Essays in Global Color History: Interpreting the Ancient Spectrum 9781463236632

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Essays in Global Color History

Gorgias Studies in Classical and Late Antiquity

19

Gorgias Studies in Classical and Late Antiquity contains monographs and edited volumes on the Greco-Roman world and its transition into Late Antiquity, encompassing political and social structures, knowledge and educational ideals, art, architecture and literature.

Essays in Global Color History

Interpreting the Ancient Spectrum

Edited by

Rachael B. Goldman

gp 2016

Gorgias Press LLC, 954 River Road, Piscataway, NJ, 08854, USA www.gorgiaspress.com Copyright © 2016 by Gorgias Press LLC

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise without the prior written permission of Gorgias Press LLC.

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2016

ISBN 978-1-4632-0582-9

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Goldman, Rachael, editor. Title: Essays in global color history : interpreting the ancient spectrum / edited by Rachael B. Goldman. Description: Piscataway, NJ : Gorgias Press, 2016. | Series: Gorgias studies in classical and late antiquity ; 19 | Includes bibliographical references. Identifiers: LCCN 2016027599 | ISBN 9781463205829 Subjects: LCSH: Colors--Social aspects. | Symbolism of colors--History--To 1500. Classification: LCC QC495.8 .E87 2016 | DDC 535.6093--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016027599 Printed in the United States of America

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TABLE OF CONTENTS Table of Contents ................................................................................................................ v Acknowledgments.............................................................................................................. vii Notes on Contributors ....................................................................................................... ix List of Illustrations............................................................................................................ xiii Abbreviations ..................................................................................................................... xv Introduction .......................................................................................................................... 1 RACHAEL GOLDMAN Part I The Ancient Near East: Unraveling the Color Terminology for the Divine, the Sublime and the Ordinary

The Color of Fortune: The Role of Color in Mesopotamian Divination ................... 9 DUANE E. SMITH Colorful Garments of Mesopotamian Stone Statues ................................................... 31 ASTRID NUNN The Color Blue as an ‘Animator’ in Ancient Egyptian Art ......................................... 41 LORELEI H. CORCORAN The Origins, Development, Diffusion and Significance of Early Color Terminology ............................................................................................................... 65 DAVID A. WARBURTON Part II The Classical World: Reconfiguring the Human Face and Body

The Materiality of Color in Ancient Mediterranean Art .............................................. 97 JENNIFER M.S. STAGER Gold and Purple: Brilliance, Materiality and Agency of Color in Ancient Greece ....................................................................................................................... 121 ADELINE GRAND-CLÉMENT Men’s Cosmetics in Plato and Xenophon.................................................................... 139 VELVET YATES Plautus’ and Terence’s Colorful Pimps and Slaves ..................................................... 163 RACHAEL B. GOLDMAN v

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Color and Clothing in Artemidoros’ Dream Visions ................................................. 175 DENISE REITZENSTEIN Meaning and Materiality: Early Christian Theology of Color and Pagan Aesthetics ................................................................................................................. 191 KUNIBERT BERING Part III Asia and America: Interweaving New Worlds and Exploring Traditions

Perceptions of Color in Islamic Texts and Traditions with Special Reference to Shīʿī Sources............................................................................................................. 211 MAJID DANESHGAR Ancient Chinese ‘Five Colors’ Theory: What Does Its Semantic Analysis Reveal? ...................................................................................................................... 225 VICTORIA BOGUSHEVSKAYA Aztec Reds: Investigating the Materiality of Color and Meaning in a PreColumbian Society .................................................................................................. 245 ÉLODIE DUPEY GARCÍA Bibliography ...................................................................................................................... 265 Index .................................................................................................................................. 311

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS This book could not have been written or compiled under better circumstances. It was the right time to do it. Researchers, scholars, curators and lecturers know when their writing and work has reached the right time to be published and this has been the case with these essays. From the minute I suggested this topic and sent out the call for interest, the enormous enthusiasm and support could not have been better, either. The subject came to me when I was teaching the Survey of World History Part I and stopped to considered the many materials that helped make the various empires successful. I thought that there had to be a way to connect all of the ideas that I had with the work that way going on. The work that the contributors have done for this project is astronomical! The goal for the project involved getting these essays to ‘talk to each other’ and be in conversation with one another. Lorelei Corcoran and Denise Reitzenstein deserve special commendation for helping me to get the project into readable terms. They always inextricably knew when to reach out to me and even met me on several of my excursions making me feel welcome and comfortable with the essays. All contributors to the volume have enriched my life for the better and got me to see outside of the typical Western Tradition of art and history. The best of colleagues! My students in my Ancient History courses at The College of New Jersey gently prodded me with questions to consider. Most of this book came together while I was a Visiting Assistant Professor at The College of New Jersey. My gratitude extends to the use of their library and the Interlibrary Loan office. In particular, I would like to recognize Erin Ackerman, David Murrary, Dina Carmy, Andrew D’Apice, Bethany Sewell, Sharon Leggett and Elizabeth Maziarz. None of this book would take any recognizable form without your expertise. I would like to thank the School of Humanities and Social Sciences for their generous grants to travel and present my research and seek out other scholars in this field. To John Sisko, Interim-Dean of HSS and Cynthia Paces, Chair of the History Department, I extend my thanks. During the 2014–2016 academic years, I received an AFT Career Development Grant for travel to Berlin for much needed photographs. I also received Professional Development and Travel grants from the HSS, enabling me to double-check references in this book. In order to get other folks interested in the subject, I attended various conferences in my field and outside. Thanks are due to the Association of Ancient Historians for letting me chair a panel on ‘Coloring the Roman Mind’ at the annual meeting vii

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of the American Historical Association. The Classical Association of the Atlantic States gave me and other contributors of these essays plenty of room for exploration. In October 2014, I presented an earlier version of my essay at the annual meeting. I have incurred many debts. I owe many thanks to the following people who suggested ideas, people and books that dealt with this subject of ancient global color. Many suggested places to post and announce this project. They also provided good company when I had many questions: Kaius Tuori, Eric Adler, Athalya Brenner, Monica Jacobe, Nancy Rosenbaum, Daniel Desalvo, Zach Elliott, Amy Forss, Keith Jordan, Stephanie Jacobe, Prudence Jones, Rebecca Futo Kennedy, Tao L. Dumas, Adele Pier Puccio, Vincent Rone, Nik Overtoom, Marty Burke, Duane W. Roller, Beth Philips and Kathleen Brennan. I would like to thank Melonie Schmierer-Lee, publisher at Gorgias Press, for generously accepting this book and shepherding it through the difficult parts. It is not often that you can find a talented, good-humored and accessible publisher. You were the best publisher because you saw my project through. The work that Robin Johnson has invested in this project has been more generous and colossal than I can actually say. From the minute I introduced this project in 2014, I received some quizzical looks, when I told you the project (You want to do what? Why?), but warmed up to it very quickly. Every comma is in its place because of you. The photograph titles match up and don’t look bizarre. The translations are understandable. You are also an example to us all of what good writing can be and should be. I cannot tell how many times of my talks you attended and was the coach I needed. In Domo: To my mother and father, Karen and Gerald Goldman, and my brother, Jonathan Goldman, who had to share my life with 12 other people that they have never met nor laid eyes on, I am now happy to resume my previous life. I have had to explain this book project many times to family (Why are you doing this? Do they do this in your field?). Once they warmed up to the project, they cut out articles for me and generally helped with questions that I had ranging from technical and mundane to the pleasing and the right way of doing things. I would like to thank my family for always encouraging me to find the right path even if it’s a longer way of doing it. All mistakes are my own. Rachael Goldman February 2016 Shark River Hills, NJ

NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS Kunibert Bering holds a Ph.D. from the University of Bochum and is currently assistant professor at the Ruhr-Universität Bochum and the University of KoblenzLandau. He was Dean of the Faculty of Art-Related Sciences at the Academy of Arts in Düsseldorf until 2013. He is the author of many texts on art, aesthetics and design.

Victoria Bogushevskaya graduated from Beijing Language and Culture University, China, and received Honors in Chinese Philology from Far Eastern State University, Vladivostok, Russia. Her doctorate in Chinese Linguistics was awarded by the Institute of Asian and African Studies, M.V. Lomonosov Moscow State University, Russia. Victoria currently teaches Chinese Language and Civilization at Università Cattolica del Sacro Cuore (Brescia, Italy) and the History of Chinese Art at the University of Urbino, Italy. Her main fields of research include cross-cultural differences in color categorization, color naming, psycholinguistics, historical semantics and translation studies.

Lorelei H. Corcoran is the Director of the Institute of Egyptian Art and Archaeology and Professor of Art History at the University of Memphis. She holds a Ph.D. in Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations from the University of Chicago. Her numerous publications include Portrait Mummies from Roman Egypt (I-IV Centuries A.D.): with a Catalog of Portrait Mummies in Egyptian Museums and Herakleides. A Portrait Mummy from Roman Egypt, with Marie Svoboda. Some of her refereed articles include: ‘Masks,’ in The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Egypt and ‘A Case for Narrativity: Gilt Stucco Mummy Cover in the Graeco-Roman Museum, Alexandria, inv. 27808.’

Majid Daneshgar, Ph.D., is a lecturer in Religion and Islamic Studies at the Department of Theology and Religion, University of Otago, New Zealand. He previously published several articles and reviews on Qur’ānic and exegetical studies, Islam and politics, and Malay Islamic literature in peer-reviewed journals such as Oriente Moderno, Shi‘a Islamic Studies, Der Islam, Islam and Christian-Muslim Relations and others. He is the editor and review editor of Al-Bayān Journal of Qur’ān and Hadīth, published by Brill Academic Publishers, Leiden, the Netherlands, and also the Islam section editor of Open Theology, De Gruyter, Poland/Germany.

Élodie Dupey García holds a doctorate in the History of Religions from the École Pratique des Hautes Études in Paris (2010). She also completed a Masters Degree in Mesoamerican Studies from the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México ix

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(UNAM, 2003). During the academic year 2013–2014, she was a fellow in PreColumbian Studies at Dumbarton Oaks. Her research focuses on the cultural history of Pre-Columbian Mexico, especially on the topics of color and smell in Aztec culture. She is the author of several articles published in peer-reviewed journals, and she has contributed to numerous edited volumes on the history of color, and PreColumbian art and worldviews. Currently, she is writing a book on the materiality of color in Aztec culture.

Rachael Goldman holds a Ph.D. in History from the Graduate Center of the City University of New York. She is the author of Color-Terms in Social and Cultural Context in Ancient Rome, published by Gorgias Press (2013). Her article ‘The Multicolored World of the Romans’ was published in Glotta (2015). She has studied at the Summer Classical School at the American Academy in Rome and won awards from the New York Classical Club. Her articles and reviews have appeared in the Bryn Mawr Classical Review, The Classical Journal, Renaissance Quarterly and Studies in the Decorative Arts of the Bard Graduate Center. She has taught at Adelphi University, The College of New Jersey, Rutgers College, and at various schools in the City University of New York.

Adeline Grand-Clément is a lecturer in Ancient Greek History at the University of Toulouse (UT2J), and member of the research team PLH-ERASME. Her main research is in cultural, social and anthropological history, and her work has been particularly concerned with exploring cultural differences in perception, aesthetics and sensibilities, especially in the field of colors. She is also interested in the modern reception of Greek art and in the history of European archaeology. Her first book was published in 2011: La fabrique des couleurs. Histoire du paysage sensible des Grecs anciens (VIIIe-Ve s. av. n. è.), and she has written several articles on archaic sensitivity to colors and on ancient polychromy. Her research now broadens to explore the religious experience engaging all the senses (sight, smell, touch, sound, taste), focusing on their interplay during rituals.

Astrid Nunn, Ph.D. is currently an adjunct professor for Near Eastern Archaeology at the University of Würzburg. From 2008–2010 she completed a project, Kelainai / Apameia Kibotos and its Environs: Investigation of a Royal Palace in Phrygia. From 2010– 2012, she was involved in the preparation of an online database of the Mediterranean Collection of the Archäologische Staatssammlung (Munich). Her current research involves Polychromy of the Mesopotamian Stone Statues at the State Museum of Munich. Denise Reitzenstein studied Ancient History, History of Art and Auxiliary Sciences of History at the University of Munich. After staying abroad for more than a year at the German Archeological Institute in Rome and the University of Exeter, she received her Ph.D. with a prosopographical study, Die lykischen Bundespriester. Repräsentation der kaiserzeitlichen Elite Lykiens, published in the KLIO-Beihefte series in 2011. Working as an academic assistant at the Department of Ancient History at the University of Munich, she is now researching the cultural history and order of colors in Roman history and late antiquity.

NOTES ON CONTRIBUTORS

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Duane Smith is an independent scholar who studies cultural diffusion in the Ancient Near East. His current focus is on divination. He has published articles on the Mesopotamian origin of bird divination in Homer, ophiomancy in Mesopotamia and the Hebrew Bible, Akkadian prayers, wisdom literature, and several related topics.

Jennifer M.S. Stager received her Ph.D. in Art History in 2012 from the University of California at Berkeley, and holds degrees from Harvard University and the University of Oxford. Her dissertation, “The Embodiment of Color in Ancient Mediterranean Art,” discussed the abundance and use of polychromacity, particularly on sculpture. She was a GRI-NEH postdoctoral fellow at the Getty Research Institute in Los Angeles for the academic year 2012–2013. She is a guest curator for the exhibition Picasso and Rivera: Modernism and Ancient Art, appearing at the Los Angles County Museum of Art in Fall 2016.

David A. Warburton has degrees in Political Science (B.A.) and Archaeology (M.A.) from the American University in Beirut; his D.Phil, from the University of Berne, and the Habilitation from Paris I, Panthéon-Sorbonne, were both in Archaeology. A former Resident Director (Sana’a) of the American Institute for Yemeni Studies, he has participated in archaeological excavations and surveys in Switzerland, France, Syria, Iraq and Yemen, aside from having done a season as an epigrapher in the Valley of the Kings. He has taught archaeology, Egyptology, religion and ancient economics at universities in Switzerland, France, Denmark, Belgium, China, Egypt, and Germany. Currently with Topoi in Berlin, his articles on colors in Bronze Age Antiquity are among the most popular of his publications.

Velvet Yates holds a Ph.D. from Princeton University and is currently Director of Distance Learning in the Department of Classics at the University of Florida at Gainesville. Her publications include ‘Anterastai: Competition in Eros and Politics in Classical Athens,’ Arethusa 38.1 (2005), pp. 33–47; ‘The Titanic Origin of Humans: the Melian Nymphs and Zagreus,’ GRBS 44 (2004), pp. 183–198; and ‘A Sexual Model of Catharsis,’ Apeiron 31 (March 1998), pp. 35–57. She has been actively involved in promoting Ancient Digital Humanities, and in 2008 was awarded a grant from Provost’s E-Learning Initiative to develop The Glory That Was Greece into a distance-learning course.

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Colorful Garments of Mesopotamian Stone Statues (Astrid Nunn)

Fig. 1: Standing man from the temple of Ishtar in Assur, 25th-24th c. BCE. Berlin Vorderasiatisches Museum, VA 8142. © Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Photograph by Olaf M. Teßmer. Fig. 1a: Skirt, from middle brown to a darker brown combined with yellow ochre.

Fig. 2: Headless man with a whip, possibly from Larsa, beginning of the second millennium BCE. H. 12.6 cm. Berlin Vorderasiatisches Museum, VA 8791. © Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Photograph by Olaf M. Teßmer. Fig. 2a: Garment.

Fig. 2b: Hem, yellow ochre. Fig. 2c: Whip, brown.

Fig. 3: Bust of a woman with clasped hands, from Ur, beginning of second millennium. H. 14.5 cm. British Museum, BM 132101. © British Museum, London.

Fig. 3a: Red on the neck skin, black on the hem of the garment and reddish ochre on the garment. © Barbara Jändl, Archäologische Staatssammlung, Munich, Germany.

Fig. 4: Standing woman with clasped hands, from Ur, Old Babylonian. H. 51 cm. British Museum, BM 122933. © British Museum, London.

Fig. 4a: Reddish ochre pigment on garment, left side below clavicle. © Barbara Jändl, Archäologische Staatssammlung, Munich, Germany.

The Color Blue as an ‘Animator’ in Ancient Egyptian Art (Lorelei H. Corcoran) Fig. 1: Egyptian hieroglyphics illustrating Berlin and Kay’s theory of color terms.

Fig. 2: Alabaster bowl from Hierakonpolis. 6.1 x 12.1 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, MFA 98.1011. Photograph by the author. Fig. 3: Detail of the bowl in Fig. 2. Photograph by the author. xiii

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The Materiality of Color in Ancient Mediterranean Art (Jennifer Stager)

Fig. 1: Apulian, red-figure column-krater, c. 350–320 BCE. H. 20 1/4 in. (51.5 cm.) Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1950 (50.11.4). Attributed to the Group of Boston 00.348, obverse, artist painting a statue of Herakles. Image: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Fig. 2: Zeus and Ganymede (full view, front), c. 470 BCE. Terracotta with pigments. Olympia Museum. Image: Jennifer Stager, taken through the vitrine with overhead spotlighting, 2007. Fig. 3: Detail of pair, frontal. Image: Jennifer Stager, 2007.

Fig. 4: Detail of Zeus’ face. Image: Jennifer Stager, 2007.

Fig. 5: Detail of Ganymede’s face. Image: Jennifer Stager, 2007.

Fig. 6: Bluebeard(s). Watercolor depicting painted limestone pediment sculpture from the Hekatompedon on the Archaic Acropolis, mid-sixth century BCE. Image reproduced in Weigand (1904).

Fig. 7: Bluebeard(s). Painted limestone pediment sculpture from the Hekatompedon on the Archaic Acropolis, mid-sixth century BCE. Image: New Acropolis Museum. Gold and Purple: Brilliance, Materiality and Agency of Color in Ancient Greece (Adeline Grand-Clément)

Fig. 1: Detail of golden foil applied on the cnemida of a modern small statue, by Maud Mulliez. Fig. 2: One of the many shades produced by the purple-shell Hexaplex trunculus. Image: Dominique Cardon.

Aztec Reds: Investigating the Materiality of Color and Meaning in a PreColumbian Society (Élodie Dupey García)

Fig. 1: Tributes of red materials regularly paid to the Aztec empire. From left to right: spoonbill feathers (tlauhquecholli), bags of raw cochineal (nocheztli), and Spondylus shells (tapachtli). Detail from Matrícula de Tributos, fol. 9v, 12r, 13r. 16th c., Central Mexico. Biblioteca Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Mexico City.

Fig. 2: The god Xipe Totec in the center of a sun disk. Detail from Tonalamatl Aubin, pl. 16. 15th or 16th c., Central Mexico. Biblioteca Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Mexico City/ Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris.

Fig. 3: The god Xochipilli ‘dressed in feathers as a parrot’. Detail from Codex Tudela, fol. 17r. 16th c., Central Mexico. Museo de América, Madrid.

Fig. 4: Accoutrement of the representative of the sun god, with spoonbill feathers framing the sun disk like luminous rays. Detail from Bernardino de Sahagún, Códice Florentino, v. 1, book 2, fol. 135r. 16th c., Central Mexico. Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Florence.

ABBREVIATIONS Texts and translations of works discussed in these essays are listed in the Bibliography. Abbreviations for ancient authors and their works are taken from the Oxford Classical Dictionary, 4th edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). BNJ = Brill’s New Jacoby

(http://referenceworks.brillonline.com/browse/brill-s-new-jacoby)

CAD = Assyrian Dictionary of the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago

Cihai = Shu, X. (ed.) ‘Sea of Words’ Encyclopaedic Dictionary CIL = Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum ePSD = The Electronic Pennsylvania Sumerian Dictionary

(http://psd.museum.upenn.edu/epsd/nepsd-frame.html)

HYDZD = Hanyu Da Zidian (An Encyclopaedic Dictionary of Chinese Characters) ID = Inscriptions de Délos IG = Inscriptiones Graecae LSJ = The Liddell-Scott-Jones Online Greek-English Lexicon (http://stephanus.tlg.uci.edu/lsj)

OBI = Oracle Bone Inscriptions ODE = Oxford Dictionary of English, 3rd ed. PG = Patrologia Graeca

PIE = Pre-Indo-European

PL = Patrologia Latina

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INTRODUCTION RACHAEL GOLDMAN ‘If you open up a box of paints, there are numerous such stories hidden inside it. They are stories of sacredness and profanity, of nostalgia and innovation, of secrecy and myth, of luxury and texture, of profit and loss, of fading and poison, of cruelty and greed, and of the determination of some people to let nothing stop them in the pursuit of beauty.’ 1 −Victoria Finlay

DID COLOR HAVE A GLOBAL HISTORY?

To reframe the historian Joan Kelly’s question, ‘Did Women Have a Renaissance?’ this book seeks to examine the subject of color as it applies to the social and cultural history of the ancient world. 2 To a large extent, the idea for a collection of essays on ancient global color has its roots in Andrea Feeser, Maureen Daly Goggin and Beth Fowkes Tobin’s The Materiality of Color: The Production, Circulation, and Application of Dyes and Pigments, 1400–1800. 3 This seminal compilation, which expanded our understanding of the usage of color, considered many different types of media, ranging from painted tombstones in colonial Massachusetts, 19th century English samplers, and Shakespeare’s ink, to the use of cochineal dye in Mexico, the formula for Prussian blue, and the techniques of Chinoiserie wallpaper. By this diverse selection of subjects, the authors were able to help modern scholars delve into the minds of each of the societies being examined, bringing new primary sources into the canon for the study of color, pigment and dye. This book provided a fresh angle and an inspiration for further study, and in the case of this volume, explorations backwards in time.

Finlay (2004) 24. Kelly-Gadol (1977). 3 Feeser et al. (2012). 1 2

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The present collection of essays reflects the next generation of scholarship on the nature of color in antiquity. Scholars have previously dealt with this subject by translating color-terms, attempting to understand each color-term within the confines of a particular language, leading to a theory of a common development of terminology in all ancient languages. Later on, others have studied the polychromacity of ancient sculpture. But there have been few attempts to join these two isolated approaches together, taking into account both the physical evidence and the abstract theories of linguistic development. The contributors to this volume focus on the ancient world, defined as the culture of the Mediterranean from earliest times through the Roman Empire and early Christianity, and including the world of early Islam, early dynastic China, and preColumbian America. One theme that runs though this collection is that natural materials found in the ancient world are not limited to one geographical area: certain colors and materials that are valued in one culture may be similarly prized in another. Color was inextricably linked to the senses, and the authors of these essays also consider what color could contribute through sensory means, such as shining and texture, to the definition of beauty. Questions this volume seeks to address include the following: • How might we interpret how certain colors are used in magical spells or divination? • How might a particular color be used for religious versus ordinary purposes? • How are different classes (rulers, priests, slaves) portrayed when colorterms are used? • What do the ways ancient peoples dressed, masked or decorated themselves with color reveal about cultural attitudes?

These essays also reflect the subjects of various conferences, such as the FarbOrdnungen: Grundfarben in antiken Kulturen und ihre Rezeption, which took place at the Institut für Klassische Archäologie der Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität, Munich, September 4–5, 2014, organized by Denise Reitzenstein and Rolf Michael Schneider. Four essays by the participants (by Reitzenstein, Bogushevskaya, Warburton, and Goldman) have made their way into this volume. Other contributors (Stager and Dupey García) were scholars in residence at the Getty Research Institutes on Color (2012/2013) and Art and Materiality (2015/2016). This book represents the culmination of many projects.

THE ESSAYS

In his work Duane Smith considers the palette of colors used in Akkadian divination rites. He shows how the colors appearing in omens and portents were deemed to create significant outcomes, good or bad. These include the colors of well water, house plaster, household pests, livestock and sacrificial animals, celestial bodies and medical observations. Multicolored items have their own special meanings. The article seeks to show the way that Mesopotamians viewed nature in terms of hue, and the meanings they attached to the types of colors they viewed in their sphere of influence.

INTRODUCTION

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Astrid Nunn offers the results of spectroscopic analysis of various Mesopotamian stone statues, attempting to reconfigure them as they were originally painted in their predominant surviving colors of red, black, and brown. She particularly focuses on clothing, which for the Mesopotamians reflected status and wealth, and, as she points out, ‘one of the civilizing acts in the Epic of Gilgamesh is the clothing of the wild and naked Enkidu.’ She examines differences among male and female garments, clothing for the gods and various ranks of mortals, and such questions as whether they represent woolens or woven fabrics, plain or embellished with decoration. Hers is one of the first published studies on the subject of color in Mesopotamian sculpture. Lorelei H. Corcoran explores the use of the color blue in ancient Egyptian art where, on the whole, color lent a sense of corporeality to form and was not merely symbolic. She identifies the earliest use of the synthetic pigment Egyptian blue, and discusses the association of the color blue (ḫsbḏ) with its namesake, lapis lazuli, as well as with turquoise, faience and glass. The Egyptians, she argues, considered all of these materials equally valuable and equally associated with the single element that imbued their constructed images with a sense of living presence, luminescence. Therefore they used the color blue as a metaphor for animation. Corcoran concludes with a discussion of the qualities, origin, and nomenclature of the most exotic and mysterious of these scintillating materials, Libyan desert glass. David A. Warburton surveys the appearance of color-terms from their earliest known appearance in Mesopotamia, through Egyptian hieroglyphics in the Nile Valley, and into Mycenaean civilization, along with an examination of modern theories about early color terminology. He argues that by the Bronze Age, names for precious materials, such as lapis lazuli and jade, were the source of color words in ancient cultures, postulating that loanwords traveled through trade routes along with their highly-valued cargo. He discusses how (or whether) colors were ever conceptualized as abstract ideas or could be dissociated from the materials that they were part of, before the first millennium CE. He examines geosystems of colored elements from China to the Maya, the role of poetry and writing in spreading concepts of color, and offers possible etymological derivations of color terms in IndoEuropean and other ancient languages. In her essay, Jennifer M.S. Stager raises the issue of color as a feminine aspect in Western art history: ‘Bringing color and matter back into our approach to visual culture is, thus, part of a larger project of more equitable aesthetics.’ She takes up the ‘semantic confluence of material, color, and quality’ with an examination of Greek methods of applying color to terracotta sculpture, particularly the pair of Zeus and Ganymede from Olympia and the ‘Bluebeards’ from the Athenian Acropolis, all painted with blue pigment (kuanos). She suggests that when the shimmering hue was in place, this intensified the inner power that the sculpture could have over its viewer, creating a visual conversation between the living viewer and the sculpture that could potentially become alive. She is able to connect this effect with a larger vocabulary of the color blue in both Mesopotamian and early Greek poetry, and with the importance of decoration (kosmēsis) in early Greek architecture.

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In her case study, Adeline Grand-Clément considers how two materials and colors, gold and purple, functioned in combination as the most royal colors in antiquity. She examines literary references from Homer to Pliny as to how this pairing of precious metal and expensive dyed textile was used to clothe gods, heroes and rulers, supplementing the poetic literature with descriptions of actual religious rites. She also considers Greek sumptuary laws and attitudes toward luxury and foreignness, especially from the time of Alexander the Great on, when purple garments were adapted from Persian to Hellenistic royalty, and ‘there were right and wrong ways of using these symbols of excellence.’ Velvet Yates analyzes the appearance of the athletic aristocratic male as the ideal of the fifth-century Greek polis, contrasting this aesthetic paragon with the pale, sedentary craftsman, who is considered womanish, needing tanning makeup, and not fully able to achieve the mission of Athenian citizenship. She shows how the aristocratic bias of Athenian intellectuals could be so pronounced as to ‘reassign some men (craftsmen) to the category of ‘feminine,’ and some women (aristocratic wives) to the category of ‘masculine’.’ Yates examines male vs. female coloring in medical texts, vase painting and Aristophanes’ satires, and dissects literary works such as Plato’s Gorgias and Xenophon’s Oeconomicus to show the intersection of class and gender ideals as regards coloring and the use of cosmetics. Rachael Goldman examines the appearance of color-terms in Plautus’ and Terence’s comedies, especially terms with prefixes, which were used frequently and creatively by Plautus. Some of these color-terms appear only once in the extant literature and it may be suggested that Plautus created them. She proposes that the more descriptive and unusual color-terms were specifically used to mark slaves or foreign characters, so that they would stand out when they appeared on stage; the use of these terms also served to prepare the audience as to how to judge the characters according to physiognomic tropes. Through this study, Goldman considers how color-terms reveal attitudes toward slaves and foreigners in Roman society. Denise Reitzenstein returns to the subject of color in divination, this time focusing on the Oneirokritiká by Artemidoros of Daldis, a book on the interpretation of dreams from the second century CE. Dreams about clothing, of various types and colors, are listed with their possible meanings, which could vary according to the dreamer’s gender, class, or profession. Reitzenstein traces the meaning and associations of the Greek term ποικίλος in earlier literature as well as in Artemidoros’ work, and explores the dream implications of opposed color pairs such as white and black, and plain versus dyed fabric, especially the most expensive dye colors, purple and red. As she wryly concludes, the interpretation of a dream was not always strictly based on its content, but on what the dreamer wished or expected to hear. Kunibert Bering surveys the different ways that color manifested itself through the writings of the Apologists. Early Christian literature displays a range of emotions: visions of heaven included a panoply of hues, but earthly display of colorful luxury, especially women’s colored clothing and cosmetics, provoked stern condemnation. Theologians debated the materiality of color, whether God has a color, and how color is perceived. They revived Platonic debates about the role of art, whether colorful painting was illusory and deceitful, or served a useful role in promoting the veneration of saints. They often compare the act of painting to God’s creation. Ber-

INTRODUCTION

5

ing’s narrative of color historiography traces changes in perception of color and attitudes toward the uses of it in the late Roman Empire which had important implications for later art and culture. In the next essay, Majid Daneshgar explores the significance of color in fundamental Islamic texts. He traces references to specific colors (white, black, red, yellow, green, and blue) in the Qur’ān; colorful imagery in Islamic conceptions of paradise and hell; and how color plays a role in Islamic traditions (ahādīth) – from divination and apocalyptic prophecy, to personal grooming (Muslims regarded beard dyeing as signs of health and faith) and clothing (colors could have religious or political significance, such as yellow sandals in Islamic seminaries, or the black chādur in contemporary Iran). Besides tracing the historical roots of cultural attitudes toward various colors, Daneshgar deals with the role color has played in the everyday lives of Muslims down to the present. Victoria Bogushevskaya considers the symbolism of color as it is applied to traditional Chinese concepts of the natural order. She shows how colors function in the cosmic interrelationships among the five elements (wood, fire, soil, metal and water) and the five directions (N, S, E, W, and middle). She traces the history of connecting color with cosmological symbols and seasons, from the earliest period of the Shang oracle bone inscriptions (mid-2nd millennium BCE) to the end of the Han dynasty (220 CE). She also analyzes the etymology of the Chinese words and characters for ‘primary’ and ‘secondary’ colors, and their connection to the development of Chinese textile dyeing. Although Chinese cosmogony developed independently from Western concepts, Bogushevskaya draws striking comparisons with many other cultures. Throughout her essay Élodie Dupey García considers the way that Aztecs used the color red, as a natural resource and an economic commodity. She traces the use of various red materials, both vegetable and mineral, in Aztec civil and religious life, and in the production of the codices that survive as primary sources of information about Aztec culture. She traces the etymology of color words in the Nahuatl language, where the word for ‘color’ also means ‘something dyed’ − showing the essential connection between the material and the concept of color. Further she shows the association of red pigments (especially cochineal) with blood, luminosity and vitality, and how body painting and adornment with red ocher and feathers expressed and served Aztec cosmology.

COLOR AS A FRESH WAY OF SEEING

It is not uncommon for a new subject to become formalized and eventually become stale and rigid. But our intention in this collection of essays is to allow for the revisiting of topics, and to serve as an encouragement to take a fresh look at fields that otherwise seem antiquarian by nature or have not been considered from a new angle. These essays allow us to reevaluate how to study different works of art, for example, by considering the production methods used – or in the context of a society and its attitudes toward color. Color can be studied by examining a single hue and its first application, as used by the Egyptians or the Aztecs. Color can also be considered through primary written sources, including plays and philosophy, religious

6

ESSAYS IN GLOBAL COLOR HISTORY

and political writings, and spells and curses. In this volume the authors shift our attention to hue and color in order to gain an understanding of how other civilizations looked at the colors that filled their worlds. In so doing we may gain a greater understanding of their cultures and our global heritage.

THE COLOR OF FORTUNE: THE ROLE OF COLOR IN MESOPOTAMIAN DIVINATION DUANE E. SMITH If (a well’s) water is red, he will acquire grain. – Šumma Alū: 17:26 If the sun rises and it is white, there will be famine. – Enuma Anu Enlil: 26 I:18 If a black goat gives birth to a red (kid), catastrophe for the herd. – Šumma Izbu: 18:-14’

Color qualifiers played an important role in determining the portent of many ancient Mesopotamian omens. This essay will explore this role. After a discussion of the nature of the evidence, I will show that color qualifiers are used in four different ways in Mesopotamian omens: a single color qualifier used as diagnostic of portent; a color qualifier taken together with some other element used as diagnostic of portent; multiple color qualifiers used as diagnostic of portent; and color qualifiers used without being diagnostic of portent. In the course of this discussion I will seek to determine tendencies, if not absolute rules, for how ancient Mesopotamian diviners understood color as influencing portents of good or bad fortune. Color qualifiers are but one of several possible diagnostic components in Mesopotamian omens. Others include various things being on or moving toward the right or left; being above or below; being inside, outside, or on something; geometric patterns; unusual events; and various configurations of things sometimes taken in combination. A typical omen having a color qualifier as a diagnostic component is Šumma Ālu ina Mēlê Šakin (hereafter Šumma Ālu) 17:26:

9

10

DUANE E. SMITH DIŠ A-ša SI.A ŠE.AM TUK-ši 1

If (a well’s) water is red, he will acquire grain.

While this omen will be considered further in the context of several surrounding omens dealing with well water, a couple of observations can be made here. First, like all the omens in Mesopotamian omen series, this omen in structured as a conditional sentence, with a protasis followed by an apodosis, if P, then Q. 2 Protases are introduced in Akkadian by šumma, ‘if,’ generally written ideographically DIŠ, as in this example, or BE. 3 The connective, ‘then,’ is not expressed. Second, following neo-Assyrian scribal practice in writing literature, this omen is written in the Standard Babylonian dialect of Akkadian with a heavy dependence on ideograms. Coming into use in the last quarter of the second millennium BCE or a little before, Standard Babylonian is a somewhat contrived Akkadian dialect preferred by Assyrian and Babylonian scribes when writing literature. While many Mesopotamian omens and even whole omen series have Old Babylonian precursors, most of the examples used in this essay will be from Standard Babylonian sources. Verbs in omen protases are commonly in the preterite or the perfect aspect. Nominal sentences also occur in some protases. Apodoses may contain a subject and complete predicate in a verbal clause, ŠE.AM TUK-ši (še’ām irašši), ‘he will acquire grain;’ an incomplete predicate, NU DÙG-ub ŠÀ-bi (lā ṭūb libbi), ‘unhappiness of heart,’ with or without a subject; or sometimes only a single noun or verb, niziqtu, ‘grief.’ Verbs in apodoses, when they occur, are generally, but not exclusively, in the durative aspect, irašši. Often apodoses are drawn from stock phrases used with many different proteses. For example, EN É BI BA.UGx, ‘the owner of that house will die’ is extremely common over a wide range of protases. Some omens have multiple, occasionally conflicting, apodoses. For example Šumma Ālu 1:42: DIS URU túb-ki-na-šú SIG5 URU BI i-ša-ru-ta5

: na-mu-ta5 DU-ak

If a city’s dump is green, that city will prosper : will become desolate. 4 Akkadian words and syllables are in italics (pe-ṣu, peṣu) and their ideographic representations are in small capital letters (BABBAR). Uppercase roman (UD) indicates cuneiform signs without commitment as to phonemic or ideographic value. Lowercase roman (babbar) is used for Sumerian words and syllables. Abbreviations for Akkadian and Sumerian texts referenced by catalogue or museum number follow the system adopted by Roth (1956– 2010), hereafter cited as CAD. I thank the Claremont School of Theology library staff and their Library Scholars Program for assistance in researching this paper. 2 Rochberg (2010) 19–28 provides a helpful discussion of this structure in omens. 3 CAD Š, 275, on these and other ways of representing Akkadian šumma. Šumma is occasionally spelled out as šu-ú-ma or the like in neo-Assyrian texts. 4 Freedman (1998–2006)1:29 n42: ‘This apodosis is unusual (though not unique) in containing variants that offer contrasting predictions, one favorable, one unfavorable. Variants generally represent an alternative way of expressing the same or similar things.’ A tub1

THE ROLE OF COLOR IN MESOPOTAMIAN DIVINATION

11

Such contractions demonstrate the complexities of the tradition. While somewhat unusual, omens with directly contradictory portents occur in nearly every omen series. Conflicting portents may come from conflicting observations. Because there is no causal connection between observed coincidences that may underlie some omens, it is not surprising that contradictions found their way into the tradition. On the one hand, it is all but certain that observation played some role in the development of Mesopotamian omens. Enuma Anu Enlil 26 III:2 is a case in point. [DIŠ 20 ina ] ḫu-pe IM.DIRI BARRAR ŠU UD ŠÚ-am […]

[If the sun] sets [in] a broken white cloud, the (next) day will be overcast […]

Some omens may even have been loosely based on historical events. 5 On the other hand, it seems very unlikely that omens such as Šumma Ālu 26:4, ‘If a seven headed snake is seen […],’ had any basis in observation or experience. Due to the lacunose nature of much of the divination material, many omen protases and apodoses are lost or unreadable. With but a few exceptions, this essay will rely on omens where both the protasis and apodosis are readable. Omen series include Šumma Ālu, once having of the order of 10,000 terrestrial omens on as many as 120 tablets; Šumma Izbu, over 2,500 omens on 23 tablets involving anomalous human and animal births; Enūma Anu Enlil, once having well over 6,000 meteorological and astrological omens on 68 or 70 tablets; multiple Bārûtu series (Manzāzu, Padānu, and Pān Tākalti, etc) on about 100 tablets, once amounting to 10,000 extispicy omens; dZiqīqu on 11 tablets, originally containing perhaps 1,000 dream omens; and several other series on a wide range ominous topics and events. Individual tablets in these series have of the order of 100 omens each, some more, some fewer. While not limiting consideration to these works alone, this chapter will draw most heavily on Šumma Ālu, Šumma Izbu, and Enuma Anu Enlil. While extispicy will not be neglected, its highly technical nature, particularly its technical vocabulary, complicates its usefulness in this study. 6

kinnu (here túb-ki-na-šú, ‘its dump’) is a refuse heap. While not necessarily limited to garbage, garbage is often a major part of a tubkinnu. Therefore uru (ālu) tubkinnašú means literally, ‘a city, its refuse heap.’ 5 On the ‘empirical’ basis of omens, see Bottéro (1995) 131–132. While most contemporary Assyriologists are skeptical, it was once common to think that some omens reflected historical events that were in antiquity associated with divination procedures, say, the reading of a liver. YOS 10 25:32 provides an example of such an omen. Its apodosis reads, ‘Omen of King Amar-Su’ena, who was gored by an ox, but died from the bite of a shoe,’ KochWestenholz (2000) 244. Neujahr (2012) 89–92 provides a recent discussion and references on possible historical omens. 6 Freedman (1999) published a modern edition of the first 40 tablets of series Šumma Alū. Several other Šumma Alū tablets have been published individually in various journals. Many more Šumma Alū tablets are only available in Gadd (1927); Nötscher (1930). Šumma Izbu in its entirety was published by Leichty (1970). Three Bārûtu omen series including ancient commentaries were published by Koch-Westenholz (2000), but are incompletely avail-

12

DUANE E. SMITH

Many isolated omens have color qualifiers in their protases. Far more interesting are the subseries of four, five, or sometimes six omens, one after the other, where the only significant variable in their protases is color. For example Šumma Alū 33:113’-117’: 113’) DIŠ KUN.DAR BABBAR ina É NA IGI EN É BI ina SU.KÚ UG7

If a white skink is seen in a man’s house, the owner of that house will die of famine.

114’) DIŠ KUN.DAR GI6 ina É NA IGI EN É BI NÍG.TUK TUK-ši

If a black skink is seen in a man’s house, the owner of that house will acquire riches. 115’) DIŠ KUN.DAR SI.A ina É NA IGI EN É BI Á.TUK TUK-ši

If a red skink is seen in a man’s house, the owner of that house will acquire riches. 116’) DIŠ KUN.DAR GÙN ina É NA IGI a-lak-tu4 ina É NA sad-rat

If a multicolored skink is seen in a man’s house, in (that) man’s house (misfortune? 7) will be continual.

117’) DIS KUN.DAR SIG7 ina E NA IGI [EN] E BI NAM.ERIM DIB-su

If a green skink is seen in a man’s house, a curse 8 will affect [the owner] of that house.

In this sequence the only variable in their protases is color: DIŠ KUN.DAR [some color] ina É NA IGI, ‘If a [colored] skink is seen in a man’s house, …’ Black and red skinks seen in a house bode well; white and green skinks bode ill. If my interpretation of the omen in line 116’ is correct, multicolored skinks seen in a man’s house able in modern publication: tablets 1 to 6 were published by Verderame (2002); tablets 15 to 22 by Rochberg (1988); tablets 23 to 29 by Van Soldt (1995); tablets 44 to 49 by Gehlken (2012). In addition Reiner and Pingree (1975–2005) published tablets 50, 51, 59, 60 63, 64, 65 plus some fragments that resist assignment to any specific tablet. The exceedingly fragmentary dZiqīqu was published by Oppenheim (1956) 179–373. Unless otherwise indicated I will use the composite texts, tablet numbers and omen/line numbers as published in these standard works. I have attempted to use a consistent way of representing various signs in places where editors differ among themselves (for example I consistently use SI.A rather than SA5 [both indicate the same set of wedges], ‘red’ even when editors differ). Unless otherwise noted, translations, while dependent on these standard works, are mine. 7 Freedman (1998–2006) 2:114, translates sadrat ‘commerce will be regular.’ However, in omens generally, Akkadian sadrat (sadāru, ‘to be regular’) implies regular misfortune rather than regular commerce. See CAD S, 12–13. Note particularly K 4874+:16. Lambert (1967) 128, da-mi-iq-ti is-si-ma le-mut-tu sad-rat with its Sumerian version, ‘my good fortune has left, evil is continual.’ 8 Perhaps the result of a broken oath. See CAD M1, 189, 192.

THE ROLE OF COLOR IN MESOPOTAMIAN DIVINATION

13

also bode ill. This skink subseries reflects the traditional color ordering ‘white,’ ‘black,’ red,’ ‘multicolor/variegated,’ and ‘green.’ 9 The five omens in this subseries are among some seventeen omens dealing with skinks preserved on Šumma Alū tablet 33. One hundred two omens on tablet 33 deal with geckos. Of the omens concerning geckos of various colors, Šumma Alū 33:19’-22’ are the most readable. 10 19’) DIŠ MUŠ.GIM.GURUN.NA BABBAR ina É LÚ IGI-ir EN É SAL.KALAG.GA.DIB-su

If a white gecko is seen in a man’s house, famine/hardship will afflict the owner of that house. 20’) DIŠ MUŠ.GIM.GURUN.NA SI.A ina É LÚ IGI-ir EN É BI ḪÉ.GÁL uš-ta-bar-ra

If a red gecko is seen in a man’s house, the owner of that house will continue to have prosperity. 21’) DIŠ MUŠ.GIM.GURUN.NA GÙN ina É LÚ IGI-ir EN É BI ina šag-ga-aš-ti BA.UGx 11

If a multicolored gecko is seen in a man’s house, the owner of that house will be slaughtered.

22’) DIŠ MUŠ.GIM.GURUN.NA SIG7 ina É LÚ IGI-ir EN É BI ina ITI BI BA.UGx

If a green gecko is seen in a man’s house, in that (very) month, the owner of that house will die.

As we saw in the case of skinks, white, multicolor, and green geckos bode ill while red ones when seen in a man’s house bode well. Black geckos are not mentioned. To provide context it is well to consider a couple of omens that do not include color qualifiers. Typical of the omens on Šumma Alū tablet 33 that do not mention the color of a skink or gecko are: 108’) [DIŠ] KUN.DAR ana UGU NA i-li NA BI i-ḫad-du

[If] a skink is upon a man, that man will rejoice.

and

119’) DIŠ KUN.DAR šá 2 KUN.2-šú ana UGU GIŠ.NÁ [GIG] E11 GIG BI ár-ḫiš ZI-bi

If a skink with two tails climbs onto the bed of a [sick person], that sick person will soon arise. 12 Landsberger (1967) 140. It is clear that colors are a factor in Šumma Alū 33:31’-34’ and these omens seem to involve a man’s house, the verb(s) in their protasis cannot be restored. Whatever the verb(s) might have been, as seen in 33:19’-22’, white, green and multicolor bode ill while red bodes well. 11 Following the convention adopted by CAD, I use UG rather than UG for the BAD x 7 sign when it stands for mâtu or its derivatives. 9

10

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DUANE E. SMITH

The larger context of omens whose portents rely on color in some way almost always consists of omens on the same general theme whose portents do not rely on color at all. A few ancient texts indicate a theological understanding of omens. A god writes his or her will and mind on the material at hand: livers, animal behavior, oil patterns, birth defects, the color of skinks, etc. The invocation of a prayer to Shamash says, ina libbi immeri tašaṭṭar šīra, ‘On the exta of a sheep you inscribe the omen.’ 13 But a broader cosmologically understanding is sometimes called for. The whole cosmos was thought to align with the will and mind of the gods in such a way that properly trained diviners could decipher. 14 The often lacunose nature of what survives of the omen series makes it hard to estimate how many omens contained color qualifiers in their protases. Approximately 1400 omens from series Šumma Izbu survive with readable protases. Of these, only 32 or just over 2% have color modifiers. Lacking a comprehensive count of readable protases in the other omen series, 2%, or perhaps slightly more, having color qualifiers generally matches a less rigorous approach to them as well. In some series and subseries omens involving color are more abundant than in others but one can read tablet after tablet without encountering a single color term. In any case, the percentage of omens with color elements in their protases is relatively small. 15 As in any language, individual color lexemes connote a range of colors. 16 The most basic words for colors in Akkadian are peṣu generally written ideographically as BABBAR, white; ṣalmu (GI6), black; sāmu (SI.A), red-brown; burrumu (GÙN, GÙN.GÙN) meaning multicolored, variegated or speckled; and arqu (SIG7) green-yellow. Very rarely does one finds uqnû (NA4.ZA.GÌN, lapis lazuli), blue, in Mesopotamian omens. 17 For the sake of simplicity, I will generally use ‘white,’ ‘black,’ ‘red,’ ‘multicolor,’ and ‘green,’ 18 with the understanding that each represents a color range or, in the case of ‘multicolor,’ color patterns. In addition, there are a number of other The only difference between this omen and the one in Šumma Alū 33:109’ is that the skink has two tails in 119’ while the number of tails is not mentioned in 109’ (DIŠ KUN.DAR UGU GIŠ.NÁ GIG i-li GIG BI ár-ḫiš ZI-bi, ‘If a skink climbs onto the bed of a sick person, that sick person will soon arise’). The first GIG in 119’ justifies the restoration in 109’. 13 K. 2824 and duplicates. 14 Smith (2015) 40. 15 Color designations were sometimes used in omen apodoses also. For example, DIS dISKUR ina MURU TUR GU-šú SUB A.KAL SI.A DU-ma [… S]I.SÁ, If Adad, his throat, thunders of the middle of a halo, the (seasonal) flood will be a red, […] will prosper (Enūma Anu Enlil 46:64). 16 Landsberger (1967) 139–173; Bulakh (2007) 247–262; Sinclair (2012) provides another less technical, recent discussion of color terms used in Akkadian. 17 Sumerian dumu.zi, ‘The Dream of Tammuz,’ provides one of the very few examples: ‘Your goats and kids were lying in the dust with blue mouths, (this means): …,’ Oppenheim (1956) 246. 18 When required by context, I will occasionally translate arqu ‘yellow.’ 12

THE ROLE OF COLOR IN MESOPOTAMIAN DIVINATION

15

more specialized lexemes and phrases that indicate various gradations within the palette. I will take these up as they are encountered.

A SINGLE COLOR QUALIFIER AS DIAGNOSTIC OF PORTENT

We have already looked at two sets of omens where color designations are directly diagnostic of portents: colored skinks and geckos. In these cases white, green and multicolor bode ill, while black and red bode well. With some exceptions red tends to bode well. White, black, and green tend to bode ill. Enuma Anu Enlil 28:73–77 provides another subseries example where color is directly diagnostic of portent: 73) DIS 20 ina GU BABBAR IGI GIS.TUKUL la ta-šim-ti ina KUR GAL-ma KUR TUR

If the sun is seen in a white ‘web’(?), there will be senseless warfare (lit. weapon) in the land and the land will become smaller.

