessible and literary theorists are suspicious of straight messages or meaning, text-free archaeology risks being overestimated as a source of knowledge instead. History, however, is another matter. Uncertainties abound, the technical underpinning is rightly admired, but historians inevitably ‘translate’ antiquity anyway (into their own language) and profit from the interplay between their own world and what they take to be the ‘ancient’ bit of world which they study. Intelligent outsiders can perfectly well attach to this activity, in which translation is ever-present. They will attach to it if a historian writes well and thinks clearly without hiding behind the fashionable jargon of his own small group. Historians are shaped, after all, by the world changing around them (hence we are right to go on re-writing the history of the Roman empire, say, or all-male democracy or the ancients’ use of animals: they look different now, to their look in 1960). Historians are well advised to talk, listen and engage with intelligent people in the modern world, especially from very different backgrounds. Other people pose unexpected questions, and historians are only as good as the questions they ask. Film, here, helps us to bring outsiders in and to pose questions which had previously not been raised directly. Its strength is its visualization. No archaeologist will ever be able to show us the sheer scale of battles like Alexander’s: they have left no recoverable relic. As a result, the biggest mass occasions of the Greek world have been lost to us. Until recently, ‘battle’ has been out of fashion with historians anyway. Stone’s Alexander used the latest technology to simulate armies of 47,000 (with Alexander) and 170,000 (with the Persians) and put them

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before us in an eagle-eye’s view. The details of every weapon and battle incident are not always historically accurate, but many of them are, and the resulting Gaugamela battle can be studied with profit at every level, including the level where historical sources differ or add other scenes. It is a wake-up call to social historians: how do we explain the equipping, financing, feeding, watering and obedient availability of such a vast crowd of males, waiting to kill each other? In all of Alexander scholarship it is quite hard to find a focussed set of answers. Many people find Stone’s Alexander too ‘agonized’, too hesitant, too much of a Hamlet figure, not enough of a Shakespearean Henry V. Are we really so sure we know what he was really like? Again, I think film challenges us. I would have emphasized different things, but I recognize (maybe more than film critics) that what we ‘know’ about Alexander and ‘expect’ is based on how he wished himself to be seen. We know quite a lot about Alexander’s ‘spin’, but it is we ourselves who infer a plausible personality behind it. A film reminds us of all the emotions and the conflicts which narrative sources omit. We may feel they are the wrong emotions, but then we are provoked into thinking ‘why?’. A film is witness to a particular ‘reception’ of a piece of history, presenting a look and also a view of how people interacted, why some dominated, others did not. Widely seen, it is an immediate way in, a new starting point: I am delighted to hear from teachers in America how a showing of Alexander to beginners helps to orient them (and dis-orient them), starting them off on a trail to find out what we do and do not know and to decide how they would have done it differently and why Alexander (and Oliver Stone) did as they did. The film has become a springboard. But there is more to it than its own ‘reception’ of an ancient era. There is also the whole question of its own reception, not just in America in 2004, but in Spain and Italy (where it was immensely successful), in Brazil or the Far East (likewise) or in Britain (where the press mostly savaged it, following America’s lead). What does all this ‘reception’ say about our world, too? ‘Liberating’ cities in Asia, following in father’s footsteps, having ambitions in the East: unwittingly, Alexander walked into another wasp’s nest (Bush’s America), quite apart from the issues of sex. In France, members of the respected CNRS have to list whatever work they do for ‘haute vulgarisation’ when they reply to their official assessments. In Britain, historians are respected for addressing wider audiences accessibly not trivially, so long as it is not all they do all the time. The result is the existence of a strong ‘popular’ interest in the classics and their world which will not allow their extinction in universities, though it has yet to reverse their deplorable extinction in state schools. My sense is that such a ‘popularized’ public does not exist in Germany to the same degree. Hence it is felt to be easier to kill off Greek professorships or cut classical archaeologists up and down the land. By helping with a film on Alexander, I helped German-born experts bring a way in to the subject to maybe a million, maybe more, in their own homeland, people to whom previously it meant nothing. It certainly provoked many of them, and I can only hope that it provokes them to study what we do (and do not) know,