74) DIŠ 20 ina GU SI.A IGI DINGIR.MEŠ šab-su-tum a-na KUR GUR.MEŠ-nim-ma KUR i-bail

If the sun is seen in a red ‘web’, the angry gods will return to the land and the land will be dominating. 75) DIŠ 20 ina GU GI6 IGI UN.MEŠ KUR NU GI.NA i-ta-ma-a kab-tum 19 ina KUR ZÁḪ

If the sun is seen in a black ‘web’, the people of the land will speak falsely; significance will disappear from the land. 76) DIŠ 20 ina GU SIG7 IGI KUR ina SÙḪ SU-šá in-neš-ši ŠÀ KUR NU DÙG.GA

If the sun is seen in a yellow ‘web’, in its own confusion the land will disintegrate into anarchy; the heart of the land will not be well. 77) DIŠ 20 ina GU GÙN IGI LUGAL šá-ni-na NU TUK ARḪUŠ KI.MIN GALGA ana KUR GAR

If the sun is seen in a multicolored ‘web’, the king will have no rival/equal; he will bestow pity, variant: intelligence, 20 on the land. There may have been some confusion in the textual tradition of this omen. As written, the form is an adjective meaning heavy, substantial or the like. But the commentary K.7626+7627:18’, Van Soldt’s (1995) 103, MS Cc reads kabatum = ḫi-ṭu, ‘sin/harm.’ In support of this understanding, Van Soldt cites Leichty (1970) 37 and 212 (Šumma Izbu 1:64, VAT 9718:30), which the next line glosses ka-ba-tum = mi-iq-tú, ‘collapse/fall.’ While these alternate interpretations are interesting, the translation offered here aligns most closely with the center of the semantic range of kabtum. See CAD K, 24–6, particularly meaning 1, 2’, c) where kabtu modifies the yoke (nīru) of Assyrian domination. 20 The variant likely indicates an interpretive tradition. The semantic range of milku (GALGA) includes advice, intellectual capacity, council, intent. See CAD M2, 66–8. 19

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DUANE E. SMITH

In the context of the sun, a red ‘web’ still bodes well but a black one now joins white in boding ill. Multicolor now bodes well. 21 It is possible that having a ‘web’ changes the more common bodings of the colors. A qû [GU], ‘web’ is a poorly understood meteorological phenomenon. In other contexts, qû means ‘flax, thread, or filament.’ 22 In this omen subseries white, black, and green (here translated yellow because of its use in relationship to the sun) ‘webs’ bode ill, while red and multicolored ‘webs’ bode well. Note that these are the only omens in the series that entail a ‘web’ in the context of the sun and that there are no other extant astrological omens having a qû for comparison. qû, meaning ‘filament’ or the like, does appear in a number of extispicy omens, occasional with color modifiers. 23 Several other examples further illustrate the complexity of attempting to establish definitive rules regarding the boding of color: Šumma Alū 17:25) DIŠ A-ša GI6 NÍG.TUK TUK-ši

If (a well’s) water is black, he will acquire riches. 26) DIŠ A-ša SI.A ŠE.AM TUK-ši

If (a well’s) water is red, he will acquire grain. 27) DIŠ A-ša SIG7 ŠUB-e […]

If (a well’s) water is green, abandonment […] 28) DIŠ A-ša BABBAR NÍG.TUK [TUK-ši] 24

If (a well’s) water is white, he will [acquire] riches.

Here black, red and white bode well; green bodes ill. Šumma Alū 6:28) DIŠ É si-ir-šu BABBAR UKÚ-in

If a house its plaster is white, he will become poor 29) DIS E si-ir-šu GI6 25 NU DUG-ub SA-bi

If a house its plaster is black, unhappiness of heart

See the Koch-Westenholz formula and my discussion of it below. Also note that this subseries is not in the traditional color order. 22 Reading qû, following Van Soldt (1995) 102 n. 2 and CAD Q, 285–288; as meteorological phenomenon see particularly 288. Note the commentary K.7197+15539:5, Van Soldt’s MS Ca, reads qu-u = ṭur-r[u (some unclear astronomical feature). On the Sumerian loanword ṭurru see CAD Ṣ, 166. Not only the Sun but also the moon, the planets, and even constellations can have a ṭurru. 23 Pān tākalti 9:66–68, white, red, dark filaments (GU.MEŠ). Unfortunately, the apodoses of these omens are lost. 24 My reconstruction is based on Šumma Alū 17:25 among other examples. 25 Depending on context, GE can stand for ṣalmu (black), tarāku (to become dark col6 ored, in Standard Babylonian turku dark spot), or tarku (dark colored). 21

THE ROLE OF COLOR IN MESOPOTAMIAN DIVINATION

17

30) DIS E si-ir-šu SI.A EN E BI i-šar-ri

If a house its plaster is red, the owner of that house will become prosperous. 31) DIS E si-ir-šu SIG7 […] ir-x-x

If a house its plaster is green …

32) DIS E si-ir-šu BABBAR GI6 SI.A SIG7 la mit-gur-tu4 EN E BI INIM E-GAL US-di

If a house its plaster is white, black, red, and green, discord; the palace will make a claim on the owner of that house.

The near duplicate K 45+ (CT 40 1–4) rev.:9 reads: 26 DIS E

si-ir-šu14 SIG7 ni-ziq-tu4

If a house its plaster is green, grief.

Here white, black, multicolor, and, if K 45+ helps us understand Šumma Alū 6:31, green bode ill while red bodes well. Šumma Alū 6:9–15 introduce us to additional color terms and several additional interpretive problems: 9) DIŠ É ta-ra-an-šu ina ŠÀ-šú ZALÁG-ir ŠÀ DÚR BI DUG7.GA

If a house, the inside of its canopy shines, its inhabitants will be happy. 10) DIŠ É ta-ra-an-šu ina ŠÀ-šú ša-lim DÚR ŠÀ-šú it-ta-na-an-zi-qá

If a house, the inside of its canopy is intact, 27 its inhabitants (lit: inhabitants of its heart) will have constant worries. 11) DIS E ta-ra-an-šu 28 GI6 DUR SA-šu ina-an-ziq

If a house, its canopy is black, its inhabitants will have worries. 12) DIS E ta-ra-an-šu SI.A E BI SU KUR-su

If a house, its canopy is red, the hand (of a god/demon) will affect that house. 13) DIS E ta-ra-an-šu SIG7 a-šib lìb-bi-šú NU LIBIR.RA

If a house, its canopy is green, its inhabitants will not grow old 14) DIS E ta-ra-an-šu na-gi-il a-šib lìb-bi-šú it-ta-na-ad-la-aḫ

If a house, its canopy is glowing(?), its inhabitants will always be confused.

15) DIŠ É ta-ra-an-šu e-ṭú KIMIN 29 : ŠÀ DÚR.BI DUG3.GA

Freedman (1998–2006) 1:112. Freedman (1998–2006) 1:111, translates ša-lim ‘whole’ and says, ‘[T]he meaning “is whole” seems awkward.’ She notes šu-ul-lu-mu in 5:57. 28 All witnesses read KIMIN, ‘ditto,’ in place of ta-ra-an-šu here and in lines 12–15 but the equation is certain. 26 27

18

DUANE E. SMITH If a house, its canopy is dark, ditto (its inhabitants will always be confused) : will be happy.

In this sequence we encounter the color terms, ZALÁG-ir, na-gi-il, and e-ṭû. We also encounter an apparently contradictory two-part apodosis. ZALÁG-ir in omen 9, likely normalized iw/mir from the verb namāru ‘to shine,’ is a verbal adjective meaning ‘light’ or ‘shining.’ While not strictly a color, many texts treat it as a color attribute, ‘light color.’ 30 Omen 10 looks out of place. One might expect its protasis to contain some color term. However, if one reads it and what follows as an accretion into a shorter original text, then omen 10 simply stands before a subseries of omens that show three of the traditional colors in their traditional order, black, red, (multicolor), green. The apodosis of omen 12 reads ‘a hand (ŠU, qātu) will affect that house.’ This is always an ill-boding portent, pointing to some calamity, often grave illness. Omen 14 uses the color term nagil (from nagālu?). The meaning of this term is unclear. It is commonly used of stars as a verbal adjective. It is elsewhere glossed by Akkadian nenbuṭu, ‘shining brightly.’ 31 Finally, omen 15 contains e-ṭú (eṭû), ‘dark, extinguished.’ The protases of this omen and the preceding one appear to express opposing conditions but have exactly the same portent in their apodoses. At least this is true of the first apodosis in omen 15. Omen 14’s apodosis reads lìb-bi-šú it-ta-na-ad-la-aḫ, ‘its inhabitants will always be confused’ and omen 15 has a ditto mark (KIMIN) meaning we should read ‘its inhabitants will always be confused’ as in omen 14 at the equivalent point. However, following the ditto mark omen 15 has an additional and seemly opposing portent, ‘will be happy.’ In this omen, a ‘dark’ canopy can have either a negative or a positive portent! 32 The ancients likely noticed the tension between the two omens and tried to fix it by introducing the second portent in omen 15. This should raise yet another caution flag concerning any fixed rule equating color specific terms with favorable or unfavorable outcomes. Enuma Anu Enlil 26 I:18–24 adds still additional colors to our omen palette: 18) [DIŠ 20 KUR-m]a BABBAR Š[E.GAR A]L.GAR

[If the sun rises an]d is white, there will be famine.

19) DIŠ 20 KUR-ma BABBAR NA.GADA ŠE.GAR AL.[GAR]

[If the sun rises an]d the Herdsman 33 is white, there will be famine. The MSS all read KIMIN, ditto, here. Freedman’s (1998–2006) composite text spells out the KIMIN. 30 See CAD N1, 22, 212. 31 See CAD N1, 107. 32 By consulting alternative traditions (extispicy for example), the Mesopotamian divination tradition had procedures for resolving such ambiguities. 33 Van Soldt (1995) 72, following a suggestion by E. Reiner, amends the text to read na! di and renders the omen, [If the sun rises] and there is a white spot, there will be famine.’ He does note, ‘The sign looks like a GADA.’ NA,GADA, nāgidu, ‘herdsman’ is one of many epi29

THE ROLE OF COLOR IN MESOPOTAMIAN DIVINATION

19

20) [DIŠ 20 KUR-m]a GI6 NA.GADA ŠE.GAR AL.GAR]

[If the sun rises an]d is black, there will be famine.

21) [DIŠ 20 KUR-m]a pe-li 34 KUR in-neš-[ši]

[If the sun rises an]d is red-hued, the land will become confused.

22) [DIS 20 KUR-m]a SIG7 LUGAL NU DIN KI.MIN LUGAL ina KUR E-su KUR-[ir]

[If the sun rises an]d is green, the king will not be well; alternatively, the king will wage war in a land against his (own) house.

23) [DIŠ 20 KUR-m]a SIG7 ṣa-rip LUGAL KUR BI NU x[x x]

[If the sun rises an]d is dyed green, the king of that will not […]

24) [DIS 20 KUR-m]a SI.A ma-’-diš ḫe-pi LUGAL KUR NU x[x x]

[If the sun rises an]d is very red {broken} 35 the king will not […]

SIG7, arqu, ‘green’ in the context of the sun likely connotes the more yellow end of its semantic range. The table below summarizes the use of color in the omen subseries so far considered:

Enuma Anu Enlil 26 I:18–24

rising sun

Šumma Alū 17:25–28

well water

Enuma Anu Enlil 28:73–77 Šumma Alū 33:113’–117’ Šumma Alū 33:19’–22’ Šumma Alū 6:28–32 Šumma Alū 6:9–15

sun in ‘web’ skinks

geckos plaster

canopy

White

Black

Red

Multicolored

Green

ill

ill

well

well

ill

well

ill

well

well

ill

well ill ill ill

**

* ‘Red-hued’ and ‘very red’ rising suns bode ill

ill

well well ill

***

ill*

well well ill

ill

ill ill ill ill ill

** ‘Shiny’ canopies bode well while ‘gleaming’ canopies bode ill *** ‘Dark’ canopies bode either well or ill

thets for the sun god Shamash (See CAD N1, 335). I take this omen to be a near duplicate of the preceding one. 34 Exactly how pelû relates to the more common sāmu (red-brown) is unclear. pelû is often used in association with blood. 35 The scribe used ḫe-pi to indicate that what is being copied was lacunose.

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While far from exhaustive, Table I demonstrates both the tendencies and the issues concerning the use of color as a diagnostic element in Mesopotamian omens. While we will see exceptions, only green demonstrates a rather consistent ill-boding in this rather small sample. White, black, and red show, at best, tendencies, with red being the only color that appears to bode well more often than not. Some of the possible reasons for this variation in boding may be found in other associations with colors terms in the Akkadian literature. Other inconsistencies may rest on factors within the various individual omens. I will take up the latter possibility when I consider omens having multiple diagnostic elements. For now I will consider the broader use of color terms in Akkadian. Turning first to white (BABBAR / peṣu) and black; (GI6 / ṣalmu): David Brown suggests that white ‘frequently’ ‘bodes well’ and black ‘bodes ill’ in the celestial omens of Enuma Anu Enlil. 36 But as Brown notes and we have seen, black sometimes had positive associations. The Assyrians called themselves the ‘black headed people (ṣalmāt qaqqadi).’ Akkadian ṣalmu, ‘black’ is used as an alternative name for the god Shamash in a few Middle Babylonian and Middle Assyrian texts. 37 Parpola also argues for a complex orthographic association between the Akkadian word ṣalmu (black) and Shamash, as god of truth and justice, via the planet Saturn, the ‘black star.’ 38 On the other hand, Francesca Rochberg noted that lumun libbi, ‘distress of heart,’ was often associated in astrological contexts with the adāru, ‘to be worried or distressed’ but also, when said of celestial bodies, ‘to be obscured, eclipsed, darkened’ if not specifically ‘black.’ 39 And of course, white sometimes bodes ill as well as well. Not only does Akkadian peṣu mean white, it also indicates empty, cleared, land. 40 Such land is not currently productive but only potentially so. Perhaps, but only perhaps, this in part explains the seeming unpredictable boding to white things. Red/brown, (SI.A / sāmu) often bodes well but this is not always the case. On the one hand, sāmu is associated with red gold; 41 and the fecundity of the red earth. 42 On the other hand, red is also associated with Mars. In his discussion of planet colors, Brown suggested that ‘colours probably mimic the general planet values, with red being the most ill-boding’ which he says ‘may point to colour encoding.’ 43 While red may be the ‘most ill-boding’ color in astrology, this is not the case generally. ‘Frequently, red and white in the protases bode well, whereas black and yellow colours bode ill, the last often described in terms of natural events such as epidemics, famine, Adad’s destruction of crops and so forth - see Ib8, Ib 14, III29, III68.’ Brown (2000) 283. 37 Brown (2000) 69–70. 38 Parpola (1983) II, 342–3. See for example, Ḫg B VI:40, MUL GE : ANṣa-al-me DÙL : 6 dSAG.UŠ dUTU, ‘black (ṣalmu) star = statue (ṣalmu) = Saturn (as) the Sun.’ 39 Rochberg (1996) 479 n.16. See also CAD A1, 104. 40 See CAD P, 334. 41 Landsberger (1967) 139–41. 42 CAD S, 131. 43 Brown (2000) 143. Brown notes that black is not the most ‘malefic’ and that Mars was perceived as red because of the ‘properties intrinsic to the planet.’ 36

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Green/yellow (SIG7 / arqu) nearly always bodes ill. Perhaps this is because arqu is associated with jaundice. CT 39 14:7 (K.2011+, Šumma Alū 60[?]) reads: DIŠ nāru SIG7. SIG7 a-šu-ú SIG7. SIG7 ina

māti ibašši

If the river is yellow (green), there will be yellow (green) ašû-disease in the land. 44

A discussion of the use of color in medical texts is well beyond the scope of this essay. However, by way of further illustration, Scurlock’s DPS 9:3–29 provides an extended sample from which I will excerpt: 45 3) [DIŠ … I]GI.MEŠ-šú SI.A GAM

[If …] his face is red, he will die.

5) DIŠ IGI. MEŠ-šú SI.A.MEŠ u SIG7.MEŠ ZI-ma MAN-ma GIG

If his face is red and turns yellow (green), it may subside but he will be ill again. 6) DIŠ IGI. MEŠ-šú SI.A.MEŠ u GI6. MES SUMUM-ma EGIR-šú MAN-ma GAM

If his face is red and turns black, if he lingers and afterwards he takes a change (for the worst), he will die. 7) DIŠ IGI. MEŠ-šú BABBAR.MEŠ DIN

If his face is white he will get well.

10) DIŠ IGI. MEŠ-šú BABBAR GI6 SI.A u SIG7 ŠUB : ú-kal-lu GIG-su GÍD-ma DIN

If his face is colored (afflicted with) white, black, red, and yellow, his illness may be prolonged, but he will get well. 11) DIS IGI. MES-šú SIG7.MES dDIM11.ME DIB-su

If his face is yellow (green), a Lamashtu afflicts him.

As Landsberger noted, a red face and a red face turning black lead to death; a red face turning yellow leads to a chronic disease; a white face leads to recovery; and a face of mixed white, black, red, and yellow colors leads to recovery after a prolonged illness. A yellow face leads to affliction by a Lamashtu, a bad affliction from which some patients did recover. 46 As these examples show, the boundary between ancient medical diagnostic texts and divination texts is fuzzy. Except as used in omens, multicolor (GÙN, GÙN.GÙN / burrumu) does not appear to have either a positive or a negative connotation. From the available eviSee CAD A2, 301. Again I follow Scurlock’s (2014) text and, with slight modifications, her translation. Scurlock’s primary sources, AO 6681 and K. 261. Labat (1951) 72 pl. XIV-XVIII. 46 Landsberger (1967) 142–4. A Lamashtu is an evil demon. Scurlock and Andersen (2005) 483–5, which they suggest may be typhoid fever. Landsberger rendered dDIM11.ME, Lamashtu, ‘schwere Krankheit.’ 44 45

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DUANE E. SMITH

dence, ‘multicolor’ does not appear to encode a ‘cultural message.’ Some horses and birds, cats and dogs, are burrumu, ‘multicolored, spotted.’ Garments may have multicolored trim or cloth. Burrumu seems to simply mean the intermixing of two (or more?) colors. 47 Establishing hard rules for the interpretation of color elements in Mesopotamian omens is likely impossible. 48 This does not necessarily mean that ancient diviners lacked such rules. Subtleties of application may be lost on us. The same is true for other diagnostic elements. Reviewing Barbara Böck’s publication of the omen series Šumma Alandimunû and reflecting on the diagnostic elements of right and left sidedness in omens JoAnn Scurlock noted, [T]here are in fact four types of signs, those that are good (and therefore good on either side), those that are bad (and therefore bad on either side, although usually somewhat less bad on the right), those that are neutral (and become good only when placed on the right, and bad only when placed on the left), and those that are bad but not irreversibly so (that is, they are bad when placed on the right, but are transformed into good when placed on the left). This modification (in a taxonomy suggested by Kraus) still does not, however, solve all the problems presented by this omen series. 49

Series Šumma Alandimunû, which also has color diagnostic elements, just does not fit the already rather complex, highly nuanced, taxonomy outlined by Scurlock. Exceptions can be found to nearly every rule. With only two opposing diagnostic elements, right sidedness and left sidedness, scholars have had difficulty reconstructing universally applicable rules. The problems of gleaning such rules are multiplied with the far more complex color palette.

A COLOR QUALIFIER TAKEN TOGETHER WITH SOME OTHER ELEMENT AS DIAGNOSTIC OF PORTENT

In one sense, all the omens considered so far have multiple diagnostic elements. Even in the case of the various colored skinks, the ominous possibilities follow as much from there being skink activity as they do from there being various colored skinks. A formula applicable to many omens was articulated by Ulla KochWestenholz: A simple rule that is common to all kinds of Babylonian divination is of almost mathematic rigour: within the same omen, a good sign combined with a good

47 On

Akkadian burrumu see CAD K, 331–332. On the encoding of cultural messages in various Latin words for ‘multicolor’ see Goldman (2015) 90–111. 48 Scurlock (2003) and Koch-Westenholz (1995) 98, for example. 49 Scurlock (2003) 398. Kraus (1936) 77–113.

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23

sign has a good prediction; good combined with bad means bad; bad combined with bad means good. 50

Koch-Westenholz’ formula appears to work in the omen pair Šumma Alū 12:17 and 18: 17) DIŠ KA.TAR BABBAR ina šu-bat NA ZAG GAR BIR-aḫ É BI

If white fungus is on the right side of a man’s residence, that house will be dispersed. 18) DIS KA.TAR BABBAR ina šu-bat NA GUB GAR sa-dir E BI

If white fungus is on the left side of a man’s residence, that house is normal.

Right-sidedness generally bodes well and left-sidedness generally bodes ill. White, more often than not, also bodes ill. In line 17 we have a generally ill-boding sign and a generally well-boding sign. Following Koch-Westenholz’ formula this omen bodes ill. In line 18 we have two generally ill-boding signs, white and left. The portent bodes well but in a rather tepid way. The eleven omens in Šumma Alū 12:43–54 all deal with black fungus. For example, omen 43: 43) DIŠ KA.TAR GI6 ina É LU2 GAR iš-di-ḫa É LÚ Ì.GÀL EN É i-šár-rù

If black fungus is in a man’s house, there will be profit in that man’s house; the man’s house will be rich.

Each of the twelve omens in this subseries involves black fungus and each has a positive portent. 51 Surveying all omens in Šumma Alū tablet 12 that mention where the fungus is seen but nothing is said of its color, fungus is generally ill boding. Again, Koch-Westenholz’ formula seems to apply: sometimes ill-boding, black, plus something else generally ill-boding, fungus, results in a positive portent. But consider Šumma Izbu 23:23’-25 52: 23’) DIŠ UR.GIRx(KU) BABBAR LÚ iš-tin LÚ BI KI.KAL DIB-su

If a white dog urinates on a man, that man, hard times will seize him. 24’) DIŠ UR.GIRx(KU) GE6 LÚ iš-tin GIG DIB-su

If a black dog urinates on a man, sickness will seize him. 25’) DIŠ UR.GIRx(KU) SI.A LÚ iš-tin LÚ BI i-ḫad-du

Koch-Westenholz (1995) 11. This includes Šumma Alū 12:53 where the fungus is half black and half red (BAR-šu GI6 BAR-šu SI.A). 52 Šumma Izbu tablet 23 seems to have some relationship with Šumma Alū tablets 46, 47 and 48. See Leichty (1970) 192. Lines 26’-28’ also deal with a dog urinating on a man. None of their protases involve color and all three of their apodoses bode ill. 50 51

24

DUANE E. SMITH If a red dog urinates on a man, that man, he will be happy.

If, as the omens that imminently following these suggest, we assume that a dog urinating on a man generally bodes ill, then using Koch-Westenholz’ formula we might conclude, all things being equal, a non-urinating white or black dog bodes well while a red dog bodes ill. But in the case of all three colors, this is counter to the tendencies we have observed elsewhere. Be this as it may. One can be certain that a complexity of factors affected the outcome in omens such as these.

MULTIPLE COLOR QUALIFIERS AS DIAGNOSTIC OF PORTENT

Omen subseries involving colored ants occur four times in Šumma Alū tablet 37, a tablet devoted entirely to the appearance and activity of ants. Omens 74–79 53 provide useful examples: 74) DIŠ KIŠI8.MEŠ GI6.MEŠ SI.A.MEŠ ina É NA i-duk-ku INIM.GAR SIG5 ina É NA GÁL-ši

If black ants kill red (ants) in a man’s house, there will be a good reputation in the man’s house. 75) DIŠ KIŠI8.MEŠ SI.A.MEŠ GI6.MEŠ ina É NA i-duk-ku É BI KI.TUŠ NU GÁL-ši

If red ants kill black (ants) in a man’s house, that house will not be a home. 54

76) DIŠ KIŠI8.MEŠ BABBAR.MEŠ SI.A.MEŠ ina É NA i-duk-ku INIM ÚŠ ina É NA GÁL-ši ina É BI KI.MAḪ BAD-te If white ants kill red (ants) in a man’s house, there will be a report of death in the man’s house; in that house a grave will be opened. 55

77) DIŠ KIŠI8.MEŠ BABBAR.MEŠ GI6.MEŠ ina É NA i-duk-ku É BI KA-mu GAR-an ŠUB-di KI.ḪUL

If white ants kill black (ants) in a man’s house, lamentation will afflict that house, a mourning (ritual) will be performed. 78) DIŠ KIŠI8.MEŠ SIG7. MEŠ SI.A.MEŠ ina É NA i-duk-ku É BI ar-bu-ta5 DU-ak

If yellow ants kill red (ants) in a man’s house, that house will become devastated. 79) DIŠ KIŠI8.MEŠ ŠEŠ ŠEŠ ina É NA i-duk-ku É BI RI.RI.GA ma-at-tu4 GÁL

If ants kill each other (brother, brother) in a man’s house, there will be a deadly epidemic (among the animals) in that house.

See also Šumma Alū 37:29 where black ants killing multicolored ants will result in an uprising. 54 More literally ‘residence.’ 55 There is an orthographic pun between ÚŠ (mūtu, ‘death’) and BAD (patû, ‘to open’). Both are represented by the BE sign. 53

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25

In these omens we see that both the color of the attacking ants and the color of those attacked are crucial to the outcome. Generally, ants killing other ants bode ill regardless of color. Even ‘brother’ against ‘brother’ bodes ill. However, black ants killing red ants in Šumma Alū 37:74 bodes well. This may be another case where of Koch-Westenholz’ formula holds. But Šumma Alū 37:33–34 seems to show a somewhat different tendency: 33) [DIŠ KIŠI8.MEŠ SI.A.MEŠ] GI6.MEŠ i-duk-ku ḪUL GÁL-ši

[If red ants] kill black [ants], there will be evil.

34) [DIŠ KIŠI8.MEŠ G]I6.MEŠ SI.A.MEŠ i-duk-ku KI.LAM GI.NA [If bl]ack [ants] kill red (ants), trade will be stable.

Koch-Westenholz’ formula does not hold in Šumma Alū 37:33. Šumma Alū 37:34 appears to have a rather neutral portent. Trade will ikân (GI.NA), ‘be stable’ but not inappuš, ‘expanding’ or iṣḫir (TUR-ir), ‘contracting.’ Are the differences in fortune between Šumma Alū 37:74–75 on the one hand and Šumma Alū 37:33–34 on the other based on whether or not the killing takes place in a house? It appears we face here another of those vexing problems that occur in the tradition. In addition to the many omens concerning ants we have a shuilla prayer to Shamash that specifically mentions red ants in the house as a worrisome sign. 56

COLOR QUALIFIERS THAT ARE NOT DIAGNOSTIC OF PORTENT

Šumma Alū 19:5–9 is one of several examples of an omen subseries where color makes no obvious diagnostic contribution to portent: 5) DIŠ ina É NA MAŠKIM BARRAR IGI É BI BIR-aḫ

If a white demon is seen in a man’s house, that house will be dispersed.

6) DIŠ ina É NA MAŠKIM GI6 IGI É BI BIR-aḫ

If a black demon is seen in a man’s house, that house will be dispersed. 7) DIŠ ina É NA MAŠKIM SI.A IGI É BI BIR-aḫ

If a red demon is seen in a man’s house, that house will be dispersed.

8) DIS ina E NA MASKIM SI4 IGI E BI BIR-aḫ

If a red hued demon is seen in a man’s house, that house will be dispersed. 9) [DIŠ] ina É NA MAŠKIM SIG7 IGI É BI BIR-aḫ

If a green demon is seen in a man’s house, that house will be dispersed.

Shamash 1:22, kul-[ba-b]i SI.A.MEŠ (kulbābū sāmūtu) ša ina É.MU IGI-[ru], ‘red ants are seen in my house.’ Smith (2011) 367–369, 374. Note, for example, Šumma Alū 17:17, ‘If (a man has dug a well beside his house and) he uncovers red ants (kulbābū sāmūtu), the owner of that well will die.’ 56

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Not only are all the portents in this series negative, they all are exactly the same, ‘that house will be dispersed.’ This same apodosis occurs in the four omens that precede this subseries and the one that follows it. The first ten omens in Šumma Alū 19 all involve a rābiṣu (MAŠKIM) demon 57 of one sort or another being in a man’s house. Regardless of type or color, a rābiṣu demon in a man’s house bodes ill. The presents of a rābiṣu demon is sufficient by itself for a negative outcome. Color modifiers occur in these omens for thoroughness. All demons regardless of color bode ill in the same way. One might conclude that Koch-Westenholz’ formula does not hold in this case or that the evil of a demon overpowers all other considerations. The larger context tends to support the latter conclusion. When it comes to demons, Koch-Westenholz’ formula is not wrong but irrelevant. Šumma Izbu 18:9’-14’ provides an example of a subseries where color is important but the colors taken individually are not diagnostic: 9’) BE ÙZ GE6 SIG7 Ù.TU TÙR BI BIR-aḫ KAR-tam GIN DIB DINGIR GÁL

If a black goat gives birth to a yellow [green] (kid), that fold will scatter; it will take flight; there will be divine wrath. 10’) BE ÙZ SIG7 GE6 Ù.TU TÙR BI BIR-aḫ [x x]-šú GUR 58

If a yellow [green] goat give birth to a black (kid), that fold will scatter; his(?) [xx ?] will return(?). 11’) BE ÙZ BARRAR GE6 Ù.TU NÍG.ḪA.LAM.MA bu-lim

If a white goat gives birth to a black (kid), catastrophe for the herd. 12’) BE ÙZ GE6 BARRAR Ù.TU TÙR LÚ i-pár-ru-˹ur˺

If a black goat gives birth to a white (kid), the fold of the man will disper˹se˺ 13’) BE ÙZ SI.A GE6 Ù.TU NÍG.ḪA.LAM.MA ˹bu-lim˺

If a red goat gives birth to a black (kid), catastrophe for the ˹herd˺.

14’) BE ÙZ GE6 SI.A Ù.TU NÍG.ḪA.LAM.MA bu-˹lim˺

If a black goat gives birth to a red (kid), catastrophe for the he˹rd˺.

This subseries can be understood as three pairs: black and yellow goats (nanny plus kid), white and black goats, red and black goats taken in combination. All of them have negative portents. One might quibble about which is worse ‘catastrophe for the herd’ or ‘the fold being scattered,’ but both are surely bad outcomes. The birth of any kid whose color does not match its mother’s is a bad sign. Color is important While rābiṣu can indicate a generic demon, because other more specific kinds of demons and spirits are mentioned in subsequent omens on this tablet, I think it better to understand rābiṣu here as ‘watcher’ (see CAD R, 23). 58 GUR should likely be read as Akkadian târu, ‘to return,’ here probably itâr (duritive) but some other indicative aspect is possible. 57

THE ROLE OF COLOR IN MESOPOTAMIAN DIVINATION

27

but it is the fact that the color of a kid differs from that of its mother not the specific color that is diagnostic of outcome. A more complex case is seen in Šumma Alū 12:68–72. As already discussed, red often bodes well in omens but not always. Šumma Alū tablet 12 deals with fungi. In this tablet the color of the fungus is alone the diagnosed element in sixty seven of its ninety two omens, an unusually high percentage: white fungi bode ill twenty out of twenty one times; black fungi bodes well all fifteen times; red bodes ill seventeen out of eighteen times and green bodes ill nine out of thirteen times. The single case where red bodes well is Šumma Alū 12:68 but the larger preceding context and the three omens that follow it indicate that something other than mere redness is in play: 68) DIŠ KA.TAR SI.A ina É šu-bat LÚ GAR iš-di-iḫ É GÁL-ši

If there is red fungus in a man’s residential quarter, there will be prosperity in the house. 69) DIŠ KA.TAR SI.A ina É PA.PAḪ GAR NÍG,ŠU-šú ana KÙ.BABBAR i-pa-áš-ra If there is a red fungus in a cella, 59 his valuables will be sold for silver.

70) DIS KA.TAR SI.A ina ne-re-bi GAR E BI SUB-di

If there is red fungus in an entrance, that house will be abandoned. 71) DIŠ KA.TAR SI.A ina ZAG u GÙB GAR ana ár-kat u4-mi É BI UKÚ-in

If there is red fungus to the right and left, that house will soon (lit. in later days) become poor. 72) DIŠ KA.TAR SI.A.MEŠ SÀ É ma-lu-ú BIR-aḫ È LÙ

If red fungi fill the inside of a house ‒ dispersal of the man’s house.

The thirteen preceding omens all have negative portents and refer to a specific type of fungus, ‘a red fungus which is called miqtu.’ 60 This type of fungus is red by its very nature. 61 For this reason, the diagnostic element of the four following omens may not be the color but the place where the fungus called miqtu appears. In lines 68 to 72 it is likely the location of the fungus and not its color that determines the portent. Red fungus in a residential quarter bodes well, but anywhere else red fungus bodes ill.

Sumerian pa.paḫ means ‘cella, or sanctuary.’ The Akkadian lexeme is not clear. Perhaps we should think of the adjective peḫû, ‘blocked, closed’ but such an equivalent is not attested. In any case, it is to be contrasted with the residential quarter and the entrance. 60 See Šumma Alū 12: 55–67, KA.TAR SI.A ša mi-i-q-tu . 4 61 See CAD M2, 103–5. 59

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Šumma Alamdimmû 2:55 and 56 62 provides still another example where color variation is not diagnostic of outcome: 55) DIŠ SÍK SAG.DU-šú KIMIN-ma pa-ni SI.A U4.MEŠ- šú GÍD.MEŠ i?-[

If the wool of his head is ditto (ap-par-rí SÀ ḪAL [???]: 63 a reed marsh [???]) and the front is red, his days will be long, he w[ill ???

56) DIŠ SÍK SAG.DU-šú KIMIN-ma pa-ni SIG7 U4.MEŠ- šú GÍD.MEŠ i?-[

If the wool of his head is ditto (ap-par-rí SÀ ḪAL [???]: a reed marsh [???]) and the front is yellow, his days will be long […

In both omens having wool that is like (?) some sort of reed marsh bodes well independent of the front being red or yellow (green). 64 Something similar can be seen in extispicy. Pān tākalti 4:89–92 reads: 89) BE KAL DU8.MES-ma DU8.MES-šú SI.A ṣar-pu ZI-ut ERIN SUD-ti ana KUR.MU

If the Strength has fissures and its fissures are dyed red, an army from far away will attack my land.

90) BE KAL DU8.MES-ma DU8.MES-šú SI.A pi-la-a ṣar-pu ZI-ut BUR5,ḪI.A ana KUR.MU

If the Strength has fissures and its fissures are dyed blood red, locust will attack my land. 91) BE KAL DU8.MES-ma DU8.MES-šú SIG7 ṣar-pu UR.KU.MES IDIM.MES

If the Strength has fissures and its fissures are dyed green, dogs will become rabid.

Regardless of color, if the Strength, likely the ligamentum teres hepatis 65 of the liver, has fissures, the portent, while varied, is negative. Here color is not completely without force. Color modulates portent but does not determine its direction. But if the Strength is simply green rather than ‘dark’ without having fissures, the portent is positive: 92) BE KAL GE6-ik ÉRIN-ni DINGIR.MEŠ TAG4.MEŠ-šá

62

(2000).

Composite texts from Šumma Alamdimmû are based on the score developed in Böck

The dittoed text comes from the preceding omen, Šumma Alamdimmû 2:54. The meaning of SÀ (ZA) ḪAL is uncertain. Perhaps we should read some form of saḫālu (to pierce) which, when taken metaphorically, can mean ‘to annoy.’ Such a spelling would be extremely unusual, possibly unique. One might also consider Akkadian zaḫalû, an alloy of silver. 64 Context supports translating SIG ‘ yellow’ rather than ‘ green’ here. Compare Šumma 7 Alamdimmû 2:139 and 140 where, depending on how one reconstructs the lacuna in line 140, having white or reddish gray (šībtu) hair appears to bode ill. 65 Koch-Westenholz (1995) 46–47. 63

THE ROLE OF COLOR IN MESOPOTAMIAN DIVINATION

29

If the Strength is dark 66, the gods will desert my army.

93) BE KAL SIG7 ÉRIN-ni A.MEŠ i-kal-lu-ú

If the Strength is green, my army will cut off the water.

Here too the larger context is determinative. A different usage of a non-diagnostic color is seen in Enūma Anu Enlil 47:5’. Concerning rainbows, the extant portion of the omen reads: [DIŠ] ditto SIG7-šá pe-il i-ti-tu-šá SIG7 u GI6 ŠU[B.ŠUB …]

[If] ditto (a rainbow) its green part is dark red (and) its edges are tin[ted] with green and black, […]

Erlend Gehlken interprets SIG7-šá pe-il, ‘its green part is dark red,’ to indicate the color inverted portion of a double rainbow. 67 If this is correct, ‘its green part is dark red’ simply tells us that the portent, whatever it was, depends on conditions in the outer, less intense portion, of a double rainbow and not on those colors per se. Of course, the green and black tinting of that outer rainbow is likely diagnostic of outcome, if only we knew the apodosis and could read the surrounding very lacunose omens.

SUMMARY

The use of color in Mesopotamian divination is complex. The ancients used color qualifiers in many different ways. Frequently color qualifiers alone were diagnostic of omen portent but they could also be used with other diagnostic elements to indicate ill or favorable boding or to add nuance to the outcome. On still other occasions, color modifiers simply defined the type of worrisome thing, for example red fungus referring to a specific fungal species. Based on current evidence, firm rules for the boding of color qualifiers are hard to discern. But there are a few tendencies: green/yellow alone nearly always bodes ill; with many exceptions, red tends to bode well. Black, white and multicolor bode ill more often than not. The two diagnostic element rule articulated by Koch-Westenholz seems to hold in many cases where it can be tested and in cases where other considerations do not dominate. Whatever the rules regarding color, they seem to have been ‘more honor’d in the breach than the observance.’ 68

The phonetic complement -ik indicates that we should here read GE6 as tarik, ‘dark,’ rather than ṣalim, ‘black.’ 67 Gehlken (2012) 138, n23. 68 Shakespeare, Hamlet Act 1, scene 4, 16, on a quite different subject. 66

COLORFUL GARMENTS OF MESOPOTAMIAN STONE STATUES ASTRID NUNN INTRODUCTION

This essay is embedded in our project on the polychromy of Mesopotamian stone statues. On only a few Mesopotamian statues, particularly on some clay statues, colors are still visible to the naked eye. As early as the seventh millennium BCE, Neolithic female clay figurines were painted. Red to brown and black lines emphasize facial features, necklace, breasts, arms, legs and pubic area. Later on, where colors are preserved, they are black on hair and beard, and red to brown on skin and garments. However no reconstruction of a Mesopotamian colored statue exists. Questions relating to the extent of coloration and of remnants of pigmentation no longer visible to the naked eye still stand and will only be answered with the help of a complex technical apparatus. Colors are now fashionable. One reason is the fascination that they trigger in the average viewer. Colors are – consciously and unconsciously ˗˗ part of our lives and connected for each of us with various processes or objects, according to general or individual socialization. As they are subject to fashion, it is no surprise that colors on Mesopotamian statues, as on Greco-Roman ones, were initially perceived as rather ‘barbarian.’ The use of gold and lapis lazuli was – in the words of L. Woolley – considered ‘garish,’ which ‘is but due to the difference between Oriental and Western taste’ at a time, in which ancient Greek and Roman sculpture was still white. 1 Later scholars have touched on this topic. Their opinions range from the conviction that statues were colored to the opposite supposition. The two main reasons for the lack of studies are the almost complete destruction of the colors and the difficulty of finding adequate technical equipment necessary to detect and analyze the pigments. Mesopotamian human effigies were undoubtedly colored. In the light of this conviction a team based in Munich, Germany initiated a new project about the polychromy of Mesopotamian (Iraq and East Syria) stone statues dating from the fourth to the first millennium BCE. As a preliminary 1

Woolley (1965) 43.

31

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report has already been published, 2 I will concentrate here on the colors of garments; in an additional article, Rosel Pientka-Hinz addresses literary-historical and symbolic issues. 3

THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL MATERIAL: THE MATERIAL BASE

The following results and remarks are based on 97 statuettes, amongst them some extremely fragmentary examples. Out of them 36 have been examined by the team and have reliable color traces. 4 In addition, fragmentary information derives from publications on 61 pieces which we have not seen. The 97 objects considered here may roughly represent about 15% of the mostly very fragmentary ancient Mesopotamian stone sculpture. Principally, the distribution of the statues under investigation reflects the Mesopotamian inventory. Therefore, there are more men (64) than women (31). The best represented group dates back to the Early Dynastic period (67 statues) and, as a reflection of what we know about Mesopotamian statuary, it is not surprising that the persons represented are mainly private individuals. Few are kings and even fewer gods. 5

MEASUREMENT OF THE COLORS

Our aim is to reconstruct the colors. The best results are obtained by UV/VIS spectroscopy, 6 which measures the wavelength of a sample using a Xenon lamp as an excitation source. This method also allows the absolute measurement of the colors. No evidence as to the nature of the binder remains to us. But it is very likely that the ‘classical’ antique binders, casein or animal glue, were also used in the ancient Near East. However the binder changes the color value, but not the spectrum, and our experience with casein or glue binder shows that the color values remain largely true to the original. Based on this insight, we measure the color values that we see today. Among the internationally used scales Munsell seemed to us the most appropriate, but since restorers use Kremer, 7 we have now retained this scale. Hence we are able to identify the pigment and hue, though the degree of luminance is difficult to ascertain. As only the measurements on the Berlin statues have been evaluated, we focus on the third and the second millennia BCE.

Nunn, Jändl, and Gebhard (2015). Pientka-Hinz (2015). 4 In the Vorderasiatisches Museum (Berlin), British Museum (London) and Musées Royaux d’Art et d’Histoire (Brussels). My special thanks go to Richard Bond for revising the language. 5 Nunn, Jändl, and Gebhard (2015) 192–193. 6 By Dr. Heinrich Piening, Deputy Head of the Restoration Centre of the Bayerische Schlösserverwaltung. 7 http://www.kremer-pigmente.com/de/pigmente-01.html. 2 3

COLORFUL GARMENTS OF MESOPOTAMIAN STONE STATUES

THE THIRD MILLENNIUM: THE FLEECE SKIRT AND THE NATURAL COLOR OF WOOL

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The typical male garment in the second half of the Early Dynastic period (2500– 2340 BCE) is a skirt, which shows leaf-shaped languets or tufts and is therefore called ‘fleece’ or, as adapted from Greek, kaunakes. The garment of the Early Dynastic votive statue from Assur (Fig. 1) 8 and three other fragments of tufts (VA 8151, Ass 20391 and VA Ass 3577) from similar statues have been analyzed. The measurements yielded a color scale ranging from middle brown to a much brighter and lighter ocher. Four measurements were done on Fig. 1, two on languets and two on the tail. Exceptionally this one garment reveals at least two different hues: middle brown on a languet of the penultimate row and yellow ocher on a languet of the last row (Fig. 1a). The tail may also have shown two hues of a middle brown and a slightly darker brown. The colors in combination with the texture suggest that the depicted material is wool. Use of wool is a consequence of the domestication of sheep and, as a woven fabric, is known from the fifth millennium BCE. Interestingly, zooarchaeology and iconography hint at major changes at the end of the fourth millennium and at the beginning of the third, involving an increasing preference for fat tails and woolly fleeces, and therefore an increase in wool production. 9 A number of scholars have addressed the question of manufacture, whether this kaunakes was made out of a sheepskin with woolen tufts or of a manufactured fabric. Woolen tufts would have been knotted, a fabric woven. 10 Among the (unfortunately) only three fragments retrieved in Personal Grave 357 of the Royal Cemetery at Ur, one suggests a woven imitation of the fleece. 11 Though no precise statement about this piece is possible, the smoothness and the regularity of the leaf-shaped languets on Fig. 1 argue for something woven. On the other hand the similarity of the skirt to depictions of animals gives the impression of a sheepskin. 12 However, at a time when garments were not sewn, it is hardly conceivable that the individual leaf-shaped languets were cut out of a woven fabric and then sewn together. Not all garments look like a fleece; they are often also plain. The female dresses made from plain fabric have a hem, which one can assume represents the edge of the woven fabric. This seam frequently appears in a different color (see below). Here must be emphasized that this hem is also present on the garments made out of languets or tufts. One could therefore imagine that a ‘normal’ garment of plain fabric served as a basic garment on to which the (non-woven) tufts were applied. As uncertain as we are about the precise means of manufacture of the kaunakes, we can be confident that this kaunakes was more elaborate and more expensive than a garment made of a plain fabric. Spycket (1981) 101 pl. 65. Vila and Helmer (2014); Breniquet (2014) 53–56. 10 Breniquet (2013) 4–5. 11 Völling (2008) 208; Breniquet (2008) 61; Breniquet (2014) 55. 12 Völling (2008) 77–82. 8 9

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The topic of dyeing has been addressed in recent times. As few ancient Near Eastern textiles have survived, it is hard to get an overview of the use of colors from the archaeological material. 13 Moreover, artificial coloring mostly disappears after fifty years, so that it is rarely possible to determine whether the textiles were colored or not. 14 Wool, however, is easy to dye, and red coloring has probably existed as far back as the Neolithic period. A group of beads from Çatal Hüyük had traces of red inside the string holes, which is interpreted as the remains of a red thread, whose material is unknown. It is difficult to judge whether the fragment of thick woven ‘bright ochrous red’ fabric, which was retrieved by Woolley in the Personal Grave 1237 of the Royal Cemetery at Ur, was dyed. 15 Much later, the linen fabrics in the Neo-Assyrian graves of the queens Jaba, Atalia, and Mulissu-mukannishat in Nimrud (ninth to eighth century BCE) were purple, red, white and brownish. 16 The cuneiform documentation suggests that ‘normally only naturally pigmented wools were used’ at the end of the third millennium and that wool and textiles were only dyed in exceptional cases – for the use of king and the wealthy elite. 17 To sum up: our results hint at a color range from yellow ocher to medium brown at least for the fleece skirts of mortal men. These colors can be dyed but are, at the same time, the natural color of sheep. Measurements on other Early Dynastic statues also hint at the ‘color of sheep’ for plain fabric. One could also hypothesize that fleece garments were more probably made from unwoven and undyed wool, whereas plain fabric would have been woven and, in some cases, dyed. But it is – and due to the lack of pigment remains will remain – impossible to specify the distribution of the two colors brown and yellow ocher on Fig. 1. Assuming that these are reflecting natural sheep wool, the votive man could wear a skirt made from sheep's tail fur, which eventually could be ‘unwrapped.’ Each tail would then be attached to a background fabric. The brown and ocher colored tails could either alternate or be arranged in alternating rows. Although the garment might not be dyed, it would nonetheless be an effective expression of wealth, if one considers that the skirt of the man in Fig. 1 consists of 7 rows of about 24 tufts, in all 168 tufts, out of which the bottom row is barely visible. Of both types, the fleece garment seems to be more intricate and therefore more high-priced than when made out of plain material. The question as to whether the gods and men wore robes in different colors can only be elucidated by textual studies.

PLAIN TOGA-LIKE GARMENTS IN THE SECOND MILLENNIUM

From the end of the Early Dynastic period, the ensuing Akkadian period (2340– 2110 BCE) saw a change in fashion, the fleece being replaced by togas draped over Völling (2008) 202–246. Bréniquet (2008) 126–129, 132; Breniquet (2014) 69. 15 Barber (1991) 223–224; Völling (2008) 208. 16 Völling (2008) 212–213. 17 Waetzoldt (2010) 202. 13 14

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one or two shoulders. These (woven) textiles were adorned with knotted fringes and plaited so that the fringe would appear vertically on the front side. Thus far one statuette wearing this type of garment has been analyzed (Fig. 2). 18 This statuette may represent a god, or an incantation priest with a whip, and dates to the beginning of the second millennium BCE. The male figure wears a red ocher garment (Fig. 2a), the hem of which (Fig. 2b) was, however, painted in the lighter yellow ocher, and whose whip (Fig. 2c) was brown.