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adjusting their image with evidence. There is plenty out there for all of you, but it is I, not you, who found out what it is like to charge on horseback at a line of charging war elephants. If you hire a German artist to paint my own apotheosis, I will insist on a lance in one hand, the reins to my trusted horse Gladiator in the other and Oliver Stone looking on with a smile, while an elephant disappears to the far right.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Berti, I. and M. García Morillo (eds.) (2008) Hellas on Screen: Cinematic Receptions of Ancient Literature, Myth and History, Stuttgart. Chaniotis, A. (2008) Making Alexander Fit for the Twenty-First Century: Oliver Stone’s Alexander, in Berti and García Morillo (eds.) 2008, 185-201. Coleman, K. (2004) The Pedant Goes to Hollywood: The Role of the Academic Consultant, in M.M. Winkler (ed.), Gladiator: Film and History, Malden - Oxford, 45-52. Lane Fox, R. (2004) The Making of Alexander, London. Petrovic, I. (2008) Plutarch’s and Stone’s Alexander, in Berti and García Morillo (eds.) 2008, 163183. Wieber, A. (2008) Celluloid Alexander(s): A Hero from the Past as Role Model for the Present?, in Berti and García Morillo (eds.) 2008, 147-162.

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LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS GÉZA ALFÖLDY is Professor Emeritus of Ancient History at the University of Heidelberg. His research centres on the history and epigraphy of the Roman Empire, on Roman social, military and administrative history as well as the historiography of the imperial and late antique periods. His major publications include Konsulat und Senatorenstand unter den Antoninen: Prosopographische Untersuchungen zur senatorischen Führungsschicht (1977), Römische Sozialgeschichte (1984), Die Krise des Römischen Reiches (1998), Städte, Eliten und Gesellschaften in der Gallia Cisalpina: Epigraphisch-historische Untersuchungen (1999). He is one of the editors of Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum. KAI BRODERSEN is Professor of Ancient Culture and President of the University of Erfurt. His research focuses on Greek and Roman historiography, ancient geography, the social and cultural history of the Greek and Roman world as well as the reception of antiquity. His books include Appians Abriss der Seleukidengeschichte (1989), Terra Cognita: Studien zur römischen Raumerfassung (1995), Die Sieben Weltwunder: Legendäre Kunstund Bauwerke der Antike (1996), Asterix und seine Zeit (2001). ANGELOS CHANIOTIS , former Professor of Ancient History at the University of Heidelberg, is Senior Research Fellow at All Souls College at the University of Oxford. His research focuses on the social and cultural history of the Hellenistic World and the Roman East, Greek religion, and Greek epigraphy. His books include Historie und Historiker in den griechischen Inschriften (1988), Die Verträge zwischen kretischen Poleis in der hellenistischen Zeit (1996), and War in the Hellenistic World: A Social and Cultural History (2005). He is senior editor of the Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum and director of the project ‘The Social and Cultural Construction of Emotions: the Greek Paradigm’ (Advanced Investigator Grant of the European Research Council, 2009-2013). ELIZABETH CRAIK is Professor Emerita of Classics at the University of St. Andrews and former professor at Kyoto University. Her main area of research is Greek medicine and the study of the Hippocratic writings. She has edited with translation and commentary Euripides’ Phoenician Women (1988) and Hippocrates’ Places in Man (1998). She has edited several collective volumes and authored The Dorian Aegean (1980) and Two Hippocratic Treatises: On Sight and On Anatomy (2006). ALEXANDER DEMANDT is Professor Emeritus of Ancient History at the Free University of Berlin. His research interests range from the history of the Roman Empire and Late Antiquity, to the history of science, cultural history, and modern history. His books include Der Idealstaat (1993), Antike Staatsformen (1995), Sternstunden der Geschichte (2000), Sieben Siegel. Essays zur Kulturgeschichte (2005), Über die Deutschen: Eine kleine Kulturgeschichte (2007), and Geschichte der Spätantike (2008). CONSTANZE GÜTHENKE is Assistant Professor of Classics at Princeton University. Her research focuses on Ancient and Modern Greek literature and culture, the Classical

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tradition, the history of Classical scholarship and Modern Greek studies. She is the author of Placing Modern Greece: The Dynamics of Romantic Hellenism, 1770-1840 (2008) and Greek Lives: Intimacy and the Romance of Classical Scholarship (in progress). THOMAS HARRISON is Rathbone Professor of Ancient History and Classical Archaeology at the University of Liverpool. His research is primarily concerned with Greek history and historiography, Greek religious thought, and the origins of history-writing. He is the author of The Emptiness of Asia: Aeschylus’ Persians and the History of the Fifth Century (2000), Divinity and History: The Religion of Herodotus (2000), Greeks and Barbarians (2002). FRANÇOIS HARTOG is Professor at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales (EHESS) in Paris. His research interests focus on intellectual history and historiography from the ancient to the modern period. His works include The Mirror of Herodotus: The Representation of the Other in the Writing of History (1988), Régimes d’historicité: Présentisme et experience du temps (2003), Anciens, Modernes, Sauvages (2005), and Vidal-Naquet, historien en personne (2007). SALLY C. HUMPHREYS is Professor Emerita of History, Anthropology and Greek of the University of Michigan and University Professor at the Central European University (Budapest). Her research is dedicated to the social anthropology of the Greek world, Greek religion, and Modernity’s Classics. She is the author of Anthropology and the Greeks (1978), The Family, Women, and Death: Comparative Studies (1983), and The Strangeness of Gods: Historical Perspectives on the Interpretation of Athenian Religion (2004). ANNIKA KUHN is a Rhodes Scholar at the University of Oxford, reading for a D.Phil. in Ancient History at Christ Church College. Her research interests lie in the social and cultural history of the Graeco-Roman East as well as Greek and Latin epigraphy. She is working on the Roman elite in Asia Minor in the Early and High Empire. CHRISTINA KUHN, Postdoctoral Research Fellow in the project ‘The Social and Cultural Construction of Emotions’ at the University of Oxford (funded by the European Research Council) and assistant editor of the Supplementum Epigraphicum Graecum, will be joining Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford, as Fellow and Tutor in Ancient History in October 2009. Her research focuses on the political, social, and cultural history of the Roman Empire. She is currently preparing a study on The Culture of Political Discourse in Roman Asia Minor for publication with OUP. ROBIN LANE FOX is a Fellow and Tutor in Ancient History at New College at the University of Oxford. His research focuses on the Age of Alexander the Great and the relation between the pagan and early Christian religions of the Roman Empire. He is the author of Alexander the Great (1973), Pagans and Christians (1986), The Unauthorized Version: Truth and Fiction in the Bible (1993), The Classical World: An Epic from Homer to Hadrian (2005), and Travelling Heroes: Myth and History in the Age of Homer (2008).

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TAKASHI MINAMIKAWA is Professor of European History at Kyoto University. His research is concerned with the political and social history of the Roman Empire, the history of the Roman provinces, and Romanization. He is the editor of Material Culture, Mentality and Historical Identity in the Ancient World: Understanding the Celts, Greeks, Romans and the Modern Europeans (2004) and the author of Roman Emperors and Their Age: A Study of the Political History of the Roman Empire in the Age of the Principate (1995), Five Good Emperors in the Roman History (1998), and The Roman Empire beyond the Ocean: Britain and the Roman (2003). JOSIAH OBER is Constantine Mitsotakis Professor in the School of Humanities and Sciences at Stanford University. His research interests centre on Athenian democracy and Greek political thought. His books include Mass and Elite in Democratic Athens: Rhetoric, Ideology and the Power of the People (1989), Political Dissent in Democratic Athens: Intellectual Critics of Popular Rule (1998), and Democracy and Knowledge: Innovation and Learning in Classical Athens (2008). STEFAN REBENICH is Professor of Ancient History at the University of Bern. His research focuses on the history of Sparta, Christianity in the Roman Empire, Late Antiquity, the reception of antiquity, and the history of scholarship in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. He is the author of Hieronymus und sein Kreis: Prosopographische und sozialgeschichtliche Untersuchungen (1992), Theodor Mommsen und Adolf Harnack: Wissenschaft und Politik im Berlin des ausgehenden 19. Jahrhunderts (1997), Jerome (2002), and Theodor Mommsen: Eine Biographie (2002; second edition 2007). THOMAS A. SCHMITZ is Professor of Classical Philology at the University of Bonn. His research centres on Attic rhetoric, Greek lyrics, literary theory, and the reception of classical literature. He has authored Pindar in der französischen Renaissance: Studien zu seiner Rezeption in Philologie, Dichtungstheorie und Dichtung (1993), Bildung und Macht: Zur sozialen und politischen Funktion der zweiten Sophistik in der griechischen Welt der Kaiserzeit (1997), and Moderne Literaturtheorie und antike Texte: Eine Einführung (2002; English edition 2007).