FLOUNCED AND PLAIN FEMALE GARMENTS (BEGINNING OF THE SECOND MILLENNIUM BCE)

The little female bust from a private house in Ur shows a flounced garment (Fig. 3). 19 It is one of the very few stone pieces on which much paint remains: black (amorphous carbon) on the garment hem around the neck, red (haematite) on the neck and neck jewelry, and white on the neck jewelry are all in evidence. Our microscopic examinations have shown further traces of reddish ocher on the flounced garment and on the hands. This lady clearly had a red skin and wore a reddish ocher garment, whose hem around the neck was black (Fig. 3a). But the red color along the hemline is better preserved than on the garment and on the hand, because it was thicker and applied on top of a white layer. In addition it was and still appears redder than on the remaining red colored parts. The use of two reds is unclear, and whom this lady represents is uncertain. Of the three possibilities ‒ goddess, priestess or mortal woman, the first two are the more probable. However, this unusual strong red will have to be included in future considerations. The lady of Fig. 4, originally standing in the niche of the sanctuary of Hendursag in a private house of Ur, wears a plain garment. 20 We have not yet completed the evaluation of our measurements, so the precise hue remains to be determined. It appears however that this Old Babylonian woman – probably a private woman or a priestess rather than a goddess – wore a robe of reddish ocher (Fig. 4a), which was not as brilliant as the red of the garment of Fig. 2 or the skin along the hemline of Fig. 3. Concluding from Fig. 2, it would seem that the man with a whip could illustrate the texts in which the gods and high persons receive a red garment. 21 The color must have been a dye, as it is not a color natural to the fiber; the fabric may have been wool or linen. Flax was cultivated from the beginnings of agriculture around 8000 BCE, and was processed into a textile in the third millennium. 22 But wool may be more probable, as growing conditions for producing linen from the flax seeds were better in Egypt and the Levant than in Mesopotamia, and wool is easier to dye than flax. It is also probable that in the second millennium, the dyeing stuff was Klengel-Brandt and Maul (1992). Spycket (1981) 253 n. 137. 20 Ibid. 254 n. 140. 21 Maggio (2012) 131–132; Villard (2010) 397. 22 Breniquet (2008) 89–90; Völling (2008) 55–59. 18 19

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mineral. The word ḫuru/atu, which means ‘madder,’ already occurs in the Old Babylonian texts from Mari and later in those from Nuzi and from Assyria. 23 The older mid-third millennium (ED III) texts from Ebla evoke a dyed darkred (ú-ḫáb), which was probably obtained from the gall-nut. Gall-nut is often named in the Ebla texts and in second-millennium Nuzi. 24 From no later than the midsecond millennium onward, and probably more so in West Syria and the Levant, dyeing stuff of animal origin came into use. The most recent findings are from west Syrian Qatna (ca. 1350 BCE), where numerous fragments of (unidentified) textiles were mineralized as gypsum, allowing the observation of different shades of the dye from purple to blue; this is so far unique in the Ancient Near East. In addition, thanks to technological progress, analysis has for the first time provided archaeological evidence for the use the shells Murex trunculus and Murex brandaris. These were used for dyeing purple and blue shades, as was madder (alizarin) for bright red. The use of shells for purple coloration seems to have started in Crete in the first half of the second millennium and was very likely known in the Levant from around 1500 BCE onwards. 25

MULTICOLORED TEXTILES

Multicolored clothes are often evoked in texts. As early as the 24th century BCE in texts from Ebla, the word ‘gùn’, which is frequently translated as ‘multicolored,’ occurs, probably referring to a variety of wool obtained directly from certain types of sheep and not to a color obtained with dye. For numerous multicolored textiles the most likely scenario is that light and dark colors were combined. 26 In Ugarit uqnâtu, dyed wool, probably blue in color, was produced with woad (isatis tinctoria). Strips of this fabric were used to make the hems of female garments. 27 So far images and our archaeological results of multicolored fabric are consistent, if we specify the term ‘multicolored’ as ‘bicolored.’ On quite a number of statues 28 the red garment was braided with a fringe in a second color, which could be black (Fig. 3) or yellow ocher (Fig. 2). Wall paintings are scantily preserved and their colored publications are dependent on what the excavators saw and drew from the former state of preservation. However, garments which are braided with a fringe in a second color are quite common. Garments are red-brown with a white seam on the fragments of the wall Abrahami (2014) 295; Postgate (2014) 410–413. Biga (2014) 142; Abrahami (2014) 296. 25 James, Reifarth and Evershed (2011). 26 Waetzoldt (2010) 202. 27 Abrahami (2014) 297; Villard (2010) 397–398. 28 For example, a standing votive female statuette with a polos, in gypsum, from the temple of Ishtar in Mari. ED III, 26th-25th century BCE. Louvre AO 17561. Parrot (1956) 85 n. 38, pl. 36. Cluzan and Butterlin (2014) 232, n. 107. 23 24

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paintings in Mari, showing men bringing sacrificial animals to their leader. 29 In Altintepe, genii wear a red garment with a white seam. 30 Inversely the garments of the civil servants of Dur Kurigalzu show a light color fabric, which is dark braided. 31 We were, however, unable to observe any painted patterns on the fabrics. On the premise that the original colors of the wall paintings in Mari (Room 132 and so called ‘scene of investiture’ of Court 106) are still fairly evident, Ishtar’s garment and those of her introductory goddesses dLama show flounces with up to four colors: white, ocher, red-brown, dark brown and ‘gray.’ In the Neo-Assyrian wall paintings from Til Barsip, garments of the lowranking staff are less differentiated and sophisticated in colors and fabric than those of the higher officials. The refinement of the fabric is rendered by small squares, narrow vertical lines or grids. They are red and blue for the genii and the king and (also originally?) black and white for the Assyrian civil servants and soldiers. The lower ranks, to which Assyrian horse leaders and some charioteers but also the vanquished foreigners belong, wear garments whose colors are applied over a broader surface, corresponding to simpler cloth in antiquity. It is noteworthy that many garments have a seam of a different color. Finally, Egyptian wall paintings and glazed panels depict Semitic men and women and Syrian tribute bearers. The paintings, which were found in tombs (Beni Hasan, El Amarna, Thebes) and the glazed panels, all from Medinet Habu (Ramses III), range from approximately the second millennium. Here the overall impression is the one of colorfulness, which makes the Syrians easily identified among other foreigners. 32 Although the textile colors are limited to white, red and blue, the motifs are sophisticated even if geometrical. White garments, probably made out of flax, are also decorated with a red and blue hem. 33

OTHER COLORS, NOT (YET) OBSERVED ON THE STONE STATUES

Garments in other colors are known from further sources. White was much appreciated, especially as the color of purity and brightness. The wall paintings in Room 132 of the Palace of Mari (end of the third millennium) show, for instance, the god Sin wearing a monochrome white garment, as is the king in the so called ‘scene of investiture’ of Court 106. Some copper traces were found on statues, which we cannot yet classify. Nonetheless, blue is certainly a color which was featured on some garments, as worn by a number of men on the wall paintings of Mari (early second millennium.) 34 From the middle of the second millennium onwards, blue is freParrot (1958) pl. Ba; Moortgat (1959) 35. Orthmann (1975) pl. XLVa. 31 Orthmann (1975) pl. XVI, Fig. 193a. 32 Davies (1935); Davies (1936) 29. 33 Davies (1935) 50, 55, 58; Davies (1936) 51, 57, 93. 34 Parrot (1958) pl. D. 29 30

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quently mentioned in texts and was often produced in centers such as Ugarit. 35 In the 19th century, E. Flandin mentioned colors such as red, blue and black on Assyrian stone slabs. Although very little is left from the overall antique coloration, red can still be seen on the tiara and garment of the Assyrian king. 36 The ne plus ultra among materials was yellow shining fabric, which was very rare and reserved for the king. 37 The richest embodiment of yellow was gold. We can get an impression of the shining yellow color from the wonderful composite statuette retrieved in the Early Dynastic III royal palace of Ebla (2300 BCE). This seated woman is made of dark steatite for hair and eyes; white limestone for face, hands and feet; and red jasper for a beaker, combined with a fleece garment covering both shoulders and plated with gold. 38

SUMMARY: ON THE COLORS OF GARMENTS FROM THE ARCHAEOLOGICAL POINT OF VIEW

One of the civilizing acts in the Epic of Gilgamesh is the clothing of the wild and naked Enkidu (Tablet II, lines 51–59). Clothes, in Mesopotamia as in any other culture, were used as a sign of wealth, but also for aesthetic pleasure, for which colors played a major role. In the ancient Near East the status and value of garments were less characterized by the cut than by the opulence of fabric and patterns. In the third millennium, the fleece garments of private persons, according to our results, may have been brown but were also bichromatic in brown and yellow ocher. Although the distribution of the two colors on the statue in Fig. 1 is unclear, the elements of ‘wool, brown, ocher and bicolor’ may suggest that the ancient Mesopotamians used the natural colors of the (fat-)tailed sheep without dyeing. Since the skirt in the natural color of a sheep’s fleece does not on its own signify a higher status for its wearer, the indication of wealth would, in the case of the fleece skirts, rest on the number of tufts. This would correlate to the number of sheep required, and hence to the financial means of the wearer. In the second millennium, the garments are either flounced or plain, whether in wool or in linen. They would be reddish ocher, but for the gods or priests at least – depending on how one interprets the man with the whip – they could also be of a strong red color, and therefore presumably dyed. Already in the third millennium, statues show that the hem could be in a different color from that of the main fabric. The border strips, braids and fringes played a significant role in Assyrian society, at a time when garments were more generally sewn. Many inventory texts list robes and fine or ceremonial garments, with or without their decorative border strips (sūnu).

Wool from Nuzi: Abrahami (2014) 297; James et al. (2011). Thiemann (2009) 70–95. 37 Waetzoldt (2010) 202; Maggio (2012) 129–130. 38 Matthiae (2010) 180, pl. XIV. 35 36

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When garments were divested of their trim while cleaned, they would be described as ‘stripped/peeled’ (qalpu). 39 Besides blue, which is lacking although we might expect it, the hues of the garments on the statues of the third and second millennium seem to range from light ocher to brown and red ocher. Gods and humans would have worn garments in these colors: brown to yellow ocher signifying wealth in term of numbers of sheep at the wearer’s disposal and the red ocher of dyed cloth standing for brightness and dynamic energy.

39

Dalley (1991a) 124–125.

THE COLOR BLUE AS AN ‘ANIMATOR’ IN ANCIENT EGYPTIAN ART* LORELEI H. CORCORAN INTRODUCTION

Of all the colors of the ancient Egyptian palette, blue is the most controversial and the color about which, both lexicographically and linguistically and with respect to its practical use as a pigment, there are the most commonly held misconceptions. In ancient Egyptian, the term in common use for blue, ḫsbḏ, was the same as the word used for the most prized, natural material of that color, lapis lazuli. 1 According to

* This article is based on my paper, ‘Some Observations on Egyptian Art: Color Terms and Color Use in Ancient Egypt,’ delivered in Leiden, the Netherlands, on 10 May 2007, while on a faculty sabbatical from the University of Memphis, and on two additional papers: ‘Faience and Glass and the Sincerest Form of Flattery,’ presented at the annual conference of the American Research Center in Egypt, Seattle WA, 26 April 2008, and ‘Reflections on Color Terms, Color Use and Surface Texture in Ancient Egyptian Art,’ given at the Xth International Congress of Egyptology co-sponsored by the Department of Mediterranean Studies, University of the Aegean, Rhodos, Greece, 22–29 May 2008. I thank Dr. J.J. Roodenberg, former director of the library of the Nederlands Instituut voor Het Nabije Oosten (NINO), for extending research privileges to me. I am also grateful to Dr. W. Raymond Johnson, director of Chicago House, Luxor, Egypt, for his support and permission to use the Chicago House library during my 2007 visit. I am grateful to Marie Svoboda, associate conservator, for her help in facilitating my work at the Getty Villa library. I thank the staff of the Scientific Research Laboratory of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and am especially grateful to Dr. Rita E. Freed, John F. Cogan Jr. and Mary L. Cornille Chair of the Art of the Ancient World, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, for permission to publish MFA 98.1011. My sincere thanks also go to Rachael Goldman and to my colleagues Barbara Aston, Edwin C. Brock †, Denise Doxey, Charles Dibble, Richard Jasnow, Peter Lacovara, Ray Leonard, Patricia Podzorski, Nicholas Reeves, Joshua Roberson, Marie Svoboda, Tasha Vorderstrasse and Marc Walton for discussion, references and/or critiques. I thank Carolina Quintana for invaluable bibliographic assistance. I would like to dedicate this article to the memory of my first professor of Egyptology, Alexander Kaczmarczyk †. 1 Harris (1961) 124–125; Hermann (1969) 362, lists four colors for blue: ‘jrtjw [blau]:

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the universalist color theory proposed by Brent Berlin and Paul Kay, 2 the word for ‘blue’ as a ‘color term’ – defined by strict parameters – is the last to be added in the sequence of the acquisition of the first six basic color terms in any contemporary natural language 3 but some scholars claim that there was never an abstract color word for blue in ancient Egyptian 4 or that it did not appear until long after the pigment was produced. 5 Although inevitably, as analyzed here, ancient Egyptian, like ancient Greek or Latin 6 and many other languages, does not, as a result of numerous incompatibilities, conform to the Berlin and Kay system, it can be seen to have functioned in a consistent pattern with respect to the acquisition and use of words that we consider ‘color terms’ because it reflects a culturally specific, emic approach to the abstract concept of ‘color’ that is as equally sophisticated as, yet fundamentally different from, that of other cultures. As the first synthetically produced pigment in the basic Egyptian palette, the color we know as ‘Egyptian blue’ has been generally accepted to have been in widespread use only after the Old Kingdom. 7 Evidence presented here, however, will document that its use can be dated to the end of the predynastic era and its production in Ancient Egypt represents, therefore, the oldest technology for an artificially produced pigment in the world. Iconographically, all colors of the basic Egyptian palette are generally accepted to have had ‘symbolic meanings,’ yet so many of these meanings overlap that the only constant quality with which the synthetically produced color blue can be ultimately associated is the scintillating effect it imparted to an artistically constructed image. Brilliance is the quality it shares with other materials that shine, like gold 8 and glass and even more mundane materials like resin and wax, 9 which effected a spark with the power to associate that image with the sun and the cosmos, and by recalling the life-giving powers of the forces of creation, imbues an inanimate work of art with a sense of living presence.

GENERAL BACKGROUND

There are only two significant early studies that have formed the basis for color studies in Egyptology. 10 In his 1943 publication, Farbensymbolik in ägyptischen religiösen

Wb. 1, 116, 10/2; ḫsbḏ lapislazulifarben: Wb. 3, 334 [-335], 15/20; tfrr saphirfarben: Wb. 5, 300, 4; vgl. auch ṯms blauviolett: [Wb. 5, 369, 1/15].’ 2 Berlin and Kay (1969). 3 Ibid. 3, 19, 33–34. 4 Schenkel (1963) 142. 5 Fellman (2014). 6 Lyons (1999) 55–68. 7 Robins (2001) 291. 8 Daumas (1956). 9 See Raven (1984); Raven (1991) 16. 10 In addition to those works by Kees and Schenkel discussed in this paper, we should also mention Morenz (1962) 8.

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Texten, Hermann Kees explored the symbolic (and dedicated) role of color in religious texts and magical spells, 11 and in his 1963 article, ‘Die Farben in ägyptischer Kunst und Sprache,’ Wolfgang Schenkel questioned the existence of truly abstract color terms in ancient Egyptian (particularly the word for blue) and proposed a division of the palette into complementary pairs of ‘warm’ and ‘cool’ colors, relating these colors as well to the Egyptian landscape. 12 These two studies approached the phenomenon of color apprehension and use from the authors’ inherited perspectives on Egyptian culture at a time when much of early Egyptology, as a discipline, was rooted in an understanding of culture from either the assessment of material objects (an archeological perspective) or from the translation of texts (a philological interpretation). The nuanced associations between color symbolism and the role of color in magico-religious texts that captivated Kees, however, were not subsequently expanded upon by Egyptologists, but rather became somewhat fossilized into a simplistic and literal parallelism that was established between individual colors and specific symbolic meanings that were attached to them. Color studies in Egyptian art became ‘color as symbol,’ as if one could construct a literal one-to-one correspondence between a color and either a concrete object or an abstract concept. 13

COLOR TERMS

In 1969, Brent Berlin, an anthropologist, and Paul Kay, a linguist, proposed that a universalist system could account for the existence of, and the sequence of acquisition of, color terms in all contemporary natural languages. Their conclusions were that eleven basic color terms are acquired in a fixed chronological order that can be interpreted as an evolutionary sequence of seven stages. 14 The sequence was identified as follows: Stage I, black and white, after which with each stage additional colors were added; Stage II, red; Stage IIIa, either green or yellow; Stage IIIb, either yellow or green, whichever was not acquired previously; Stage IV, yellow and green; Stage V, blue; Stage VI, brown; and Stage VII, purple, pink, orange and gray, although gray was potentially considered an indicator of brightness. 15 Berlin and Kay also proposed a ‘positive correlation between general cultural complexity (and/or technological development) and complexity of colour vocabulary’ 16 so that all languages of ‘highly industrialized … peoples are at Stage VII while all representatives of the early Stages (I, II and III) are spoken by peoples with small populations and limited technology, located in isolated areas.’ 17 Kees (1943) 413–479. Schenkel (1963) 131–147. 13 See Wilkinson (1994) 106–110, 116; Hartwig (2001) 1; Robins (2001) 291–293; Boczar (2012). 14 Berlin and Kay (1969) 2–3, 14. 15 Ibid. 17–45. 16 Ibid. 16. 17 Ibid. 11 12

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In 1985, in an example of cross-disciplinary research, uncommon among Egyptologists at, before, or since that time, John Baines attempted to reconcile the Berlin and Kay color theory with ancient Egyptian color terms and concluded that the evidence from ancient Egypt ‘fits neatly with Berlin and Kay’s linguistic hypothesis.’ 18 Factors, however, crucial to Berlin and Kay’s color theory – in particular, that in order for a word to be considered a true color term it must have no other meaning than the abstract term, so that ‘color terms that are also the name of an object characteristically having that color are suspect, for example, gold, silver, and ash’ 19 − have troubled Egyptologists, who have subsequently identified difficulties in justifying the application of Berlin and Kay’s universalist system to the circumstances of ancient Egypt (see below). Whether or not one might ultimately be inclined to concur with Warburton that the effort consequently ‘did a disservice to Egyptology and Anthropology,’ 20 Baines’ work introduced a critical discourse between Egyptology and contemporary studies in color theory being conducted in the social sciences. Baines himself encountered contradictions. He acknowledged that the use of color in ancient Egypt was at Stage V in the Old Kingdom, at Stage VI in the Middle Kingdom and at partial Stage VII in the New Kingdom, whereas he allowed that the ancient Egyptian language possessed only four basic color terms, thus placing Egypt at the low rung of Stage IIIa on the Berlin and Kay evolutionary scale. 21 The four basic color terms Baines recognized were: black (km), white (ḥḏ), red (dšr) and green (wɜḏ). A fifth term, sɜb, used to describe the feathers of birds, the dappled hides of cattle and the skin of some reptiles was noted as designating ‘variegated of hue’ and covered a range of colors. 22 The Egyptian language would, then, according to Baines, 23 have been ‘ill-adapted’ to describing the range of colors that were in use, unless, of course, the Egyptians were satisfied to use terms for minerals or materials to describe colors. However, according to Berlin and Kay’s system, in order for a word to be a true color term, it must be purely referential, that is, it must have no other meaning than the abstract color term. It cannot be descriptive or attributive in its use. Crucial to our acceptance of Berlin and Kay’s theory with respect to its applicability to anBaines (1985) 282. This article was republished, admittedly unchanged, in Baines (2007) 240–262. Baines also reiterated his defense of the Berlin and Kay theory in Baines (2001) 155–156 n. 2. 19 Berlin and Kay (1969) 6. 20 Warburton (2008) 253. 21 Baines (1985) 289 = Baines (2007) 253. Such a low ranking on the scale would seem at odds with Egypt’s complex bureaucratic and social structure and technological achievements (for example, the methods for the construction of the Giza pyramids are a subject of debate to this day). 22 Baines (1985) 283 = Baines (2007) 242. 23 Baines (1985) 289 = Baines (2007) 253. Baines has also suggested that an enlarged color vocabulary may have been a prerogative of the elite whereas the basic terms were enough for the masses. Warburton (2008) 251 n. 170. 18

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cient Egypt, therefore, is that lexicographical studies of color terms 24 have pointed out that the four generally agreed upon words that function as color terms in ancient Egyptian – black, white, red and green – can potentially function grammatically as either adjectives or as verbs, and that none of these terms has reference exclusively to a color. Consequently, Quirke has remarked that, with respect to the requirements of Berlin and Kay’s definition of a word as a color term, ancient Egyptian ‘behaves rather badly’ 25 whereas Warburton stated flatly that ‘the Egyptian material does not support the Berlin and Kay scheme.’ 26 A primary focus of concern for this debate is the appropriateness of ḫsbḏ as a true color term for ‘blue’ because it is also used as the name of the material lapis lazuli. Nevertheless, if we look at what have been deemed as the four ‘acceptable’ terms from among those that qualified Egypt at Stage IIIa, we see that they can also function as nouns referring to concrete objects as attested by the determinatives that accompany them. Km (black) can also function as the noun for black earth or, as its determinative suggests, the hide of a crocodile, ḥḏ (after Dynasty Four) designates silver, dšr also means flamingo, and wɜḏ is, literally, a papyrus stem (see Fig. 1). As someone who primarily deals with visual culture, however, my immediate response to the question of the appropriateness of these Egyptian terms qualifying as abstract color terms was to look, not at their meaning, but at the hieroglyphic character of the words themselves. Due to the highly visual nature of the ancient Egyptian’s hieroglyphic writing system and their well-attested preference for communication that employs the complementarity of text and images, 27 it seemed to me that the use of determinatives in the spelling of words was the clearest argument that all of the so-called ancient Egyptian ‘color terms’ originally referenced concrete objects and were therefore ineligible to fit the Berlin and Kay system. The most persuasive argument against the applicability of the Berlin and Kay system to ancient Egypt, therefore, would be the nature of hieroglyphic writing itself. The first ‘accepted’ color terms – for black, white, red and green – are written with images of materials or objects of the color intended. Black is written with the sign for a swatch of the loamy, spiny hide of a crocodile, white with either the sign for bright sunlight or a gleaming white limestone mace, red with a flamingo, and green with a papyrus plant (Fig. 1). The simplest argument then would be that the ancient Egyptian hieroglyphic writing system disqualifies these words as truly abstract color terms because the hieroglyphic images depict concrete objects. It was with surprise that I read that this idea had already been put forth, in 1969, by Alfred Hermann. 28 Although Schenkel dismisses this idea (but has favored Warburton’s suggestion that abstract color terms derived from the words for semi-precious

Schenkel (2007) 214; Quirke (2001) 188. Quirke (2001) 187. 26 Warburton (2007) 216. 27 Fischer (1977) 3–9. See further, Baines (2007) 281–282. 28 Cited in Schenkel (2007) 225. See Hermann (1969) 362. This idea was also mentioned by Morenz (1962) 5. 24 25

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stones), 29 the ‘grounding’ of these words in the material world is a significant corollary to the ancient Egyptian worldview. That the ancient Egyptians themselves recognized the concrete nature of their hieroglyphs is attested by their fear of the potential for individual hieroglyphs to magically become animate in the real world or in the world beyond. For this reason, many signs considered potentially dangerous were disabled by dissection. 30 Their belief in the magical power, in this world, of the written word through the agency of the hieroglyphs is also attested by the idea that the magical spells and cryptic images on so-called Horus cippi could be transferred to another medium, like water that had been poured over a stela, which was then drunk in order to heal the victim of a scorpion’s bite, or other afflicted person. 31 Even as we accept that ‘color terms’ were originally linked to concrete objects, we acknowledge that these terms were subject to variance and change over time. This can perhaps be seen best with the word for white/silver (ḥḏ) which, in its causative form, sḥḏ, can mean ‘to illuminate’ 32 as in the standard formula inscribed on shawabti figures 33 and eventually came to be the standard word for ‘currency/money’ in Coptic. 34 It was certainly advancements in, and the dissemination of, the written language 35 that hastened such changes in the meanings of words. One might also understand the process by which a word could become an abstract color term to be associated with the phenomenon of ‘repression of sense’ whereby the original meaning of a word or phrase is ‘forgotten’ and words are no longer meant literally. 36 In effect, ‘the user of a language does not realize the basic Schenkel (2007) 225. Warburton states emphatically (2008) 242–243, that his ‘entire argument’ is that the colors to which color terms refer were ‘not taken from the surrounding, natural world, nor are they derived from ‘brightness’ and they were not taken from the pigment … [but that] they were taken from the precious materials’ such as silver and lapis lazuli. I would object to this on a number of points. For example, the word for one of the first two basic color terms, white, ḥḏ, did not come to mean silver until Dynasty Four. Silver was initially called nbw ḥḏ, ‘white gold’ or ‘white precious metal’ to distinguish it from nbw ‘gold.’ See Schorsch (2001) 55–56. 30 This is the standard explanation for the mutilation of hieroglyphs, see Ritner (2012) 395–406; for an alternative interpretation see Stanton (2014) 74, which nevertheless assumes that these signs ‘depicted living beings.’ 31 Ritner (1989) 106–107. I thank Joshua Roberson for the suggestion. 32 Schenkel (2007) 225. 33 Spanel (1986) 251 n. 5 suggests translating sḥḏ as ‘the illuminator/the illuminated’; Aufrère and Menu (1998) 11–12 refer to shawabtis as ‘guarantors of luminosity for the deceased’ because ‘the deceased requires the rays of the sun to be resurrected.’ Bianchi (1998) 24 also discusses the solar aspect of shawabtis made of faience with respect to the shawabti text. 34 Schenkel (1963) 144; Warburton (2008) 226. 35 Warburton (2007a) 242. 36 Englund (1989) 22, and ibid., further, ‘Users do not pay attention to the metaphors of their mother tongue.’ 29

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and original meaning of a word that is used in a metaphorical sense, he only sees what the sentence intends to communicate.’ 37 One can think of the colloquial use of brand names for generic products: we say, ‘Pass me a Kleenex’ when we mean ‘tissue’ and have even created a noun and a verb from the company name Xerox. Most likely such a thing occurred with color terms that were once material bound. 38 In such a way, the word for ‘lapis lazuli,’ which itself was a loan word from the ancient Near East, 39 could have become disassociated from the precious stone to become a color term (although perhaps it never truly lost, in the Egyptian mind, the initial reference). Schenkel’s remark that ‘the confusion between linguistics and pigments in the real world of color’ has yet to be eliminated, 40 implies that a distinction ought to be made. The problem, however, is that ‘repression of sense’ does not function crossculturally, so that we see only the concrete meanings of these words. This ‘has made Egyptologists say that the Egyptians could not think in an abstract way and that they lacked abstract words,’ 41 but such a generalization would be ‘using to describe Egyptian thought a specialized modern term that is entirely alien to Egypt.’ 42 As a result of this manner of thinking – the attempt to identify abstract color terms by imposing our modern definition of the term upon the Egyptian system of classification – the word for blue in ancient Egyptian poses the greatest challenge. These difficulties notwithstanding, Quirke claims to have identified one of the earliest occurrences of the use of ḫsbḏ as a ‘color term’ for blue in a spell from the Pyramid Texts (PT 246). 43 In this text appear two personae of the falcon god Horus, one who is described as having eyes of ḫsbḏ and the other, eyes of dšr. The two terms then occupy the ‘same paradigmatic slot[s] … making it difficult to interpret them here other than as color terms,’ 44 that is, referring to ‘blue’ eyes in contrast to ‘red’ eyes. The term ḫsbḏ then, although it meant, literally, the material lapis lazuli, seems to have also been used early on to mean the color blue, because although these Pyramid Texts, which are carved in the burial chambers of the kings and queens of the Fifth Dynasty, are dated to that period (ca. 2700–2600 BCE), scholars agree that they are based on much older texts that were probably originally transmit-

Englund (1989) 22. Harris (1961) 125. 39 Berlin and Kay (1969) 41 state that the color term for blue is ‘frequently a loan word.’ For further discussion, see Warburton (2007a). Pierre Montet was the first to suggest that the word ḥsbḍ may have been derived from ‘Badakshan,’ the name of the site in northeastern Afghanistan that was the source of the stone. Harris (1961) 125. 40 Schenkel (2007) 213. 41 Englund (1989) 22. 42 Schäfer (1986) 35. 43 Quirke (2001) 189. 44 Ibid. 37 38

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ted orally. 45 It is also intriguing to note that the incised hieroglyphs of the Pyramid Texts in the burial chamber of King Wenis are filled with blue pigment. Such a practice thus provides very early real-world evidence for the Fifth Dynasty phrase ‘written in ḫsbḏ/blue.’ 46 The tendency to use blue pigment as the color of hieroglyphs is noted on other objects as well, such as the funerary texts on coffins of all periods. 47 The goal of these texts is to assist the deceased in ascending to heaven to merge with the cosmos. Whereas the Berlin and Kay system has been accepted as generally useful, a number of objections have been raised concerning its application to cultures with which it does not seem to be compatible. To what must be the great consternation of Noam Chomsky, who theorized that all human languages have a universal grammar, a South American language has emerged (of Brazil’s Pirahã tribe) that not only does not use subordinate clauses, it has no words for numbers, and it has no words for colors. 48 While the Pirahã language would not necessarily invalidate Berlin and Kay’s theory, it does provide an alternative cultural example that challenges the system. With respect to other well-studied ancient languages, Lyons has raised questions concerning its applicability to ancient Greek. 49 Egyptologists have raised issues as well with the appropriateness of applying etic frameworks, designed to accommodate contemporary languages (and, in particular, only those of the northwest coast of North America), 50 to ancient Egyptian. Others have noted that ‘Although it has not proven practical at this stage of research to avoid the colour by colour approach the shortcomings should be noted: it creates a foreign and anachronistic focus on English language colour terms, few if any of which can be said to correspond exactly to the Egyptian perception of colour.’ 51 Nicholas Reeves noted succinctly that ‘the Egyptians appear not to have classified colours in the same way as we do today.’ 52 Quirke concluded that he ‘would leave open … the possibility that colour may be an inappropriate word for the ancient Egyptian perception of surfaces and their usage of words,’ 53 an observation that we may owe originally to the insight of Wittgenstein who ‘suggested that there might be a more fundamental colour concept than that of surface hue.’ 54 In light of these expressed reservations, which are corroborated by the material culture, with Some spells of the Pyramid Texts are also decidedly non-royal, a certain indication that they were older than their first appearance in Fifth Dynasty royal tombs; see Wente (1982) 176 n. 118. 46 Baines (1985) 286 = Baines (2007) 248. 47 Delange (1998) 21–24. 48 Von Bredow (2006); Everett (2005) 621–646. 49 Lyons (1995) 217–222. 50 Quirke (2001) 187. 51 Lee and Quirke (2000) 108. 52 Reeves (1997) 154. 53 Quirke (2001) 186. 54 Cited in DuQuesne (1996) 10. 45

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respect to its grammar and lexicography, it is likely inaccurate to claim that ancient Egyptian ‘fits neatly with Berlin and Kay’s linguistic hypothesis.’ 55

EARLIEST USE OF BLUE AS A PIGMENT

Although statements attesting to the fact are found throughout the literature, there is no evidence that the mineral turquoise was ever used in ancient Egypt to produce a blue pigment. 56 In ancient Egypt it was also not the practice to produce blue pigment by grinding lapis lazuli. 57 Such a process would not only have been prohibitively expensive, necessitating massive quantities of the prestige commodity 58 that had to be imported over thousands of miles from its source in the mountains of Badakhshan in northeastern Afghanistan, but the pigment produced from such a process would have been disappointingly chalky in color. 59 Furthermore, although ground lapis lazuli is known to have been in use elsewhere as the pigment ultramarine from the 6th century CE, it is not documented in Egypt until the 11th century CE. 60 Blue pigment (Egyptian blue) was instead created in ancient Egypt as a multiphase synthetic material ‘produced by firing a mixture of quartz, lime, a copper compound [for example, malachite] and an alkali flux.’ 61 A second synthetic pigment that varied in color from green to pale blue is known as ‘turquoise frit’ or ‘Egyptian green.’ It combined the same components as Egyptian blue but the alkali content is higher and its lime content is greater than its copper oxide content. 62 It has often, but erroneously, been stated that blue as a pigment did not come into use until the mid-Fourth Dynasty or ca. 2550 BCE. 63 In his 2005 unpublished D. Phil thesis, however, G.E. Hatton noted several examples of Egyptian blue that predate the Fourth Dynasty, including its use in a tomb (no. 3121) at Sakkara dated to the end of the First Dynasty (ca. 2890 BCE). 64 Regrettably, Hatton’s citation of Contra Baines (1985) 282 = Baines (2007) 241. Aston et al. (2000) 62. 57 Ibid. 40. Only one exception to this has been noted to date: analysis of an early New Kingdom limestone statue excavated at Thebes, and now in the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, showed traces of ‘ground lapis lazuli’ but this use is thought to have been an isolated experiment. Heywood (2001b) 1. 58 Even in the predynastic period, ‘the general impression is that lapis lazuli is found in richer graves.’ Payne (1968) 58. 59 Delamare (2013) 5 says ‘crushing this rock did not directly yield a powder of the same blue as the rock itself but a pale blue-gray powder with a very weak coloring agent.’ I thank Tasha Vorderstrasse for this reference. 60 Lee and Quirke (2000) 111. 61 Hatton et al. (2008) 1591. 62 Ibid. 63 Robins (2001) 291. 64 Hatton (2005) 3. In addition, Hatton (2005) 4 cites two other examples of Egyptian blue, both however in paste form. The first is on a ‘gold object’ from Nag’ ed-Deir dating to Dynasty One, and the second is a blue paste vessel (Petrie Museum, UCL, UC15345) also 55 56

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these early examples of the use of Egyptian blue never entered into mainstream literature, because they were either unpublished or because they were published in conservation journals not read by Egyptologists. Nevertheless, although the examples Hatton cited pushed back the earliest identification of Egyptian blue by over 300 years, new evidence provides an even earlier date for the first use of Egyptian blue. In his 1997 study of the coloring of the earliest recorded hieroglyphs from Dynasties 0–3, Jochem Kahl identified a pattern 65 that Baines 66 saw as complementing the evolution of the use of color as described by Berlin and Kay. Moreover, Kahl 67 offered as evidence for the earliest use of hieroglyphs in blue, those that appear on a small alabaster bowl (Fig. 2) excavated in 1898 at Hierakonpolis by J.E. Quibell 68 and now in the collection of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston (MFA 98.1011), which appeared in the catalog for the exhibition The American Discovery of Ancient Egypt. In the accompanying caption for the 6.1 x 12.1 cm. bowl, it is described as having been ‘inscribed’ (perhaps more accurately ‘coarsely hammered’) with a scorpion overlaid with ‘blue pigment’ that is said to be ‘Egyptian blue.’ 69 A small vessel of this shape − with a wide mouth, simple rim and flat bottom – is ‘often represented [in Egyptian art] as held by the base in one hand while drinking from it.’ 70 Although ‘the observation that blue was used is understood always as Egyptian blue as other blue pigments are rare,’ 71 Hatton has advised that an ‘analysis is often needed to confirm the use of a particular pigment.’ 72 Having noted the reference to blue on the MFA bowl, I reached out to the Scientific Research Lab at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts in 2009 to inquire if the bowl could be studied to confirm whether or not the blue coloring was indeed Egyptian blue. 73 In 2013, I queried dated to Dynasty One. In Pradell et al. (2006) 1426, the authors (Hatton among them) cite 2300 BCE as the earliest date for the use of Egyptian blue as a pigment. Further, in Hatton et al. (2008) 1591 the authors state that ‘In Egypt, the earliest surviving use of Egyptian blue frit was possibly in the painting from Tomb 3121 at Saqqara which is dated to the reign of ‘Ka-sen’ who was the last king of the 1st Dynasty (i.e. circa 2900 BC).’ 65 Kahl (1997) 44–56. 66 Baines (2001) 156 n. 2, in his attempt to reconcile this early material to Berlin and Kay’s system, does not mention Kahl’s evidence for the presence of yellow or blue but, rather, points to the earliest example of a text from the time of Narmer, Dynasty One, ca. 3100 BCE, wherein the hieroglyphs are only red and black on a light − that is, ‘white’ − ivory background and a jar label text of Djer, Dynasty One ca. 3050 BCE, in red and green. 67 Kahl (1997) 44 n. 3. 68 Quibell (1900) 11 and, possibly, plate XXXIV, no. 20. 69 Lacovara (1995) 112. 70 Petrie (1937) 6. 71 Hatton (2005) 3. 72 Ibid. 73 I thank Marie Svoboda and Susanne Gänsicke for their assistance with this request.

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whether it could be determined if the pigment was applied to the bowl at the time that the vessel was manufactured, or had been added as an embellishment at a later date. The analyses results confirmed that the material was indeed Egyptian blue. 74 With regard to my second question, it was determined that the blue pigment ‘is likely contemporary with the vessel.’ 75 The MFA bowl, one of several similarly decorated bowls found at Hierakonpolis that were inscribed and decorated with blue pigment, 76 was found in the ‘Main Deposit,’ 77 a site that is well-known for, among other finds, two of the most iconic objects in Egyptian art: the Narmer Palette and the Scorpion Macehead. Unfortunately, there are numerous problems with the ‘Main Deposit’ with respect to context: the objects from it represent a wide range of dates and the excavators did not, or rather, could not, record precise findspots for them, it being ‘impossible to give a detailed plan of so confused and close packed a heap of objects.’ 78 The ‘Main Deposit’ was, in fact, an overwhelmingly challenging discovery as it consisted of hundreds of objects of various dates that had been, in antiquity, haphazardly thrown together and buried. 79 That the MFA bowl is incised with a scorpion originally led Petrie, and subsequently Lacovara and others, to date the bowl to the time of King Scorpion, Dynasty 0, ca. 3100 BCE, contemporary with the King Scorpion depicted on the Scorpion Macehead. 80 There is no definitive evidence, however, that the MFA bowl belonged to the ‘King Scorpion’ who preceded Narmer. Although Quibell and Green’s published drawings of some of the Hierakonpolis bowls show several variations of combinations of early hieroglyphic-like signs, 81 it is difficult to tell from their numbering systems and sketchy drawings to which bowls specifically their drawings refer. To complicate matters, the chart listing to which institutions the Main Deposit finds were distributed incorrectly lists that a bowl with a falcon motif was given to Boston, whereas the MFA bowl clearly has a scorpion on it. 82 Results of the visible-induced luminescence of the Egyptian blue Derrick (2009). Richard Newman’s later unpublished analysis (2010) was undertaken using scanning electron microscopy/energy-dispersive X-ray spectrometry (SEM/EDS). Newman’s 2014 article (506), citing his 2010 analysis report of the pigment on the bowl, omits mention that I had initiated the request for the analysis based on my identification of its historical significance. 75 Newman, Gänsicke, Derrick and Arista (2015). In her earlier unpublished report, Jessica Arista (2015) states that ‘it can be seen that burial accretions are present on top of the blue pigment.’ 76 Quibell and Green (1902) 43. 77 Quibell (1900) 11, pl. XXXIV; Quibell and Green (1902) 43, pl. XLVIIIa. 78 Quibell and Green (1902) 29. 79 Ibid. 28. 80 Lacovara (1995). 81 Quibell (1900) pl. XXXIV. 82 There is only one alabaster bowl assigned to ‘Boston’ in Quibell and Green (1902) pl. XLVIIIa, center, but this is clearly a mistake, as first noted by Kaplony (1968) 14 n. 24. I 74

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particles on the bowl 83 have now made it possible, however, to clearly see an additional figure to the left of the scorpion sign (Fig. 3). It resembles Gardiner Sign List D28, 84 two upraised arms (usually read as kɜ or ‘soul’), but it is Gardiner Sign List D32, 85 inverted arms that are read sḫn or zḫn. This combination of signs is found on numerous other bowls and forms a corpus of signs that combine the zḫn sign with a creature such as a scorpion or a falcon. 86 How these signs are actually to be translated, however, is still a matter of debate among Egyptologists. Some see the creatures as the names of regional ‘rulers’ or ‘chiefs’ who predate the unification of Egypt under Narmer; 87 others see them as the names of deities or as the names of estates. 88 The signs on the MFA bowl are closely paralleled, paleographically, by early ‘hieroglyphs’ found on vessels at Abydos at Cemetery U, particularly tomb U-j, in excavations under the direction of Günter Dreyer 89 and in rock carvings at the site of Gebel Tjauti, discovered by John and Deborah Darnell. 90 These finds have produced tantalizing evidence, unavailable to Egyptologists (Petrie, Lacovara, et al.) before the late 20th century, for the possible existence of heretofore unknown predynastic rulers. At Abydos and at Gebel Tjauti, the group of signs has been related to a ruler, perhaps named ‘Scorpion,’ who lived approximately 150–200 years earlier than ‘King Scorpion.’ Dreyer and Darnell date material related to this earlier Scorpion ruler to the late predynastic (Hendrickx’s Nagada IIIa1 ca. 3250 BCE). 91 The MFA scorpion bowl could reference an early

would suggest that the bowl given to the MFA is actually the one listed further down the page, center row, as having been given to Cambridge. To complicate matters, the numbers assigned to such inscribed bowls in Quibell (1900) pl. XXXIV, are not provided in Quibell and Green (1902) pl. XLVIIIa. 83 This study was requested by Marc Walton, Senior Scientist at Northwestern University/Art Institute of Chicago Center for Scientific Studies in the Arts (NU-ACCESS). 84 Gardiner (1964) 453. 85 Ibid. 86 Kahl (1994) 42, and Kaplony (1968) 14–17. 87 Darnell et al. (2002) 16–18. 88 Kahl (2003) 127–129. 89 Dreyer (1998). 90 Darnell et al. (2002). 91 Kahl (2001) 105 gives 3320 BCE as the date for Scorpion I based on Dreyer’s king list (see below). For a discussion of the complexities of dating in the predynastic period, see Regulski (2015) who suggests, in light of the ‘whole series of anonymous rulers, known from lavish burials [e.g. Tomb U-j at Abydos] or inscribed materials’ from this period that it seems ‘more feasible and appropriate to restrict the word “dynasty” to the First and Second Dynasty when rulers can be identified with more certainty, and when a degree of historical and political continuity can be observed.’

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ruler, named Scorpion I (ca. 3250 BCE) or simply represent an icon of divine or political power. 92 If, however, the signs on the MFA bowl do not identify an earlier ruler named Scorpion, it is intriguing to explore another avenue for dating. Although the MFA bowl was not found in a precise, datable context, Green stated that ‘a lot of pottery with rough alabaster dishes’ was found with ‘a heap of pear-shaped maces’ and a large bowl the mouth of which was ‘covered by a bowl of red and black pottery.’ 93 Such an archeological grouping would strongly suggest a date in the late Nagada II period (ca. 3350 BCE) 94 because pear-shaped maceheads were not introduced in Upper Egypt until then 95 and black-topped red ware virtually disappeared in the Nagada III period. 96 Moreover, although usually dated to Dynasty 0/1, bowls of this shape are also consistent with a late predynastic date and range from late Nagada IIDynasty Six. 97 It is possible, then, based on its archeological context and vessel typology, that the MFA bowl could be dated at the earliest to the late Nagada II period (ca. 3350 BCE). It is, rather, more likely, however, based on vessel typology and paleographic evidence 98 that the MFA bowl dates to the formative years of Nagada III A-B (ca. 3300–3200 BCE). In any case, the pigment on this bowl is therefore the earliest confirmed example of the use of Egyptian blue. It predates the earliest attested examples from Mesopotamia by over five hundred years 99 and is the earliest confirmed example of a synthetic pigment in world history.

BLUE IN ART

The use of lapis lazuli is known from the predynastic period (Nagada I ca. 4000 BCE): 100 ‘lapis lazuli beads were strung together with an imported Mesopotamian cylinder seal found in grave T29 at Nagada’ 101 and lapis inlays form the saucer-like Dreyer (1998) has compiled a ‘king’ list of predynastic rulers that includes at least two individuals named ‘Scorpion,’ although not all Egyptologists agree with him. Kahl (2003) 127–129. 93 Quibell and Green (1902) 30. 94 Hendrickx (2006) 92. 95 Mark (1998) 46–47. 96 Hendrickx (2006) 82. 97 Barbara G. Aston, pers. comm., 22 October 2015. Aston (1994) 108 no. 45. 98 Regulski (2010) 136–137 dates the inscription on the MFA bowl to ‘the Nagada III A-B period.’ I thank John C. Darnell for this reference (pers. comm. 15 January 2016). 99 Hatton (2005) 5 suggests that, due to the presence of what Sir Leonard Woolley refers to as glass paste beads at the Royal Cemetery at Ur, ‘Egyptian blue emerges at approximately the same time in Mesopotamia as in Egypt,’ even though he had identified examples of Egyptian blue in Egypt earlier than the Early Dynastic IIIA date (ca. 2500 BCE) traditionally assigned to the Ur royal burials. 100 Hendrickx (2006) 92. 101 Payne (1968) 58. 92

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eyes of an ivory figurine of the same date (BM EA 32141). 102 Ogden notes, however, that in ancient Egypt, ‘colored stones were employed more like blocks of pigment’ 103 than as gems, so that rather than create settings to showcase spectacular stones, gems and glass were cut to fit the settings. Ancient Egyptian jewelers, therefore, employed color according to an overarching cultural preference for what I have termed elsewhere the ‘compartmentalization of color.’ 104 The jeweler’s fondness for surface brilliance also conformed to that of their contemporaries who worked with other inherently shiny substances such as paint, resin, wax and gilt. It was, however, extremely rare for an ancient Egyptian jeweler to use a stone in its natural, uncut and unpolished state. Only one example comes to mind: a very large, irregularly-shaped turquoise nugget that was the centerpiece of a gold bracelet belonging to King Herihor. 105 Such reluctance to use unpolished stones is counterbalanced by the jewelers’ practice of placing clear glass cabochons over colored disks to simulate the sparkle of colored stones like carnelian. 106 The technique, like the use of colored glass, was presumably as satisfying to the ancient Egyptians as the use of a real stone would have been since the objective of the artificial creation was to reproduce the colorful sparkle of the authentic gem. Even today, a jeweler may favor a ‘doublet,’ where glass, or more usually a dome of clear rock crystal, overlays a slice of semi-precious colored stone. This technique is not simply a cost-saving device, but, because the overlay acts to intensify the color of the stone beneath it, it also acts as a magnifier that can enhance the unique properties of a stone, 107 like lapis lazuli, in order to showcase the pyrite flakes that sparkle within highly-prized specimens. Although, unlike lapis, turquoise was a stone the Egyptians themselves mined, primarily at copper quarries in the Sinai (both turquoise and malachite are associated with copper ore), Robins states that ‘the most valued of the green stones [in her four-color system] was mfkɜt (turquoise)’ 108 because this color was connected to ‘the sun at dawn, whose disk or rays might be described as turquoise and whose rising was said ‘to flood the land with turquoise.’’ 109 A text from the Ptolemaic temple of Horus at Edfu 110 conjures up this beautiful image. However, that text reads ‘the fields are caused to grow (srḏ), the fields are made blue (ḫsbḏ), everything alongside Aston et al. (2000) 39. Ogden (1992) 35. 104 Corcoran (forthcoming). 105 Aston et al. (2000) 63. 106 Ibid. 27. 107 I thank Marlena Rael and Sarah Worden of the jewelry store Charlotte EhingerSchwarz 1876, Santa Fe, NM, for this information. 108 Robins (2001) 291. 109 Ibid. 110 Rochemonteix and Chassinat (1984) 71, line 11; 106, lines 2–3. 102 103

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the earth is caused to come into being.’ 111 A parallelism in the text was set up to describe the effects of the sun on the productivity of the land. Here, however, it is the fields that are ‘blue’ (ḫsbḏ), 112 not the sun’s rays. That such color confusion implies to some that the ancient Egyptians had a sort of blue/green color blindness, as a number of scholars have speculated, has been refuted. 113 We surely know that the neuro-psychological capabilities of the ancient Egyptians were identical to ours. Color terms, however, are the product not of biology but of culture. I would suggest, therefore, that the Egyptians were simply employing poetic license here to create a punning foil for the causative of the verb ‘to grow’ (srḏ) (or possibly srwḏ ‘to flourish’) − as a word play on the similar sounding word wᴈḏ/green − with the word for blue, ḫsbḏ. Nevertheless, other parallel texts do imply that the sun’s rays are turquoise. For example, the sun hymn in the Sakkara tomb of Horemheb states that ‘the land is strewn with turquoise by the setting sun and with white gold by the rising sun,’ 114 thus setting up a contrast between the failing light of the evening sky and the brilliant rays of the morning sun. The striking materiality of the images evoked by these texts raises an interesting question. Other than hue, were the ancient Egyptians interested in some other quality of blue/green (turquoise or lapis lazuli) in relation to the sun? Writing about the post-Homeric classical Greeks, Maurice Platnauer observed that what ‘seems to have caught the eye and arrested the attention of the Greeks is not so much the qualitative difference between colors … [rather] it is lustre or superficial effect that struck the Greeks and not what we call color or tint,’ 115 leading Gage to summarize that ‘in the ancient Greek vocabulary, luminosity is more salient than chromaticity.’ 116 Many Egyptologists have made the same observation with respect to the ancient Egyptians’ attitude toward semi-precious stones: that is as much their surface polish that was valued as their color. It has recently been discovered that pigment in use before the New Kingdom, which today appears green, has degraded from blue, 117 a fact that might also affect the interpretation of a related phenomenon, which is the seeming appearance on coffins of the Third Intermediate Period of suns that appear green (so that these socalled ‘green suns’ were also, perhaps, originally once ‘blue suns’). 118 A blue color I thank J. Brett McClain, Senior Epigrapher, Chicago House, Luxor, Egypt (pers. comm. 12 March 2007) for his assistance in understanding the enigmatic Ptolemaic hieroglyphs of this text, although the final translation is mine. 112 See Wilson (1997) 750–751 for the rebus used to write the word ḫsbḏ/ḫsdb. 113 Schenkel (1963) 133. 114 Brunner (1979) 55 n. 15. 115 Lyons (1999) 56. 116 Ibid. 65. 117 Green (2001) 44. See also El Goresy and Scheigl (1996). 118 In her article written prior to that discovery, Brunner struggled to find an explanation for the phenomenon of ‘green suns’ and questioned if the seemingly ‘green’ suns were due to the Egyptians’ awareness of a phenomenon known as ‘negative afterimage,’ which 111

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would certainly complement the orb’s description in texts as ‘made of turquoise’ 119 and its appearance as a disk of lapis lazuli in a pectoral from Tanis of Sheshonk I. 120 I, however, would prefer to see a reference to a kind of metaphorical metonymy by which the green/blue colors associated with the sun are reflected as a product of its association with the growing fields, the sky or the Nile, just as the miniature hippopotami produced during the Middle Kingdom were created with hides of blue to evoke the watery, primordial environment they inhabited. That objects, like the Middle Kingdom hippo statuettes, ‘made in this color [blue] bore the quality of life and could also magically transfer it’ 121 is an ability curiously similar to the replicative effect of the massive reflective outdoor sculpture, ‘Cloud Gate,’ by Anish Kapoor in Millennium Park, Chicago, where the cosmos is captured in microcosm and the blue of the sky becomes concretized in a metallic ‘bean.’ 122 This connection between the sky god/solar deity Horus and the color blue can also be seen in the choice of stone (gneiss) selected for the well-known Horus statue of Khafre that glows blue in sunlight. 123 The sculpture expresses in concrete form the abstract concept of the ‘oneness’ of the king and the cosmos. Blue suns might additionally evoke the ‘scintillating aspect’ of the sun as a phenomenon that the ancient Egyptians associated with a material they artificially produced known to us as faience. Their word for faience was ṯḥnt, 124 a word also translated as ‘dazzling.’ Their attraction to pigments such as orpiment noteworthy for its laminar structure known to impart a ‘scintillating effect unlike the matt[e] surface of ochre’ 125 and huntite, a brilliant white pigment 126 valued for its visual qualities that made it superior to the comparatively dull calcium carbonate or calcium sulfates, testifies to their ability to distinguish between the rare and the mundane. The fact occurs when one stares at a red shape (like the sun’s disk), and then, after looking quickly away, one sees a negative afterimage of that shape in green. Brunner (1979) 56–57. 119 Ibid. 54. See also the use of turquoise inlays for the solar disks on the Middle Kingdom pectoral of Sithathoryunet (MMA 16.1.3a), Aldred (1971) 56, fig. 37, and Patch and Schorch (2015) 114–116, as opposed to the red carnelian used in her almost identically designed later pectoral (Egyptian Museum, Cairo, CG 52712), Aldred (1971) 56, fig. 38. This leads to the question of whether the contrast between the domed and flat turquoise inlays on the former pectoral might relate to the day and night sun? I thank Emily Dorward (pers. comm. 27 April 2015) and Diana Craig Patch (pers. comm. 17 December 2015) for their observations on MMA 16.1.3a. 120 Brunner (1979) 55. 121 Stünkel (2013), video clip on ‘William,’ the iconic hippo in the Metropolitan Museum of Art. 122 Kapoor’s artwork and this phenomenon are cited by Marc Walton in his interview with Megan Fellman (2014). 123 Aston et al. (2000) 33. The phenomenon is further discussed in Morgan (2011) 5. 124 Nicholson and Peltenburg (2000) 178. 125 Lee and Quirke (2000) 116. 126 Heywood (2001a) 5.

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that glass and faience were never viewed as cheap substitutes for precious stones, however, but treasured 127 for their ability to shine, underscores a significant commitment on the part of the Egyptians to any and all materials with the potential for surface sparkle. Egyptian blue, applied in thick layers containing ground crystalline particles, imparts a visual energy to the surface of an object and catches the merest glint of light like the sparkling impasto of a Rembrandt masterpiece. As if to intensify that effect, though in actuality obscuring it, Egyptian blue was sometimes covered with a layer of wax or resin. 128 Egyptian deities are depicted in paint and other media with flesh tones of all the six basic colors of the Egyptian palette. 129 Certain colors seem to be associated with particular gods and, in a religious context, have been interpreted symbolically. The green or black flesh of Osiris, god of the underworld, is thought to have implications of vegetal regeneration or chthonic associations. Amun can be red or blue. 130 Although it has been stated that that the faces of falcon deities are yellow or white to conform to the colors used for avian hieroglyphs, 131 I have noted patterns of exceptions: falcon deities with blue bodies or blue faces, 132 an association I believe to be solar, as we have seen with respect to green/blue suns and which corresponds with the appearance of the red or blue flesh of Amun as a solar/cosmic deity in the New Kingdom. The goddesses Isis and Nephthys are perhaps depicted with blue flesh on numerous pectorals from the Tutankhamun collection 133 because they are shown greeting the sun god as he rises.

LIBYAN DESERT GLASS: THE ORIGINAL ṮḤNT ?

To my mind, the most beautiful and elegant example of jewelry in the Tutankhamun collection is a pendant (Egyptian Museum, Cairo, JE 61884) 134 that most effectively conveys the conceptual symmetry of solar and lunar ideology. In comparison, all the other pieces, spectacular though they are, have more the appearance of clumsy cosNicholson (1993) 45 notes that glass ‘had sufficient intrinsic value to be a gift suitable for the highest nobility and was itself imitated in less costly materials.’ Patch (1998) 34– 36. 128 Lee and Quirke (2000) 110. 129 Related to this phenomenon is the cross-cultural observation by DuQuesne (1996) 49: ‘Usually the Chinese dog ancestor [of the human race] is called Panhu: the fact that he is of five different colours suggests that he spans the spectrum of human activities and is … a microcosm.’ I have elsewhere suggested a similar explanation for the variety of colors for the divine flesh of ancient Egyptian gods. Corcoran (forthcoming). 130 Dolińska (1990). 131 Myśliwiec (2006) 228. 132 Aldred (1971) 53, fig. 33; 63, fig. 50. 133 Ibid. 102–104, figs. 94–98. One might also note the use of blue flesh for deities in Middle Kingdom jewelry, ibid. 56, fig. 37. 134 Saleh and Sourouzian (1987) entry no. 193. 127

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tume jewelry made for show, whereas this exquisite pendant is exceptional in composition and craftsmanship. The subject of the pectoral, represented through complementary solar and lunar imagery, is the cycle of life and the concept that creation began at ‘the sun’s first rising.’ 135 The lotus blossoms that hang at the lower edge reference the Heliopolitan version of the creation account according to which the sun god first appeared perched atop a lotus flower that emerged from the primordial ocean (Nun), a primeval body pregnant with potential, later associated with the sparkling Nile itself. 136 Upon this sea of creative possibilities then float two boats, the prow and stern of each protected by a cobra. Preference of place, the larger of the two and the central focal point, is given to the highly stylized bark of the sun in which the sun god glides across the waters of the day sky. The more literal interpretation of the strip of blue on the bottom of the bark is that it represents simply the lapping waves of the water of the sky through which the bark journeys, a device seen on more quotidian representations of boats sailing on the Nile, others have seen it as a representation of ‘the waters of the Duat or underworld’ from which the sun emerges daily, 137 one might also interpret that where the extremities of the scarab (the far-reaching ‘rays’ of the sun) touch the bark, it is bathed in turquoise. The sun god, a passenger, is represented as a scarab that the Egyptians believed symbolized the spontaneous and perpetual creative process of ḫpr, ‘coming into being’. The matrix of the pectoral’s scarab body is a greenish-yellow material. It has traditionally been identified as chalcedony. 138 Egyptologists, however, who are only rarely trained as geologists, have been notoriously cavalier about their use of nomenclature when it comes to rocks and minerals, although one might generously attribute some of their confusion to ‘the correct use of rock names which are derived from competing or obsolete classification systems.’ 139 The luminous body of the beetle in the Tutankhamun pendant discussed here, however, has now been deAllen (1988) 31. The perceived blue color of the water and the reflective sparkle of the sun’s rays on its surface recall the American nationalist song, ‘America the Beautiful’, lyrics of which include references to ‘purple mountains majesty’ and ‘from sea to shining sea.’ In each case, it is neither the mountains nor the seas that are intrinsically purple or shining but they are so as a reflection of the sun’s rays. 137 Wilkinson (1971) 142. 138 The following research was previously presented as a paper, Corcoran (2008). That presentation and abstract are discussed by Warburton, but he misunderstood my identification of the material of the Tutankhamun scarab as a ‘form of chalcedony.’ Warburton (2008) 219, 241. 139 Aston et al. (2002) 21. A classic example that has been entrenched in the literature is the categorization of predynastic palettes as ‘slate palettes’ or ‘schist palettes.’ Aston et al. (2000) 57–58 assure us however that ‘the so-called slate palettes of the predynastic period [as well as the famous palette of King Narmer] are actually of siltstone.’ 135 136

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finitively identified as the byproduct of an extraterrestrial explosion with obvious celestial connotations. The following is a synopsis of the video documentary, ‘Tutankhamun’s Fireball,’ 140 which details the search for the origin of the material of which the Tutankhamun scarab was made. In 1996, this unusual scarab caught the attention of Italian mineralogist Vincenzo de Michele. In 1999, Italian geologists, working together with Egyptian geologist Aly Barakat, performed a chemical composition test on the material and determined that it was made of natural desert glass that can be found in a remote area five hundred miles southwest of Cairo in the Great Sand Sea of the eastern Sahara desert. This glass, which has a silica content of 98 percent, is the purest known glass in the world which accounts for the clarity and luster of the scarab.

Scientists agree that glass can be formed naturally by only two means, either as a result of cooling lava, such as is the case with obsidian, or as the byproduct of the high pressure explosion and rapid subsequent cooling that occurs when a comet or asteroid impacts the earth. In the latter case, there are also two scenarios that can occur. The first is that an extraterrestrial body collides directly with the earth, leaving behind an enormous crater. The second is that an asteroid or comet explodes above the earth’s surface creating a gigantic fireball, the heat of which impacts the earth’s surface, melting it, while the winds following the heat rapidly cool it. According to Mark Boslough, an impact physicist at Sandia National Laboratories in New Mexico, the glass found in the Libyan Desert is speculated to have been formed around thirty million years ago, when an asteroid approximately four hundred feet wide entered the Earth’s atmosphere and impacted the desert surface at an extremely high velocity as a fireball of such intensity that it melted sand and stone fusing them into glass.

Although many agree that Great Sand Sea glass, also known as Libyan Desert glass, must have been formed by extreme heat that could only have been generated by an extraterrestrial explosion, some researchers, including Austrian astrochemist Christian Koeberl and Farouk El-Baz, director of the Center for Remote Sensing at Boston University, have challenged Boslough’s theory as they favor the idea of a direct impact although they did not initially have evidence for a crater. Eventually, El-Baz himself found remnants of a double-ringed crater that he believes was the result not of a fireball, but of an actual impact between a meteorite and the Earth’s surface. It is, however, located at a measurable distance from the glass find site. Further research, including analyses of trace elements in the composition of the desert glass could be of help in resolving the issue in favor of Boslough or El-Baz.

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British Broadcasting Corporation (2006).

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LORELEI H. CORCORAN Further experimentation conducted by Boslough, however, suggests that his solution to the origins of Libyan glass is the more convincing of the two scenarios. With the help of a Cray supercomputer co-developed by Cray Inc. and Sandia National Laboratories, Boslough was successful in July 2007 in actually recreating an extraterrestrial explosion that he believes simulates the event that produced the glass. Modeled on the aerial explosion of a comet over the planet Jupiter in 1994, these computer simulations illustrate precisely how such an asteroid strike might have occurred. Boslough emphasized that the energy of such an explosion would be thousands of times more powerful than an atomic bomb test and would result in surface temperatures of 1,800 degrees C. In support of Boslough’s aerial fireball theory, American geophysicist John Wasson has cited the example of an explosion in 1908 at Tunguska, Siberia, which resulted in the devastation of a forest of millions of trees. With no evidence of meteoritic impact as its cause, the Tunguska event is now also considered to have been the result of an extraterrestrial explosion. Wasson has identified an additional site in Southeast Asia, where, 800,000 years ago, multiple fireballs formed glass over a three hundred thousand square mile area, without any sign of a crater.

That the scarab in Tutankhamun’s pectoral was manufactured from material that was created as the result of a cosmic event might be interpreted as lending a special meaning to the piece although the Tutankhamun scarab is the only known example of jewelry made from Libyan desert glass. Boslough 141 has speculated that due to its tendency to fracture to a sharp edge, it would have made an effective cutting tool for prehistoric hunters who might have traded it far distances. Fekri Hassan 142 has confirmed that examples of such tools are in the collection of the Egyptian Museum, Cairo. 143 Boslough further speculated that seeing a tool made from such a wondrous material might have inspired an ancient jeweler to create a scarab from just such a small piece. But did the ancient Egyptians appreciate the unique origin of the substance or were they simply mesmerized by its ability to capture solar light? An exploration of their attitude toward glass in general helps us to place the material used to carve this scarab, in perspective. Since the noun ṯhnt (faience) is in fact related to the adjective ṯhn, which is translated as ‘shining’, ‘gleaming’ or ‘dazzling,’ as in the epithet employed by the Amarna ‘sun-king’ Amenhotep III (‘dazzling like the sun’s disk’), 144 it is no surprise that scintillation was the characteristic, and most sought after, property common to all the sparkling substances most favored by the Egyptians. These included semiprecious stones as well as glass and faience. The ancient Egyptians recognized that the two qualities for which semi-precious stones were most highly valued – color pers. comm. 7 May 2008. pers. comm. 23 May 2008. 143 This modifies the statement of Schlick-Nolte (2001) 34 that ‘The Libyan Desert glass that had been formed by the heat of meteoric impact was not exploited in antiquity.’ 144 Johnson (1990) 38–39. 141 142

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and surface sparkle – could be more successfully controlled under artificial circumstances. The beginnings of ancient Egyptian glass-making are still not well known and examples of glass that predate the New Kingdom may simply have been byproducts of faience production. 145 Faience, a manmade material that can function as either a type of glaze or as a matrix material itself, in colors ranging from white to purple including the most favored, greenish-blue, 146 was closely associated with glass. 147 The word ṯḥnt (discussed above in relation to its functioning as the adjective ‘dazzling’) was used by the ancient Egyptians to identify faience. The other word we translate as faience is ḫsbḏ, which is more properly the word for lapis lazuli. 148 Nicholson suggests that the interchange of these terms ‘illustrates the way in which the Egyptians thought of these materials, for their properties of brilliance, like those of gemstones, rather than for their actual composition.’ 149 ‘During the New Kingdom, most inlay had begun to be made from coloured glass.’ 150 Although today we might have a preference for natural semi-precious stones and consider the use of glass to be a poor substitute for the ‘real thing,’ especially unexpected in the products of a royal workshop for a wealthy king, the ancient Egyptians seemed not to rank these materials but, although they are ‘distinct in terms of their composition,’ to see ‘faience, frits and glass [as] part of a continuum of materials which are based on silica’ 151 − the ubiquitous sand of Egypt. The high esteem in which they held glass and faience, materials that we might consider to be cheap, paste substitutes for genuine semi-precious stones, is best illustrated by the use of colored glass inlay in the most highly valued masterpiece of Egyptian art: the Mask of Tutankhamun. 152 The golden mask is inlaid with real turquoise, carnelian, lapis lazuli as well as glass in the color of lapis lazuli. As for the use of faience, Diana Patch suggests that although it might appear to us to have been inexpensive to produce, it required at least one costly ingredient, copper. Moreover, the production techniques prior to the introduction of molds were painstaking so that scarcity might also have added to the value of faience ‘regardless of the cost of the raw materials.’ 153 Nicholson (1993) 194. Kaczmarczyk and Hedges (1983) 140–184. 147 This close association is emphasized in Kaczmarczyk and Hedges (1983) 139, A-7. 148 Nicholson (1993) 178. 149 Ibid. 150 Aston et al. (2000) 27. 151 Nicholson (1993) 178. 152 The ‘Mask of Tutankhamun’ is used here as an example of a product of a royal workshop that incorporated real gemstones alongside glass inlays, although the identity of the original owner of the mask has now been reattributed to a contemporary of Tutankhamun. See Reeves (2014); Reeves (2015). I thank Nicholas Reeves for sharing a copy of the uncorrected proof of the latter article with me. 153 Patch (1998) 33. 145 146

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The ancient Egyptians did discriminate, however, in writing between natural and synthetic materials. For example, the word for turquoise, the stone, was mfkɜt but the term might also refer to faience, particularly with reference to glazed faience tiles, 154 and also to glass of a blue or green color, 155 but these two manmade materials − faience and glass − were distinguished from natural turquoise by references to the authentic substance as mfkɜt mɜʻt, ‘real turquoise.’ Furthermore the terms wḏḥ 156 or jryt 157 were used to qualify the process by which an imitation, like faience or glass, was produced. As with mfkɜt mɜʻt, there also exists in the literature a variant known as ṯhnt mɜʻt, 158 presumably a naturally occurring substance that the manmade versions of faience and glass mimicked. At the time of completing his lexicographical study of ancient Egyptian minerals, however, Harris concluded that the debate over the identity of this precious material, ṯhnt mɜʻt, was unresolved. 159 Although a number of possibilities had been put forth, the general consensus among scholars was that it was either a yellow crystal or a yellow glass. Initially, Brugsch had thought that ṯhnt was a kind of bronze, although he later settled on glass. 160 Lepsius suggested that it was yellow jasper or another yellow substance. 161 The expression, ṯhnt nt Ṯḥnw, found in the Middle Kingdom Coffin Texts, suggested to Percy Newberry a connection between the word for the material, ṯhnt, and the name of the land, Ṯḥnw, Libya. 162 He proposed that ‘just as we use the word ‘china’ for a kind of porcelain which first came to us from China, so the Egyptians called glass ṯhnt after the country (Ṯḥnw) of the northwestern Delta from which we may presume they derived it.’ 163 Breasted and Lucas also considered the material to be a form of mineral glass since the word ṯhnt, when it refers to faience, is a form of glaze or glazed ware.’ 164 In the end, Harris’ conclusion mirrored that of Newberry: that ṯhnt might be ‘a silica glass as is found in the western desert. The word for Libya is Tjehenu, a possible source of silica glass so that identification of that with this material is feasible.’ 165 He did not, however, see anything to support a yellow color for ṯḥnt and preferred to believe that the material might be white or transparent. AcHarris (1961) 109. Ibid. 108. 156 Nicholson (1993) 195. 157 Pagès-Camagna (1998) 165. A factory for the fabrication of Egyptian blue at Thebes is called jrw ḥsbḏ, a place where lapis lazuli or blue is created. Aufrère and Menu (1998) 12. 158 Aufrère (1991) 534–537. 159 Harris (1961) 135. 160 Ibid. 161 Ibid. 162 Ibid. 135–136. 163 Newberry (1920) 160. 164 Harris (1961) 137. 165 Ibid. 138. 154 155

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tual Libyan desert glass has a yellowish-greenish tinge but its most extraordinary property is that it is ‘crystal clear.’ I would like to suggest that with the mesmerizingly luminous, translucent, greenish-yellow Libyan desert glass that forms the body of the scarab in the center of Tutankhamun’s pectoral we have at last found a ‘real world’ example of the precious substance known to the ancient Egyptians as ṯhnt mɜʻt, ‘real ṯhnt.’ This naturally formed ‘meteoric’ lemon-lime glass was accessible in its natural state from the earliest periods and might well have served as the inspiration for all the later synthetic frits and glazes that pale in comparison to it.

CONCLUSION

Although red and yellow are the colors that have most often been traditionally associated with solar symbolism in ancient Egypt, the relationship between the sun and the color blue has been shown to be a dynamic one. Due to its affinity with the sun for which it acted as a reflection of its life-giving, luminous rays, the color blue in its many shades from green to turquoise and in its many forms – as a nugget or slice of stone, as the pigment or paste form of Egyptian blue, or as faience used as a glaze or as a paste – was considered by the ancient Egyptians as an aid in bestowing life to inanimate objects, in two or three dimensions. As a lush, wet plant, the sky or the water mirrors the sun’s glint – in its form as a polished gemstone of lapis lazuli or turquoise, as the pigment Egyptian blue with crystalline properties, as a shiny surface glaze, as faience, or as colored glass – the color blue’s association with sparkle intensified its catalytic role as an animator in the art of the ancient Egyptians.

THE ORIGINS, DEVELOPMENT, DIFFUSION AND SIGNIFICANCE OF EARLY COLOR TERMINOLOGY DAVID A. WARBURTON

The first use of color pigments (red ocher, ca. 100,000 BCE) in the Middle Palaeolithic was supplemented with yellow ocher and black carbon during the Upper Palaeolithic and then extended by the use of colored stones (white, red, green) from the very beginning of the Neolithic in the Near East. The late Neolithic saw the first use of the precious metals silver and gold. Aside from the actual materials, in the Near Eastern Bronze Age we also find names for gold, silver, lapis lazuli, cornelian, amethyst, greenstones, etc. It would appear that already in the third millennium, the poets of the highly developed civilizations of Near Eastern Antiquity used these precious materials to designate colors. Conceptually abstract colors would appear to have emerged in China and Greece in the first millennium BCE. By contrast, even a millennium later, languages such as English only had words for ‘sparkling’, ‘dark’, etc. Thus, one aspect of the discussion is the origins and use of color terminology. Another aspect of this is what was meant with any given term ‒ and then there is the matter of the alternative interpretations introduced in the debate. In this essay, I will elaborate on my theory that the Bronze Age designations for precious materials contributed to the emergence and development of contemporary abstract color terminology, and then try to relate this to earlier and alternative hypotheses. 1

Footnotes and references have been kept to a minimum here in order to aid the reader in following the argument. My own contribution started with Egyptian, but rapidly led to other languages and to theory. At the beginning of the study of Egyptian colors stands Schenkel whose first article appeared in 1963, before Berlin and Kay, and an approach canonizing Schenkel’s work in the Berlin and Kay tradition was produced by Baines in 1985. My own work has aimed at producing an alternative scheme, and the references will be found in the bibliography. 1

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DAVID A. WARBURTON

INTRODUCTION TO THE ARGUMENT

The people of the Nile Valley were ruthlessly exposed to the merciless rays of the sun. Yet, as far as they were concerned, the world was dead when she left the world in darkness; she was joyously greeted when she returned. Thus their lives were dominated by the sun. The setting sun was occasionally described as ‘the ruddy one’, dšr.ty ( ) ‒ using the standard ancient Egyptian word for ‘red’ ‒ but ‘red’ is hardly the color we would associate with the sun. The only Egyptian color word which could be used to describe the color of the sun as we typically understand it was ‘gold’ (nb.w, written with a necklace 𓋞𓋞, the same word which gave its name to ‘Nubia’, whence the gold came). Describing the sun as ‘rising golden’ ‘in the field of turquoise’ (‘rising in gold’, wbn m nb.w, m sḫ.t mfkʾ.t, ) may sound poetic to us. However, for the Egyptians, the only way to describe the brightly shining sun appearing in the light blue sky at dawn was with the words for ‘gold’ (nb.w) and ‘turquoise’ (mfkʾ.t, ) since they did not have abstract words for ‘yellow’ or ‘blue’ ‒ and thus did they develop their color terminology based on the phenomena of the world around them. To describe the white limestone of the mountains defining their valley, they used the word for ‘silver’, ḥd, written with a limestone mace and necklace (𓋠𓋠) when referring to the precious metal silver imported from abroad, which served as money; but the limestone mace alone (𓌉𓌉) served for ‘white’, sometimes complemented by the sun (𓇳𓇳) for ‘brightness’, ‘light’. The reader will thus readily understand that ḫsbḏ ( ), a foreign loanword designating the foreign stone ‘lapis lazuli’, could be used to describe the color of the night sky or water ‒ if there was cause to. The word for ‘green’ (wʾḏ, 𓇆𓇆𓏜𓏜) was a loanword with the same etymology as Akkadian warqu, meaning ‘green-yellow’. Although frequently written as an abstract (in Egyptian with a papyrus scroll 𓏜𓏜 as ‘classifier’ or ‘determinative’), the Egyptian word was also occasionally graphically determined with a stone (𓊌𓊌) instead of the papyrus roll as the categorical classifier or determinative following the graphic part identifying the verbal expression (𓇆𓇆𓊌𓊌), suggesting a ‘greenstone’ lay at the origin of their understanding of the word. Thus a pattern at the base of Egyptian color terminology begins to appear, one relating to rare and precious, hard materials. 2 For clarity, I should explain that in Ancient Egyptian, written words consisted of several different elements. One part was a graphically expressed phonetic rendering of a word, usually offering consonants, sometimes with ‘letters’ having a single value; another part of a written word was a ‘classifier’ or ‘determinative’ which followed the word to mark its category, but without any spoken phonetic value. A similar phenomenon exists in Sumerian and Akkadian. The Bronze Age Near Eastern systems differ from the Chinese systems where (a) radicals included in a writing offer additional information in a different fashion and (b) the Chinese system of ‘classifiers’ used to distinguish types of objects when naming or counting. Color words can be nouns, adjectives or verbs, and the classifiers differ accordingly. I also hasten to note that in Akkadian one frequently wrote texts using Sumerian terms, but frequently in a fashion which would have been meaningless to a Sumerian. This usage 2

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More interestingly, this whole approach defies our understanding of abstraction and means that the Egyptian word for ‘green’ ‒ recognized as a BCT by Baines in his application of the Berlin and Kay system ‒ actually fails to match their expectations as they exclude concrete materials. 3 While accepting wʾḏ, Baines had excluded ḫsbḏ – lapis lazuli – partly because it was a material, and partly because Baines denied that the Egyptians had a word for yellow (and including blue before yellow would have violated the Berlin and Kay acquisition sequence). Yet if green is allowed although related to stones, gold and lapis lazuli should also be allowed, and this leads to difficulties in understanding what modern scholars should make of Egyptian terminology. Following Schenkel (1963), and obeying a strict application of Berlin and Kay, ), Baines had four abstract color words in Egyptian: black (km 𓆎𓆎𓅓𓅓𓏜𓏜), white (ḥḏ red (dšr ), and grue (wʾḏ,𓇆𓇆𓏜𓏜). Schenkel (2007) has since revised his position and shifted the focus of wʾḏ to ‘green’ rather than ‘grue’. Based on the abstract words and the materials, I have argued that they had words for black, white, bright red (dšr literally ‘color of ), dark red (rwḏw 𓂋𓂋𓎗𓎗𓌗𓌗𓏜𓏜), green, yellow (jn.w n nb.w, gold’), light blue (mfkʾ.t ) and dark blue using a foreign loanword for ‘lapis lazuli’ (ḫsbḏ ). More recently, Schenkel (2015) distinguishes between the abstract color terms and the color terms related to materials ‒ and in addition to the materials I cite, he also adds ‘electrum-white’ (ḏʿm 𓌀𓌀𓅓𓅓𓋞𓋞), ‘soot/charcoal black’ (ḏʿb.t, ), ‘carnelian red’ (ḥrs.t ), and another ‘lapis lazuli blue’ (ṯfrr ). This latter, ṯfrr, is probably derived from the name of a geographical region beyond the Zagros whence lapis lazuli arrived in Mesopotamia (before being re-exported to Egypt), and thus both a toponym and an object category. Schenkel’s approach of separating abstract and materials faces the difficulties that (a) his words for ‘white’ and ‘green’ also have material associations and (b) some of his proposed words are rarer than the ones I have chosen, while there are more. And indeed there are far more words than can be discussed here. In Akkadian, I once casually noted 8 different terms for ‘bright, shining’, 7 for ‘dark, gloomy’, along with more than 15 meaning ‘red’. 4 There are probably more. Egyptian is not so exuberant, but it may be assumed that a careful analysis of Egyptian and Akkadiinvolves adding suffixes to Sumerian words so that the reader recognizes that Akkadian is to be read (thus šadû is to be read, although KUR is written). This contrasts with our use of Latinisms where the term may be used oddly, but the original form and meaning is still intact and it is to be read in Latin. For the benefit of readers, I have tried to distinguish the various languages in the transcriptions, using conventional transcriptions in italic for Egyptian, Akkadian, Sanskrit and the Chinese pinyin; transcriptions in small capitals for Sumerian, and the conventional italic syllabic writing for Linear B Mycenaean Greek. No philologists will find this satisfactory, but they will be able to read the texts (and correct them). 3 Baines (1985); Baines (2007); Berlin and Kay (1999) 6. 4 Warburton (2007a) 233.

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an would probably produce far longer lists of words with color significance than could possibly be usefully discussed. For Egyptian, I mention just one useful and important example of such a word, in this case meaning ‘bright’, ‘sparkling’ (ṯḥn 𓍿𓍿𓎛𓎛𓈖𓈖𓋣𓋣). This is related to another word usually translated as ‘faience’ and assumed to mean ‘green-blue’ or something similar in color discussions. However, this definition of the material may be secondary or tertiary since the original word might have referred to the desert sand melted to glass by a meteorite which crashed in the Libyan Desert, fragments of which occasionally turn up in ancient Egyptian jewelry. 5 Depending upon the lighting, it looks pale or translucent off-white, yellow or green. This material is today termed ‘Libyan desert glass’, and the Egyptian word for Libya was ṯḥn.w (𓍿𓍿𓌙𓌙𓏌𓏌𓈉𓈉), and thus the modern designation may accidentally reproduce the ancient Egyptian, linking a material with a geographical region and a vague color, in this case ‘sparkling’, ‘bright’ ‒ but a word that never entered the vocabulary as a real color word in the sense of those Schenkel and I have discussed. I argue that the ancient color words (both ‘abstract’ and ‘material’) actually delineated specific clear segments of the spectrum, and that most of these words were ultimately related to precious materials. By contrast, Reitzenstein (2015) and Schenkel (2015) stress the abstract colors ‒ but contest that they really represent specific hues. Reitzenstein pointed out quite poignantly that at the very dawn of the study of color terminology, Gladstone was already rather disturbed about Homer’s lack of a word for blue, and Schenkel notes that the use of the Egyptian word for black seems to mean virtually anything from light brown to black. Their form of reference is to draw on the materials with which the words were associated, which leads to very vague meanings. By contrast, I refer to the strong hues of the artwork which reflect the oversimplified understanding which concentrates the hue ‒ so that one sees pure blacks and whites. The jewelry naturally reproduces the colors of the precious materials themselves, playing on the differences among lapis lazuli, gold, turquoise, amethyst, and carnelian (and these same materials were used to make the statues of the gods). I thus assume that the pure colors were what was evoked in the poetry, using the precious materials as a form of reference. Significantly, in painting, one sees deliberately created and differentiated light blues and dark blues, along with bright reds and dull reds, meaning that the Egyptians did not have only one ‘idea’ or red or blue, but rather divided blue and red into two colors ‒ and this is quite the opposite of having a vague word for green, blue or black. For me, it means that they were distinguishing hues ‒ and this takes me back to the materials. However, despite my dogmatic claims to the significance of the color categories thereby evoked, readers should be conscious that the ancient Egyptians rarely used colors as a means of categorizing the world, and thus there was no conscious need to aim at abstraction, except in a vague fashion. One very intriguing phenomeOne example is a scarab in the middle of one of Tutankhamun’s adornments, depicted by Aldred (1971) 110, pl. 106; but also available in Wikipedia (q.v., ‘Libyan Desert Glass’). 5

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non is that cattle markings are one of our best sources for the use of color as a means of classifying in the early texts from Mesopotamia, Egypt and Mycenaean Greece (Linear B). I would tend to assume that this was not a cross-cultural phenomenon, but rather that the idea of applying color terminology to cattle in administrative (and ritual) documents was transferred from the Mesopotamian culture to the Egyptian, and later the Aegean, 6 meaning that the idea of applying color terms to distinguish cattle was not a spontaneous idea, but rather one that was adopted in this specific domain ‒ and not even unconsciously and involuntarily applied to other domains in the fashion to which we are accustomed. Use of color ‒ like that for cattle and textiles ‒ is unusual in Bronze Age Antiquity. Other references to abstract colors (referring to eyes, water, the sky, celestial phenomena) are exceptional, appearing rarely even in the highest registers of text. For example, a reference to what might be a ‘rainbow’ is not clear. The text merely places the classifier or determinaleaving us tive for the sky, p.t 𓇯𓇯, after the word for the ‘(archer’s) bow’ pd.t uncertain as to whether we should read ‘bow’ (pḏ.t) or ‘heavenly bow’ (pḏ.t p.t); in any case there is no reference to color, but only the form (and thus the correct translation might be ‘celestial vault’ or ‘arch of the heavens’ ‒ even if the ‘rainbow’ is meant). 7 By contrast, references to the colors in divine statues takes place via the valuable materials of which they were made. Thus, color as such was rarely applied as we use it today ‒ but nevertheless present at an embryonic level. In general, the same is true of Mesopotamia, where the Sumerian word for ‘white’ (BABBAR) was also related to the material silver (the ‘white metal’, KÙ.BABBAR). Various forms of the Akkadian word uqnû, a loanword of unknown origin for the stone lapis lazuli, were used for ‘blue’. The Akkadian sāmtum for carnelian was related to sāmum, the word used for ‘red’. And the Mesopotamian world offers an excellent insight into the complexities of color. Whereas Reitzenstein and Schenkel had doubts about the precision of the hues associated with the ancient words, I am skeptical about the relevance of this problem, since I suspect that specific hues were envisaged. However, separating the words from their contexts is far more complicated. Above, we noted that the word for silver in Sumerian was ‘white metal’ effectively using the two words KÙ ‘white’ and BABBAR ‘white’ (sic) and in fact pure silver is supposedly white. Thus, this Sumerian word KÙ hints at the problem ‒ and not merely because it also means both ‘white’ and ‘bright’ (like the Egyptian ḥḏ). The ‘real’ problem is that the ‘real’ meanThe earliest case is that of the earliest written documents of the fourth millennium Pientka-Hinz (2015) 24–25 notes that in the Mesopotamian ‘sacred herds’, cattle skin colors were linked to light (white and black), vegetation (green/yellow) and life (red). In Egypt, one ritual makes explicit use of the same categories to categorize four different head of cattle: white, black, red, and variegated (e.g., Blackman and Fairman (1949) 99, lines 3, 11); green appears once, but is assumed to be a copying error. Blakolmer notes that cattle coloring is one of the rare areas (like textiles) where color categories play a prominent role in the Mycenaean texts ‒ as in Mesopotamia. Blakolmer (2000) 277. 7 Hannig (2006) q.v. pḏ.t. BCE;

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ing of KÙ is probably ‘pure’, ‘noble’, ‘holy’, ‘sacred’ ‒ aside from ‘money’, and the other meanings of KÙ (‘pure’) overlap with those of BABBAR (‘white’, ‘bright’). And significantly, both of these words appear in the earliest texts, written in ProtoCuneiform in the fourth millennium BCE, and thus they must have had meanings which were clear and different from that time. 8 Thus the color ‘white’ was shared by at least two words in the oldest language known to man, and with one of them, this color meaning was but a small slice of the range of meanings this word bore to the Sumerian ‒ and by the end of the third millennium BCE, most of those using Sumerian were poets and bureaucrats rather than farmers, meaning that the figurative meanings will have been dominant. Yet we repeat as a mantra that BABBAR (rather than KÙ) is the word for ‘white’. Because BABBAR is used to describe sheep’s wool, white emmer and whitewash, this easier version is acceptable. Yet although BABBAR can refer to the moon, it can also refer to the rising sun, which the Egyptians called ‘golden’ not ‘silver’. And the É.BABBAR temple of the Sun-god Shamash in Sippar served as a bank which dealt in silver which was money, so one could associate it with both silver and gold. Thus a detailed examination of either a color (‘white’) or a term (BABBAR) would actually lead to further problems rather than resolving the matter. Yet strangely, there is a paradoxical interpretation which strengthens my own contentions that we can understand the texts as referring to the colors we know. The present writer most certainly cannot recall ever having seen white cattle in modern Lebanon, Syria, Iraq or Egypt (and doubts that many have). Yet the Egyptian documents refer to ‘white’ sheep or goats (Egyptian jb-ḥḏ 𓇋𓇋𓃀𓃀𓃚𓃚𓌉𓌉𓇳𓇳) belonging to various temples, 9 and most of us have in fact seen white sheep on the Salisbury Plain near Stonehenge so (against our own intuition and experience), we (apparently involuntarily) consider it to be plausible that there were white sheep and goats in the Ancient Near East. This may be at least partially because we know that they tried to The term Proto-Cuneiform is used to designate the texts written in the earliest preserved writing in Mesopotamia. It is widely assumed that the language used was Sumerian, but we have virtually no traces of syntax which can confirm this. Thus, it is possible (a) that this is Sumerian, (b) that this writing records another, older, language, or (c) that this reflects an era when human language had not reached far beyond establishing the most rudimentary categories. It is only several centuries later than we can confirm having sentences in Egyptian and Sumerian ‒ by which time we can see Semitic loanwords present in both Egyptian and Sumerian, meaning that by around 2800 BCE, at least these three languages existed. It is assumed that the forerunners of the Indo-European languages (the earliest successors of Proto Indo-European, hereafter PIE) existed before this era, but there is no certainty that the Indo-Europeans had moved into Western Europe long before the earliest texts were recorded in the Middle East.This latter is important because the end of the distribution of jade axes in Western Europe may overlap or antedate the appearance of the IndoEuropeans, meaning that my interpretation of the Indo-European word ‘green’ would imply that it is a loanword in Indo-European (as well as Akkadian and Egyptian). 9 Hannig (2006, q.v.); Gardiner (1941); Wilbour pl. 34, §190–193. 8

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bleach the wool to make it white, and that they aimed at purer and purer (sic) whites in their paintings. Yet one is relieved to read that ‘the white cows’ of the Sumerian Moon-god ‘are like moonlight’ (BABBAR-BI dNANNA È-A-ÀM). 10 Although it uses a different word, a reference in a Sumerian myth to the ‘brilliant’ (DADAG, meaning ‘pure’, ‘brilliant’, ‘holy’) semen of the Moon-god Nanna-Suen (A dSUEN-NA A DADAG-GA) confirms the same spirit. Thus, their concept of ‘white’ lay conceptually on the same level as ours ‒ but the forms of expression (combining, ‘pure’, ‘brilliant’, ‘holy’, ‘white’) all together in each of the words could drive one to despair. We tend to divide ‘white’ and ‘pure’ into related but different categories and words, but for the ancients ‘pure’, ‘white’ and ‘silver’ all came together into one category. That is, they did not necessarily describe the actual colors they saw, but based on some exceptionally clear elements ‒ such as moonlight and silver or the night-sky and lapis lazuli ‒ they refined them, and created ideal types. From there, they developed concepts of colors which fed into our own, and used these words to describe an ideal world they might not have experienced, but did depict in their poetry and art. The means by which they did so were the materials. Somehow, using the color terminology that they developed, the Egyptians and Mesopotamians (in Sumerian and Akkadian) were able to demarcate parts of the spectrum that we can recognize. Among the most curious aspects of the earliest color terminologies are that although (a) they usually had fewer colors than Berlin and Kay’s 11, they did (b) have multiple reds and blues, as illustrated by the abovenoted lists drawn up for Egyptian by Schenkel and myself. A similar phenomenon appears in Bronze Age Mycenaean Linear B, where (among others) Blakolmer (2000) has found e-ru-to-o, po-ni-ki-jo, wo-no-qo-so, po-pu-re-ja, ka-sa-to, ko-so-u-to, and kuru-so. These are the ancestors of ἐρυϑρός (erythros, red), φοινικος (Phoencian purplered), οἰνοψόρσος (oinoporsos, wine red) and πορφΰρεος (porphureos, red) appearing alongside ξανϑός (xanthos, yellow), ξουϑός (xouthos, yellow) and χρΰσεος (khruseos, golden). Thus Mycenaean has several reds and yellows, but is strikingly lacking in blues and greens ‒ which strangely adumbrates the problem with Classical Greek where χλωρός (khlōros) lies somewhere in green, yellow, pale, etc. And this takes us to κυάνεος (kyaneos, dark blue, dark). In Mycenaean Linear B we find it as ku-wa-no, in Ugaritic as ʾiqnu, in Hittite as kuwannaš, and in Akkadian as uqnû ‒ all ultimately derived from some ancient word for the stone lapis lazuli, which somehow entered the languages of other lands and gave rise to the concept of ‘blue’. 11 (Thanks to the Greek, this word also exists in English, in the ‘cyan’ familiar from ink-jet printers). Thus they divided the spectrum differently than we do, but they also approached the question quite differently, and probably specifically by using materials. In the case of Mycenaean, Blakolmer even sees a link between erythros-red and saffron. This strengthens the argument that even abstract colors ‒ such as erythros-red ‒ 10 11

Sjöberg (1960) 13, 15, 19. Von Soden (1965–1981) III: 1426.

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should actually be understood as having been originally related to the materials which were the basis for their colors. Furthermore, the ancients also created colors deliberately for dying textiles and painting statues, etc. These creations tended to reflect the same hues ‒ and are described with the same words, so that in Akkadian, the colors of textiles are described with precious stones behind the words ḫašmānum (khashmanum-stone blue, possibly a loanword derived from the Egyptian word for amethyst, ḥsmn ) and uqnûm (lapis-lazuli stone). It will be noted that looking at the rainbow as we do, we can recognize ‘violet’ (which would be amethyst), ‘dark blue’ (lapis lazuli), ‘light blue’ (turquoise), ‘green’ (jade), ‘yellow’ (gold), and shades of red ranging from ‘bright red’ (carnelian) to ‘dull red’ (which might be used for quartzite, but derived from a far older word for ocher), which could easily accommodate a scarlet or purple. Together with black and white, those are the colors we find in the ancient texts. Orange and pink are more difficult to discern ‒ and orange is only five centuries old! 12 As with ‘orange’, the materials offered access to discerning colors. Readers should note that although I take this route further than others, drawing on different theoretical approaches to the sources, some kind of agreement is gradually emerging that materials played a role in describing color in antiquity. I pursue this route further because it takes us to the heart of the history of color terminology. I suggest that these ancient loanwords ‒ used to designate precious materials ‒ were adopted by other cultures, and thus partially through (a) poetic usage and partially through (b) the use of loanwords with loose meanings the concept of color as an abstract category was born.

THE TRANSFORMATORY ROLE OF LOANWORDS

‘Loanwords’ are foreign words adopted into another language or language family, as in the case of our English ‘cyan’. Our word is a rare term for a dark blue, adopted from the Greek which adopted it from the Semitic world where the Akkadian uqnû for ‘lapis lazuli’ is the first attestation. However, the word is itself a loanword in Akkadian, and thus entered that language from some other (unknown) earlier language millennia ago. Whether the original word referred to the stone lapis lazuli or was

In Warburton (1999) and Warburton (2008) 236, 255 n. 177 I touch on the issue of the Arabic burtuqāli (‫‘ )ﺑﺮﺗﻘﺎﻟﻲ‬orange’ (an adjective derived from the name of the country ‘Portugal’) which appears in modern Greek πορτυκαλί as a color word, but is otherwise represented in Indo-European languages (e.g., English ‘orange’) by words derived from the Sanskrit term (nāraga). However, these were not linear derivatives from PIE, but come rather from the Spanish naranja which was the Spanish transliteration of the Arabic naranj (‫)ﻧﺮﻧﺞ‬, also used in Persian. Ironically, like the Sanskrit, the Arabic primarily refers to the fruit or fruit tree whereas the Western European versions are related in equal measure to fruit and color. Thus, the words for the color ‘orange’ in Arabic and other related languages are related to the word for the country whence the sailors came, meaning that an accidental exchange of words for a fruit in the early days of Indian Ocean trade led to the introduction of the most recent abstract color word in both English and Arabic. 12

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derived from the name of the geographical region whence it came will probably remain forever unknown. If the latter, it will probably have referred to the neighboring land from which it entered into the written records. Thus, although the lapis lazuli comes from northeastern Afghanistan, if uqnû refers to a region it could have been a word referring to one of many stations on the journey across Iran. However, it is worth noting that the geographical knowledge of the ancients might have been broader than our own image of those connections. The Egyptian word for lapis lazuli is ḫsbḏ. In Egyptian, as with the Akkadian uqnû, ḫsbḏ is a foreign loanword of unknown origin, of which we can reconstruct only these four consonants. Lapis lazuli was (and is) quarried high in the mountains of northeast Afghanistan, and the modern name for the region is Badakhshan, of which the consonants are /b/-/d/-/ḫ/-/š/-/n/ ‒ and thus exactly the same four radicals as in the Egyptian ḫsbḏ for lapis lazuli, merely somewhat garbled in the order, and also with the /š/ changing to an /s/. It should hardly be necessary to note that a final /n/ is frequently dropped ‒ and this is possible in transmission. Even if shan in this case is admittedly the Chinese (and local) word for ‘mountain’ and thus not necessarily a case of an arbitrary /n/, the formation of the word in the receiving language is decided by people who cannot recognize a meaning, and thus an /n/ can drop out, as happens so often (even for local words in Akkadian). One should probably not mention that the Chinese shan 山 not only shares the form, but also the phonetic value of the Hebrew sin/shin ‫ש‬. However, one could mention that Chinese shan 山 is written in the same form as the Egyptian for ‘mountains’ (𓈉𓈉), and that identical phrases appear in Egyptian (ʿʾ.wt špss.wt m-hn.w n ḏw.w) and Akkadian/Sumerian (dumuq NA4 KUR-i) referring to the ‘precious stones of the mountains’, which can only refer to the mountains to the east of Mesopotamia whence came lapis lazuli and carnelian (and jade?). Thus one could argue for rather remarkable and precise geographical knowledge in third millennium BCE Egypt. Is this merely a product of the wild imagination of romantic modern philologists or the last trace of trade routes millennia older than the ancient Silk Road? If the former, then certainly both. Regardless of any speculation about the original meanings, these words ‒ uqnû and ḫsbḏ ‒ are perfect examples of the process by which foreign words are adopted into languages as loanwords and contribute to the development of abstraction. They also illustrate the contrast between the worldview of the Classical Mediterranean as opposed to the Near Eastern Bronze Age. The original (for us, unknown) origin and meaning of the original Bronze Age word ‒ perhaps ‘(hardstone from a) mountainous region’ ‒ may have been known to the person who introduced it into a language (who may be a foreign trader, local merchant, warrior, diplomatic envoy, or imported bride), and the item associated with that word may also be familiar to that person. However, even if they actually see the object, other members of the community into which the word is introduced will not have any preconceived notions of what the word means, particularly so if they have never seen any mountains, as will have been true for most farmers on the south Mesopotamian plains. One result of this exchange is that consonants can be changed and metathesis transform the words, but most significantly, the meaning of the word is either lost or transformed. And, in fact, the word itself can be lost, as ‒ after a couple of thou-

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sand years of use ‒ was the fate of ḫsbḏ and good many other words which were discarded long ago. Where they survived, however, initially a word possibly associated with an object, material or region, will ultimately be passed on into domains where the associations are lost, as happened with the Akkadian loanword uqnû when it ended up as the English loanword ‘cyan’. By the time the word ku-wa-no was adopted in Mycenaean Greek (probably from the Ugaritic ʾiqnu), it had lost the meaning of ‘lapis lazuli’ and meant ‘blue glass’ ‒ and by the time it arrived in English, it had maintained only ‘dark blue’, which was but one part of the meaning of the Classical Greek κυάνεος. As noted, in the Bronze Age these stones were associated with Oriental mountains, and local words for ‘mountains’ or ‘steppe/desert’ (Sumerian KUR, Egyptian ḏw, ḫʾs.wt and Akkadian šadû) were used adjectivally so as to become a word for designating neighboring regions ‒ and also for the abstract idea of classifying things as ‘imports (from abroad)’, and thus already in the Bronze Age, the adjectival use of the word for ‘mountain’ in Sumerian, Egyptian and Akkadian may have frequently simply meant ‘foreign’. These foreign imports were of high value, and the precious stones and ores were the typical products of the mountains. And this offers us to an insight into the paths of Mesopotamian thought. The most important temple in Mesopotamia was that of the god Enlil in Nippur. The name of this temple was the É.KUR, superficially literally meaning the ‘mountain house’. We have no difficulties associating the ziqqurat with a mountain and could leave it at that. However, in Akkadian, the same sign KUR could be read as mātu, meaning simply ‘country’ ‒ or even the flat land of Mesopotamia. Although in Sumerian KUR had doubtless originally specifically meant the ‘foreign highlands’ (in contrast to the flat south Mesopotamian alluvium), the emergence of the land of Ashur (māt Aššur) in mountainous northern Mesopotamia may have changed the usage slightly. This difficulty increased since the Akkadian texts could use the sign KUR interchangeably for both ‘mountain’ and ‘country’, so that there was considerable room for confusion, since some people in Mesopotamia may have understood the É.KUR as being the ‘national temple’, or even the ‘temple of the nations’ ‒ which itself could explain the mysterious use of Akkadian mātum as ‘sanctuary’, in an apparently different word. Thus, even within closely linked languages (such as Akkadian and Sumerian which were not linguistically related, but both commonly used by bilingual scribes), usage and evolution could broaden and create meaning. However, there is a more important aspect, as Sjöberg suggests that the designations ÈŠ-KÙ, the ‘pure sanctuary’ and É.ZA.GÌN, the ‘radiant house’ (the former epithet being based on the Sumerian word for ‘silver’ and the later, the word for lapis lazuli) both refer to the É.KUR ‒ and observes that this has the extended form, ÈŠ-KÙ-ZA-GIN.NA, meaning ‘Sanctuary of silver and lapis lazuli’. 13 These are of course among the most valuable foreign products which arrived in Mesopotamia (and were dedicated to the gods). Obviously, following this train of thought, the 13

Sjöberg (1960) 29.