HEIDELBERGER ALTHISTORISCHE BEITRÄGE UND EPIGRAPHISCHE STUDIEN Herausgegeben von Géza Alföldy, Angelos Chaniotis und Christian Witschel 30. Géza Alföldy Städte, Eliten und Gesellschaft in der Gallia Cisalpina Epigraphisch-historische Untersuchungen 1999. IV, 380 S., 6 Taf., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-07633-3 31. Géza Alföldy / Brian Dobson / Werner Eck (Hg.) Kaiser, Heer und Gesellschaft in der Römischen Kaiserzeit Gedenkschrift für Eric Birley 2000. 509 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-07654-8 32. Andrea Scheithauer Kaiserliche Bautätigkeit in Rom Das Echo in der antiken Literatur 2000. 338 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-07465-0 33. Nadja Schäfer Die Einbeziehung der Provinzialen in den Reichsdienst in augusteischer Zeit 2000. 181 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-07723-1 34. Heike Niquet Monumenta virtutum titulique Senatorische Selbstdarstellung im spätantiken Rom im Spiegel der epigraphischen Denkmäler 2000. IV, 352 S., 8 Taf., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-07443-8 35. Werner Riess Apuleius und die Räuber Ein Beitrag zur historischen Kriminalitätsforschung 2001. IV, 463 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-07826-9 36. Géza Alföldy / Silvio Panciera (Hg.) Inschriftliche Denkmäler als Medien der Selbstdarstellung in der römischen Welt 2001. 231 S., 6 Taf., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-07891-7 37. Angelos Chaniotis / Pierre Ducrey (Hg.) Army and Power in the Ancient World 2002. VIII, 204 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-08197-9 38. Thomas Pekáry Imago res mortua est Untersuchungen zur Ablehnung der bildenden Künste in der Antike 2002. 211 S., kt.

ISBN 978-3-515-08248-8 39. Michael Peachin Frontinus and the curae of the curator aquarum 2004. 209 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-08636-3 40. Werner Eck / Matthäus Heil (Hg.) Senatores populi Romani Realität und mediale Präsentation einer Führungsschicht. Kolloquium der Prosopographia Imperii Romani vom 11.–13. Juni 2004 2005. VIII, 330 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-08684-4 41. Ioan Piso An der Nordgrenze des Römischen Reiches Ausgewählte Studien (1972–2003) 2005. 527 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-08729-2 42. Eftychia Stavrianopoulou „Gruppenbild mit Dame“ Untersuchungen zur rechtlichen und sozialen Stellung der Frau auf den Kykladen im Hellenismus und in der römischen Kaiserzeit 2006. 375 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-08404-8 43. György Németh Kritias und die Dreißig Tyrannen Untersuchungen zur Politik und Prosopographie der Führungselite in Athen 404/403 v. Chr. 2006. 203 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-08866-4 44. Jerzy Linderski Roman Questions II Selected Papers 2007. XII, 726 S., geb. ISBN 978-3-515-08134-4 45. Irene Berti / Marta García Morcillo (Hg.) Hellas on Screen Cinematic Receptions of Ancient History, Literature and Myth 2008. 267 S., 16 s/w-Tafeln, kt. ISBN 978-3-515-09223-4 46. Angelos Chaniotis / Annika Kuhn / Christina Kuhn (Hg.) Applied Classics Comparisons, Constructs, Controversies 2009. 259 S., kt. ISBN 978-3-515-09430-6

FRANZ STEINER VERLAG STUTTGART ISSN 0930-1208

FRANZ STEINER VERLAG STUTTGART ISSN 0930-1208