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É.KUR is thus related to valuable foreign imports, purity, and brilliance ‒ as well as the colors of the materials ‒ without recourse to additional words, enriching meaning through ambiguity. At the center lies the concept of the mountains as being foreign, and the origins of the colorful stones and ores. For obvious reasons, these foreign loanwords are only known to us from the time of the first texts. Writing itself was invented by 3200 BCE in Mesopotamia and introduced into Egypt by 3000 BCE and it thus is impossible to know how much older the words are. However, we can be certain that the loanwords are not significantly older: lapis lazuli, carnelian, gold, silver, jade and similar precious materials are virtually unknown in the Near East before the fourth millennium BCE, and themselves appear for the first time, in distant regions, very gradually from the seventh millennium BCE onwards (and mostly much later). Thus, fortunately, we can say (a) that the trade relations and state structures which eventually led to the invention of writing for administrative purposes are not significantly older than the appearance of the loanwords in writing, and (b) that the use of these materials (gold, silver, lapis lazuli, jade, turquoise, carnelian) by humans in a significant fashion began around a millennium or so before the invention of writing in Mesopotamia. That the usage of the materials increased during precisely the millennia of the Bronze Age when these materials are used in art and texts suggests that the early evolution of color terminology took place at that time ‒ and thus loanwords probably played a fundamental role in the development of color terminology (and abstraction in general). In this fashion, one can also gain an insight into the conceptual worlds separating the Bronze Age from the Classical Mediterranean. In the Bronze Age, we have words based on ‘mountain’ to describe the foreign, and the foreign loan words to describe foreign objects. In contrast to the Bronze Age situation, the Greeks used the terms ξένος and βαρβαρικός to designate the foreign, which are social (hostile, non-Greek speaking) and ethnic (non-Hellenic) abstract categories. The ancestors of similar words ‒ such as ʿʾ.w, an Egyptian term for a foreigner who spoke an incomprehensible language or a ‘dragoman’ who could translate an incomprehensible language ‒ existed in the Bronze Age, but they were hardly abstract categories. Some terms we still have, such as ‘hillbillies’, may resemble the Bronze Age terms, but are much more meaningful than the ambiguous Bronze Age terms. Thus in the Bronze Age, words of this kind were not the ordinary terms, and it was only in the Classical Mediterranean that these types of words began to predominate ‒ meaning that Classical Greek thought differs from Egyptian thought. For us, this means that Classical color terminology is very different from Bronze Age color terminology, at least partially because Classical Mediterranean color terminology was building on Bronze Age developments ‒ by changing and developing concepts through exchange and usage. Thus, somehow in the process of exchange, a meaning will be attached to the foreign word. In this fashion, loanwords may well not only have facilitated, but actually enabled the development of abstraction. The classic case is our word for ‘(artistic) canon’, derived from Greek κάννα, κανών, but actually coming from Sumerian GI via qanûm, an Akkadian word for ‘reed’. In Mesopotamia, reed was used both to write and as a measuring stick, and both meanings are preserved in the two different Greek words, but in Greek the grid used for outlining a piece of art was also trans-

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formed into a ‘rule’ or ‘law’, which is the abstract version of the concrete activity. Our words ‘prescribe’ and ‘proscribe’ reflect all the stages of a similar development. However, at the earliest stage, there was no abstraction and this had to be brought into the world. I argue that the tortuous paths of the color words reflect precisely this development. Thus, foreign words could add or lose consonants in the course of such travels, aside from gaining new vowels or undergoing metathesis, whereby the order of the individual consonants is inversed. Later on we will come to ‘green’ which is probably derived from the same word as the Akkadian warqu. In this case, the /r/ and /g/q/ have reversed positions, with the latter radical undergoing a slight metamorphosis potentially from the guttural /q/ which is slightly foreign to Europeans. What the word originally meant, what it sounded like, and whence it came is and will remain unknown. Obviously, for Bronze Age élites, these foreign words were literally exotic, and had meanings associated with ‘rarity’ and ‘luxury’, as well ‘color’ and ‘foreign’ ‒ but the meanings were not yet crystallized into sharply defined domains where ‘color’ was separated out from the other geographical and material meanings. Such loanwords enriched the language, adding mystery and obscurity, in a fashion which is lost on us today, as we struggle for precision. We are overwhelmed with distractions and pressed for time, unable to savor philological treats ‒ and thus out of touch with Bronze Age poets.

LEXICAL CLASSIFICATION

And indeed, the Iron Age (of the first millennium BCE) brought forth a new tradition, that of new words invented to fill the gaps, as the concept of the various partitions of the color spectrum were ‘translated’ using new words to match words used in other languages (rather than adopting or adapting the words themselves, as had been the custom of the Bronze Age). What is of interest to us here is that, strangely, many parts of the modern linguistic partition of the color spectrum can be traced back to the precious materials and the words related to them which were traded in the Bronze Age Near East before and around the time that writing was invented. On the other hand, however, we will also see that considerable confusion emerged when the colors drawn from the objects were rendered abstract and applied to describe other real world phenomena, and this is a particular problem in the greenyellow-red part of the spectrum. It is highly significant that although the most important languages of the first millennium BCE (Chinese and Classical Greek) used what appears to be an abstract concept of color, they did not move far beyond the limited range of colors known in the Bronze Age. This was thus an age of abstraction and conceptual consolidation more than an age of linguistic expansion. Thus what Berlin and Kay (in the original formulation) termed a Stage V language with abstract color terms (black, white, red, green, yellow and blue) is probably the hallmark of the Classical Mediterranean, whereas the Bronze Age languages were all still anchored more in the materials than the colors, but had the colors without the abstraction. Thus, rather than trying to dismiss the material role of some Egyptian and Akkadian color words, we dismiss

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their ‘abstract’ character as being marginal but retain the meanings ‒ stressing that the use of color was emerging along with the vocabulary. Thus, in terms of color terminology, the Bronze Age was a crossroads between the world of the Paleolithic where colors were only gradually appearing and our world dominated by abstract and relatively clear color categories. To follow and understand how this happened, we will have to consider linguistic expression, writing systems, trade routes and prices ‒ quite aside from abstraction, burial customs and conceptions of the divine. The ‘Libyan desert glass’ mentioned above offers a glimpse into the conceptual world of the ancients. Our method is involuntarily revealed through the modern identification, identifying the material (‘glass’) and associating it with a geographical origin (‘Libyan desert’), with color only subsequently assigned and not elementary to the thing itself, since for us the color is an attribute which can be defined with a different word. For the Bronze Age ancients, however, it is possible that all these meanings ‒ materials, colors, origins ‒ were all bound up in a single word, such as uqnû (‘foreign’ is indicated by the loanword, stone by the material which has blue as an intrinsic attribute). Thus, the languages of the Bronze Age abound with loanwords where the Classical Greek philosophers identified the ethnic origins and adopted a word to translate the item ‒ yet even so, Classical Greek still retained at least one of the Ancient Near Eastern loanwords. One classical example of this phenomenon is the English ‘peach’, German Pfirsich, which are derived from an abbreviation of the Latin for ‘Persian apple’, whereby an item (a) imported from China was (b) associated with a more familiar item, and (c) assigned an ethnic designation associated with the foreigners from whom the object was acquired. The Bronze Age peoples usually used the foreign words rather than adopting an ethnic approach as in the Classical Mediterranean. And the Bronze Age peoples clung closer to the actual materials, and thus valuable imported precious materials were used to describe the pure colors of the world ‒ thereby creating the basis for abstract color terminology as we know it. I thus propose that many of the ‘color’ words chosen by the ancient bureaucratic poets actually designated the materials and not abstract colors as we understand them ‒ but through exchange, their usage led to the emergence of abstract color terms. Viewed from our own standpoint ‒ where color categories are used exuberantly to describe everything from hair and eyes to automobiles ‒ it is difficult to grasp just why people in the world’s oldest civilizations used rare precious materials to describe the world in which they had lived for thousands of years before these materials became available. Yet the reality is that the Coptic expression for ‘skyblue’, ⲁⲩⲁⲛ ⲙⲡⲉ (roughly auan empe) can be transcribed into Ancient Egyptian, as *jwn n p.t, and produced in hieroglyphs as * , ‘the color of the sky’ (the translation of the Coptic) ‒ but is unknown in Bronze Age Ancient Egyptian! To reach this stage, one not only had to begin to grasp ‘blue’, but also to have an abstract understanding of ‘color’. The Egyptians had lived for thousands of years in the Nile before they saw any lapis lazuli, gold or turquoise ‒ and yet they needed these precious materials to develop a linguistic means of describing the phenomenon, and it was only after the development of this facility that they could then simplify the process and refer di-

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rectly to the phenomenon to get an abstract color (which was still related to a real world thing, if a common one). Thus the question of color terminology must be related to expression rather than perception ‒ yet the expression itself enhanced the capacity for perception. And the entire process can be followed as it unfolded in the last six thousand years. Bizarre as such an approach might be, it is compatible with the evidence that in the Nile Valley, silver and gold were as unknown as lapis lazuli and jade much before the fourth millennium BCE ‒ although people had been there for millennia already.

THE SOURCES AND DEVELOPMENTS

The earliest human use of ocher goes back to the Palaeolithic, when red and yellow ocher were used to decorate bodies, bones and the walls of caves. Black soot was also used from very early times. Green and blue are completely absent in the Palaeolithic, appearing in the Neolithic in the form of jade and lapis lazuli, and similarly colored stones. White and yellow appear at the end of the Neolithic in the form of silver and gold, from the fifth millennium onwards. The earliest texts date back to before 3500 BCE in Mesopotamia, but it is unknown whether the language used was an early form of Sumerian or a different language. In fact, it is even debatable whether it was what we understand as language, but it certainly represents a stage of human thought where words expressed categories relating to people, time, and animals (among other things). It is thus possible that these texts were not recording a language, but conveying information in written form using different types of syntax (physical position as well as word-order) to encode meanings. One could argue that spoken language my not have been much further along at this point. Nevertheless, although these were economic documents, certain words that adumbrate Sumerian colors appear in these texts, and thus we can confirm that at least a vague concept of color as a means of categorization existed. A millennium later, scribes were clearly capable of writing the Sumerian language, but the documents are still more economic than poetic. Only towards the end of the third millennium do the Mesopotamians start composing real literature, in Sumerian and Akkadian. Sometime around 3000 BCE, the Egyptians adopted the concept of writing from the Mesopotamians. In contrast to the Mesopotamians, the Egyptians began writing names and administrative titles in a rather monumental form with alacrity and thus the preserved documentation is quite different from Mesopotamia. After the beginning of the second half of the third millennium BCE, the Egyptian scribes began a tradition of writing religious texts which would continue for the next three millennia. This developed further when St. Mark appeared in Alexandria and the New Testament was translated into Coptic (which was the final stage of the Egyptian language, related to ancient Egyptian and not to Arabic, which replaced Coptic after the Islamic Conquest in the mid-seventh century CE). Thus, in one sense, one could argue for a tormentingly long era of development ‒ or argue that the cognitive developments of a millennia and a half in Mesopotamia outweigh everything that had come before. Regardless, there is not much evidence of ‘narrative’ or ‘abstraction’ in the Paleolithic or Neolithic, and thus there

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may have been a revolution in thought during the early part of the Bronze Age, and the materials in the wealthy temples and palaces of the Near East may have played a part in the process. During the third millennium BCE, increasing quantities of silver, gold, lapis lazuli, carnelian, ivory, and other materials were imported into Egypt and Mesopotamia. The materials were used to make representative jewelry, statues, weapons, tools and furniture, etc. During the second half of the third millennium, these materials come to play an important role in the texts, and this role increases during the second millennium BCE. These materials were associated with the gods and the princes insofar as the statues of the gods were made of such materials and the kings not only wore jewelry made of these articles, but were also accustomed to having furniture incorporating such materials. Scribes would use the words for the precious materials to refer to colors in their poetic texts, while the administrative records would refer to the real materials. Although words for the concept of ‘color’ were developing during the third and second millennia BCE, it was only during the first millennium CE that colors began to become abstract. This process of abstraction is extremely complicated because it involved several intertwining tendencies. It is easiest to follow in the Greek world. The Mycenaean texts abound with terms designating colors as attributes or treating materials as being distinguished by what we would call color. Above we noted some of the three dozen different color-words in Mycenaean Greek which Blakolmer has identified. Some of them are the antecedents of later abstract color words in Greek (such as e-ru-to-ro = ἐρυϑρός), and some of them related to materials. Striking for the Aegean and Near Eastern Bronze Age languages is a range of words for red and blue. Over time, the color words are reduced radically in language, with categories collapsing as the abstract concept overcomes the categories associated with materials. Significantly, the colors of the Mycenaean paintings are similar to the Egyptian in presenting different shades of red and blue, with relatively clear-cut categories. This contrast significantly with the fine nuances that appear in the colors used in the paintings of the classical era which do not correspond to particular words in the same fashion, since the range of color words declines considerably, while the diversity of hues used in art explodes. Thus, one notices a moment from the last first millennium onwards when languages tended for a reduction in the number of color words. This reduction is reflected in both philosophical discussions and abstraction. Thus, the actual number of specific words for hues is reduced to around seven, with words for black, white and yellow accompanied by at least one word for red, green, and blue (but in most cases supplemented by an additional word for (at least) one of these (as in contemporary Russian with two blues, contemporary Hungarian with two reds, contemporary French with two browns, and contemporary Chinese with two greens). This process involves making a division in the spectrum of what English terms a specific color, whereby English may represent long term developments in the process of elaboration (orange, gray, pink, etc. added in) but only one blue, red, green, etc.

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THE EARLIEST WORDS The Oldest Stage (Prehistory to Early History) Isolating prehistoric color words is excruciatingly difficult simply because one can neither confirm nor deny the existence of a word with a color meaning before the invention of writing. In my view, I can legitimately project a word back to prehistory if I can postulate that a possible basis for that projection exists. However, I am skeptical about assuming that in Prehistoric times and societies the concept of color existed or that any color words were used independent of particular circumstances or materials. Dark to Black As far as I can tell, at the moment the oldest definitely documented color word is one meaning ‘dark’, preserved in Sumerian KÚKKU which is the same as the Egyptian kk.w ( 𓅱𓅱𓇰𓇰), both documented in the third millennium, and probably older. This is self-evidently the same word being used in two different language families, Sumerian not being related to any known languages, and Egyptian being AfroAsianic with significant Semitic influences. We have no idea of how old the word is, nor whether a similar word was used in the time of the earliest texts. The origins of the Sumerian KÚKKU may have originally etymologically had a meaning related to ‘night’, and probably gave rise to Sumerian GI6, ĞIG2, associated with night and darkness and meaning ‘black’; by contrast, the Egyptian kk.w simply meant ‘dark’ or ‘blackness’ with the Egyptian word for ‘black’ being km (𓆎𓆎𓅓𓅓𓏜𓏜), and the Egyptian word for ‘night’ being the unrelated grḥ ( 𓎛𓎛𓇰𓇰). It follows that the original designation for ‘darkness’ or ‘night’ ‒ before there were any written languages ‒ must have been related to kk.w, KÚKKU, and that over time this gave rise to a word for ‘black’ in Sumerian and a word for ‘darkness’ in Egyptian. Although this word is the oldest documented, it need not be older (and I suspect that it is in fact younger) than the following word. Ocher to Red? Our next early color word is rather complicated. It could go back to the Neolithic or even the Palaeolithic, but it might be more recent. In contrast to KÚKKU, we have no idea of just when the word at the root of English ‘red’ (German rot, Danish rød, Italian rosso, and probably French rouge, etc.) appeared. I argue that in Akkadian, it is ruššu, and in Egyptian rwḏ.w (𓂋𓂋𓎗𓎗𓌗𓌗𓍱𓍱), both meaning a kind of ‘red’. In Arabic, it is ward, meaning ‘rose’; in Sanskrit it is vṛddhi, meaning ‘growth’, related to Proto-IndoEuropean *werd (related to German werden). Somehow, this concept of a color term in the red range became mixed with the idea of ‘growth’ ‒ but not related to the word for ‘green’ (whence English ‘growth’). In Sanskrit, we also have rudhira for red (related to ‘blood’) which may take us back to the origins when ocher and menstrual cycles were different facets of nature which attracted attention. In any case, I argue that this might be the oldest real color word in human history.

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Jade to Green? The word in question appears for the first time in Akkadian ‘green-yellow’, warqu, and Egyptian ‘green’ wʾḏ (𓇆𓇆𓏜𓏜). The Akkadian and the Egyptian are the same: the Egyptian ʾ-aleph was originally an /r/ and the /q/, the /g/, and the /j/ (which is the equivalent of the Egyptian sound transliterated as ḏ) are interchangeable. This obviously reflects the evolution of a loanword which was already ancient when it entered the vocabulary of the ancient Near East. Since the third millennium BCE this Egyptian word is both graphically and figuratively associated with a very rare and precious ‘greenstone’. There was a piece of jade in the tomb of Tutankhamun, but this is much later than the earliest use of wʾḏ with reference to stones in Egypt. Yet somehow the concept of a rare and precious stone arrived with the word long before the actual jade. Yet jade was used in Neolithic Europe, literally millennia before the invention of writing in the Near East ‒ and greenstones were highly prized in the Neolithic Near East, where memories of a small greenstone axe may have given rise to the Sumerian word GIN2 reflecting the Semitic weight the sheqel, used as the oldest measure of value in human history. It is thus legitimate to propose that the word behind ‘green’ might well be one of the oldest color terms in human history, and that that word was possibly related to the Neolithic axes of Alpine jade. The Second Stage (Bronze Age Near East, Third – Second Millennia BCE) Lapis Lazuli to Dark Blue In Egyptian (ḫsbḏ) and Akkadian (uqnû), the word for lapis lazuli is used to designate a color that is specifically linked to the material lapis lazuli. Lapis lazuli was highly prized in the ancient Near East, being more expensive than silver, if slightly less than gold. Carnelian to Red The Akkadian word for carnelian (sāmtu) resembles the word for red (sāmu) so closely that the Chicago Assyrian Dictionary (15: 127) refers to carnelian as ‘the red stone par excellence’, and we can assume that the root of the verb ‘to be red’ and the adjective ‘red’ lies in the stone. Silver to White In Egyptian ḥḏ 𓍙𓍙 , the word for ‘white’ is that for silver. As in Sumerian BABBAR and Akkadian peṣum the Egyptian ‘white’ also means ‘bright’ ‘shining’. Gold to Yellow In Egyptian, the only available word for ‘yellow’ is nb.w, 𓋞𓋞, gold. The Ancient Greek word χρυσός is itself derived from the Akkadian ḫurāṣum, via Mycenaean ku-ru-so, both of which were also used a color terms in the Bronze Age, such as an Akkadian text referring to the color of the moon during an eclipse.

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Turquoise (and Amethyst?) to Light Blue (and/or Violet?) There are colors in Egyptian, Sumerian and Akkadian that represent blues that are different from the deep blue of the most perfect lapis lazuli. We have noted that for Egyptian, Schenkel advocates using two loanwords for lapis lazuli as color terms, and agrees that turquoise was likewise used as a color term. It could be argued that this is a lighter blue. The same seems to be the case with the Akkadian ḫašmanum, which is a stone for which some have proposed that it is derived from the Egyptian word for amethyst. Obviously, amethyst would be closer to violet than to light blue and thus it is possible that we actually have a purple or violet (as opposed to an indigo) here ‒ but the actual stone has not yet been recognized. The Complication of Artificial Materials Glass and faience were referred to as ‘(artificial) lapis lazuli’ in Egyptian and Akkadian, with two results. One was that Akkadian texts refer to ‘red lapis lazuli’, which is not a nonsensical *red-blue, but rather ‘red glass’. The other was that when Egyptian cobalt blue glass arrived in the Mycenaean world, the Mycenaean word for it was kuwa-no, derived from the Akkadian uqnû for lapis lazuli (probably derived from Hittite or Ugaritic), so that Mycenaean Greek ku-wa-no meant ‘glass paste’ and not lapis lazuli ‒ and it was associated with blue. Thus the origin of the Greek κυάνεος for ‘dark blue’ was the ancient loanword used in Akkadian to designate lapis lazuli. Thus, we see the results of the wanderings, but have no idea whence it came, aside from somewhere across the Iranian plateau or beyond. The word travelled with the actual product, and was then transferred to a cheaper imitation, and then to a color. Art and Language The Egyptian texts use a word for black, km, the origins and nature of which are virtually inexplicable, as is the standard Egyptian word for red, dšr. The word km is clearly used to designate ‘black’, but seems somehow to be related to a piece of crocodile skin, with which it is written (𓆎𓆎). The word dšr indisputably means ‘red’, but is written with a flamingo (𓅟𓅟). Neither of these conventions (crocodile, flamingo) corresponds to the color black or red as the Egyptians used them in artwork. And the real key to understanding the Egyptian abstract colors lies in a remark by Wolf who observes that the Egyptian statues of jackals were a deep, pure black ‒ which bore no resemblance to the living jackals. This means that the Egyptians understood a pure abstract deep black as being represented by their word km, and that this black took priority over the observation and reproduction of nature. One of the truly surprising discoveries of recent archaeological in Egypt has been the discovery that the Egyptian painters were deliberately trying to create a purer white, using huntite. It is clear that the purer white was the object. A close examination of paintings and jewelry will reveal that the Egyptians consistently distinguished between a ‘light blue’ and a ‘dark blue’, corresponding to the difference between lapis lazuli and turquoise ‒ but again, reduced to a purer version. The reality is thus that ‒ at least as understood by the artists ‒ these words are evidently abstract, and that they were conceived as an ideal. One wonders whether they were ‘translated’ from Akkadian or Sumerian, and that this translation process

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contributed to the refinement. It was certainly cognitive rather than perceptive, since it meant ‘idealizing’ the material colors. The Fourth Stage (from First Millennium BCE in Aegean and China) The final stage of the development is that with which we are familiar: the world of purely abstract colors which are understood as an independent category. The Ancient Egyptian had a word for ‘color’, jwn (written with the sign for ‘hair’, 𓁸𓁸), which is probably related to the Arabic (lawn, ‫ )ﻟﻮن‬for ‘color’. However, the Ancient Egyptian word actually meant ‘character’ as much as a ‘vein of mineral or ore’ and thus the meaning of ‘color’ was secondary. Needless to say, I take the origin of the term as being directly related to the Egyptian understanding of color. In contrast to the earliest terminology, the early Greek and Chinese terms for colors do not seem to be linked to any materials in a conscious fashion, at least not in the sense of having been inherited from an era where the words and precious materials were related. Although the ancient Greek χρῶμα also meant ‘pigment’ and ‘skin-color’, it certainly meant ‘abstract color’ (as does the modern Greek) in a fashion which one could hardly claim for similar terms in Sumerian, Akkadian or Egyptian, which are translated loosely as meaning ‘color’. Oddly, the modern Chinese word for color (yánsè, 顏) is an abstract form, a compound of two ancient words, both meaning abstract ‘color’, but more specifically associated with the ‘color of the countenance’ (with yán being more closely linked to the face and sè more abstract color). In this sense ancient and modern Chinese terms comes quite close to being same as the Greek: meaning both the pigments and dyes with which colors are made, as well as skin color and abstract color. 14 There are some significant developments in later Egyptian which are worth mentioning. The most important are visible in Coptic, the form of Egyptian used in the Christian era. One of the most important is that the meaning of the word ḥḏ ‘silver’ for ‘white’ is marginalized, with ϩⲁⲧ (roughly hat) meaning mostly ‘silver’ (and seldom ‘white’) replaced with ⲟⲩⲃⲁϣ (roughly ubash), derived from wbḫ (𓅱𓅱𓃀𓃀 ) originally meaning ‘to shine, be bright’. This development is extremely important for the history of color terminology since a word for ‘white’ already existed in other languages (such as Greek λευκός which the Coptic writers knew, aside from Chinese bái which they probably did not) before the Coptic abandoned ‘silver’ and took a word for ‘shining’ and adopted it to mean ‘white’. In this case, rather than adopting the Greek word itself (which was common practice in Coptic), the Coptic writers were literally ‘translating’ the Greek (which has a meaning of ‘being bright’ as well as ‘white’), and introducing this meaning into their ancient language with what we would call an abstract color word. It is strikingly odd that in both ancient Egyptian and old Chinese, the basic terms for ‘color’ were also associated with ‘sex’: cf. Erman and Grapow (1971) I: 52, 17; Schuessler (2007) 451, 551. 14

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Another feature of Coptic is the appearance of what appears to be yet another word for ‘red’. The new word ⲙⲣⲟϣ (roughly mrosh) is used in parallel with the traditional Bronze Age color term dšr. This earlier color term is referred to in an Egyptian text as, literally, the ‘color red’ (jwn.w dšr.t , cited Wb. V: 488, 2), and is preserved in the Coptic ⲧⲱⲣϣ (roughly tōrsh). In this sense, according to their own testimony, the Egyptians ‒ in both Ancient Egyptian and Coptic ‒ had a perfectly adequate word for ‘red’, and yet in the Christian era consciously supplemented this with another. However, despite Schenkel’s insistence that this word meant perhaps ‘light red’, the newly introduced Coptic word ⲙⲣⲟϣ ‒ which thus accompanies dšr in Coptic ‒ may mean ‘red’ or ‘yellow’ or perhaps even both (with Crum 183b citing references which he links to ἐρυϑρός and ξανϑός). 15 Trying to make sense of this apparent anomaly, Schenkel has proposed that the new word was used merely as a specification for ‘light red’. Altogether, the philological work leaves us in no doubt ‒ but quite confused. Quite aside from the meaning, the origins of this word ⲙⲣⲟϣ are unfathomable. I would hesitatingly venture to suggest that the origin might be a metathesis of the Ancient Egyptian mšr.w ( ). Conceptually, this Bronze Age word ‒ perhaps meaning ‘afternoon’, ‘evening’, ‘evening light’ or ‘twilight’ ‒ may have hinted at the shifting hue of the evening sun which moves through yellow and red. In this sense, the word mšr.w may testify to a consciousness of the paradox (mentioned at the outset) that in Bronze Age Egyptian texts the sun is described as being both ‘golden’ and ‘red’. The Coptic would thus have retained this ambiguity, but strengthened it by introducing a word for it with a color meaning, of which Schenkel is persuaded that it is a color term, which he identifies with ‘light red’. Yet the Coptic usage might persuade us that it also designated ‘yellow’. Although Crum confirms that the Coptic version of Ancient Egyptian nb.w ‘gold’ (𓋞𓋞), ⲛⲟⲩⲃ (roughly noub) is used as an adjective, there is hardly a hint that this takes us any further than the Greek χρυσοῦς, which maintained its vague color meaning in parallel with the Greek ξανϑός with which the Coptic writers were familiar. Thus, we have some words with different meanings, and several parallel words with similar meanings. We can appreciate the appearance of a category of color which was abstract, but the route was not straight.

THE EMERGENCE OF CATEGORIES THROUGH TRADE AND POETRY

At the outset, I mentioned the case of the Egyptian poets of the late second millennium BCE who referred to the ‘sun rising golden’ in ‘a field of turquoise’ more than a millennium before the appearance of a Coptic phrase referring to ‘the color of the sky’. The concept of color as a distinct category probably did not exist in the fourth millennium BCE as the terms for ‘color’ in the third and early second millennia BCE are still embedded in materials. Along with Egyptian ḫsbḏ and wʾḏ, Akkadian 15

Schenkel (2007) 224, 226; Crum (1939) 183b.

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uqnû, sāmu and warqu were probably all loanwords in these languages, arriving with the materials ‒ or even as mere words unaccompanied by the materials. The trade in lapis lazuli began sometime around the seventh millennium BCE, with the earliest pieces reaching clients in modern day Pakistan. The only relevant Old World source of lapis lazuli in antiquity was in north-eastern Afghanistan (or other deposits further off in Tajikistan), whence it was initially exported to the Indus, reaching Mesopotamia and Egypt by the mid-fourth millennium BCE. As far as I can tell, the first trading did not pass through the Persian Gulf, but by the third millennium, lapis lazuli was passing through the Gulf (presumably from the Indus Valley), but the importance of the overland route reappeared after the collapse of the Indus civilization so that lapis was again arriving in Mesopotamia from Iran. In any case, in Mesopotamia, the price of lapis lazuli was higher than that of silver (which was ‘money’, with that literal meaning in both Egyptian and Akkadian – as well as the significance of ‘white’ in Egyptian and Sumerian). This material lapis lazuli is probably the first material which was used by man and subsequently became a color word, which had a meaning ‒ blue ‒ going beyond experiences of color at that time, and exporting them beyond the space to which lapis lazuli was confined (basically the Ancient Near East, with very little in the Mediterranean or the Indus). Above, I argued that next word was that behind the Egyptian wʾḏ and Akkadian warqu, which were etymologically the same, with the focus of the Egyptian word on ‘green’ and the Akkadian signifying both ‘green’ and ‘yellow’. As noted above, the Egyptian is occasionally given a ‘determinative’ or ‘classifier’ denoting a green stone rather than an abstract color. Aside from rare items such as those of Tutankhamun, jade itself is virtually unknown in the Ancient Near East, but the Neolithic axes of Alpine jadeite were among the most highly appreciated possessions of Neolithic Europeans ‒ and they were imitated throughout the world, mostly in common stones with a greenish tint, but also including in jade in China. The small imitation greenstone axes will be found in Neolithic collections from Greece and the Near East, as well as Europe. All of the real Alpine jade comes from a single source on the southern flanks of the Alps. Pétrequin suggests that the earliest of these European Neolithic axes were made and circulating in the middle of the sixth millennium ‒ or only shortly thereafter (ca. 5300 BCE) at the very latest. 16 Klassen confirms that they were a rapid export success, reaching as far north as Denmark in the sixth millennium BCE. 17 Pétrequin notes that by the second half of the fourth millennium, ‘the cycle of production and circulation’ of these large axes was ‘finished’, 18 and Klassen concludes that in Europe the jade axes were replaced with copper.

Pétrequin et al. (2012) 695. Klassen (2004) 346–347. Significantly, the earliest Chinese jades date to virtually the same time, ca. 5000 BCE. It is, of course, assumed that they were local jades and not imports ‒ but it can hardly be mere coincidence that the phenomenon appears at the same time at both ends of Eurasia. 18 Pétrequin et al. (2012) 701. 16 17

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Thus Tutankhamun’s second millennium BCE jade arrived long after the end of Pétrequin’s ‘cycle of production and circulation’ of the large Neolithic axes. Yet it would seem that a memory of this early trade may have left its trace in the European, Egyptian and Mesopotamian vocabulary, and thus long before the pieces preserved today. Whether actual jade reached the Neolithic Near East is hardly evident. Important is that the idea of greenstones did arrive, and thus a word might well have been transported with the greenstones, in the same ways that uqnû, ḫsbḏ and ṯfrr reached Egypt and Mesopotamia. In the case of κΰανεος, the material lapis lazuli was not as abundant as the use of the word (since very little lapis lazuli reached the Aegean in the Bronze Age), and thus the Alpine jade may not have reached Egypt and Mesopotamia, but the word itself may have. I argue that Egyptian wʾḏ and Akkadian warqu were ultimately related to jade, and thus that the ultimate word behind these Egyptian and Akkadian loanwords is the ancestor of that English word ‘green’ (German grün, Danish grøn, etc.), also related to ‘growth’. I postulate that through metathesis, the order of the consonants is inverted in Northern Indo-European, with /g/ before /r/ rather than /r/ followed by /q/. Whether the word travelled via the Indo-Europeans to the Near East is neither probable nor necessary, for the word may have arrived with the European Neolithic phenomenon, long before the Indo-Europeans encountered the axes in Europe. I thus suggest that warqu and wʾḏ, grøn and grün are derived from some word used in Neolithic Northern Europe associated with Alpine jade axes. The IndoEuropeans probably took the designation they encountered, and retained their version of the word while destroying the custom of treating jade axes as heirlooms of great value. Thus we have a single word which projects color meanings through time and space. 19 The situation is quite different with gold. In Bronze Age Egyptian and Akkadian, gold was used with color connotations, but the Ancient Near East did not have a separate concept of ‘yellow’ and thus this is hardly surprising. In Greek, however, words for ‘yellow’ are known since the Mycenaean, and yet gold was also used as a color word in such Ancient Greek compounds as χρυσάκτιν and χρυσαλλίς. Although the Greek and Akkadian words for gold are related, the Egyptian is not ‒ and thus here it is common usage, rather than common vocabulary that holds sway. And this leads to a very curious question. The link between the modern English words for ‘gold’ and ‘yellow’ is hardly self-evident, but Danish guld and gul are virtually the same while German Gold and gelb secure the English connections back to Old English geolwe, the origin of our ‘yellow’. The use of gold itself can be traced back to the sixth millennium in the Balkans, and thus before the advent of the IndoEuropeans. Given the widespread use of the word ‘gold’ to represent the color ‘yellow’, one could suspect that the Indo-Europeans encountered a local word for gold Given that I assume that the word behind ‘green’ is a Pre-Indo-European term, I dispute the idea of a PIE etymology. 19

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when they reached the Balkans ‒ and that they adopted this, possibly acquiring it already with the figurative color meaning. Amusingly the Persian and Sanskrit likewise testify to the link between the color ‘yellow’ and the material ‘gold’, but the Persian zard (‫)زرد‬, ‘yellow, golden’ and Sanskrit hari, ‘greenish-yellow’ do not seem to be related to the north European which allegedly contributed the common ancestor of the word ‘yellow’. Yet the Sanskrit is close to Latin aureus ‒ which might take us back to a common root in the word at the origin of the Akkadian ḫurāṣum. This in turn would mean that the northwestern half of the Indo-European family probably adopted a word which may actually antedate the Indo-Europeans again while the southern half adopted what was either a Semitic word, or one belonging to a still older substrate. This word for the material was then used for color, surviving into our own times. The Greek κυάνεος for ‘dark blue’ tells a very different story. The word was itself in origin a loanword derived from the Akkadian uqnû for lapis lazuli, with the Mycenaean ku-wa-no probably derived from Hittite or Ugaritic. In Mycenaean Greek, ku-wa-no meant ‘glass paste’ (which was cobalt blue in color and imported from Egypt). The word still exists in English as the ‘cyan’ familiar from ink-jet printers. Yet the Greek word κυάνεος failed to became a salient color term in its home language, originally being more vaguely ‘dark’, and ultimately replaced in the ‘blue range’ by μπλε and γαλάζιος, the first of which is simply the (modernized) Greek transliteration of English ‘blue’ and the second a neologism. Ironically, γλαυκός had the same fate, having had a vague meaning in antiquity and having lost ground since. Similarly, πράσινο has (ironically) replaced χλωρός (which is assumed to be ‘green’, but probably never was, at least as we understand the BCT ‘green’). If I have understood this evidence correctly, it would mean that the exchanges led to changes in the meanings of words and colors, but also that the IndoEuropean languages were incorporating loanwords into their vocabulary at a relatively early date. This is one part of the story of materials and words. Another part unfolds itself when we turn back to ‘green’. Significantly, the focus of the Egyptian word is in ‘green’ while the Akkadian has the implications of ‘green’ and ‘yellow’ (which seems to correspond to the Sumerian SIG). This latter is clearly a development under the influence of the vegetation cycles. One has the impression that the original green jade created an idea of ‘green’ through the word and the material, as both we and the Egyptians understood it. Then, however, the figurative meaning of the word was transferred to flourishing vegetation, and then also secondarily to the ripe ‒ brown or yellow ‒ vegetation. Ironically, ‘ripe’ and ‘fresh’ can come together with ‘green’ and ‘yellow’ and ‘red’, so that a figurative meaning is separate from the color meaning. This probably explains why the Akkadian seems to identify things which are either ‘yellow’ or ‘green’. The Akkadian is thus not greenish-yellow, as with Greek χλωρός, which might well designate an indistinct green-yellow segment of the spectrum rather than a green or a yellow as alternatives. I would argue that the Egyptian and the northern European languages have maintained the actual meaning of a ‘green’ hue associated with a stone ‒ and that the Akkadian made a confusing abstraction out of this. It would be fair to propose that the confusion of the Akkadian warqu actually contributed to the confusion of the Greek χλωρός.

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The Chinese words for red (hóngsè, 紅色) and (light) green (lǜ, 綠) are actually written with a radical which is part of the word for silk (sē, 綢), while the debatable color word perhaps meaning ‘dark green’ (qīng, 青) is arguably partially written with the sign/word for ‘jade’ (yù, 玉). Qīng underwent the opposite destiny of κυάνεος: instead of disappearing as an inadequately precise color term, it has crystallized into a vague green-blue in China and Japan (where it is transliterated as ao). Important is that these terms are much younger than the Near Eastern and Aegean terms, reflecting a different world. The Chinese terms did not emerge out of a world where materials were the origins of colors so much as into a world in which color categories had already been brought into existence (in the Near East and the Aegean). Thus the Chinese vocabulary resembles the Greek more than the Egyptian ‒ but without the foreign influences being visible. In this sense, the Chinese vocabulary corresponds to an advanced stage in the development of color terminology. Thus, for the Near East and the Aegean, we have a peculiar situation where various raw materials of high value ‒ gold, silver, jade, lapis lazuli, carnelian, turquoise, amethyst ‒ gradually appeared in the texts to denote colors. This was practical and uninspired (a ‘silver’ vessel is a silver vessel, and distinguishing a limestone vessel from a silver vessel not difficult), practical and factual (a textile dyed crimson with murex-dye had that color) ‒ but also practical and comparative when a textile is described as being lapis lazuli. It was thus in this context that color categories as hues took on their own existence ‒ and began the long route to modern color terminologies.

HUES AND FOCUS

I am persuaded that although color authorities stress a range of details, ordinary humans are more inclined to recognize and distinguish hues than to consciously perceive saturation or luminosity, but it is possible that the ancients took account of these issues through their lexical designations. In the case of ‘turquoise’ and ‘lapis lazuli’ for ‘light blue’ and ‘dark blue’, the distinction may be one of saturation and luminosity. With rwḏ.w and dšr, ἐρυϑρός and πορφύριος, the difference will probably have been between dull, dark (rwḏ.w, ἐρυϑρός) and bright, deep (dšr, πορφύριος), which may be understood as hues, saturation or luminosity. In Egyptian, ‘blood’ was described as being dšr, but not ṯms (𓍿𓍿𓅓𓅓𓋴𓋴𓏞𓏞, which must have a slight nuance of difference invisible to us, as it otherwise appears to be almost synonymous with dšr) ‒ possibly because the basic meaning of ṯms might have been ‘red ink’ and the scribes may thus have been uncomfortable with the idea of ‘writing in blood’. Yet this is an indication of an nuance which escapes us. By contrast, the color of men in Egyptian art is usually described in art history discussions as being ‘brown’, or ‘dark red’ ‒ but this color is never associated with any of the conventional words for ‘red’. Thus I have proposed that the Egyptian word rwḏ.w (𓂋𓂋𓎗𓎗𓌗𓌗𓍱𓍱, which means ‘firm’, ‘strong’, as well as being used to describe quartzite and sandstone ‒ in contrast to other stones, such as ‘black’ granite) is the Egyptian term used to describe a dull or dark red differing strongly from the bright red of dšr. Another important aspect of this issue is the understanding of the color km.w ‘black’. This word is definitely different from kk.w ‘dark’, which is the same in Su-

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merian and Egyptian. However, this does not mean that it had another meaning or that we can define it. We know that the Egyptians distinguished the ‘red land’ (the deserts and mountains) from the ‘black land’ (the arable land of the Valley and Delta). Recently, Schenkel has cogently pointed out that the soil was really closer to brown. Yet, indeed, following the same reasoning, Schenkel could have pointed out that the desert was also closer to what we call brown than to what we call ‘red’. In effect, following his own logic, Schenkel would have to have conceded that what we appear to have would be two rather vague terms for brown, one with a focus in ‘dark’ and one with a focus in ‘bright’. I have dealt with part of this by arguing that there were two words for red, one the ‘bright red’ of dšr.w, and the other the ‘dull red’ of rwḏ.w. Yet it must be conceded that the Egyptians seemed to have used the word dšr.w for the rocks and sands, which were effectively red-yellow.

THE SYSTEMS

One of the most curious features of early colors is the system by which colors are associated with the elements and the cardinal directions. There are many different variations – with the greatest variety among the colors from the Americas. In principle, this system is based on abstraction, as the associations are potentially almost endless. Whether the concept arose among the Greeks and was translated into Chinese where the concept was systematized is probably impossible to establish. What is clear is that the Hindu system is not compellingly earlier than the Greek, and that the Buddhist and Chinese systems reflect mutual influences. Black

White Red

Green

Egyptian east

west

Israelite

fire

Yellow Blue

Violet

Purple

Greek

Chinese

water

metal, west

earth fire air

air

water, north

Hindu

fire, south

fire

earth, center

earth

wood, east

water

Buddhist

Maya

water, east

north

fire, west

air, north

earth, south void, center

west east

south

water

Table 1. Systems of elements associated with colors The Greeks divided the world into elements associated with colors: earth (black), water (white), air (yellow) and fire (red); the Chinese had five elements: wood (green), fire (red), earth (yellow), metal (white), water (black). The Chinese linked green to the east, red to the south, yellow to the center, white to the west, and black

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to the north. The Hindus used the elements in a fashion corresponding to the Greeks, which may be traced back to the Israelites. As far as I can tell, the earliest known case of the system was found in the tomb of Tutankhamun (ca. 1320 BCE), where Guasch-Jané has demonstrated that red wine was placed to the west of the sarcophagus and white wine to the east. 20 This is probably merely a hint at the beginnings ‒ but there may be more to come, since the directions are the same as those of Buddhism. The Israelite system mentioned by Josephus may be older than the Greek, but is not documented until after the emergence of the Greek system. 21 The Greek and Chinese systems must have arisen in parallel, presumably based on the Egyptian and Mesopotamian, with the Chinese probably also influenced by Buddhism. The most recent, Maya, system is typical of the American systems in not being particularly systematic in details in relation to the other systems. 22 On the other hand, however, the conceptual link to the eastern systems lies in the idea of linking colors into a system of organizing the categories of the world. Being PreColumbian, the Maya system is probably influenced by the East Asian traditions and had an influence on the other, later, North American systems.

GRAMMAR, ETYMOLOGIES, SEMANTICS AND THEORY

What I am arguing here is that concrete nouns (linguistically encoded names for materials which may well have been both precious and imports) lie at the origins of color terminology which is today mostly understood as being expressed through adjectives modifying nouns (that is, a ‘green stone’ or a ‘yellow coin’) or verbs (that is, ‘that stone is green’ or ‘this coin is yellow’). In the linguistic context, it is striking that the ‘green’, groen, grün group are all northern European dialects, whereas the oldest documented Indo-European languages do not have central words with the meaning ‘green’ related to this word. Blakolmer remarks that the absence of ‘green’ in the Mycenaean sources reflects a ‘special chromatic disinterest’. 23 Hittite hahlawanz replicates the ‘green’/’yellow’ dichotomy of Akkadian, and was thus probably a translation of such. Ancient Greek χλωρός seems to replicate this same confusion. Sanskrit hārita and harijāta are among the many Sanskrit words meaning ‘green’ and ‘yellow’ respectively but appear to be quite similar, and indicate the confusion. Regardless, like hahlawanz and χλωρός they are not related to the projected PIE roots. This case is particularly relevant since the distribution of the sixth to fourth millennia BCE jadeite axes in northern Europe probably antedates the IndoEuropean migration, meaning that the wandering Europeans will have come across people using these articles. In this sense, the word at the origin of green would be Guasch-Jané et al. (2006) 1079. Josephus, BJ V. 212–214. 22 Houston et al. (2009) 27–28. 23 Blakolmer (2000) 232. 20 21

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older than Indo-European and adopted by the migrants. Etymologically, the word ‘green’ and its variations (groen, grün, grøn) have been used to argue a hypothetical PIE root where *ghr… link ‘green’ and ‘grow’. I have argued here that ‒ as with lapis lazuli, carnelian, silver and gold ‒ the word color word ‘green’ was derived from the precious material, in this case the Neolithic axes. I argue that the recognition of the color of the material contributed to the development of the ‘concept’ of color as a category, and that this was the point of departure for the concepts of colors whereby Akkadian warqu came to mean both ‘green’ and ‘yellow’ due to the changes of the vegetation cycle which probably contributed to the concept of growth coming into the meaning of the color word. Thus, I view the concrete material as the origin of the color concept, and the figurative abstract meanings (such as ‘growth’) as the result of the development of color concepts. Thus, I would argue that this word ‘green’ was around before the IndoEuropeans and that they adopted it ‒ and that the alleged PIE roots relating to ‘growth’ are not of Indo-European origin and reflect the end of the process (as adopted by the Hittites) rather than etymological origins. Concretely, I argue that ocher, gold, silver, lapis lazuli, jade, turquoise, amethyst, and carnelian played the decisive role, contributing to the emergence of abstract color terminology, through the adoption and evolution of words which can be traced back etymologically to objects or categories of objects. This is a question of etymologies. The usual means of providing etymologies is to assume an internal evolution in a language. However, in the case of English, the etymological origins are allegedly words meaning ‘to shine’ or ‘to grow’ which themselves postdate the links between vegetation cycles already visible in Akkadian before the first millennium BCE. The fact that half of the words are conceded to be ultimately loanwords anyway indicates that it is fallacious to assume independent evolution, as can be seen in my summary of Shields’s account of the origins of English color terms:

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Origin White Black Gray

Red Green

OE kweit to shine blaeg to shine gher to grow

Sanskrit

rudhira

Yellow

Blue Brown Orange Purple Pink

Old Teutonic

gro to grow gelwo to shine

naranj

loanword not color term loanword loanword loanword

Table 2: My summary of Shields’s system

Thus the etymology and the semantic meaning are closely related. Working etymologically, with the hypothesis developed here, many of the color words can be traced back to the precious materials; semantically, it was precisely these colors which were selected out. Linguistically, this point is of extreme importance since the northwestern Indo-European languages are replete with variations which are related whereas Hittite and Mycenaean do not reflect these etymologies. Since these languages are potentially older, it follows that the etymological route is a dead-end. Thus, I argue that the proposed PIE etymologies are spurious since what later became color words in Indo-European will probably have been words that the IndoEuropeans encountered as materials with which they came into contact when meeting older civilizations. In this sense, the concepts of ‘bright’ and ‘sparking’ were related to the materials, but these materials also had colors. In the course of time, the central civilizations gradually crystallized out a system of colors which became a separate category. 24

THE PARTITION OF THE SPECTRUM

Significantly, it would also appear that the colors selected (based on the materials) played a central role in the partitioning of the spectrum in linguistic terms. In this sense, the colors of the rainbow ‒ red, yellow, green and blue ‒ are demarcated by carnelian, gold, jade, turquoise and lapis lazuli. This is a matter of semantics, since these are the colors provided by nature, but it was the precious materials which 24

Warburton (2007a) 243.

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make it possible for us to distinguish them. If they referred to it at all, the Egyptians referred to the ‘rainbow’ as being the ‘(archer’s) bow of the sky’ pḏ.t ‒ with no reference to color, but rather the form. To summarize the potential significance of this approach to the origins of color terminology, one must take account not only of the Berlin and Kay model, but also the methodology of approaching the alleged PIE etymologies. I assume that Berlin and Kay is familiar enough that it should suffice to point out that some of the Egyptian terms are not salient (including white) and that the word for ‘black’ is not derived from the word for ‘dark’ ‒ quite aside from the fact that there is an abundance of multiple terms for red and blue before the expansion of the color system. It should be relatively clear that the precise colors proposed by Berlin and Kay as lying at the early stages of the development of color terminology ‒ viz. ‘black’, ‘white’, ‘red’, ‘green’, ‘yellow’, ‘blue’ ‒ are the same that I identify. However, where they allow a confusion of ‘light’ and ‘white’ and ‘dark’ and ‘black’, along with the composite color term ‘grue’ (‘green’ and ‘blue’), I suggest that these earliest terms actually designated (more or less) ‘white’, ‘black’, ‘red’, ‘blue’, ‘green’ and ‘yellow’ ‒ and that these hues were distinguished from other colors. This argument is based not merely on the etymologies, but also on the fact that some of these terms survived into modern languages. There are obviously some aspects of the early history of color terminology that remain obscure and several rather controversial propositions in this account. On the whole, however, I suggest that this is the closest we can come to understanding how color terminology originated and developed. One of the most important aspects of this work is demonstrating that the evolution of color terminology did not move through a sequence such as that designated by Berlin and Kay where vague color terms were gradually supplemented by more precise abstract ones in a linear fashion. Instead, one must stress that, early on, colors do not seem to have been an isolated category but only gradually came to represent a means of classification. This development towards abstraction took place through a process whereby very precise colors related to materials were gradually transformed into abstract concepts. Precious materials were used to demarcate the rainbow colors, and through exchange ‒ with actual materials, concepts, loanwords and ‘translations’ ‒ these divisions led to the emergence of the abstract colors, allowing us today to demarcate the rainbow with abstract color terms. Curiously, therefore, the origins of the individual color terms lay in the materials with the semantics of color drawing on the (forgotten) lexical etymologies. What is important is therefore that the materials chosen represented the forerunners of Berlin and Kay’s BCTs: ‘silver=white’, ‘carnelian=bright red’, ‘ocher=dark red’, ‘jade=green’, ‘gold=yellow’, ‘lapis lazuli=dark blue’, ‘amethyst=violet’, and ‘turquoise=light blue’ ‒ that is, these are the colors that were refined millennia ago in the Bronze Age, and these are the fundamental colors of the rainbow ‒ violet, blue, green, yellow and red. Yet a term for red did not cover the entire spectrum we understand as red, but rather, like blue and green, there were specific words for what we understand as different shades of red. Aside from the older ‘black’, recent millennia, have brought ‘brown’, ‘pink’, ‘orange’, ‘gray’, etc. Most of the latter words have only appeared recently, ‘orange’ as a color word actu-

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ally dating to only five centuries ago. Thus the concept of ‘color’ as a distinct category had to emerge from the Bronze Age in order for us to continue the elaboration of the linguistic partitioning of the spectrum. The fundamental developments did not take place in Classical Antiquity, but rather before and after. And they were not developed by primitive peoples, but rather by the scribes of the Near East ‒ and from there the concept of color spread and was transformed.

THE MATERIALITY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN ART JENNIFER M.S. STAGER

Technologies of replication have long played a strong hand in removing color from images and in selecting form over material color. This excision of color contributed to the technical and intellectual disembodiment of the Western artistic and philosophical traditions, which came to elevate the mind as something separate from and superior to the body. Color has been a player in this splitting; explanations for color as phenomenon tend to cleave rather than bring together mind and body. In this essay, I turn to the material presence, or materiality, of color in the ancient Mediterranean world of the sixth-fourth centuries BCE, a status that, I argue, brings mind and body into unified being. The modern, Newtonian explanation for the phenomenon of color as a property of light differs significantly from ancient Mediterranean ideas about color. This difference is important because our responses to the polychromy of the ancient world are conditioned by fundamentally different explanations of color. 1 In the ancient world color was considered material rather than a trick of perception. In what follows I will explore how the materiality of ancient colors, their status as matter, converged with artists’ representational intent. As matter, color constituted an object rather than merely characterizing it. The primary importance of particles of matter (hyle) to create form is grounded in Presocratic philosophical investigations into the nature of the universe. On the one hand colored matter is thought to be produced in the body of the earth and exhaled onto its surface; on the other hand, the earth itself is made up of colored matter. 2 If color is matter, color must constitute form. As Empedocles puts it: ‘As when painters are decorating offerings, men through cunning well skilled in their craft − when they actually seize pigments of many colours in their hands, mixing [juxtaposing] in Newton (1704). Among Newton’s most prominent detractors are Blake and Goethe, who presents a more ‘Aristotelian’ view of color in his Zur Farbenlehre of 1810. 2 On matter and Presocratic philosophy see Porter (2010) 144–176, Ierodiakonou (2005). 1

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harmony more of some and less of others, they produce from them forms resembling all things (eidea pasiv aligkia).’ 3 Although form, outline, and shape come to be associated with the ideal and with ideas in the later history of aesthetics, in the ancient Mediterranean form and matter worked together to create objects. 4 The suppression of matter is a byproduct of the elevation of form in the later history of aesthetics. Because matter retains, even in antiquity, an association with the feminine, the excision of colored matter from the history of art leaves only a reduced, masculinist narrative. 5 Bringing color and matter back into our approach to visual culture is, thus, part of a larger project of more equitable aesthetics. Embedded within the argument that color in the ancient Mediterranean is fundamentally material is a related argument about how parts relate to wholes. Particles of colored matter combine to form a whole, but a whole that is always only an assemblage of parts. This relationship of parts to wholes, or the pieced-togetherness of whole objects, is most obvious in polychrome bronze and chryselephantine sculpture built up from different alloys and materials or in paintings and mosaics built up from colored strokes or stones. 6 In this essay, however, I will focus primarily on the additive colors of pigments on sculptures, which present a particularly complex example of part-to-whole relations. An Apulian vase from the collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art depicts an encaustic painter applying color to a sculpture of the god Herakles [Fig. 1]. The sculpture stands on a base in its shrine and the painter works on the body in situ. The animate bodies depicted on the vase – the painter, his assistant, the divine audience of Zeus and Nike, and Herakles beholding his own image in the making – are all rendered in the terracotta palette of the red-figure technique. Two signs mark the image of Herakles as a sculpture: the rectangular base on which the figure stands and the white color in which the sculpted body is depicted. Historical precedent suggests that we take the white pigment as a shorthand for the whiteness of marble. However, marble is neither homogeneous nor monochrome, and current research suggests that marble in ancient Mediterranean art was often painted – even white in areas intended to appear thus. 7 We can, therefore, understand the white figure as that of a sculpture of Herakles coated with a base layer of white in preparation for additional pigments. The painter is depicted applying pigments to the surface of the sculpture’s white body. He has already filled in much of the statue’s lion skin attribute, and is in the process of completing the body and club. An assistant readies hot rods over a Empedocles B23, trans. Kirk, Raven, and Schofield (1983); Porter (2010) 152. See, for example, Aristotle’s De an. II.2.409–415. 5 On this see Summers (1993). 6 See Daehner and Lapatin (2015) for a discussion of the dazzling polychromy on ancient bronze sculpture, in which the sculpture is accented with copper lips and nipples, bone teeth, silver finger and toe nails. 7 Thorsten Opper, pers.comm., 2010; Brinkmann (2003) 39; Herz (2008) on the colors within white marble. 3 4

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brazier, which the painter will use to heat the wax with which to mix the mineral pigments and wax directly on the surface of the sculpture in the encaustic technique. 8 The vase’s composition shows Herakles watching the completion of his own image. The image of a body is in the process of becoming the image of his body through the application of colors. In this case I am not referring to iconographic details, but to the materials that literally make the image. This image of a painter completing the sculpture of Herakles is the visual equivalent of Pliny’s oft-quoted claim that of all of his sculptures, Praxiteles preferred those which Nikias had painted. 9 Colored materials bring about a kind of animation that the un-particularized body lacks. As distant beholders we have grown accustomed to looking at generalities, which spare us the uncanny experience of witnessing an image in all of its colorful particulars.

ZEUS AND GANYMEDE

A fully painted, half-life-sized terracotta sculpture of Zeus and Ganymede stood in the sanctuary of Zeus at Olympia from the early fifth century BCE [Fig. 2]. 10 Zeus’ hair and full beard are painted the rich blue-black (probably the pigment Egyptian blue) described in Greek texts as kuanos. 11 His eyebrows, lashes, and irises are also On the encaustic technique see Von Bothmer (1951) 158. On encaustic in RomanoEgyptian mummy portraits see Walker (2000) and Borg (1996). On the use of encaustic to paint ships in the 5th and 4th centuries BCE, see Glastrup (1995). Vase painters in antiquity typically deployed a limited palette. As with other media, the passage of time has diminished what colors remain on ceramic vases; especially since additional colors were often added after firing and thus were more vulnerable than the iconic reds and blacks fired into the form. In reconstructing the colors of ancient images, vases have helped to parse patterns. See Brinkmann (2003) 54, fig. 72; 64, fig. 97; 106, fig. 175; 113, figs. 190–191; 116, figs 195– 196.) The limited range of colors deployed by vase painters, coupled with the manner in which these images have often been reproduced in black and white or circulated as line drawings, have contributed to the removal of color from ancient art. When we substitute images from vases for ‘lost originals’, these images replace the imagined original with a real image absent the originals’ polychromy. 9 Plin. HN 35.133. 10 For the narrative of Zeus and Ganymede, see Hom. Hymn to Aphrodite 200–216; Il. 5.265–279, 20.231–235 and Pindar Ol.1, esp. 44–45. The story of Ganymede is a popular myth, first appearing in the Iliad (5.265) and common in visual representations dating from the first half of the 5th century, with a hiatus in the latter half of the 5th century, to a resurgence in the mid-4th century BCE that stretched into a curious embrace by Christianity in the Middle Ages, and then steadfast popularity in the Renaissance and beyond; on which see Davidson (2007) 184. On the absence of all manner of abduction scenes in the visual arts of the second half of the 5th century BCE, see Stewart (1990) 84–85. 11 I reject the argument put forth in Brinkmann (2008) 23 that poetry and the visual arts do not inform each other’s color vocabularies. I understand that he makes this argument 8

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painted the same blue-black color, while his pupils are slightly darker still. His flesh is painted the deep reddish-brown characteristic of the well-trained male body, and he wears a darker red robe embroidered with repeating images of Pegasos along its border. In his left hand Zeus carries a staff. Under his right arm he carries the boy Ganymede, whose own bare flesh carries the slightly lighter tones of an ephebe (but not the pale pigment associated with female flesh). 12 Ganymede’s hair and eyes are reddish-brown and he carries a red cock, presumably a gift from Zeus, in his left hand. Zeus’s blue-black eyes cast a sweeping gaze, while Ganymede looks downward, perhaps at the mortal world from which he is flying in the arms of the king of Olympos [Fig. 3]. Zeus’ divinity shines forth from within his body through his hair and eyes. 13 Textual descriptions and visual images from Egypt, Greece, and the Near East characterized aspects of the divine and heroic body as kuanos at least as far back as the third millennium BCE. Color in this context does not merely qualify the hair, beard, and eyes, but makes these features into the hair, beard, and eyes of Zeus. The vivid color of Zeus’ gaze and head dazzles so that he seems to move even when still [Fig. 4]. The beholder witnesses the shining color on the surface of the figure, produced through the application of pigment and a buffing agent, yet the figure appears to generate this shimmer from within. Color unifies surface and interior by producing the effect of interiority, of power and animation produced in the body itself and made manifest on and through its surface. 14 This polychrome Zeus both represents the deity and makes present the divine. Traditional readings of this piece, which is frequently reproduced in black and white, barely mention its polychromy, while placing excessive weight on its form. 15 in support of the technical analysis that characterizes his methodological approach and from which the current study certainly benefits, but it is intellectually impossible for verbal colors and visual colors to remain entirely distinct. Brinkmann is correct to point out the pitfalls of relying entirely on textual evidence to understand color in the ancient world, for verbal and visual references never map directly onto each other; however his statement that the two spheres (verbal and visual) operate independently of each other participates in the very isolationist thinking that his research attempts to overcome. Indeed, his exhibition catalogue includes a chapter dedicated to the textual sources. 12 I stress this because some discussions of the erastes/eromenos relationship liken the younger man to a woman because he is penetrated. This pairing is based precisely on the fact that the eromenos is not a woman. The sexual pairing is not about the substitution of one orifice for another, but the active selection of a male partner in the bloom of youth. 13 For a discussion of shining and image-animation, see Zorach (2005) 195. 14 On absence and presence in Greek sculpture, see Neer (2010) 28. 15 Andrew Stewart’s (1990) attention to the pigments of Zeus and Ganymede is a notable exception to the tendency of scholars to overlook entirely the sculpture’s polychromy. The photograph accompanying the description is, unfortunately, black and white, but this is no doubt due to the cost of color reproductions at the time this book went to press. Vinzenz

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Without its color, the image does not function. Zeus without kuanos is simply another man offering love gifts to a boy. Kuanos reveals Zeus’ divinity to his audience, while simultaneously affirming the narrative that the image depicts. Ganymede is rising to Olympus in order to serve Zeus and the other deities the red (eruthros) nectar that keeps him and them kuaneoi. 16 The sculptural group appropriately emphasizes Ganymede’s mortality in contrast to Zeus’ immortality. 17 Ganymede’s hair [Fig. 5] is the more common light reddish-brown. In some accounts and depictions he is described as xanthos (yellowhaired), perhaps to further emphasize the contrast of his locks with the blue-black of his captor. 18 The relative pallor of Ganymede’s skin in contrast to Zeus’ marks their different stages of manhood in much the same way that their different sizes do. 19 The specificity of color (kuanos) marks Zeus as divine in deliberate contrast to Ganymede, a mortal like the statue’s beholder. In receiving and reciprocating Zeus’ piercing blue-black gaze, the beholder experiences a frisson of what Ganymede will experience in his new role as cupbearer to the gods. Ganymede, notably, keeps his eyes averted from Zeus’ divine gaze; instead, he tracks the mortal world that he leaves behind. Polychromy animates these two figures in substantively different ways. Bluebeard(s) A trio of hybrid creatures sculpted from limestone and covered with one layer of stucco and another of various colorful pigments occupied a pediment of the Hekatompedon on the Archaic Acropolis (ca. 560 BCE) in a scene that also included the figure of Herakles wrestling a sea-creature [Figs. 7–8]. 20 The so-called ‘Bluebeard’ pediment has been restored and installed as a centerpiece of the New Acropolis Museum in Athens. This sculpture is most frequently illustrated using a watercolor produced in 1904, or a black and white photograph. The new context allows a closer examination of its details, although independent photography remains prohibited. I am including both the image from the recent exhibition ‘Archaic Colors’ at the New Acropolis Museum and an image of the early 20th century watercolor first published Brinkmann has successfully side-stepped the limitations placed on color by traditional presses by publishing through his own press, Biering and Brinkmann. 16 Hom. Hymn to Aphrodite 207. 17 Davidson (2007) 170–200 has argued that the popularity of Ganymede’s story derives primarily from his role serving red nectar to the gods, which sets him apart, both physically and experientially, from other mortals. Ganymede’s contact with the literal stuff of divinity differentiates him from the various other mortals who are intimate with Zeus. 18 Hom. Hymn to Aphrodite 202. 19 Davis (1996) 262–276. The appearance of Zeus and Ganymede in this sculpture resembles a contemporary or slightly earlier Attic bell-krater attributed to the Berlin Painter and now in the collection of the Louvre. Here, Ganymede’s hair is also painted a lighter shade (xanthos) than Zeus’ hair and full beard. 20 Hurwit (1999) 106–111, figs. 76–83, plate III.

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by Theodor Wiegand. 21 Recent examination of the sculpture reveals that what is typically described as a single, composite body, may actually be a trio of entwined figures. The three creatures each have a human head, torso, and arms, and appear connected to a twisting, snake-like body with wings. This trio is typically considered one figure with three heads. And the figure is difficult to parse. Do we see three snakemen bound together by their likeness and coiled tails, or does each torso and head belong to a single body with three-pronged tail? A large wing patterned with red and blue juts from the back of the rightmost torso. Additional wings might have been added entirely in pigment. Each body holds a different attribute in his left hand. In the absence of further conservation and testing to determine whether additional wings or a wing were added in pigment, one can assume from the presence of three heads, torsos, attributes, and tails, that the so-called ‘triple-bodied’ figure is in fact a trio. I will refer to the sculpture as ‘Bluebeard(s)’ to mark the uncertainty. My intention is not to offer yet another tendentious iconographic interpretation of ‘Bluebeard(s),’ but a phenomenology of the image’s polychromy. A significant amount of the original color remains visible. Although many details of the building complexes on the Archaic Acropolis remain disputed, we know that much of its freestanding and architectural sculpture was painted and many of these pigments remain visible today. 22 The gallery label in the New Acropolis Museum describes the figures of this pediment as ‘alive with color,’ a turn of phrase that emphasizes the animation enacted through polychromy. In addition, the colors on ‘Bluebeard(s),’ particularly the blue of their eponymous beards, draw on an extensive cross-cultural history of pigments and their related materials, a history that asserts itself in the experience of the image. 23 The three naked torsos overlap one another to display their reddish-brown painted flesh. Their well-muscled, brown-colored arms are displayed in profile, and their elegant, blue-coiffured heads in three-quarter view. Each figure’s head gazes out at a slightly different angle, covering a wide swath amongst them; each holds his muscled arms bent at the elbow, although only the central figure has both arms visible; and each holds an attribute – a bird, water, and possibly a sheaf of wheat, reWiegand (1904). The medium of watercolor and the deterioration of the sculpture’s colors already underway by the early 20th century filtered the image Wiegand produced, but it remains the most widely circulated. See Brinkmann (2003) 26, fig 23a-b. The most frequently reproduced 19th-century watercolors of antiquities were produced by the family Gilliéron, who was the subject of a recent exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, Historic Images of the Greek Bronze Age: The Reproductions of E. Gilliéron & Son, May 17, 2011– June 17, 2012. 22 Pandermalis (2012). 23 For a summary of the various suggested identifications of Bluebeard(s) (none satisfactory), see Hurwit (1999) 108. 21

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spectively. 24 Strikingly, a full stylized dark blue beard covers each figure’s face. The hair and beard of each head, like that of Zeus in the previous example, are painted with the rich pigment Egyptian blue that was ubiquitous throughout the ancient Mediterranean in antiquity. This hair flows in rivulets to the shoulders and curls back from each forehead, revealing prominent sculpted brown eyebrows above deeply incised, black-lined eyes. The punched pupils are painted black, as are the incised lash-lines. The deep carving outlining the eyes evokes some of the effects produced by inlaid eyes, here executed through the combination of paint and incision. The different angles of each head offer a sequential narrative, as though each head and torso is simultaneously individuated and three visions of a singleton. In returning the gaze of each figure, the beholder must mimic this rotation or animation. The surface of the sculpted hair and beards painted with a three-dimensional layer of Egyptian blue pigment creates the effect of hair sculpted from blue material or lapis lazuli. The shallow volume of the pigment layer is effectively deepened through its contact with sculpted limestone. 25 The pigment itself takes up real space. 26 Nevertheless, through its association with the limestone support, pigment takes on the illusion of greater volume for the beholder. The blue color appears as pigment (actual material), as lapis lazuli (the material referent), and as the even less tangible kuanos. Pigment and limestone merge in Bluebeard(s) to produce the effect of sculpted lapis lazuli and to transform the object (the sculpted limestone) into something other than itself, something virtual. Pigment plays between its ‘true’ material state (inexpensive components of Egyptian blue), its simulacrum as sculpted lapis lazuli (the high-value and high-status stone), and its representation of blue beards, replete with divine associations. The image oscillates between different states: kuanos, pigment, beard, body. 27 The beholder also moves between the real space of her feet on the ground, the space of the pigment’s material reality, and a virtual or representational space in which figures with beards of lapis lazuli confront her. Unpainted sculpture also incites movement between real and virtual space; however, applied pigment occasions a more profound instability by multiplying the illusions that a beholder must integrate and parse.

Hurwit (1999) 108. These distinct attributes are not present in paintings published by Wiegand (1904). 25 On planar vs. virtual images and their operations in ‘real space,’ see Summers (2002) 1.9, esp. 83. 26 On the real space of the tâche see Tuma (2002). 27 On oscillation, see discussion in Neer (2002) 65. 24

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Blue Beards in Context The blue pigments on the figure of Zeus and on Bluebeard(s) draw on an extensive tradition in the ancient Near East, Egypt, and the Mediterranean of images worked from blue-colored materials. These pigments and the images they form derive their legibility and produce their effects within a tradition of facture no longer familiar to the modern beholder. Lapis lazuli and blue-black pigments operated within a panoply of associations that were so familiar as to be obvious, perhaps even inherent, for the ancient beholder. The mimetic relationship between pigment and preceding material is not of straightforward dependence, but pigment and colored material coexist as terms within the finished representation of ‘Bluebeard(s)’ and the Olympian Zeus; their relationship is not merely a mimetic one, but one of mutual interdependence. In addition to numerous textual references to beards and coiffures of lapis lazuli in Sumerian, Akkadian, and Greek texts, material culture yields a number of objects with beards sculpted from high-value stone. Among the earliest are the socalled ‘lyres’ buried in the Royal Cemetery at Ur (2650–2500 BCE). The ‘lyres’ were buried along with many portable objects, ceramics, and metals, and the site yielded countless objects formed from lapis lazuli. The body of each lyre is crafted of wood that has been inlaid with various precious materials, such as ivory, gold, carnelian, and lapis lazuli. A bull’s head of gold, silver, and lapis lazuli tops the wooden body. The head of the lyre, now in the collection of the University Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology in Philadelphia, consists of a gold sheet with openings for attached hair, beard, ears, horns, and eyes. 28 A sheet of gold hammered over a wooden core formed the base of each horn, with attached lapis lazuli tips. The eyes were assembled from lapis lazuli for the lid and iris, and shell for the white into which the iris is set. Each eye was then fitted into the opening in the gold head and attached with copper wire. Over seventy tesserae of lapis lazuli carved into curls were attached to the head core using bitumen. An additional fifty-eight tesserae of lapis lazuli were carved into beard locks and arranged into a pattern of longer and shorter pieces. The beard pieces were attached to the head using copper alloy wire and backed with silver. 29 These attachments mask the materials that attach them to the figure, concealing this disruption to the outward presentation of a completed whole form. Although the specificity of language severs blue from beard, they are unified in the material of lapis lazuli. Blueness is not simply a quality of surface. The beard is blue and without this blueness, there would be no beard, only wires and silver backing. Form (beard) depends on material (lapis lazuli) and color (blue) takes up real space; its materiality confronts the beholder directly.

The University of Pennsylvania, along with the British Museum, co-sponsored the original excavation in the 1920s and early 1930s. 29 Greene (2003). 28

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Lapis lazuli is found primarily in the Badakhshan region of modern Afghanistan. 30 From as early as the sixth millennium BCE, it was exported throughout the Indus valley, Mesopotamia, and Egypt. 31 The dark blue stone is composed of multiple minerals and often flecked with shimmering metallic pyrites. 32 It held significant monetary, social, and affective value. 33 Its closest equivalent in our own society would be the social and monetary value accorded to diamonds. 34 Objects, sculpture, tablets and inlay, portable seals, beads, and charms made with lapis lazuli have been found throughout excavations in the ancient Near East, especially in tomb contexts and in raw form as foundation deposits. 35 A cache of cylinder seals from Thebes (Boeotia) included many formed from lapis lazuli, where the color and value of the stone were among the reasons for their pride of place within the hoard. 36 Stashes of the unworked stone were buried with elite persons, used as offerings to deities, and buried along boundary lines. The most high-quality stones were often hoarded in treasuries, changing hands only through elite gift exchange, as war booty, or tribute. 37 Although the stone circulated widely, before the 6th and 7th centuries CE, it was highly unusual that lapis lazuli was ground into ultramarine, a pigment prized for its deep, vibrant color and the difficulty and expense of its production. 38 Artists, instead, used Egyptian Blue, one of the earliest artificial pigments, to produce a deep lapis lazuli-like blue. 39 Egyptian blue is a calcium-sodium bisilicate of copper and is On the extensive lapis lazuli trade see Moorey (1999); Feldman (2006) 16. Feldman (2006)16; Aston, Harrell and Shaw (2000) 39–40; Lucas and Harris (1999) 398–400; Winter (1999); Casanova (1999) 191–193. Recent excavations undertaken by a team from the University of Pennsylvania in conjunction with the Iranian antiquity authority in Iran revealed a lapidary way-station at which stones from the surrounding areas were collected and distributed for broader trade. (Holly Pittman, pers. comm.). 32 Plesters (1966) 63. 33 Winter (1999). 34 Moorey (1999) 178. 35 Ibid. 177. 36 Feldman (2015). 37 Moorey (1999) 181. 38 The only context known to me in which lapis lazuli was ground into a pigment in antiquity is on a group of astragali which bear traces of ground lapis lazuli. These were mentioned in a recent presentation by Hericlia Bercoulaki at the EFA ‘Couleurs’ conference in April 2009 to appear in Jockey (forthcoming). On the value of the pigment lapis lazuli, see the classic Baxandall (1988). 39 Panzanelli (2008) 136 # 20. On the long, laborious process of extracting ultramarine from lapis lazuli, see Plesters (1966) 64. Artificial ultramarine was first introduced in 1828, ibid. 74. On the technical production of Egyptian blue see Kakoulli (2009) 61–66. On Egyptian blue in Greek painting, see Calamiotou et al. (1983). On Egyptian blue on Egyptian bronzes, see La Niece et al. (2002). For lapis lazuli used as eye makeup in Persia, see Farmanfarmaian (2000). On ultramarine and its substitutes in the Middle Ages, see Raft (1968). 30 31

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technically a ceramic or glass. 40 The substitution of pigment for material also substituted technical skill for economic value. After the third millennium sources for lapis lazuli seem to have grown scarcer and fewer objects crafted from the stone appear in second- and first-millennium contexts. 41 Egyptian blue gained popularity as a means of giving objects the blueblack hue associated with lapis lazuli ‘from the mountain.’ A discussion of lapis lazuli ‘from the kiln’ emerges in the textual record in the middle of the second millennium BCE as do references to lapis lazuli adjusted by boiling and lapis lazuli mixed with glass. 42 This suggests a certain amount of preoccupation with the possibility of substituting something man-made and artificial for a natural resource born of the earth. Indeed, turquoise, which enjoyed esteem almost on par with that accorded lapis lazuli in the fourth millennium BCE, fell increasingly out of favor in part because of the ease with which it could be counterfeited, and its potential for losing its color when oiled. 43 Under the Persian Empire, ‘Egyptian blue’ pigment was often used to paint beards and hair. On the tomb of Artaxerxes III above the terrace at Persepolis, excavators found abundant traces of Egyptian blue pigment on the hair and beard from a sculpture of a Persian soldier. 44 The same artificial pigment was used to paint the beards of sculptures adorning the buildings at Persepolis. Many fragments of such beards were found during excavations. 45 Initial reports suggest that several different blue pigments, and not only Egyptian blue, were used on beards depicted at Persepolis. 46 The recent US version of the Bunte Götter exhibition, Gods in Color, at the Sackler Museum at Harvard University, included the reconstruction of a fragment from Persepolis depicting Ahuramazda in the winged disk with blue beard and hair. 47 Although physical (as opposed to textual) examples of blue beards are much less frequent outside of Persian and earlier Mesopotamian art, a south Italian or SiVitruvius offers an extended description of the manufacture of Egyptian blue (De Arch. 7.11.1). On this see Davidovits (2004). 41 Feldman (2006) 117. 42 Moorey (1999) 182; Feldman (2006) 117. 43 Moorey (1999) 179. 44 Tillia (1978) 39. 45 Ibid.; Herzfeld (1941) 267, fig. 372; Herzfeld (1931) nos. 189–193. Lumps of green, red, and blue are now in the Persepolis Museum; Nagel (2010). 46 Nagel (forthcoming). 47 Unfortunately this reconstruction was not published with the rest of the catalogue, Brinkmann and Wünsche (2008), but should be published separately: Ahura Mazda in the Winged Disk, Achaemenid Persian, Persepolis, Hall of 100 Columns, 486–460 BC. Limestone Original: Arthur M. Sackler Museum, Harvard University Art Museums, Bequest of Grenville L. Winthrop, 1943.1062. Color Reconstruction: plaster, acrylic paint, Arthur M. Sackler Museum, Harvard University Art Museums, 1943.1062.X. As with all reconstructions this represents a ‘best guess’ on the part of the curators. 40

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cilian terracotta head from the second half of the fourth century BCE, now in the collection of the Getty Museum, provides another interesting example. The head is sculpted of terracotta and has thick, curly hair (some locks of which were sculpted separately and affixed) and an equally full and curly beard with less substantial mustache. The figure’s mane was painted a reddish-brown (hematite), while the beard and mustache were covered with Egyptian blue. The shape of the eyes, like those of the ‘Bluebeard(s),’ is deeply incised and the pupils lightly incised. The flesh and lips were also painted. Although initially given the general designation ‘head of a god, probably Zeus’, recent association with finds from Morgantina secured an identity as Hades, rendering the combination of blue beard and red hair particularly significant. 48 Skin The faces of the ‘Bluebeard(s)’ are painted the same reddish-brown as the sculpture’s naked torsos. 49 The brown color of the skin signals time spent outdoors acquiring the muscles that are sculpted beneath it. Brown pigment represents bodily flesh while serving as the sculpture’s actual epidermal covering, cloaking its limestone core. 50 The myth of the sculpted body is that it contains something beneath its surface, some homunculus of a self. 51 Painted pigmentation literalizes that myth. The pigment both represents and is the body’s skin, without necessarily pursuing verisimilitude. It constructs the illusion of the body beneath even as it physically covers the sculpted limestone core (and its enveloping stucco). If depictions of drapery in figurative sculpture construct the illusion that a body lies beneath, that the drape covers something real, we must understand the procedures of painted flesh as

Lyons, Bennett, and Marconi (2013). On the likelihood that the flesh of all Greek sculptures was painted see Richter (1944) 325. See also Brinkmann and Wünsche (2007a) 32; Brinkmann (2008) 26, although I find no citation of the catalogue from 1960 of sculptures with painted skin to which he refers. On the convention of rendering the flesh of men brown and that of women white in ancient Greek art, see Pomeroy (1994) 303–309; Fountoulakis (2004); for a significant exception in the Egyptian context, see Eaverly (2004). On the application of brown body-color by men, see Hannah (2004). On whitening or reddening the body, see Xenophon Oec. 10; Plautus Truc. 294; Xenophon Cyr. 8.1.41; Herodotos 4.191–194, 7.69; scholiast on Aristophanes’ Knights (230a.6); Theophrastus de Lapidibus (8.48–60), as cited in Hannah (2004) 100 and no. 1; see also Od. 16.174–176 (darkening of Odysseus, also discussed below) and Od. 18.195– 196 (whitening of Penelope). On white dress prescribed for priestesses of many Greek cults, see Connelly (2007) 90–91; Lapatin (2001) 19. On Latin color words, skin, and medicine see Bradley (2009) 131–132; Goldman (2013) ch. 5. 50 On skin containing the body and soul see Neer (2010) 16, 147–155; see also Empedocles fr. 126 DK, trans. K. Freeman, cited in Neer (2010) 172. 51 Gell (1998) 131; Neer (2010) 105. 48 49

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related but different. 52 The choice to cover the surface of the sculpture with pigment literalizes the components of the body. In papers describing reactions to the vigorous 19th-century cleaning of a portion of the Parthenon marbles in the British Museum one observer described the head of Selene’s horse as having been ‘skinned.’ 53 The cleaning is described as a ‘ferocious skinning.’ Another writer described the stripped patina as having once ‘knit [the marbles] in a single unity.’ 54 The layers of paint correspond in a real sense to the layers of skin that mark the outermost boundary of the body and are the body’s largest organ. Pigment operates simultaneously as a distinct physical layer and as what unifies the disparate parts beneath its surface; it is both constituent part and constitutive of the whole body. As is often remarked upon in discussions of ancient polychromy, the English word ‘color’ has its roots in the Latin celare (‘hide’) and occulere (‘cover’). The Greek equivalent, chrōma is related to the term chrōs (‘skin’). 55 This genealogy (etymology) marks color off as a term of mere surface, distracting scholars from the embeddedness of surface, its fundamental role in constructing (and containing) the body. 56 Chrōs, however, refers to the organ of skin itself, which possesses solid substance, and chroma retains this association. 57 Chrōs itself can refer to the outer layer of the human body, or to the entire body and its limbs, as well as more generally ‘color.’ 58 Thus, it is only in the translation into Latin that the materiality of color drops out and surface-ness begins to dominate. The integrated relationship between surface and depth that we have seen in the examples discussed above were not exceptions. An ancient Greek conception of color encompasses the duality of surface and depth; the linguistic move towards surface-ness in Latin may imply a shift in what the term could encompass. Certainly we have progressed to ever-narrower definitions of color, such that in English it most typically refers to hue. Skin was considered inviolable in the ancient Greek world. 59 In exploring the taboo against medical dissection of human cadavers, Henrich von Staden assesses the significance of skin in ancient Greek culture. It was, he writes, ‘a magical symbol of wholeness and oneness, of the integrity of the individual or collective organisms that might become susceptible to disintegration or fragmentation.’ 60 Herakles tore off his own skin in trying to shed the burning, poisoned robe. Von Staden argues Neer (2010) 149–165. Jenkins (1999). 54 Jenkins (2001) 12, 45. 55 Chantraine (2009) 1233; Price (1883) 6. 56 On surface/interior relations see Neer (2010) 143–181. 57 I am grateful to Andrew Stewart for raising this point. 58 Chantraine (2009) 1233. 59 Von Staden (1992) 227. 60 Ibid. 228. 52 53

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that Herakles’ loss of his skin makes his apotheosis inevitable, for ‘to be without skin entails not only being without power but also being without identity.’ 61 The importance of an individual’s physical skin extended metaphorically to communities, which could be surrounded by a ‘skin’ that unified the individual parts into a coherent, functioning group. 62 For this reason, skin also played a role in several foundation myths, such as the association of Kekrops with the skin of a sacred ox and the story of Dido using the skin of an ox to outline the circumference of Carthage. 63 The skin of sacrificial animals was removed whole and not burnt along with the rest of the corpse as visible evidence for the purity and wholeness of the sacrificed animal. 64 Not only does skin mark the wholeness of the body that it contains, but it is also the surface on which information about interior parts can be read. 65 Changes in skin color or luster can be external markers of internal happenings, whether blushing, blanching, turning green, or bruising. 66 If color is the skin of an art object, time will surely violate its integrity. Stripped of its original colored surfaces – oftentimes by human intention – the ancient art object may fail to resolve for the modern beholder into an identifiable whole. The abstraction of parts into a unified whole is one of the hallmarks of sculpture in various media in which the pieces used to construct the image are effaced by the illusion of wholeness. On the one hand, pigment unifies the sculptural body by concealing joins and crafting a unified surface; on the other hand, pigments break the body into associated blocks of color, shattering the unified whole that they bring into being. In the discourse on panel painting, this problem of part versus whole is figured by the tâche, or brushstroke, and the visual contest between its visibility as such and its participation in the creation of the whole picture. 67 In sculpture this problem is further complicated by the disjunction between the pieces of support joined to create the sculpted body and the application of pigment, gilding, and other attachments to that body. 68 In this sense, the sculptural body fragments before the beholder in two separate and distinct ways: the assemblage of forms that make up the sculptural body always risk revealing themselves as mere pieces; the colors that finish the body’s surface simultaneously unify that surface by effacing its piecemeal construction and fragment that surface into every color and tâche applied to it. The body of sculpture and beholder are at once whole beings and assemblages of colIbid. 229. Ibid. 228. 63 Ibid. 64 Ibid. 227–228. 65 Ibid. 229. 66 Ibid. Because of his self-skinning, Herakles became associated with a variety of gruesome skin diseases. 67 Tuma (2002). 68 Sturgeon (2008) 52–53, 55, 59; Barletta (2008) 81–82, 103–104; Higgs (2008) 193– 200. 61 62

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ored materials. Wholeness comes, not as we have come to expect through a unified monochrome surface, but through the visible stitched-togetherness of parts. This tension present in sculptural and painted bodies pictures the same tension present in the human body. Although formed of many parts and systems, we operate with the body as a whole, so that each piece is integrated into the overall entity that is integral to an intact self. The Greek term demas refers to a person’s build assembled from pieces, with an explicit etymological association with architectural construction through the verb demō. 69 Wholeness is linked to the idea of a self: who we are beyond the particularities of each individual body. The self is beyond the body, yet housed within it. The fragmenting effects of color jeopardize both the wholeness of the figural body and the wholeness of the beholding self. In order to escape fragmentation, which happens on the material level, the self must be dematerialized. What the particularity of pigment on sculpture or in painting does is to pick out the parts from the whole. The legend recounted by Pliny and Cicero that the classical painter Zeuxis selected the best parts of the five most beautiful maidens in order to paint Helen’s incomparable beauty literalizes this piecemeal nature of the artistic whole. 70 This dematerialization of the self has its roots in aspects of Platonic and Aristotelian philosophy that are embraced by modern western philosophy, especially Kant and Hegel, giving rise to the formalism which has long dominated the discipline of the history of art. 71 In the Ancient Mediterranean, however, most literary and material evidence show the self, not as separate and disjunct, but as the assembled parts of the material body.

THE LANGUAGE OF MATERIALS

Akkadian, Sumerian, and Greek texts all deploy the word for lapis lazuli to mean at times the material itself (e.g., this object or palace was made of the stone lapis lazuli) and at other times to mean ‘possessing the deep blueness of lapis,’ or ‘shining or shimmering in the manner of the stone lapis’ (but not necessarily blue in color). Lapis lazuli accrued high value not only from its blue color but also from its bright shimmer, thus, ‘let them cut the pure lapis lazuli from the lumps, the brightness of pure lapis lazuli.’ 72 These twin terms, blue and shimmer, could operate together or independently, so that the term for lapis lazuli describes an object’s color or an object’s refraction of light, or the two simultaneously. As I argued above, a material’s capacity to reflect light should not be extracted from its color, but is an essential component of what makes up color. Lapis lazuli is also a detail utilized to connote sexual desirability and potency. An Akkadian love incantation reads ‘love charm, love charm / his horns are of gold Chantraine (2009) demō; Vernant (1989) 22. Plin. HN 35.36.64–66, Cic. Inv. Rhet. 2.1.1. For recent commentary, see Mansfield (2007); on the humanist discussion of this myth, see Baxandall (1986) 35–44. 71 Porter (2010) 70–120. 72 Enmerkar and the Lord of Aratta 6.1. 69 70

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/ his tail of lapis / it is placed in Ishtar’s heart.’ 73 The Akkadian hymn recounting Ishtar’s Descent into the Underworld does not specify the materials of the goddess’s adornments (crown, necklace, earrings, brooches, girdle of birthstones, bangles) that she strips off one by one as she descends farther and farther into the Underworld, but her lover Tammuz plays a lapis flute in a sympotic setting amidst courtesans. 74 The longer Sumerian version of the hymn, however, does specify the materials adorning Innana, or Akkadian Ishtar, as made of lapis lazuli: ‘The measuring rod (and) line of lapis lazuli she gripped in her hand, small lapis lazuli stones she tied about her neck.’ 75 The underworld is described as ‘the palace, the lapis lazuli mountain,’ which links the material of lapis lazuli with the earth that produces it. 76 The poem describes the goddess herself as finely-worked lapis lazuli. Ninšubur entreats Inanna’s father ‘let not your daughter be put to death in the nether world / let not your good metal be covered with the dust of the nether world / let not your good lapis lazuli be broken up into the stone of the stone worker.’ 77 A related lament to Nanna concerning the fate of Inanna in the Underworld reads: ‘When will she release her, the lapis she has accumulated? When will she release her? … The lapis lazuli I had, my lapis has been used up.’ 78 Lapis lazuli stands in for the alluring body of the Queen of Heaven. Shattering the stone signals her demise. Lapis lazuli describes the stone itself, the color blue, darkness, shimmer, the sky, and the divine body. This semantic confluence of material, color, and quality surfaces identically in Greek, in which the term for lapis lazuli, kuanos, refers to the stone, and also to something dark, blue, or shimmering. 79 According to Plato, kuanos comprised to lampron (shimmer), white (leukos), and black (melas). 80 Accounts of Greek color emphasize the importance of luster, shimmer, and brilliance – of to lampron, in Greek

Charms and jewelry made of lapis lazuli may have had an additional apotropaic component, on this see Winter (1999) 50–51. Compare with the description of the defeated Bull of Heaven: ‘Gilgamesh called craftsmen, all the armourers / and the craftsmen admired the thickness of its horns / thirty minas of lapis lazuli was (needed for) each of their pouring ends / two minas of gold (was needed for) each of their sheathings.’ Dalley (1991b) 82. 74 Dalley (1991b) 155–162. 75 Kramer (1951) 8. Compare with the ‘inlaid’ armband of Praxiteles’ Aphrodite of Knidos. In Gilgamesh, ‘as soon as the Mistress of the Gods arrived [she said] “Behold, O gods, I shall never forget (the significance of) my lapis lazuli necklace, I shall remember these times, and I shall never forget.”’ Dalley (1991b) 114. 76 Ibid. 4, ln. 72. Natural lapis lazuli is described as ‘lapis from the mountain.’ 77 Ibid. 9, ln. 210–213. 78 George (1985) 111–112. 79 Irwin (1974) 28–9, 79–110. On different translations of the term, see DescampsLequime (2006) 91–92. 80 Pl. Ti. 68c 5–6. 73

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art. 81 The prevalence of words for shimmer in ancient Greek texts, and the seeming dearth of words for particular hues in these same texts, are often marshaled as sufficient evidence for a Greek preference for brilliance over of hue. 82 In a circular turn, these texts manqué are then marshaled to bolster scholarly insistence on the importance of unadorned white marble and its lustrous effects: retrospectively, if hues were unnamed in Greek texts and absent from Greek sculptures, both text and image retain their noble simplicity. Of course, most marble is not actually white in hue, and no marble is actually completely monochromatic. 83 Luster is, in fact, part of color. By divorcing luster from color, scholars efface the import of pigment’s relationship to the sculptural interior and project a false picture of Greek image practice. Luster has been erroneously pried from color in order to retain an idealized image of sparkling white marble antiquity in the face of overwhelming evidence of a preference for a combination of variegated hues and shimmer. To lampron / he lamprotes is significant for Greek aesthetics, but scholars err in wresting it from the category of color. To lampron is a part of ancient Greek color vocabulary. In his Timaeus, Plato offers a theory of color in which he describes the components of each hue. 84 For kuanos, Plato offers a formula of white + black + to lampron. 85 Luster is a component of the color kuanos, but the effects themselves are a part of what makes up the color, not a category apart from chrōma. If we turn for the moment to kuanos in other cultural contexts, we find here as well that luster, an aspect of poikilia, is a part of what makes lapis lazuli a desirable material and part of what imbues the color/material with value. In ancient Near Eastern and Egyptian contexts color is an accepted and acceptable part of the visual tradition and no such splitting of hue and radiance takes place. Among the ancient sources on luminosity and brilliance as a component of color, see Pl. Ti. 68c, Plut. Per. 10.1; and on the addition of wax to increase it, Plin. HN 35.36.97. Scholars who have recently analyzed to lampron include Neer (2010); Duigan (2004) 80; Stewart (1990) 36–42; Irwin (1974). 82 A recent example of this is Walter-Karydi’s talk given at the color colloquium at the French school in Athens in 2009, publication in Jockey (forthcoming). In an otherwise deft discussion of the relationship between the use of many colors on sculptural surfaces and the emergence in the sixth century BCE of a correspondence between surface decoration and the surface decorated, Walter-Karydi framed the debate in terms of darkness and lightness and characterized Homer as uninterested in hue. 83 Some museums have begun qualifying the hue ‘white’ by describing the hues that appear in the marble’s veining as well. See, for example, the collection at the University Art Museum at Princeton. On the possibilities within the hue category ‘white’ see especially Wittgenstein (1977) I.3–5. On the tyranny of whiteness, see Batchelor (2000) 9–19. 84 A particularly vexing aspect of Plato’s work is that he is both one of the major sources about ancient Greek color and a source of the repression of color in favor of form. 85 Pl. Ti. 68c. See Ierodiakonou (2005). For contemporary ‘experiments’ in colormaking and the four-color palette, see Brecoulaki (2006) 29–42. 81

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A basic definition of the term poikilos is ‘variegation’ which was an aspect of color that was highly valued in the ancient Mediterranean. 86 Polychromy thematizes duration precisely because of its changeableness; some color simply does not survive, and in its absence beholders prioritize other properties of the image and cease to see or account for what color remains. Poikilos, however, is an important and valuable term for understanding how color works, both in antiquity and today. 87 Sappho uses color terms deftly in her poems, often at moments of particular significance, and she offers an important account of poikilos in Fragment 1, which opens ‘Deathless Aphrodite of the spangled (poikilo-) mind.’ 88 Sappho opens her poem with the poikilo-compound, invoking poikilothron / poikilophro:n Aphrodite. With that first word Sappho names what follows, her demonstration of poikilia. Sappho begs Aphrodite of the shimmering, dappled, changeable, adorned, and variegated mind (or throne). In describing an aspect of the goddess Aphrodite as poikilos, Sappho invokes the goddess’s bodily adornment as well, finery that acts as an instrumental part of her divinity. Sappho’s poem plays out the poikilia with which she begins; she speaks the variegation for which she praises the goddess. For the first three stanzas Sappho as supplicant speaks and a color-word appears in each stanza (poikilo-, chrusos, melas). The movement between gold and black is a kind of poikilia, and the juxtaposition of bright and dark colors recurs throughout ancient Mediterranean visual and textual arts. In lines 18–20 the poem breaks mid-line with tina, and Sappho as poet offers up the voice of the goddess in place of her own: ‘whom should I persuade (now again) / to lead you back into her love? Who, O / Sappho, is wronging you?’ From the moment that (Sappho as) poikiloAphrodite enters the poem the color-words disappear. Shimmer shifts from visual to authorial. As Aphrodite, Sappho lists the repercussions that she will mete out to the unnamed person who has wronged Sappho. Finally Sappho steps back into her own supplicant position, and speaks directly to the goddess with the final two lines: ‘Come to me now: loose me from hard / care and all my heart longs / to accomplish, accomplish. You / be my ally.’ This movement between Aphrodite and Sappho pictures the changeableness that poikilos On the nuances of this term see Neer (2002) 16; Detienne and Vernant (1978) 25– 31, 49–51, 288. 87 Both Sanskrit (pekala) and Sumerian (gunu) speak of variegation and changeableness as well, although these words appear to have no etymological relationship to poikilos, meaning they developed independently in response to the linguistic needs of each language group to describe shimmering, variegated materials. From ePSD: gunu [SPECKLED] (477x: ED IIIa, ED IIIb, Old Akkadian, Ur III, Old Babylonian, unknown) wr. gun3; gu2-un-gu2; gu2-nu; gun5 ‘(to be) speckled, multicolored; (to be) hatched (in sign names); to anoint, smear on, apply makeup’ Akk. barmu; eqû. N. Veldhuis and D.M. Goldstein, pers. comm. 88 Many have wrestled with the poikilo-compound. Carson (2003) 2–5 uses Voigt (1971) for the Greek, but amends poikilothron’ to poikilophro:n, which is not the standard interpretation of the text. On Sappho’s authorial voice and power, see Winckler (1990). 86

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describes between voices, bodies, and states of being. 89 Sappho constructs a poikilos Sappho, like to poikilos Aphrodite. 90 Homer offers rich testimony for the varied uses of the term for lapis lazuli (kuanos). I turn now to these ekphraseis of what Sandrine Dubel has called ‘painting in metal.’ 91 In the ekphrastic narration of the shield of Achilles in the Iliad, for example, kuanos describes the colored enamel laid by Hephaestus into the metal shield. The color terms capture the virtuosity of the world created on the shield – the gold ripening into darkness, the dark vines climbing silver poles, and saturation of the lapis lazuli ditch cut in striking contrast to the bright tin fence that surrounds it. 92 This movement between colors dazzles. Individual colors shimmer but their juxtaposition moves. 93 The careful juxtaposition of colors animates the image and this generative action is the source of colors’ terrible pleasure and power. The breastplate that Agamemnon dons for battle in Il. 11.17–30 also bears extensive work in lapis lazuli, in concert with other bright and valuable materials. 94 The cumulative effect of the juxtaposition bronze, silver, gold, lapis lazuli, and tin is as overwhelming, auspicious, fleeting poikilos, and as beautiful as the rainbows that Zeus arches through the clouds. 95 The passage goes on to describe Agamemnon’s swords, studded with gold, his sheath covered with silver and gold, and his shield covered with ten circles of bronze and twenty bosses of tin, with on central boss of On Sappho’s double-consciousness, see Winckler (1990) 162–176, who reads Fragment 1 alongside Iliad 5. 90 I have chosen to use the citation form poikilos as an adjective in English rather than decline the Greek to match gender and number in English, thus circumventing any confusion about dialects (e.g. Aeolic) and different contexts. 91 Dubel (2006). 92 This infusion of color contrasts sharply with descriptions of the Homeric world as one that favored value (light/dark) and disregarded hue, on this most recently see WalterKarydi (forthcoming). While darkness and lightness are often opposed, hue remains a part of these constructions, which generally account for the combination of hue, saturation, and brilliance that constitutes color. 93 On juxtaposition as a form of color mixing, see Arist. Sens. 439b15. 94 Agamemnon received his breastplate as, we are told, a guest-gift from the mythical King Cinyras, a son of Apollo. His armor thus bears some direct connection to divinity, although unlike the armor commissioned for Achilles, it was not forged by a divine hand. It is worth noting that Hephaestus willingly forges the arms for Achilles in reciprocation for Thetis having saved him when he was thrown out of Olympos. In this respect the shield he fashions for Achilles adheres to the reciprocal demands of aristocratic gift-exchange, albeit in slightly altered terms. On aristocratic gift-exchange, see Kurke (1999) 103–111; 71–73, 121– 129, 143–147. 95 For the lengthiest discussion of the rainbow in ancient Greek, see Arist. Mete. 3.2–5. Aristotle describes the bands of individual colors of the rainbow as made up of tiny fragments of cloud that reflect that particular color. These cloud fragments cohere to form the band of that color. See also Empedocles B50. 89

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lapis lazuli into which is set the Gorgon. The serpents of lapis lazuli worked into Agamemnon’s shield function in much the same way as the Gorgon’s head (or those of ‘Bluebeard(s)’) – entrancing and repelling beholders as the serpents ‘writhe toward the throat.’ Their serpentine forms combine with the shimmering material from which they are formed to animate the snakes. Color writhes to delight and awe the beholder. The bands of lapis lazuli, gold, and tin overwhelm in much the same way, but substitute rhythm for the particularity of mimesis. The properties of these materials with contrasting hues (bronze, gold, deep blue, tin) and varied capacities to refract light create a physical barrier between the world and the man and visually shield him from harm. 96 These colored materials are described as ‘like rainbows’ both because they are arranged in bands and because they inspire wonder (thauma) in their beholder. In the fourth century BCE dialogue, Theaitetos, Plato makes the connection between thauma and the rainbow explicit. Socrates responds to Theaitetos’ confusion with the following statement: I see, my dear Theaitetos, that Theodoros had a true insight into your nature when he said that you were a philosopher, for wonder is a feeling of a philosopher, and philosophy begins in wonder. He was not a bad genealogist who said that Iris is the child of Thaumas. 97

Wonder is an important effect of ancient Mediterranean art and of polychromy. Wonder is also a feeling of a philosopher. Iris is the child of Thaumas. Wonder engendered the rainbow, which remains one of the wonders of the natural world. 98 The Homeric texts offer other possible meanings for the term kuanos, all of them linked to magic and divinity. In Book 24 of the Iliad, Thetis covers herself in a dark mourning veil, darker than any other, and kuanos describes that darkness of hue and saturation (Il. 24.94). 99 Kuanos also describes the following: the magical cloud (kuaneē nephelē) in which Apollo hides Aeneas (Il. 5.345), the cloud that envelopes Polydorus after Achilles has killed him (Il. 20.418), the permanent dark cloud surrounding the mountain housing Scylla’s cave (Od. 12.75), as well as the dark sandy earth at the bottom of Charybdis (Od. 12.243). Kuanos can characterize divine hair: Poseidon’s dark locks (kuanochaites) (Il. 13.563; 14.390; 20.144; Hes. Theog. 278), Hector’s hair as Achilles drags his corpse

Lapis lazuli is often joined with other materials in this way, e.g. the cornice above the bronze walls of Alkinoos’ palace is formed from lapis lazuli (Od. 7.87), or the frequent juxtaposition of lapis lazuli and gold in Mesopotamian and Egyptian art, on which see Moorey (1999) 177; Winter (1999) 49. 97 Pl. Tht. 155d., trans. Fowler (1921). 98 On the rainbow, see James (1996); Fischer (1998) 35–36, 113. 99 kuanostolos Bion 4–5 kuaneov de kalumma in Hom. Hymn to Demeter 43. 96

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behind his chariot after killing him (Il. 22.401–402), 100 and the brilliance of Zeus’ eyebrows as he renders judgment (Il. 1.528). 101 When Athena boosts Odysseus’ appearance before he reveals himself to Telemachos, she makes his skin and hair kuanos once more (Od. 16.176). Kuanos can refer to hue, to brilliance, or to the combination of these qualities. Presumably this passage does not mean that Athena made Odysseus’ face a blue-black color, but that she gave his skin the deep shimmer associated with kuanos and youth. She makes him something more than mortal Odysseus. Telemachos, upon seeing his father thus, wonders if he is a god, and remarks ‘even your skin has changed,’ a shift that marks the improved Odysseus. On the one hand skin, or surface, is the vehicle of the beholder’s reception of color and the substance against which light and shadow play, but on the other hand it is precisely color’s surface-ness that leaves chrōma open to indictment by ancient and modern commentators alike. The colored surface is poikilos, a quality that is both desirable and unstable (and therefore distrusted), or desirable precisely because of its instability. This passage in the Odyssey highlights both the wondrousness and the changeableness of the colored exterior. Greek texts suggest that surface appearance was intended to mark that which it contained. What our earlier exploration of painted sculptural groups revealed is that this chrōma penetrates beneath the surface of a monument, either by constituting the physical whole, as in the case of objects sculpted from colored materials, or by relating to the other materials used in an object’s construction in order to present a whole. Because we confront chrōma as surface, we risk reducing it to the superficial. At the same time, by treating a surface as something distinct from (or less valuable than) the interior to which it relates, one denies the necessity of surface to the constitution of bounded body. The relationship between color and illusion is one source of the anxiety expressed about color in certain Greek texts. 102 The mistake, however, of later critics has been to take this anxiety as a universal condemnation of color and its effects and to remake the images of classical antiquity in this (false) image. It is a fitting irony that this mistake is possible precisely because of color’s changeableness. What Greek texts demonstrate is that color was integral to the material world inhabited by gods and men, and that the pleasures taken in color’s effects were similar to those taken by beholders of color in other cultural contexts, such as Mesopotamia. What differentiates the Greek situation from these other cultures is not any lesser ubiquity of color, applied and integrated, but our possession of texts that interrogate the experience of color. While neither Hector nor Odysseus are divine, Odysseus receives his kuanos from the goddess Aphrodite, and Hector his only after death, and it has the effect of both likening him to the gods and distinguishing him from those who still live. 101 LSJ suggests that Poseidon’s epithet ‘dark-haired’ may refer to his relationship to the sea, but there is little to support this, for other gods and men are described has having hair of kuanos, a term which is used to describe ether, but not water in Homer. 102 On color and deception, see Duigan (2004) 78–81. 100

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Kosmēsis Hesiod’s account of the creation of Pandora describes the capacity of color to cloak humble materials with a stunning exterior and to render something of inherent evil or danger deceptively beautiful. Her kosmēsis at the hands of the gods is fitting punishment for man’s theft of fire. Her surface will beguile them and they will fail to notice the disjunction between exterior and interior, between the earth-wrought vessel and its appearance as a blindingly beautiful (first) woman. This deceptive image provides the form after which all subsequent women are modeled. Hesiod explicitly links the deceptive kosmēsis that brings Pandora into being with the character (ēthos) of mortal women. Just as the made-up Pandora deceives and conceals, so do the mortal women formed after her. The relationship between cosmetic color and women is one from which the Western tradition has never fully escaped. 103 The rejection of color in the history of Western art is one part of the suppression of the feminine from its story. Color in the form of cosmetics was a part of the kosmēsis of a woman, a part of what completes her, but the necessity of which signaled a basic lack. Color was also one means of linking Easterners with women, and so its expulsion has scrubbed both women and non-Western cultures from the dominant records (I do not mean that the feminine and the Eastern are not put to use in the service of a form-driven history of art, but that both are denied constitutive status). 104 Kosmēsis derives from the verb kosmeo, which has an interesting array of related meanings. The prototypical meaning is ‘to order or arrange,’ and is often used to describe ordering an army. 105 It can also be used more generally to mean arranging or preparing. In other contexts it can mean ‘to rule’ or ‘to hold office’ (ta kosmoumena means ‘orderly institutions [of government]’). Directly relevant to the story of Pandora, kosmein can also mean ‘to adorn, equip, or dress,’ and is most often, but not exclusively, used like this to describe women. 106 Each definition inflects the other in what is known in linguistic circles as ‘spreading activation,’ in which one linguistic form maps onto multiple senses. Cosmetics can adorn as a form of protection, either amuletic or to increase the number of surface layers between one’s interior (or even one’s unadorned surface, which might reveal too much about one’s interior)

Brown (1997) 39. This is true even in Summers (2002) extensive rerouting of the story of art to rest less on the shoulders of classical Greek art and more on traditions developed in Egypt and Mesopotamia and developed in 13th century Islam. The end towards which these earlier eastern traditions are working remains the linear perspective of the Italian Renaissance, the coup de grace in the story of form and line dominating color. 105 Chantraine (2009) 549, s.v. kosmeo; Liddell and Scott (1996) 984–985, s.v. kosmeo. 106 Kosmein can also mean to perform funeral rites, specifically to sprinkle the tomb with dust and pour libations to adorn the space of the dead, to complete the orderly (fitting) funeral practices − or even more concretely, to bury someone. Kosmein describes men arranged for battle, institutions and persons arranged to govern effectively, women arrayed for view, tombs adorned for the dead and the gods, as well as the dead buried in their tombs. 103 104

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and those outside. Embellishment acts as protection. Although kosmein gives rise to the modern English term cosmetics, kosmein was never the exclusive purview of pigments. The gods outfit Pandora (or her clay core) with golden necklaces, fine clothes, and spring flowers as well as a lying nature, and speech. Her kosmēsis encompasses both her external adornment and her interior ‘self.’ 107 Kosmēsis does include adornment through the application of pigments, forging a link between adornment and death. Women have used toxic substances to color their skin. 108 Kosmēsis relates to a host of other words with the root kosm/-, including kosmos, or universe, and kosmopoieo, to make the world or to frame a system of the world. 109 Writing about the kosmos of archaic temple architecture, Clemente Marconi has argued ‘that the figures of the building are its kosmos, its adornment’ and they adorn both the building and the divinity to whom the building is dedicated. 110 He writes: Kosmos at the very beginning conveyed, to the Greeks, an unmistakable idea of order, both in the material and moral sense. It was from this very idea of material and moral order that the meaning of kosmos expanded to signify form, government, decoration, and honor, and it was this idea of order and good regulation that led philosophers, perhaps even as early as Pythagoras, to use the word kosmos to designate the order of the world and the universe. 111

Despite the importance of each individual part of the architectural adornment for the building’s Gestalt, the pieces of the building have traditionally been studied as part of typologies and in isolation from the rest of the building. 112 Marconi writes: They generally begin by dismembering the figural decoration of the temple into its components – acroteria, pediments, and friezes, Doric or Ionic. They then discuss how the images of these dismembered parts correspond to the different compositional laws proper to each component and to its original position on the building. The original figural decoration of the temple – the adornment of the divinity – is shattered, dismembered, and torn into pieces. 113

While the original composition (kosmos) of the building is shattered, these individual pieces are studied, not as the fragments they are, but as wholes to be compared with On the abstract gifts with which the gods outfit Pandora, like charis and pothos, see Faraone (2001) 91. 108 On deadly forms of kosmēsis, see Carastro (forthcoming). A woman’s kosmēsis could eventually destroy not just the surface of her self, but the interior of her body as well. The practice of making up the dead for view to temporarily delay the visibility (on the surface of the body) of death despite the arrest of the body’s internal systems brings together to kosmein (‘to adorn’) and to kosmein (‘to bury’). 109 Chantraine (2009) 549, 570–1; Marconi (2004) 211. 110 Marconi (2004) 212. 111 Ibid. 211. 112 Ibid. 212. 113 Ibid. 107

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other wholes. Color marks out these pieces, even as it unifies them. Just as kosmēsis makes Pandora, and thus women, so can ornamentation (kosmopoiesis) make a world. Pigments and materials construct bodies and images, create or invoke interiors, and act on other bodies in the space that they take up. Color in ancient Mediterranean art is all around us, in the surviving literature, written into passages about materials and light effects, on the surviving monuments in the form of remaining marks, in images incompletely sculpted, in holes for metal attachments, sockets emptied of their inlaid eyes, recovered paint pots, and unworked stone, or variegated earth. 114 Colors bear traces of the mud, insect or plant from which they derive, as well as traces of the places from which they emerge. 115 Color’s materiality traverses geographic, social, and bodily boundaries, and makes and remakes. Words for colors often make this materiality known through language and describe a world animated through color. Colors operate as parts that cohere or seem to cohere into a whole. These part : whole relationships scale our experience of the represented body, from the particles that create a pigment or colored material, to the pieces that form a part of the whole body, and finally to that body as a part of the space into which it is set. Each of these notional wholes coheres through color, but can always return again to its constituent parts, at times even reduced again to particles. The materiality of color in antiquity is also, however, a unifying idea that connects different practices across the wider Mediterranean.

Archaeological method depends upon our ability to distinguish between different colors and striations in the earth and to reconstruct these different colors as layers, features and objects of the past. 115 Finlay (2004) attempts to trace the natural histories of the seven hues that make up the traditional rainbow. 114

GOLD AND PURPLE: BRILLIANCE, MATERIALITY AND AGENCY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT GREECE ADELINE GRAND-CLÉMENT

In one of the fables ascribed to the archaic poet Aesop (sixth century BCE), ‘The Peacock and the Crane,’ a peacock, very proud of its gorgeous tail, mocks the simple color of the crane (χροιὰν), claiming that he the peacock is wearing gold and purple (χρυσὸν καὶ πορφύραν φοροῦσα) like a king. To this mockery, the bird replies: ‘Yes, but I can fly very high in the sky and sing among the stars, while you can only walk below, among other birds and cockerels.’ The end of the story proves the crane right, since it is said that ‘it is better to be renowned and in poor garments than to live taking pride in richness but without honor.’ This Aesopic fable, which was probably quite popular among the Greeks, denounces the excessive display of brilliant and luxurious colors as opposed to more simple ones: poikilia is visually attractive and seductive, but can also be superficial and vain. 1 In this perspective, choosing to describe the attire of the proud peacock by two specific colors, gold and purple, as the very symbols of wealth and power is significant. It reflects economic as well as symbolic values and the social prestige attached to both substances: gold and purple are emblematic of the notions of beauty and splendor in ancient Greece – as in many other ancient societies. Anthropologists, historians and archaeologists 2 have tried to understand why certain substances could be endowed with specific values and highly esteemed as ‘symbols of excellence’ 3 and, therefore, credited with a kind of social ‘agency.’ 4 Careful attention has been recently paid to the role played by the On the notion of poikilia and the ambivalent values it conveyed in Ancient Greece, see Grand-Clément (2012 and 2015); for a history of multi-colored garments, see GrandClément (2011a). 2 Jones and MacGregor (2002). 3 Clarke (1986). 4 The notion of ‘agency’ comes from the work by Gell (1998) which focuses on the power exerted by objects of art upon viewers. Recently, T. Ingold has stressed that the pro1

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physical and aesthetical (in the etymological sense, that is, relative to the field of sensations) proprieties of such symbols. Several scholars have stressed that the vividness and the brightness of a color must be taken into account, since the chromatic appearance of the surfaces resulted in some materials differentiated from others as being more precious and valuable. 5 Many studies have been devoted to gold and to purple as status symbols in the ancient world, but usually each color has been dealt with separately. 6 My approach here will be slightly different; this paper seeks to shed light upon the strong connections between gold and purple in the ancient Greek mind, by showing that it is precisely because they share common chromatic characteristics that they were associated. To put it in another way, I will analyze why golden and purple were both considered by the Greeks as the best colors. In so doing, I adopt a more anthropological approach, since I will deal mainly with written sources (literary and epigraphic texts), which offer insight into the field of representations and social imaginary, rather than realia and artifacts. 7 In particular, attention will be given to the meanings and uses of the adjectives khruseos, ‘made of gold, golden,’ and porphureos or harlourgos, ‘purple, purple-colored.’ First, I will address the multiple values attached to gold and purple by the Greeks, taking into account the way in which the metal and the dye could be obtained and physically associated by craftspeople in order to achieve a brilliant chromatic effect. Then, by analyzing the contexts in which these colors were used together, I will tackle two main issues: first, their ritual uses and role in the cult of the gods, as a manifestation of eusebeia (piety); secondly, the close relationship established between these colors and the realm of luxury and power.

MARRIAGE OF THE KING OF METALS AND THE QUEEN OF DYES

The ancient Greeks considered golden the best color in the realm of metals and purple as the best color for textiles. But why were these colors considered so attractive? On what kind of artifacts could they be associated? Which values did they thus convey? Such questions require cautious answers, because it implies that we must try to see colors as the Greeks did. 8 Indeed, we have to keep in mind that the ancient Greek perception of colors differs from that of a modern viewer: the Greeks used to divide the chromatic spectrum in a way alien to post-Newtonian classification and prieties of materials, which ‘cannot be identified as fixed, essential attributes of things, but are rather processual and relational’ are responsible for this phenomenon; Ingold (2007) 14. 5 Brecoulaki (2014) 1–2. 6 Reinhold (1970); Blum (1998); Tortorelli Ghidini (2014). 7 In fact, the archaeological remains are scarce, since purple clothes and golden artifacts have been poorly conserved in the Greek world, due to the fragility of the fabric and to the lure of gold which has been constantly reused since antiquity. For images of golden objects discovered in the Greek world, see Williams (1998). 8 Gernet (1957b); Sassi (1994); Beta and Sassi (2003); Grand-Clément (2011b).

BRILLIANCE, MATERIALITY AND AGENCY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT GREECE 123 they paid more attention to brightness and vividness than to hues. Moreover, they perceived colors not as abstract categories but rather as visual qualities of objects and substances. 9 This conception of color, deeply rooted in the material world, can be observed in the terminology, since adjectives such as khruseos, argureos, khalkeos, indicated both the physical matter and the color of an object. Thus, the first question should be: what were the colors of gold and of purple from the Greek perspective? Let us begin with the color of gold. This material was precious for the Greeks partly because of its rarity and exotic origin. There were no significant gold mines available in continental Greece except for the northern region of Mount Pangeia, in Thrace. Greek gold also came from the rivers of Asia Minor (the famous Pactolus, for instance), but most of the metal had to be imported from foreign countries. 10 Yet if we want to grasp why it acquired its preeminent position in the hierarchy of metals, being considered as the ‘sultan of silver,’ 11 we have to take into account the visual appearance of its surface. 12 Some valuable information about Greeks considering gold as the ideal color can be found in a couple of verses by the poet Theognis of Megara (6th century BCE), who presents himself as a model of virtue, the embodiment of the very essence of aristeia, aristocratic excellence: If you want to wash me, the water will ever flow clear and non-polluted from my head; you will find me in all matters as if I were refined gold (ἄπεφθον/ χρυσόν), red to the view (ἐρυθρὸν ἰδεῖν) when being rubbed with the touchstone; the surface is untainted with black mould or rust, its bloom (ἄνθος) ever pure (καθαρόν). 13

In this image, Theognis compares his own perfection and purity with that of refined gold. The use of the adjective eruthros stresses the importance of the color in the process of identifying real gold and distinguishing it from fake gold. Its redness is reminiscent of other substances credited with burning and consuming power, such as wine and fire, in Greek poetry. The poet also underlines the brightness and vividness of the hue (anthos), which remains everlasting and incorruptible, contrary to other metallic surfaces such as silver or bronze, which tend to tarnish and change with time [Fig 1]. It is interesting to note that the term anthos, which literally means ‘flower, blossom,’ usually qualifies dyes, especially the brighter hues of purple. Thus, the color of gold was associated with the dazzling sun, with warmth and with reddish light. Because of its sheer brilliance, being judged as eternal and pure as the splendor of the gods, it was considered as the divine metal par excellence – as did

On the specificity of ancient color categorization, see Bradley (2013) 128–132; Goldman (2013). 10 Kurke (1999). 11 Hipponax, fr. 38, 2 West. 12 Sassi (2014). 13 Thgn. 1.447–452. 9

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the Egyptians, who called it ‘the skin of the gods.’ 14 In Greece, golden statues were mainly used to represent divine beings 15 and in poems, especially by Homer and Hesiod, the adjective khruseos was frequently applied to attributes or parts of the body of the gods: the Immortals had golden eyes, hair, arms, jewels, garments and weapons. 16 One of the current epithets attributed to Aphrodite, the goddess of erotic desire and sexual attraction, was ‘golden’ (khruseè): her radiance was so powerful and extreme that no one – human or divine – could escape her seductive power. 17 But what about the bloom of purple? Why did its color match so well with that of gold? Today, in modern languages, purple designates a kind of mauve 18 or violet. Yet, it was more than that for the Greeks: the adjectives porphureos and halourgos 19 probably referred to a wide range of hues. 20 This is due to the manufacturing process of the dyestuff – called porphura by the Greeks. The colorant, which was extracted from muricid molluscs, could produce many different colors ranging from deep blue to scarlet [Fig. 2]. 21 The color of the fabric soaked in the vat depended upon several circumstances: the atmospheric conditions of the dye-process, the quality of the vat, but also the species of the shell used. For example, we know that murex trunculus, the first species widely used by Minoan and Phoenician people during the second millennium BCE, provided a bluish tint, whereas the murex brandaris would dye textiles in a more reddish hue. In fact, the hues that were prized differed according to time and place. For instance, in the time of Pliny (first century CE), Romans were fond of the red tints of Tyrian purple, a color that looked like ‘clotted Mathieu (2009) 32–34. Lapatin (2001); Amandry (1939). 16 For an illuminating commentary on one of these divine epithets, khrusothronos, ‘with a golden throne’/ ‘with a golden flowery dress’, see Pironti (2014). On the relationship between gold and gods in Greek literature, see Lorimer (1956). 17 Hom. Il. 3.64, 5.427; Od. 8.337, 17.37. Homer also uses the epithet pankrhuseè which means ‘entirely golden’. 18 The first industrial dye produced in the nineteenth century was the mauve invented by chance in 1856 by Perkin – who wanted to call it ‘Tyrian purple’ after the prestigious ancient dye. Ball (2008) 238–241. 19 The term halourgos appears in literary sources later than porphureos does: the latter occurs in the Homeric epics and the archaic poems, while the first occurrence of halourgos dates to the 6th c. BCE. 20 In philosophical treatises, both adjectives are used together with two other colors in order to describe the blue-violet part of the rainbow (perceived thus as being trichrome). Xenophanes mentions purple with scarlet and yellow-green (πορφύρεον καὶ φοινίκεον καὶ χλωρόν), whereas Aristotle evokes ‘scarlet, green and purple’ (φοινικοῦν καὶ πράσινον καὶ ἁλουργόν): Xenophanes, fr. B 32 D.-K.; Arist. Mete. 372a.7–8. 21 Aristotle mentions various shades of red and black, depending on the kind of species used (Hist. an. 547a.4–13); on the different colors of purple, see also Vitr. De arch. 7.13; Cardon (2007) 510–606; Boesken Kanold (2011). 14 15

BRILLIANCE, MATERIALITY AND AGENCY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT GREECE 125 blood.’ 22 What all the hues produced from murex shells had in common was the vividness of their shine, their sheer iridescence, and their permanence and resistance – an important quality when clothes need to stay both clean and colorful after several washes. For these reasons, purple-dyed fabric was considered by the Greeks as the equivalent of golden artifacts in the realm of textiles. But were purple textiles as costly and rare as gold? This is a large question which is still being debated. Fishing murex was not that difficult because the snails did not live at a great depth in the sea, and the dyeing process in itself did not require any specific equipment. The use of a tin vat and the addition of a nitrate obtained better results, but were not necessary. Nonetheless, the number of shells required was very high, especially if a deep and bright color was desired on an entire piece of cloth. 23 Archaeology studies have proven that there were many dyeing factories established on the shore of the Mediterranean Sea, in order to stock the shells in vats until there were enough to begin to dye wool (mostly threads), which was afterwards sold in the marketplace. Maybe cloth could also be dyed purple in domestic spaces, on a small scale for household garments, but no evidence of this remains. Purple was mainly sold as dyed balls of wool. A Hellenistic inscription dating from the third century BCE shows that in the Delian market, purple wool was available for the same price as silver. 24 Thus, an entirely purple garment (the Greeks called it porphuris or halourgis) would have been quite expensive and was probably a special order. A cheaper solution for many Greeks would have been a piece of cloth with a little bit of purple woven into it, in association with threads of other colors. The purple wool could be bought in the marketplace and the weaving done at home, thanks to the skill of the women of the oikos. There was another convenient solution for those who could not afford the precious dye: ancient dye-workers knew dozens of recipes for imitating true purple. This was a way for the average citizen to wear purple-like garments – with less quality and color resistance, nonetheless. True purple was credited with possessing special powers, and this was partly due to the dyeing process. 25 The dyeing agent located in the snail shell was an almost colorless liquid. When the shell was crushed, contact with air and light changed the color of the juice and it took on a violet hue. The Ancients managed to keep the dye-agent colorless in huge vats, and when they dipped garments or wool yarns, it was only when they took them out that the color changed gradually, moving from white to yellow, green, and then blue, violet or red. This metamorphosis Plin. HN 9.62.135: ‘It is considered of the best quality when it has exactly the color of clotted blood, and is of a blackish hue to the sight, but of a shining appearance when held up to the light (laus ei summa in colore sanguinis concreti, nigricans aspectu idemque suspectu refulgens); hence it is that we find Homer speaking of “purple blood.’’’ 23 The experiments done by Friedländer at the beginning of the twentieth century showed that 12,000 snails were necessary in order to obtain 1.4 grams of the colorant. Doumet (1999). 24 Bruneau (1969) 763. 25 Longo (1998). 22

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seemed to be magic and caught the attention of writers like Aristotle, who described this fascinating phenomenon. 26 Thus, in a way, purple could encapsulate all the colors as does the rainbow – which might be one of the reasons why Athena, clad in a purple cloud in the Iliad, is compared to a ‘purple rainbow’ in Homer. 27 The adjective porphureos is used here to refer to the notions of iridescence and vividness, but also to the ideas of trouble, transformation, metamorphosis. The manifold values attributed to purple dye were thus gradually transferred onto the color in itself. Purple became, for instance, the color of both desire and death. 28 Golden Aphrodite, born from the sea, which provided the murex, could also be qualified as being ‘purple,’ as in a poem by Anacreon. 29 Thus, to summarize, golden and purple were two colors that associated well for the Greeks because they share a number of common characteristics. The chromatic and physical properties of purple-dyed fabric and golden objects – which attracted the eye with the vividness of their hue (anthos), the shimmering aspect of their surface and the durability of their brilliance – lead both materials to become precious substances and status symbols. The link between golden and purple-color can clearly be observed in Greek poems: khruseos and porphureos are very often found together, especially in the Pindaric poems composed at the end of the Archaic period, celebrating the excellence of the winners of Panhellenic competitions. 30 Moreover, as L. Gernet has shown, in many myths linked to royalty, a purple textile is often associated with a golden object (such as a weapon, a jewel, or a vase). These two colors represent the two main kinds of agalmata: valuable goods that circulate and function as qualifiers for the royal power. 31 However, the golden-and-purple association was not merely a literary image: it could also be achieved physically on artifacts thanks to the skill of craftsmen. For example, we know of marble vases or statues that were painted with a purple lake and plaited with golden foils. 32 Sometimes, to render the pinkish or violet hues of purple color, the painter could use a cheaper substitute: a madder lake. The study of the sculptures found in Delos has revealed that the gilding technique was quite common, proving the prosperity of the island, which was a central marketplace in the Hellenistic period. According to B. Bourgeois and P. Jockey, the presence of purple color produced by an organic lake (be it obtained from murex or madder) and golden foils on the garments of the statues may have alluded to real dressing habits. 33 Indeed, the Greeks produced textiles that were woven using purple and golden threads and these were among the most prestigious clothes. While the use of golden Soverini (2003). Il. 17.547–552. 28 Grand-Clément (2004). 29 Anac., fr. 12, 3. 30 Gernet (1957b). 31 Duchemin (1952). 32 Brecoulaki (2014) 24–25. 33 Bourgeois and Jockey (2005) 227–231. 26 27

BRILLIANCE, MATERIALITY AND AGENCY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT GREECE 127 threads can be traced back to the beginning of the second millennium BCE in Anatolia, 34 the discovery of a piece of linen cloth adorned with metallic threads in a tomb at Koropi (in Attica) testifies that the Greeks knew how to use gold in their garments, at least during the Classical period. 35 In addition, there was another means of pairing gold with purple: sewing golden rosettes or ornaments on purple garments. The use of golden appliques probably came from Mesopotamia, where, from the second millennium on, this technique was used for the ‘golden garments’ of the gods and the kings. 36 Persians inherited these habits and perhaps it was from their influence that golden clothes became more frequent in Greek cities, after the Persian wars. 37 Small golden plaques and rosettes excavated in various sanctuaries, such as Delphi, may have been part of the adornment of textiles whose fabric has disintegrated. 38 Additional evidence of the use of golden appliqués on textiles can be seen in the epigraphic records of offerings made to the gods, using the term epikhrusos, which we will return to later. 39 Thus, it appears that gold and purple clothes were primarily reserved for the cult of the gods.

THE SPLENDOR OF THE GODS

As J.-P. Vernant has shown, Greek gods had bodies that were incredibly bright, dazzling, and incorruptible, which differed from the bodies of mortals that were imperfect and vulnerable. 40 Poets and craftspeople tried to represent this divine body, and to do so they chose specific forms and colors. Since gold and purple were placed at the top of the hierarchy, both were judged particularly able to hint at divine splendor and were intimately associated with the notion of kharis. 41 Gold and purple played an important role during rituals, since both materials were supposed to help create links between humans and deities. First, they served to adorn and dress the statues of the gods. We know that some divine effigies had a golden garment – be it wood, marble or bronze plaited with gold, or a piece of cloth adorned with golden appliqués. The ritual known as khrusôsis – as has been documented in Delos 42 – had to be regularly performed in order to renew the golden appearance of the cult statues in the sanctuaries. Another important ritual was the kosmèsis, which consisted of purifying and adorning the divine images. Both rituals

Barber (1991) 171; Pekridou-Gorecki (1989) 44–51. Beckwith (1954); Barber (1991) 206. 36 Oppenheim (1949). 37 Miller (1997) 167. 38 Amandry (1939) 88–89. 39 Cleland (2005) 113, 123. On the meaning of words such as pasmation, epitektos and epikhrusos, see Cleland, Davies and Llewellyn-Jones (2007). 40 Vernant (1986); Platt (2011) 64–69. 41 On the notion of kharis, a kind of light beam emanating from deities, beautiful individuals or sometimes wonderful and brilliant objects, which immediately attract the eye of the viewer. Borgeaud and MacLachlan (1985). 42 Bourgeois and Jockey (2005). 34 35

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aimed at enhancing the radiance, the kharis, and the power of the statues, which were conceived of as a medium between humans and gods. 43 Golden objects and purple cloth were thus used by the Greeks to guarantee the efficiency of the communication with the divine world and to establish order and harmony (one of the meanings of the word kosmos) among the community. Thanks to epigraphic documentation, we know that in the fourth century BCE the small wooden statue of Athena Polias, held in the Erechtheion on the Athenian Acropolis, was adorned with golden jewels and attributes. 44 Every year, the Athenians used to honor their patron goddess by offering her statue a new garment, a veil (peplos), which was probably saffron-dyed (a golden color) 45 with purple patterns and figures woven on it. The main evidence for this comes from some verses of a tragedy by Euripides: Chorus: Or in Pallas’s town to the car all-glorious

Shall I yoke the steeds on the saffron-glowing (κροκέῳ) Veil of Athene, where flush victorious

The garlands that cunningest fingers are throwing In manifold hues on its folds wide-flowing

(ἐν / δαιδαλέαισι ποικίλλουσ᾽ / ἀνθοκρόκοισι πήναις)… 46

In this passage, we once again find the word anthos, which probably refers to the best dye, that is to say purple. This hypothesis is strengthened by a scholium on this passage, which adds that the peplos was also violet-colored (huakinthinos). 47 In Athens, another goddess also had a bright dress: an inscription from the third century BCE describes the purification ritual to be done in the sanctuary of Aphrodite Pandemos, near the agora. The statues of Aphrodite and Peithô (Persuasion) were to be washed, anointed, and then dressed with purple clothes, and the inscription even prescribes the amount of purple wool that the magistrates have to buy. 48 For the island of Delos during the Hellenistic period, we have much more information. The statue of Apollo in the main temple of the sanctuary was golden and

Grand-Clément (2011b) 266–281. IG II/III2 1424, 11–16; 1425, 307–312; 1426, 4–8; 1428, 176–180; 1429, 42–47. On the various parts of the kosmos, see Mansfield (1985) 144–147. 45 On saffron and its symbolic values in Greece, see Zaitoun (2003); Grand-Clément (2011b) 170–172 and 390–392. 46 Eur. Hec. 466–471. 47 Barber (1992) 116. J. Mansfield (1985) 142 thinks that Athena’s peplos was purple. 48 IG II2 659 (287–286 BCE). Mansfield (1985) 448. 43 44

BRILLIANCE, MATERIALITY AND AGENCY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT GREECE 129 had a golden crown and a golden ring. 49 In 145–144 BCE, the agalma of Artemis was wearing a purple dress overlaid with gold (epikhruson) which had been made especially for her. 50 The same was true for Leto, the mother of Apollo and Artemis, whose statue was clad in a linen tunic – probably white – and a purple woolen cloak. 51 She also possessed a small dress, a fine piece of cloth carefully described in an inventory from the second century BCE: it was adorned with gold, precious stones, and a circular border made of purple interwoven with gold (κύ[κλ]ον περιπόρφυ[ρον πεπο]ικιλμένον διὰ χρυσίου καὶ ζωνίο[ν διάχρυσον]). 52 Finally, the two statues in the Thesmophorion, those of Demeter and her daughter Korè, were described as wearing a crown and earrings made of golden wood, with purple and linen garments. 53 The epigraphic documentation thus proves that gold was a prominent element of the kosmos for all the gods, whereas purple seems to have been a more feminine attribute. 54 There are also similar literary references. For example in Syracuse (Sicily), if someone wanted to conduct a ritual called ‘the big oath,’ he or she had to go to the shrine of Demeter and Korè and to wear the purple cloak (porphuris) of the goddess before uttering the oath. 55 This ritual is significant: when putting on the divine garment, the individual acquired a very special status, as he or she would benefit from part of the goddess’ power. It is for these reasons then that gold and purple were so effective: they helped establishing intimacy with the divine world. 56 Moreover, for this reason these two colors were used for the funerals of heroes, who could join the deities after their death. The model for heroic funerals is obviously Homeric. The last verses of the Iliad are devoted to the account of the funeral rites accomplished by the Trojans for Hector. His corpse has been burnt on a pyre and his ashes are put in a golden box, wrapped in a purple cloth. 57 Here, the On this statue, made by Tektaios and Angelion, Bruneau (1970) 57; Prost (1999). Among the other golden statues to be found in Delos during the Hellenistic period, there are the agalmata of Hecate (ID 290), Artemis and Aphrodite. Bruneau (1970) 186–187, 336. 50 ID 1442, B, 54–56 (145–144 BCE). On this occasion, the ancient dress of Artemis was given to Dionysos. 51 IG XI2 203, A, 73 and 204, 75–76. 52 ID 1428, II, 53–58 and 1450, A, 200–201 (middle of the 2nd century BCE). 53 ID 1417, A, I, 49–52 (156–155 BCE). 54 As a matter of fact, on the island of Delos, the only male deity who wore purple according to the inscriptions was Dionysos, who was given the garment of Artemis (see above, n. 48). 55 Plut. Vit. Dion 56.5. 56 Maybe gold and purple were also used here as agents of ritual purification; such a hypothesis would deserve a more detailed analysis. 57 Hom. Il. 24. 778–805: ‘Next day, when rosy-fingered Dawn appeared, the people gathered at glorious Hector’s pyre. Then when all had assembled they worked together, quenching the embers with red wine, wherever the fire had reached. Then Hector’s brothers and his friends collected his ashes, still mourning him, their cheeks wet with tears. They placed the ashes, wrapped in a purple robe (πορφυρέοις πέπλοισι), inside a golden urn 49

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golden box and the purple cloth glorify the brave hero who died in war. Their power operates after the process of purification obtained by the fire, which is intended to whiten the bones. Gold and purple celebrate the eternal kleos (glory) deserved by the dead hero. The association of the two colors achieves a crucial transformation: ‘black death’ becomes thus a ‘purple death’, brilliant and deprived of corruption and dirt. 58 Fortunately, we have another illuminating example of such a funeral use of purple and gold. In one of the tombs found under the great tumulus of Vergina, in Macedonia, the so-called tomb of Philip II, father of Alexander, two golden boxes have been found: one in the main chamber, the other in the antechamber. Both contained funeral ashes (those of a man in the main chamber and of a woman in the antechamber), wrapped in purple cloth. The part that has been best preserved has been partly restored: it is a fine work of art, made of purple wool woven with golden threads. 59 The values attributed to purple and gold can also be seen in the laws regulating the entrance into shrines and the participation in festivals. These laws are documented by many inscriptions which have been called ‘sacred laws’. 60 Gold and purple are often mentioned. A series of inscriptions deals with the functions of the priests and the clothing they must wear during festivals and processions. C.P. Jones has noted that very often, the priests were distinguished from the crowd of worshippers by wearing purple clothes and golden crowns – whereas the crowd should be dressed in white. 61 However it is difficult to generalize since each local cult had its own specific customs. For example, in the city of Cos, we learn from an inscription that during a religious festival associated with athletic competitions, the priest of Nike, the divine personification of Victory, had to wear a purple khiton, golden rings and a golden crown. The rest of the time, he had to be dressed in white. 62 The same attire was required for the priest of Zeus Alseios during similar festivals. 63 Why? Both priests were supposed to crown the winners: the presence of gold and purple may therefore have reinforced the association with the divine world and stressed the mediating roles played by the priests – they crowned the winners on behalf of the gods, who were the ones who granted victory. Thus, in this particular case the display of golden and purple colors had three functions: distinguishing the (χρυσείην ἐς λάρνακα), and laid the urn in a hollow grave, covering it with large close-set stones. Then over it they piled the barrow, posting sentinels on every side, lest the bronzegreaved Greeks attacked them before the promised time. When they had heaped the mound, they returned to Troy, and gathered in Zeus-beloved Priam’s palace for the glorious funeral feast appointed. And such were the funeral rites of Hector, tamer of horses.’ 58 Grand-Clément (2011b) 376–379. 59 Andronikos (1984) 195, fig. 156–157. 60 Parker (2004); Sokolowski (1962). 61 Jones (1999). 62 IG XII 4, 330; Paul (2013) 151. 63 IG XII 4, 328, 15–18.

BRILLIANCE, MATERIALITY AND AGENCY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT GREECE 131 priest from the other participants, celebrating the aristeia (excellence) of the winners of the competition, and claiming the power of the gods. Another series of inscriptions shows that, on the contrary, the wearing of gold and purple could be prohibited on certain occasions. These laws were displayed at the entrance of the shrines and addressed the devotees. 64 We know that for the festivals of Demeter, in a sanctuary near Patras (Northern Peloponnese), women could not wear gold weighing more than one obol, be dressed in colorful or purple clothes, nor wear make-up. 65 In the shrine of Despoina, at Lykosoura (Arcadia), women could not enter with a golden adornment – unless it was an offering – nor with a purple, flowery, or black dress (μηδὲ πορφύρε̣ον εἱματισμὸν μηδὲ ἀνθι̣νὸν μηδὲ [μέλ]ανα), nor with shoes or rings. 66 What was the purpose of these restrictive rules? Were they mere sumptuary laws, or rather cultic regulations intending to prevent the shrine from any kind of source of pollution (miasma)? 67 As a matter of fact, there must have been many aspects involved and each local cult probably required some very specific ritual procedures. I think that some modest attire was expected on behalf of the devotee, so as to create a kind of uniformity among the religious community, but also to enhance the majesty of the goddess, who was the only one to deserve gold and purple. Moreover, it seems that it was mainly the women who were the focus of these kinds of rules. Why? Maybe because gold and purple, especially when worn together, tended to be associated with female seductiveness: we know thanks to Athenaeus that in some cities, like Syracuse, wearing flowery garments, clothes with purple borders, and golden jewels were prohibited in public spaces, except for prostitutes. 68 There were the chromatic signs of the erotic powers of the mighty Aphrodite. Yet, the law from Lykosoura adds crucial information: golden and purple colors were welcomed inside the shrine only if they were the colors of votive presents for the goddess. Actually, we know from epigraphic documents what kind of offerings were dedicated in the sanctuaries, and it appears that gold and purple were found in many shrines as a sign of the worshippers’ piety (eusebeia). On the Acropolis of Athens were found inscriptions listing the anathèmata that were dedicated to the gods and were stored in the sacred buildings between the end of the fifth century BCE and the beginning of the third century BCE. Golden objects were among the most common offerings registered in these inventories. 69 Moreover, in the list of the textiles dedicated by the Athenians to the goddess Artemis Brauronia during the Mills (1984). Sokolowski (1962) n°63. 66 Ibid. n° 68. 67 Osborne (2011) 172–177. 68 Ath., The Deipnosophists 12.521b. The law could date back to the 6th century BCE; see Brugnone (1992). 69 Harris (1995). 64 65

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fourth century BCE, 70 many of the clothes had purple decoration, 71 and some of them also had golden adornments. 72 We do not know whether the purple color mentioned was obtained by murex or by a more economic substitute, nor whether these colorful offerings were personal garments which had been worn, ritual garments, or textiles especially woven for the gods. Whatever the case may be, the donors – always women, in the case of textiles – wanted to honor the gods, to ask for their protection, or to thank them for their help. The quality of the offerings in the shrines of Athens was not an exception in the Greek world, since it can be observed elsewhere. A fragment of an inventory from the sanctuary of Artemis Chitonè in Miletus and dated from the end of the second century BCE testifies that golden and silver objects were regularly offered to the goddess, as well as brilliant clothes. Some garments had golden borders (as suggests the adjective perikhrusos) and other pieces were overlaid or embroidered with gold (epikhrusos). 73 A huge amount – about fifty per cent – of the textiles registered in this inscription were decorated with purple, which may also be because Miletos was a well-known center for producing purple cloth – a reputation that lasted until the Roman period. In addition, on the island of Delos, many kinds of offerings were made of gold or plaited with gold: the inventories use the term khruseos, and, more often epikhrusos, perikhrusos, hypokhrusos, and diakhrusos. 74 The use of gold foils was convenient: it gave the wooden or bronze offering the best color for the gods without being too expensive. In the same manner, the textiles dedicated to goddesses such as Artemis or Hera were decorated with purple, but – it should be noted – rarely entirely purple-dyed. The porphuris certainly remained a very special garment, and few worshippers could afford it. Thus, offering gold and purple to please the gods seems to have been quite common in the Greek world. These colors full of kharis were among the best means to attract the eyes of the gods, to rejoice them and to gain their benevolence. 75 Plato, however, was opposed to such ritual practices, since for his ideal city more moderate offerings were called for. According to the philosopher, presents made to the gods should not be golden nor purple (or brightly dyed): they should be in stone or wood, and, as far as textiles were concerned, only white. These were the appropriate materials and colors because they did not provoke envy or greed. 76 In prescribing such moderation in the choice of offerings, Plato was probably reacting against the Linders (1972). Some of these garments were used to dress the statues of the goddess, who dwelt in the temple of Brauron. 71 IG II2 1514, 12–14 and 26–28. 72 Cleland (2005) 84–90, 96–100. 73 Günther (1988) 228–229. 74 Hamilton (2000) 349; Prêtre (2012). 75 For a more detailed account of the ritual uses of gold (one can mention for instance the overlaying with gold of the horns of the animals to be sacrificed), see Georgoudi (2014). 76 Pl. Leg. 12.955e-956b. According to the philosopher, purple should not be sold nor bought in the ideal city (8.847c). 70

BRILLIANCE, MATERIALITY AND AGENCY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT GREECE 133 votive practices of the majority of the Greeks. Yet his reluctance to displaying these particular colors also reflects social and political issues: brilliant offerings were also a means for some citizens of distinguishing themselves from their fellows.

TRUPHÈ, POWER AND KHARIS

In the Greek tradition, the association of gold and purple was not restricted to the religious sphere. It was also the very symbol of habrosunè and truphè, two key notions referring to a special way of life which were thought to come from eastern countries and strongly influenced the Greek aristocrats who occupied a prominent role in the archaic cities. 77 Athenaeus, in Book 12 of The Deipnosophists (The Doctors at Dinner), gives much information about the origin and the main features of luxury and pleasure. According to him, truphè was invented by the Persians, the Medians, and the Lydians, and was characterized by the development of gastronomy, the use of makeup, unguents and exotic fragrances, as well as by golden jewelry and colorful clothing, especially purple garments. 78 Thus, in the Greek world, wearing purple and gold was considered as a means for a citizen to distinguish himself or herself from others. In some cases, such an attitude was perceived as a sign of elegance and refinement, especially when it was a habit shared by all citizens and was part of the identity of the city. For instance, Athenaeus quotes the testimony of Heraclides of Pontus, who lived in Athens during the fourth century BCE and composed a treatise On Pleasure. In this passage, the philosopher refers to the Athenians who won the battle of Marathon against the Persian army (in 490 BCE): And the city of the Athenians, while it indulged in luxury (ἕως ἐτρύφα), was a very great city, and bred very magnanimous men. For they wore purple (ἁλουργῆ) mantles, and were clad in multi-colored (ποικίλους) tunics; and they bound up their hair in knots, and wore golden grasshoppers (χρυσοῦς τέττιγας) over their foreheads and in their hair: and their slaves followed them, bearing folding chairs for them, in order that, if they wished to sit down, they might not be without some proper seating, and forced to put up with any chance seat. And these men were such heroes, that they conquered in the battle of Marathon, and they alone worsted the power of the whole Asia. 79

Heraclides praises the search for pleasure and luxury, since he associates truphè with aristocracy, leisure, and even freedom and bravery. Thus, truphè was not perceived by the philosopher as a sign of effeminateness or softness. Nonetheless, his judgment was not shared by all Greeks. The Athenian historian Thucydides, for instance, also recalls that Athenian citizens used to wear long robes and golden cicadas in their hair, but he adds that they came to change their clothing habits and finally Kurke (1992). Ath., The Deipnosophists 12.513f. 79 Heraclid. Pont. apud Athenaeus, The Deipnosophists 12.512b-c. 77 78

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chose a more appropriate, austere and moderate attire; he would probably have agreed with the Aesopic fable that this was a wise cultural development. 80 If such a change really took place, it may be traced back to the sumptuary laws of Solon (beginning of the sixth century BCE) and above all, to the establishment of democracy in Athens during the fifth century BCE. The elite had to refrain from its tendency to look for symbols of excellence and status and to display a luxurious way of life. 81 The role played by the Persian wars may have also been significant, 82 but must not be overestimated. It is true that gold and purple were considered as the very colors of the Persians, as can be found in the work of Herodotus, but in the fifth century BCE, artifacts and luxury goods coming from Persia were not banished from a city like Athens. 83 We know that in Rome, wearing purple-dyed garments was strictly controlled: purple was used to adorn the mantle of the imperator during the triumph, and could be found also on the togas of children and senators, finally becoming the symbol of imperial power. 84 In the Greek world, characterized by hundreds of different cities, there was no similar clothing regulation and thus the attitude towards purple textiles may have varied widely. Nonetheless, in certain places and certain times, those in power in the city decided to limit the wearing of purple. Athenaeus has many examples of Greek cities in which purple and gold were worn by freeborn citizens, but it was usually condemned and thought to be a sign of corruption, the result of a bad influence coming from strangers, Barbaroi, who did not speak Greek and had not reached the same level of civilization. This explains why the cities associated with truphè in Athenaeus were mainly located on the periphery of the Greek world: in the east (Asia Minor) or in the west (South of Italy and Sicily). 85 Athenaeus quotes the testimony of Xenophanes, a philosopher from Colophon who lived during the mid-sixth century, when the Greeks living in Asia Minor were in contact with the Lydian kingdom. Xenophanes was reluctant to adopt the habits of his fellow citizens, who, according to him, had adopted an oriental way of life: The people of Colophon, according to Phylarchius, were in the beginning rigid in their discipline, but after they had drifted into luxury (εἰς τρυφὴν ἐξώκειλαν) they contracted friendship and alliance (φιλίαν καὶ συμμαχίαν) with the Lydians, and went forth with their long locks decked with golden ornaments (χρυσῷ κόσμῳ), as also Xenophanes says : ‘Useless luxury (ἁβροσύνας) they learnt from the Lydians, while they were still living without loathsome tyranny, and they used to walk to the place of assembly

Thuc. 1.6. Geddes (1987). 82 Reinhold (1970) 25–26. 83 Miller (1997). 84 On the meaning of purple in Roman society, see Bradley (2009) 189–211. 85 Brugnone (1992). 80 81

BRILLIANCE, MATERIALITY AND AGENCY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT GREECE 135 clad in robes all of purple (παναλουργέα φάρεα), no fewer than a thousand in all, with proud mien, delighting in their beautiful locks, drenched with the smell of ointments artfully prepared.’ 86

What Xenophanes strongly condemns in his poem is the fact that the citizens were going to the agora, that is to say the public place devoted to politics, dressed as if they were attending a banquet. Their perfume, the arrangement of their hair, and being dressed ‘entirely in purple’ (stressed by the use of the epithet panalourgea) shocked Xenophanes. Why? Because they were reminiscent of the habits and clothing of non-Greeks and also because they had the flavor of tyranny: the Lydians were ruled by a monarch, whereas the ideal of Greek cities was based on the freedom and the participation of each citizen in political life to a degree that depended on the regime. Indeed, when individuals were clad in purple and gold in Greek cities, it was often linked to a prominent political role. 87 In Crotona (southern Italy) after 510 BCE, the main magistrates of the city, the archontes, could be identified by their halourgis (purple dress), a golden crown and white shoes. 88 When Aristophanes, in his comedy The Knights (425 BCE), puts a character called Demos on the Athenian stage and wants to present him as a monarch, he portrays a man riding a golden chariot, clad in a purple robe adorned with gold (halourgida…katapaston) and having a golden crown. 89 The Athenian audience was supposed to laugh. Aristophanes had probably in mind the image of a famous aristocrat of this period, Alcibiades, who, according to Plutarch, used to go the agora dressed in purple clothes and had a luxurious way of life. 90 Plutarch compared the young man to a woman and condemned such an attitude as unsuitable for a male citizen. In fact, Alcibiades tried to use the brilliant attraction exerted by gold and purple in order to seduce the people and to become a leader in politics: he had understood that kharis was a means of establishing authority and exerting power in the Greek world. 91 However, the best example of a political use of purple and gold is that of Alexander the Great. We know that after Darius’ death, he partly adopted the Persian ceremonial. Gold and purple were present on the throne of the Great King, 92 as well as on his body since, according to Xenophon, the traditional dress of the monarch Ath., The Deipnosophists 12.526a (= Xenophanes, fr. 3 D.-K.). A few individuals wearing purple and gold were not engaged in politics: most of them were artists or philosophers. Athenaeus mentions for example a painter, Parrhasios of Ephesia, established in Athens, at the end of the fifth century, who used to wear a purple mantle and a golden crown. Ath. The Deipnosophists 12.543c ; Diog. Laert., 8.73. 88 Ath., The Deipnosophists 12.522a. 89 Ar. Eq. 967–968. 90 Plut. Vit. Alc. 16.1. 91 Azoulay (2004) 418–428. 92 Ath. The Deipnosophists 12.514c. 86 87

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was mostly purple. 93 Alexander decided to adopt only some parts of the royal Persian costume: he did not adopt the red trousers, nor the entirely purple (holoporphureon) kandys (sleeved mantle), but only the purple tunic having a white band in the middle, which he decided to wear with a purple mantle. 94 I would argue that it was during Alexander’s reign that the desire to regulate the wearing of purple clothes appeared, in order to create a hierarchy at the royal court. Athenaeus relates that during the conquest of the Persian Empire, Alexander asked the Greek cities of Asia Minor to provide porphura in order to dress his hetairoi / companions. 95 Diodorus specifies that the garments of Alexander’s companions were not entirely purple but had a purple border 96 – which strongly recalls the toga worn by senators in Rome. Alexander was later imitated by his successors, the Hellenistic kings. For example, Demetrios Poliorcetes, King of Macedonia, used to wear a sophisticated golden and purple headdress. His mantle was brilliant and had also gold woven into it, but the most amazing part of his luxurious attire was his shoes: they were boots with purple wool and golden patterns. 97 Athenaeus, however, tells that such a profusion of luxurious colors was judged inappropriate, excessive, and somehow artificial. 98 Why? Because the king did not possess the qualities that contributed to Alexander’s excellence and thus resembled the peacock of the fable. In this case, gold and purple were just fancy dress, a disguise concealing Demetrios’ vanity and lack of aristeia. As we have seen, in the Greek world, gold and purple were considered as the most brilliant and attractive colors. Both were credited with specific power that bestowed authority and majesty on the individuals who were entitled to wear them. For these reasons, gold and purple were the chromatic insignias chosen by kings, tyrants and aristocrats, who tried to distinguish themselves from the civic community. These individuals had reached prominent positions and were in a way closer to the divine world, since gold and purple remained, above all, the colors of the gods.

CONCLUSION

To summarize, gold and purple were two precious substances whose colors occupied a prominent position in the chromatic hierarchy established by the Greeks – a hierarchy valuing saturation and luminosity over hue. These two colors were thought to be a kind of ‘reservoir’ containing all other colors. The shimmering surface of golden objects or purple cloth were thought not only to reflect light but also to emit an ‘inner light’ by themselves, being thus a source of kharis, a radiance which Xen. Cyr. 8.3.13. Ath. The Deipnosophists 12.537e-f. The purple mantle may have been part of the traditional Macedonian royal costume. 95 Ath. The Deipnosophists 12.539f-540a. 96 Diod. Sic. Library 17.77. 97 Plut. Vit. Demetr. 41.4–5. 98 Ath. The Deipnosophists 12.535f. 93 94

BRILLIANCE, MATERIALITY AND AGENCY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT GREECE 137 served to maintain the communication with the gods and was also at the core of social relationships in the city. The seductive and appealing qualities of gold and purple account for the agency that both materials were supposed to exert upon viewers. So, in many cases, golden objects and purple fabric were not considered by the Greeks as mere adornment, as the fable of the peacock may have suggested, but they were thought as holding special powers which could be transferred to the individual who could display them on his own body. While gold and purple each had their own values and properties, the Greeks thought that their power grew significantly when they were joined together. 99 Their eternal radiance was the very image of the incommensurability and perfection of the Immortals – and of those who claimed to be their representatives or to have been chosen by the gods: kings and aristocrats. Nonetheless, the religious, social, and political significance attached to golden and purple-colors varied according to time and place. There were right and wrong ways of using these symbols of excellence, and this was precisely the difference between Greeks and barbarians, especially Persians. Indeed, the Greeks used to describe the latter as overwhelmed by hubris, excess, and unable to find the appropriate balance and measure in mixing the two colors. 100

Other materials were also often paired with them: coral, ivory, lapis lazuli, cinnabar; see Brecoulaki (2014). 100 On the association between poikilia and barbarians, see Grand-Clément (2012) 248– 259. 99

MEN’S COSMETICS IN PLATO AND XENOPHON VELVET YATES

Plato and Xenophon, as oligarchic sympathizers in the resurgent Athenian democracy of the 380s BCE, present a picture in their works of the leisured aristocrat as the only true citizen and patriot. Passages from the Gorgias and the Oeconomicus, referring to tanning makeup, reveal traces of an ideological beauty contest to crown ‘the True Citizen.’ This beauty contest pits the Craftsman, a pale, womanish creature, vs. the Gentleman, the manly product of the aristocratic gymnasium. The Craftsman relies on such props as tanning makeup and padded clothing to alter his appearance. The Gentleman, by contrast, stands forth naked and unadorned, his body the eloquent testimony of his supreme physical and mental aptitude for the rigors of citizenship. Before examining the Gorgias and Oeconomicus passages, I will first survey (in Part I) the ideology of tan vs. white skin in Greek culture up to the fourth century. Following Eaverly, I will argue that the ‘tan men, white women’ schema is visual shorthand for an ideology of gender roles. I will outline this schema in the visual arts and in the gynecological literature of the Hippocratics and Aristotle. Part II, a consideration of white women and white craftsmen in Aristophanes (Thesmophoriazousae, Ecclesiazousae), signals a shift in the ideology of tan vs. white, an attempt to reassign this ‘natural’ marker of gender to an equally ‘natural’ marker of class. With this shift, Aristophanes includes craftsmen in the group ‘female.’ Part III opens with a background description of Athens in the 380s, simmering with the resentments of oligarchs and democrats. Facing a revived democracy deeply suspicious of their loyalties, oligarchs must defend and redefine themselves. Plato and Xenophon utilize the tan vs. white schema to reassign gender and sex roles along class lines: the white Craftsman is demoted to ‘woman;’ elite women are promoted to ‘man-like.’ Part III concludes with a detailed examination of the passages from the Gorgias and the Oeconomicus referring to tanning makeup. Along with related passages from the Republic, they present an image of the Craftsman as white, sedentary, and effeminate, incapable of defending the state, needing a disguise to pass for a true citizen and man, his vacancy as ‘man’ filled by the aristocratic woman.

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PART I: TAN MEN, WHITE WOMEN − THE IDEOLOGY OF GENDER

The color schema of ‘tan men, pale women’ in Archaic black-figure vase painting has been well noted, recently by Eaverly (2013). The extreme contrast of stark white pigment for females versus dark reddish for males is highly artificial, speaking to the ‘antithesis between fine-skinned, fragile women and tougher and hardier men.’ 1 This antithesis was both a convention and an ideal. 2 Eaverly elaborates: the ‘added red for male flesh is a marker of ideal masculinity, not real sun exposure;’ ‘[w]omen’s lighter skin does not reflect an actual seclusion, but rather an ideological seclusion.’ 3 Thomas further contends the adjective ‘white’ (leukos) in literary descriptions of a woman’s appearance ‘indicates that the audience member should read about her, imagine her, and desire her.’ 4 To show how entrenched the man vs. woman polarity, symbolized by women’s white skin, became in Greek thought, let us briefly consider an example from the natural sciences. Dean-Jones notes that the Hippocratic gynecological treatises dramatically overestimate how much blood a woman loses during menstruation. One treatise puts this blood loss at a pint, ‘7–8 times what is considered normal today.’ 5 Aristotle agrees that women lose a lot of blood during menstruation, and states that this is the reason for women’s white skin. 6 In this way, menstrual blood loss serves not only as a sign of women’s cold, wet, spongy physical makeup, so diametrically opposed to men’s, but also as a ‘natural’ explanation of a cultural construct: women’s white skin. Women have white skin not because they stay indoors, not because they use white lead makeup, but because they literally bleed white due to menstruation. This false expectation that women are ‘naturally’ white, combined with the desirability of white skin, caused many women to resort to cosmetics 7 (most notoriously a white lead makeup), 8 which in turn led to accusations of deception. 9 Within the Greeks’ larger tendency to think in terms of binary opposites, the male-female contrast looms large in early literature and thought. Women’s white skin can signify a deeper, more ominous divide: women are not even the same speThomas (2002) 2. Ibid. 3 Eaverly (2013) 123, 125. 4 Thomas (2002) 2–3. 5 Hippoc. Mul. 6; Dean-Jones (1994) 89. 6 Arist. Gen an. 727a. 7 ‘This feminine ideal − this glorification of whiteness − must have had tremendous influence on actual women. Being aware that their skin was supposed to be (unnaturally) white “by nature” and also that lives of ordinary exertion would take them further from this unrealistic goal, these women might naturally have felt rather desperate.’ Thomas (2002) 10. 8 Keuls says ‘a pale complexion was considered a mark of class, respectability, and beauty; as a make-up foundation women used white lead, which must have given them a rather ghastly appearance.’ Keuls (1984) 231. 9 Thomas (2002) 11. 1 2

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cies as men, according to Hesiod’s story of Pandora. Eaverly describes the pervasiveness of this distinction: The ubiquity of male/female color differentiation in Attic black figure suggests that this construct was widely accepted in Athenian society. Attic black-figure vases consistently mark women as different regardless of the setting or whether the women are mortal or divine. White (i.e. pale) skin provides the clearest signal. The message is that women are fundamentally different from men, not only in their respective spheres of activity but also in their very nature, an alien race living in the midst of men. 10

Priorities change, however, with the transition to democracy in 509/8 BCE, as revealed in the new form of red-figure painting (first developed in Athens around 530). Women do not receive any more freedom − on the contrary, the seclusion ideal becomes even more pronounced in fifth-century rhetoric. 11 Yet the ‘status issues of males vis a vis one another may have been the dominant polarity expressed in vase painting rather than the previous male/female dichotomy.’ 12 These status issues are based on the distinction between ‘the wealthy, leisured people and the people who have to work for a living.’ 13 In this paper, the terms eleutheroi (‘free’) and aneleutheroi (‘unfree’) 14 will mainly be used for these two groups, with occasional reliance on other common but less exact terms. 15 The Gentleman (kalos k’agathos) and Craftsman (banausos) are to be considered representative stereotypes of the eleutheros and aneleutheros respectively. Some Pioneer Group craftsmen of this time period (510–490) depict themselves at symposia, ‘the traditional preserve of aristocrats.’ 16 Sutton argues that ‘[r]ecently empowered social groups that had been marginalized in the old order, including craftsmen and traders, challenged aristocratic values as the polis moved toward the egalitarian ideals of the Classical democracy.’ 17 Over a century later, when the Athenian democracy rises from the ashes of the Thirty Tyrants disaster, Eaverly (2013) 130. Ibid. 133. 12 Ibid. 146. 13 Strauss (1986) 42. 14 I am using Aristotle’s shorthand here of the eleutheros (‘free’, i.e., leisured) vs. the aneleutheros (‘unfree,’ i.e., works for a living). These terms speak to the primary distinction of leisure vs. work, though still heavily loaded with ideological freight by Aristotle, Plato, et al. Compare Markle’s observation: ‘[W]hen the sources use the Greek words which we translate as “poor,” they refer to people who had little or no leisure, that is to those who had to work full time to support themselves and their dependants.’ Markle (1985) 266. 15 Imprecise terms such as ‘elite,’ ‘oligarchs,’ etc. mirror the imprecision of terms used by the Greeks themselves. See Strauss (1986) 42 and Ober (1998) 31 for further discussions of these terms. 16 Eaverly (2013) 145. 17 Sutton (2000) 200. 10 11

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this same eleutheroi vs. aneleutheroi polarity resurfaces. Plato and Xenophon push the aneleutheroi away from the men’s symposium in the andron and relegate them to the women’s quarters. 18 We will first set the stage with Aristophanes, whose response is superficially the opposite: his women push out of the house and into public spaces, joining up with craftsmen as ‘partners in crime,’ in Ecclesiazusae and Thesmophoriazusae.

PART II: ARISTOPHANES

Aristophanes makes a joke of white skin being an essential marker of women in his Ecclesiazusae, produced around 391. The women, prior to infiltrating the Assembly in disguise, attempt to tan their skin: ‘whenever my husband went off to the Agora, I oiled myself all over and stood in the sun all day to get a tan’. 19 These sun-tanning attempts have no effect, 20 however, as one male citizen remarks: seeing them, we thought they all looked like shoemakers (σκυτοτόμοις); it really was extraordinary how full of white faces (λευκοπληθὴς) the Assembly was to look at. 21

Why shoemakers? Ober sees a possible ‘concern with the questionable masculinity of ‘banausic’ types who do not tend the land, but must work for others;’ 22 in other words, a concern with aneleutheroi, represented by the banausos. Banausoi are like women in being clever, white-skinned, indoor workers. Aristophanes associates the two at the very opening of Ecclesiazusae, in Praxagora’s ode to a lamp: O eye most radiant of the wheel-borne lamp,

Superb invention (ἐξηυρημένον) of clever men (εὐστόχοισιν)…

Born on a wheel, by power of potter’s (κεραμικῆς) arm… 23

The potter, working indoors out of the sunlight, has fashioned an artificial sun so that women can pursue illicit activities at night, out of the sunlight. His clever invention aids the women’s nocturnal schemes for indulging in sex, food, and wine. 24 Like As mentioned in Part II below, the distinction between men’s and women’s quarters was more ideological than physical. See Jameson (1990) 187. 19 Ar. Eccl. 62–64. 20 Ober (1998) 134 misses this point in claiming that Aristophanes has ‘attacked the seemingly unassailable fortress of physical difference’ by implying that ‘when women allow nature to take its course, when they … no longer avoid the sun, they become brown.’ He relents later, however: ‘evidently the suntanning regimen was not completely successful.’ Ober (1998) 142. 21 Ar. Eccl. (385–387); Sommerstein (1998). 22 Ober (1998) 142 n. 44. 23 Ar. Eccl. 1–2, 4. 24 Ibid. 7–15. 18

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the shoemakers of lines 385–387, the potter as an indoor worker is presumably marked by the white skin of women. A group of clever scheming women preoccupied with satisfying their appetites had also appeared in Thesmophoriazusae (first produced in 411, the same year as the short-lived oligarchic coup of The Four Hundred). This group is closely associated with a prominent white-skinned craftsman, in the person of Agathon. The tragic poet is depicted as the perfect synthesis of woman and banausos: white, smoothfaced, effeminate, clever. Agathon’s delicate good looks feature white skin (λευκός), represented on stage by a white mask. 25 He is described as a craftsman at work: [Agathon is about] to lay the stocks on which to commence a play. He is bending new verbal timbers into shape,

now gluing songs together, now fashioning them on the lathe, and coining ideas and creating metaphors and melting wax and rounding out and casting in a mould –

INLAW: Αnd sucking cocks (λαικάζει). 26

The hodge-podge of crafting metaphors, jumbled together from several distinct crafts, is rudely interrupted by a remark stressing Agathon’s sexual passivity (cf. κατάπυγον, εὐρύπρωκτος). 27 White skin and sexual desirability go together, as in the case of women (see Part I). We will see that Agathon as feminized craftsman foreshadows Xenophon’s devastating description of banausoi in the Oeconomicus, but who is Aristophanes’ target here? That this caricature is merely a sop to the lowbrow audience of aneleutheroi in the public, state-sponsored context of comedy is suggested by comparing Plato’s Symposium. Plato makes Aristophanes a principal guest at the private, exclusive symposium which is Agathon’s victory celebration, the very same Agathon lambasted in Thesmophoriazusae. Aristophanes amiably partakes in feast and logoi with both Agathon and another notorious target of his comedy, Socrates. Like the Pioneer Group painters who had inserted themselves into the aristocratic symposium, Plato inserts Aristophanes into this setting to claim him as One of Us. Vase paintings of the aristocratic symposium ‘show an an élite ideal, a version of an important archaic aristocratic institution.’ 28 Archaeology also confirms that literature’s division of the andron from the rest of the house, as well as the aristocratic symposium supposedly held within it, were based more on ideology than reality. 29 Ar. Thesm. 191; Stehle (2002) 378. Ar. Thesm. 52–7; Sommerstein (1994). 27 Ar. Thesm. 200. 28 Jameson (1990) 190. 29 Ibid. 187. 25 26

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Given that many craftsmen worked at home, 30 the aristocratic separation of the andron from the rest of the house takes on additional symbolism. Plato ushers Aristophanes into the andron, but banishes the flute-girl out of it, to the ‘women’s quarters’ (i.e., the rest of the house), where the average craftsman also worked. 31 As Ober observes, ‘[a]ny doubt about whether Aristophanes belongs in ‘the company of Athenian critics’ should be put to rest by his prominent literary presence in Plato’s Symposium.’ 32 Within the ‘established public genre’ 33 of Athenian comedy, Aristophanes had to fulfill the expectations of the democratic state sponsoring his work. But whatever personal attacks Aristophanes may dream up in his comedies to please the aneleutheroi, Plato implies his real sympathies lay with the eleutheroi. 34 Not only does Aristophanes share a blighted picture of ‘feminocracy’ with Aristotle (as discussed below), but his white-skinned, feminized craftsmen also prefigure the Craftsman of Plato’s Gorgias and Xenophon’s Oeconomicus. These passages from Ecclesiazusae and Thesmophoriazusae invite the following question − is the joke on women, or on craftsmen? The devious schemes of women to obtain food, wine, and sex are always good for a laugh, but what is the larger point? And if city-dwelling craftsmen really do have a disproportionately large political presence after the Peloponnesian War (to be discussed further in Part III.A below), an Assembly full of shoemakers (Eccl. 385–387) would make a weak and obvious punchline. The underlying joke is that the ‘real’ Assembly, supposedly full of shoemakers, 35 wants the same thing as the ‘fantasy’ Assembly full of women: they both want personal gratification. 36 Praxagora invokes a common trope of Assembly speakers in her practice speech, accusing her fellow women of caring ‘too little for the state, too much for your private affairs.’ 37 Oligarchs attacked the ‘self-serving’ nature of democratic Assemblies voting themselves pay for attendance (see part III.A below). Aristophanes here complains about the Assembly crowds drawn by the pay of 3 obols. 38 In the feminocracy of Ecclesiazusae, old hags force young men to have sex with them, warping political process for the sake of personal gratification, and illustrating Ibid. 185. Pl. Symp. 176e. 32 Ober (1998) 155. 33 Ibid. 124. 34 ‘Recent scholarship on the culture of the symposium has emphasized the private drinking party as constructing an alternative to the public space of the polis.’ Ober (1998) 46. 35 See III.A below on the composition of the Assembly after the Peloponnesian War. 36 Ober (1998) 26–27 notes that ‘the focus on democracy as the self-interested rule of the “uncultured” lower classes’ is a central argument for critics of democracy from the ‘Old Oligarch’ to Aristotle. 37 Ar. Eccl. 205–207, noted by Ober (1998) 138. 38 Ar. Eccl. 300–303, 308–310, noted by Markle (1985) 274–275. 30 31

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the perils of enforced equality. 39 In particular, this farcical scene may speak to the elite fear of forced property equalization: ‘[w]ith the elimination by legal fiat of the elite of wealth, [Aristophanes] hints, the Athenians might be victimized by a new (and maybe worse) elite of the clever and unscrupulous.’ 40 ‘Clever and unscrupulous’ precisely describe Aristophanes’ suffragettes, as well as their partners in crime, craftsmen. In the closest historical example of women controlling a city, the ‘rule’ of Spartan women in the absence of their warrior husbands, Aristotle blames the women’s self-indulgence (ἀκολασία) for Sparta’s decline in power and prestige. 41 Aristotle charges that women favor the worst form of democracy because ‘they have a good time’, 42 echoing Praxagora’s plans ‘for providing citizens with an equal share of bodily pleasures.’ 43 Like the Ecclesiazusae’s Assembly of shoemakers/women, this worst form of democracy of Aristotle’s Politics is dominated by city-dwelling workers, possibly reflecting the actual postwar situation in Athens (see Part III.A). Aristophanes’ feminocracy promotes women at the expense of men. 44 Yet this absurdist fantasy does not poke at the ‘natural’ order whereby men rule over women, pace Ober; 45 rather it reasserts this order. Aristophanes merely redraws the boundary line between the two groups, so that craftsmen fall on the side of ‘women,’ making the ‘real’ Assembly of craftsmen just as absurd as the ‘fantasy’ Assembly of women. Aristophanes thereby asserts that the rule of elites over craftsmen is just as much a part of the natural order as is the rule of men over women. Plato and Xenophon also resort to this tactic of categorizing banausoi as women, described in more detail below.

144.

39

‘Legally enforced democratic equality has trumped personal liberty.’ Ober (1998)

Ibid. 149. Arist. Pol. 2.1269b. 42 Ibid. 5.1313b. 43 De Luca (2004) 74. 44 Ober (1998) 139–140 notes that women are described as andreiotatai, men are feminized; men are no longer their own kurios in financial affairs over one medimnos of goods (Eccl. 1024–5). 45 Ober says: ‘When deeply cherished assumptions about nature collide with democratic political culture, something has got to give, and it is up to the male citizens to decide whether they will acknowledge limits on their political power to enact social realities, or admit that their social order, and the political order that was built upon it, was not as natural as they sometimes liked to pretend.’ Ober (1998) 147. 40 41

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PART III: TAN GENTLEMEN, WHITE CRAFTSMEN − THE IDEOLOGY OF CLASS 46 A. Athens after the Peloponnesian War Before we turn to examine the Craftsman in Plato and Xenophon, let us consider the atmosphere of Athens following the Peloponnesian War, when these authors are writing. Athens has a democracy again, following the brief but rancorous civil war (403) which deposed the Thirty’s reign of terror. As Strauss puts it, ‘the civil war had pitted the interests of a few rich and aristocratic Athenians against those of nearly everyone else. Memories of the conflict, therefore, did nothing for social peace.’ 47 Fearing interference from Sparta, however, the democrats declared an amnesty. And when war broke out again with Sparta (the Corinthian War), any vengeful action was subsumed again in the name of unity against the enemy. Yet tensions and hatred continued to simmer for decades between the supporters of oligarchy (often identified with former members of the Three Thousand) and the supporters of democracy. These tensions frequently erupted in the form of trials; 48 Socrates’ trial in 399 BCE was considered an attack by the democratic politician Anytus, who had inherited a fortune in tanning and shoemaking, then lost most of it under the Thirty, against a potent symbol of the oligarchy. 49 Socrates had counted among his students Critias, the leader of the Thirty, and Alcibiades, as well as Critias’ cousin Plato, and the Spartan sympathizer and mercenary Xenophon. 50 Athens rebuilt the Long Walls and the Piraeus fortifications, and threatened to re-establish a naval empire. This ambition was dampened by the loss of the Corinthian War (395–386), during which the oligarchs’ loyalties came under renewed sus-

While ‘class warfare’ is a gross simplification of the actual struggles of small, informal factions in postwar Athenian politics, class ideology was increasingly important in this time period, and frequently appealed to by these factions. See Strauss (1986) ch. 1 for further discussion. 47 Ibid. 5. 48 Strauss says ‘over 20 generals, trierarchs, magistrates, ambassadors and orators are known to have stood trial in Athens between 403 and 386; more than half are known to have been convicted, and five to have been executed.’ Ibid. 172–173. 49 Ibid. 3, 94. 50 Strauss says ‘Openly opposed to both the lot and to popular election, Socrates openly opposed democracy in theory if not in practice. As far as his record under the Thirty goes, Plato takes pains to point out that Socrates refused to dirty his hands by arresting the general Leon on the Thirty’s orders. What Plato does not say is that Socrates made no effort to warn or help Leon; in fact, Socrates’ very presence in the asty under the Thirty is indicative.’ Ibid. 95. 46

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picion. 51 Yet the democracy survived, albeit on a much more modest scale than the Periclean glory days, and oligarchs had to adjust to this reality. The Assembly in the renewed democracy was likely dominated to a disproportionate degree by urban craftsmen. Many of the poorest Athenians had perished in the war: ‘[b]y 405, a good part of the political power of the thetic class was at the bottom of the Aegean. It is small wonder then that hoi polloi were no more assertive after the restoration of democracy in 403.’ 52 That left farmers, merchants, and craftsmen 53 to represent the interests of the aneleutheroi. The fourth century saw the introduction of ecclesiastic pay, 54 providing the aneleutheroi with the leisure for political participation. Yet urban craftsmen may still have dominated, conveniently living in the city and having the ability to ‘shut up shop when they wished to or had to.’ 55 Balme concludes: ‘If the merchants and the retailers were few and the farmers were often unable to attend the Assembly, it seems to follow that often the banausoi may have formed a majority of the Assembly.’ 56 The institution of and steady increase in ecclesiastic pay in the fourth century 57 was infuriating to oligarchs, whose indignation is a measure of its success. 58 Aristotle complains that under extreme democracy ‘even the poor (τοὺς ἀπόρους) are able to have leisure by receiving pay (μισθός).’ 59 Ecclesiastic pay allowed all workers to participate, maximizing Pericles’ boast that ‘[w]e are the only people who consider the man who takes no part in politics not as the one who minds his own business but as useless.’ 60 In direct contrast to this ideal of democratic participation, Plato considers Particularly after the Spartan victory at the Nemea River (394), ‘the greatest battle the Greeks fought among themselves’, in which the Athenian cavalry ‘did nothing to prevent the Spartans from outflanking the Athenians.’ Ibid. 122, 123. 52 Ibid. 81. 53 This is indeed the composition of the Assembly, according to Plato and Xenophon (Mem. 3.7.6). Markle (1985) 275 also notes that ‘[t]he kinds of citizens who predominated in the Athenian assembly were craftsmen, traders, and farmers, and these persons required some compensation for loss of earnings when they took time off from their occupations to attend the assembly.’ 54 Ibid. 273. 55 Balme (1984) 150–151. 56 Ibid. 147. Strauss (1986) 47 says: ‘manufacturers and artisans were well represented in both the political elite and political community, probably in greater proportion than their numbers in society as a whole, thanks to their concentration in the city.’ 57 Markle says: ‘Assembly pay was introduced in the 390s at the low rate of one obol per meeting, but as early as 393 BC it had risen to three obols … By the 320s, however, assembly pay had risen to one drachma for ordinary assemblies and one and a half drachmas for principal assemblies.’ Markle (1985) 274. 58 Markle says: ‘The effectiveness of pay for public service is indicated by the strong oligarchic opposition to the practice.’ Ibid. 271. 59 Arist. Pol. 4.1293a3–7; Markle (1985) 273. 60 Thuc. 2.40; Balme (1984) 150. 51

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the ἀπράγμονες, ‘those who do nothing,’ as ‘the best of a bad bunch,’ 61 namely the αὐτουργοί (‘all who work for themselves’). 62 To an elite Athenian after the Peloponnesian War, it probably seemed that the Assembly was as dominated by craftsmen as much as the city itself was dominated by women. 63 Scholars acknowledge that there was a loose association of postwar critics of Athenian democracy. As Ober describes it: The Athenian critical community … was a relatively small, informal, and elite body, defined in large part by writing and reading. Its members shared similar intellectual concerns, employed a specialized terminological and conceptual vocabulary to discuss a common set of problems, and built upon one another’s literary endeavors in seeking solutions … many Athenian social critics knew one another: some were masters and students, others will have entertained one another. 64

We have seen some of this community’s specialized vocabulary in an/eleutheros and banausos − tools in their ideological warfare with democracy. The particular target of this warfare, as we have noted, was the banausos, the craftsman. Balme makes this general observation about Aristotle’s attack: ‘Aristotle’s argument, which leads to the condemnation of all forms of manual labour as banausic, harmful to body and soul, is the clearest and most logical statement of a view which seems to have been commonly held by the intelligentsia of the late fifth- and fourth-century Athens.’ 65 The ‘intelligentsia’ Balme refers to are almost exclusively followers of Socrates (or Plato); the term ‘Socratic Circle,’ used by de Sainte Croix, 66 refers to Plato, Xenophon, and Aristotle in this paper. The views of the Socratic Circle about banausic labor directly contrast with the democratic values of Pericles’ Funeral Speech: ‘And to admit poverty is not disgraceful to anyone, but not to try to escape it by working is disgraceful.’ 67 Socrates is admired by his aristocratic followers precisely because he is poor and refuses to work (at his craft of stonecutting), the very situation Pericles claims is ‘disgraceful.’ The Socratic disdain for banausic work was, of course, not widespread in democratic Athens. Balme concludes that ‘the vast majority of Athenians supported Pl. Resp. 8.565a; Balme (1984) 147. Balme (ibid.) says: ‘The autourgoi here includes both peasants and craftsmen.’ 63 Ober notes ‘the unusual demographic fact that there were a great many more mature Athenian women than men alive in the 390s as a result of extremely high casualties in the naval campaigns of 410–404.’ Ober (1998) 128. 64 Ibid. 45. 65 Balme (1994) 140–141. 66 ‘The notion that manual work, because it “weakens the body” (as Greek gentlemen evidently supposed), therefore weakens the mind, may have been a commonplace of the Socratic Circle: it is very clearly expressed in Xenophon, Oec. IV.2, and there is no reason to think it was invented by Plato.’ De Sainte Croix (1989) 412. 67 Thuc. 2.40; Balme (1984) 148. 61 62

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themselves by the labour of their own hands, that work was considered both virtuous and necessary, and that the attitude of contempt for banausic crafts and manual labour was limited in Athens to a few intellectuals who are prominent in our tradition.’ 68 After the Peloponnesian War, the oligarchs themselves were now ‘merely rich’ instead of ‘super rich,’ 69 more on a par with political rivals who had become wealthy through manufacturing or trade. These rivals also threatened to include more than just native Athenians − Thrasybulus, who led the band of exiles that restored democracy and killed Critias, proposed to grant citizenship to over a thousand metics and slaves, many of them craftsmen, who had aided the democratic cause. 70 Yet outside the economic stratum of the ‘merely rich,’ the Peloponnesian War had rendered many in the middle class destitute, while decimating the lowest property class, the thetes. This lack of external threat sharpened the internal struggle of the comfortably rich. Thrasybulus himself had been offered Theramenes’ seat on the Thirty, 71 before leading the force which ousted them and restored democracy. Tainted by the foul memories of the Thirty, oligarchs had to reinvent themselves, and find new ways to justify oligarchy. 72 Wealth alone could no longer signify virtue; their ideology now incorporates a prominent appeal to the ‘natural’ order of gender hierarchy, pitting manly eleutheroi against womanly aneleutheroi, Gentleman against Craftsman. This attempt to establish a ‘natural’ hierarchy counters democracy’s tendency, in the view of oligarchs, ‘to blur the distinction between nature and political culture, thereby blinding elites to their own best interests and luring them into immorality.’ 73 So, as with the founding of democracy in 509/8 BCE, the re-establishment of democracy starting in 403 leads to an intense struggle of ‘males vis a vis one another.’ This struggle continues to at least 382, 74 unabated in its bitterness. The oligarchic sympathizers Plato and Xenophon write the Gorgias and Oeconomicus in the Ibid. 150. Strauss (1986) 171–172, referring to the widening gulf between have and have-not, observes that ‘[i]t was one thing to go from super-rich to merely rich, quite another to go from middle class to destitute.’ 70 Ibid. 92. He was not successful, but an inscription has been found (IG 2–10), whose interpretation is controversial, which seems to refer to this measure. It lists names of people receiving some sort of special status (citizenship?), along with their occupations, which include cook, carpenter, muleteer, fuller, and bread-seller. Krentz (1986). 71 Strauss (1986) 93. 72 As Ober observes about the ‘Old Oligarch:’ ‘How to articulate an alternate politics that the reader could be persuaded to prefer and (perhaps) actively to support? The problem was, moreover, overwhelmingly more difficult after the ghastly regime of the Thirty had thoroughly discredited traditional conceptions of oligarchy as the rule of the naturally virtuous few.’ Ober (1998) 41. 73 Ibid. (1998) 43. 74 Strauss (1986) 57. 68 69

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380’s, but the dramatic dates of their dialogues are notoriously imprecise. 75 One constraint for a Socratic dialogue is of course that it must take place before 399, but Plato and Xenophon have other reasons for this timeframe as well. They select the misty timeframe of ‘Before the Fall’ − the Periclean democracy of Athens during the Peloponnesian War, mighty but doomed. This timeframe allows them to criticize Periclean democracy at its zenith, and even more so its pale resurrection in the 380’s, especially as its restorer, Thrasybulus, was considered an adherent of Pericles. 76 If they criticize the supposed excesses, which brought the mighty Athenian empire crashing down, then surely those excesses are even more dangerous in the ‘lame and stitched up Athens of Lysias and Xenophon.’ 77 Plato and Xenophon depict the ideological struggle of Gentleman vs. Craftsman; in both timelines, the real and the literary, the fate of Athens hangs in the balance. B. Gentleman vs. Craftsman in Plato’s Gorgias Dodds gives the composition of Plato’s Gorgias as around 387–385; the dramatic date has indicators ranging from 429 to 405. 78 Ober also notes that ‘Plato has muddled the chronology by setting up what appear to be contradictory pointers,’ concluding that ‘the scene is a generic post-Periclean Athens.’ 79 In this dialogue, almost uniquely, Plato tells us ‘directly what he thought of the institutions and achievements of his native city.’ 80 And Plato did not think much of Periclean democracy, to say the least: what he attacks in the Gorgias is the whole way of life of a society which measures its ‘power’ by the number of ships in its harbours and of dollars in its treasury, its ‘well-being’ by the standard of living of its citizens. Such a society, he holds, was Periclean Athens, a society whose basically corrupt principles led to the corruption of all its institutions, musical and dramatic as well as political and social. 81

The demos, like Aristophanes’ feminocrats, are full of illicit desires, which Pericles was all too willing to gratify: ‘The former leaders whom ‘they’ say made the polis great, actually were mere flatterers who made it into nothing but a swollen tumor, filled with what the demos desired: the external symbols of power (harbors, walls, For example, Dodds (1959) 18: ‘We must conclude either that Plato did not care how his readers situated his fictions in time or, with Gercke and Cornford, that he deliberately lifted the present fiction ‘out of the historical sphere of actual circumstances and the course of party politics at Athens.’ 76 Thrasybulus had been a follower of Pericles, and his moderate democratic position is often compared to that of Pericles, e.g. Strauss (1986) 91, 94. 77 Ibid. 4. 78 Dodds (1959) 18, 24. 79 Ober (1998) 191, 192. 80 Dodds (1959) 32. 81 Ibid. 33. 75

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shipsheds, tribute).’ 82 Dodds notes the relevance of this attack for Plato’s own time period: By the time the restored democracy had celebrated its tenth birthday sentimental regrets were beginning to translate themselves in many Athenian minds into positive ambitions. Athens was on her feet again economically; the Long Walls had been rebuilt, and Conon, like a second Themistocles, had created a new Athenian navy. Might one not live to see the Periclean ἀρχή restored? And in the meantime, should not the structure of the Periclean Welfare State be completed by making it financially possible for every Athenian to attend the Assembly? 83

In a criticism surely meant to apply to this postwar institution of ecclesiastic pay, Socrates blasts Pericles’ own institution of jury pay: 84 he ‘hears’ that ‘Pericles made the Athenians idle (ἀργούς) and cowardly (δείλους), chatterers (λάλους) and moneygrubbers (φιλαργύρους), since he was the first to institute wages for them.’ 85 Rhetoric, the craft which Gorgias seeks to glorify and which Socrates challenges him to define, is the ultimate weapon in a decidedly democratic arena: What is there greater than the word which persuades the judges in the courts, or the senators in the council, or the citizens in the assembly, or at any other political meeting? If you have the power of uttering this word, you will have the physician your slave, and the trainer your slave, and the money-maker of whom you talk will be found to gather treasures, not for himself, but for you who are able to speak and to persuade the multitude. 86

This panegyric of democratic logos contrasts sharply with Socrates’ own attitude: ‘The majority I disregard. And I do know how to call for a vote from one man, but I don’t even discuss things with the majority.’ 87 Socrates emphasizes the ‘commonness’ of rhetoric by comparing it to such crafts as shoemaking. 88 When Chaerephon rephrases these comparisons, he ‘tactfully substitutes more polite professions.’ 89 Socrates continues in this vein until Callicles finally bursts out: ‘By the gods! You simply don’t let up on your continual talk of shoemakers and cleaners, cooks and doctors, as if our discussion were about them!’ 90 Socrates eventually reveals his own distaste, declaring that occupations such as shopkeeper, shoemaker, and tanner are aneleutherous, as well as ‘slavish (δουλοπρέπεις) and servient (διακονίκας).’ 91 Ober (1998) 209. Dodds (1959) 32. 84 Pl. Grg. 515e. 85 Markle (1985) 265 n. 1 dates this to the 450s. 86 Pl. Grg. 452e; translations of Gorgias are by Zeyl (1997). 87 Pl. Grg. 474a. 88 Ibid. 447d. 89 Ibid. 448bc; Dodds (1959) 191. 90 Pl. Grg. 491a. 91 Ibid. 518a. 82 83

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But rhetoric does not receive even the dignity afforded to shoemaking − it is not a craft at all, but a ‘knack’ (ἐμπειρία), 92 or even worse, a type of flattery (κολακεία). 93 As Dodds notes, κολακεία ‘is conventionally translated ‘flattery,’ but the Greek term applies to a wider range of actions and also carries a more emphatic implication of moral baseness.’ 94 Rhetoric is nothing but an ignoble (αἴσχρον) counterfeit (εἴδωλον) of a part of politics. 95 Likewise, its adepts are nothing but poor impersonators of those who should truly be involved in politics. They are described most clearly in Socrates’ denouncement of another type of κολακεία, Cosmetics, the poor counterfeit of Gymnastics, though commentators have missed this reference: τῇ δὲ γυμναστικῇ … τοῦτον ἡ κομμωτική, ⟨ᾗ⟩ κακοῦργός τε καὶ ἀπατηλὴ καὶ ἀγεννὴς καὶ ἀνελεύθερος, σχήμασιν καὶ χρώμασιν καὶ λειότητι καὶ ἐσθῆσιν ἀπατῶσα, ὥστε ποιεῖν ἀλλότριον κάλλος ἐφελκομένους τοῦ οἰκείου τοῦ διὰ τῆς γυμναστικῆς ἀμελεῖν.

Cosmetics is the [flattery] that wears [the mask] of gymnastics … an evil, deceptive, unfree, and low-born thing, one that perpetrates deception by means of shaping and coloring, smoothing out and dressing up, so as to make men assume an alien beauty and neglect their own, which comes through gymnastics. 96

In spite of the masculine participle ἐφελκομένους (underlined in the Greek text above), 97 and the reference to the decidedly male pastime of gymnastics, ‘cosmetics’ has generally been assumed to apply to women. Dodds’ sly comments indicate this: σχήμασιν refers to stays, padding, etc. (cf. Alexis fr. 98 Kock); χρώμασιν to makeup; λειότητι probably to the use of depilatories … Theiler objects that clothes do not alter the appearance of the body itself. But it is doubtful if many women would agree with him, and in fact κομμωτική seems to have covered the devices of the modiste as well as those of the beauty-specialist. 98

Cosmetics is described with the heavily class-conscious term ἀγεννὴς (‘low-born’). It is also aneleutheros, like the craft occupations at Grg. 518a. The ‘smoothing’ (λειότητι), if it does refer to hair removal, would be facial shaving. Adult men who shaved, pretending to be younger, were often derided as effeminate. 99 The picture is of an Ibid. 462c. Ibid. 463b. 94 Dodds (1959) 225. 95 Pl. Grg. 463d. 96 Ibid. 465b2–6. Here and in other passages I slightly adapt the translation to render key terms like ἀνελεύθερος and ἀγεννὴς more literally. 97 Jowett (1871) does specify ‘men’ in his translation of the Gorgias on the Internet Classics Archive, while Zeyl (1997) 809 goes for the more ambiguous ‘people.’ 98 Dodds (1959) 230. 99 Most infamously, Agathon (Ar. Thesm. 191: ἐξυρημένος). 92 93

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aneleutheros, likely a banausos, swathed in layers of deception, vainly emulating the true naked beauty of gymnastics, and succeeding only in looking even more womanly. Like the women who fall short of ideal whiteness, the banausos attempts ‘to disguise nature’s failure with cosmetics.’ 100 Gymnastics, as an idealized aristocratic institution pivoting on the concept of ‘naked’ (γυμνός), is closely associated with military preparedness, and hence with eleutheroi as the only true citizens. The most explicit examples come from Aristotle’s Politics, e.g. the declaration that the Spartans are inferior now ‘both in war and gymnastic exercises (τοῖς γυμνικοῖς).’ 101 Aristotle also depicts oligarchies as recognizing the class-defining power of gymnastics: ‘no penalty is inflicted on the poor for nonattendance at the gymnasium … whereas the rich are liable to a fine, and therefore they take care to attend.’ 102 Gymnastics as performance art reaches its zenith in Aristotle’s best state, where the older citizens practice gymnastics in the ‘Free Agora’ (eleuthera agora) from which non-citizens (including craftsmen) are barred. 103 This agora, devoted to ‘the life of leisure,’ is kept separate from the agora proper, ‘intended for the necessities of trade.’ 104 Before Aristotle, Xenophon had presented a remarkably similar picture of the eleuthera agora in his idealized Persia, suggesting this was a trope among the Socratic Circle. The agoraioi, ironically enough, are barred from the Free Agora, ‘in order that their tumult may not intrude upon the orderly life of the educated (ὡς μὴ μιγνύνται ἡ τύρβη τῇ τῶν πεπαιδευμένων εὐκοσμίᾳ).’ 105 Returning to the details of the Gorgias passage: what is the intended effect of the χρώμασιν used? If the Craftsman is imagined as white-skinned, but wearing ‘the mask’ of gymnastics, the colors must be a sort of tanning makeup. He is an actor, complete with costume and padding, hiding behind the tan ‘mask of gymnastics.’ A telling comparison is Xenophon’s description of the ‘Median garb’ and makeup adopted by Cyrus the Great, which concealed defects and made ‘the wearer look very tall and handsome (καλλίστους καὶ μεγίστους).’ 106 The wearer ‘puts it on’ (ἐνδύεσθαι), the same verb used of Cosmetics putting on the mask of Gymnastics in Plato. Xenophon’s description: For they have shoes of such a form that without being detected the wearer can easily put something into the soles so as to make him look taller than he is. He encouraged also the fashion of pencilling the eyes (ὑποχρίεσθαι δὲ τοὺς

Thomas (2002) 11. Arist. Pol. 8.1338b. Other examples: Gymnastics supplies manliness (ἀνδρείαν) at 8.1337b; the Cretans give slaves the same institutions as free men, but forbid gymnastics and the possession of arms at 2.1264a. Gymnastics is an essential component of the education of young ἐλεύθεροι in the best state, an idealized oligarchy (8.1337b–8.1338b). 102 Ibid. 4.1297a. 103 Ibid. 7.1331a–b. 104 Ibid. 7.1331b. 105 Cyr. 1.2.3. 106 Ibid. 8.1.40. 100 101

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In Xenophon’s own time, however, these enhancements symbolize effeminacy and decadence: they are much more effeminate (θρυπτικώτεροι) 109 now than they were in Cyrus’ day. For at that time they still adhered to the old discipline and the old abstinence that they received from the Persians, but adopted the Median garb and Median luxury (ἁβρότητι); now, on the contrary, they are allowing the rigour of the Persians to die out, while they keep up the effeminacy (μαλακίαν) of the Medes. 110

Things have gotten so bad that beauticians are even made into knights: ‘beautydoctors who pencil their eyes and rouge their cheeks for them and otherwise beautify them (τοὺς κοσμήτας, οἳ ὑποχρίουσί τε καὶ ἐντρίβουσιν αὐτοὺς καὶ τἆλλα ῥυθμίζουσι); these are the sort that they make into knights to serve for pay for them. 111 Predictably, such recruits ‘are of no use in war’. 112 Like Cosmetics itself ‘putting on the mask’ of aristocratic Gymnastics, these cosmeticians infiltrate the ranks of cavalrymen (a group in Athens notorious for their support of oligarchy). But the charade is revealed, in the nakedness of the gymnasium, and in the crucible of war. Xenophon’s Socrates illustrates with an example perhaps referring to Pericles’ strategy of retreating within the city walls during the Peloponnesian War: [the clearest proof of craftsmen’s corrupted bodies and minds would be] during an enemy attack against the land, if the farmers were to be separated from the craftsmen and asked whether they preferred to defend the land or to retreat from the open country to guard the city walls. We thought that in such a situation those who are occupied with the land would vote to defend it, but the craftsmen would vote not to fight but to remain sitting down, as they have been trained to do, and to avoid exertion and danger (τοὺς δὲ τεχνίτας μὴ μάχεσθαι, ἀλλ’ ὅπερ πεπαίδευνται καθῆσθαι μήτε πονοῦντας μήτε κινδυνεύοντας). 113

Allison Glazebrook (2009) 236 suggests that for Greek women, eye makeup was confined to prostitutes, though Ischomachus uses it as part of his ‘farcical makeup’, and it features in these descriptions of Persian male makeup. 108 Cyr. 8.1.41; translation of Cyropaedia by Miller (1914). 109 Plato also uses a variation of θρύπτω to describe craftsmen in the Republic (discussed in III.C). 110 Cyr. 8.8.15. 111 Ibid. 8.8.20. 112 Ibid. 8.8.21. 113 Oec. 6.6–7; translations of the Oeconomicus are from Pomeroy (1994). 107

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The only men possibly more effeminate than such banausoi are the elite politicians who gratify their desires, as Plato makes clear in the Gorgias. Socrates responds to Callicles’ allegation that philosophy feminizes men (ἀνανδρός) and prevents them from acting eleutheros by forcing upon Callicles the image of politician as catamite. 114 These traitors to their own class thus receive even more scorn than the selfindulgent banausoi. As Ober describes it: The image of Callicles, the would-be tyrant-orator, being endlessly penetrated sexually due to his bottomless desire (epithumia), is not casual. By employing sexual imagery familiar from Old Comedy, Plato cuts to the heart of Callicles’ ‘manliness’ obsession, and reveals the true nature of his love affair with the demos. 115

C. Guardian vs. Craftsman in Plato’s Republic Craftsmen are also presented as ‘half-men’ (ἀνθρωπίσκοι) in the Republic, with ‘defective natures’ (ἀτελεῖς … φύσεις). Plato elaborates: their souls are cramped and spoiled by the banausic nature of their work, in just the way that their bodies are enfeebled by their crafts and labors.

ὑπὸ δὲ τῶν τεχνῶν τε καὶ δημιουργιῶν ὥσπερ τὰ σώματα λελώβηνται, οὕτω καὶ τὰς ψυχὰς συγκεκλασμένοι τε καὶ ἀποτεθρυμμένοι διὰ τὰς βαναυσίας τυγχάνουσιν… 116

The underlined verb and participles denote harshly violent actions, one of them (ἀποτεθρυμμένοι) from the same verb (θρύπτω) as θρυπτικώτεροι of Cyropaedia 8.8.15 (cited above in III.B), describing the Persians of Xenophon’s day, rendered by Miller as ‘more effeminate.’ LSJ 9 lists some of the definitions of θρύπτω as ‘break in pieces; enfeeble; corrupt,’ and of ἀποθρύπτω as ‘crumble into pieces; break in spirit, enervate.’ Plato’s enfeebled half-men seem to anticipate Xenophon’s description of craft work as feminizing (discussed below in III.D). Being aneleutheroi, 117 craftsmen are excluded from the classes of both Guardi118 ans and Auxiliaries. 119 As argued in the Gorgias, craftsmen are unfit for both politics and war; in fact, an Auxiliary found guilty of cowardice is to be punished by Pl. Grg. 485d. Ober (1998) 205. 116 Pl. Resp. 6.495de; translations of the Republic are by Grube (1997). As elsewhere, I have rendered a few key terms more literally (e.g. ‘banausic’). 117 Guardians require ‘the most freedom’ (Pl. Resp. 2.374e). Craftsmen are explicitly contrasted with eleutheroi, e.g. at 3.395c, 3.405a. 118 Pl. Resp. 3.395bc: ‘our guardians must be kept away from all other crafts so as to be the craftsmen of the city’s freedom, and be exclusively that, and do nothing at all except what contributes to it…’ 119 Ibid. 2.374c: ‘is fighting a war so easy that a farmer or cobbler or any other craftsman can be a soldier at the same time?’ 114 115

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demotion to the craftsman/farmer class. 120 It is a guiding principle of Plato’s ideal state, and in fact the very definition of justice, 121 that each person/class (especially craftsmen) 122 does the one activity assigned to it. 123 Doing many things (πολυπραγμοσύνη), which is characteristic of democracy, is ‘the ruin of the state’. 124 The craftsman of Plato’s Republic is to mind his own business and stay out of politics, in direct opposition to the boast of Pericles’ Funeral Oration: ‘We are the only people who consider the man who takes no part in politics not as the one who minds his own business, but as useless.’ 125 While the Republic completely excludes craftsmen from political participation, it famously elevates (some) women to the class of Guardians. And these elite women do not employ the ‘flattery’ of Cosmetics, but engage naked in the citizen performance art of Gymnastics, which, until recently, was considered ridiculous even for men: …it wasn’t very long ago that the Greeks themselves thought it shameful and ridiculous (as the majority of barbarians still do) for even men to be seen naked … [b]ut I think that, after it was found in practice to be better to strip than to cover up all those parts, then what was ridiculous to the eyes faded away in the face of what argument showed to be the best. 126

Plato’s interlocutors admit that men and women have different natures, 127 but, in an extraordinary move, they claim that difference in occupation trumps difference in gender. Socrates gives an example (including a craftsman, of course): Ibid. 5.468a. Ibid. 4.433ab: ‘we’ve heard many people say and have often said ourselves that justice is doing one’s own work and not meddling with what isn’t one’s own.’ 122 Craftsmen are singled out again and again as illustration, e.g. Ibid. 4.443c: ‘the principle that it is right for someone who is by nature a cobbler to practice cobblery and nothing else, for the carpenter to practice carpentry, and the same for others is a sort of image of justice…’ 123 This principle is established for a city even before Kallipolis, ‘the city of pigs,’ is founded (Ibid. 2.370c): ‘The result, then, is that more plentiful and better-quality goods are more easily produced if each person does one thing for which he is naturally suited, does it at the right time, and is released from having to do any of the others.’ It is restated often, as at Ibid. 2.374a: ‘it’s impossible for a single person to practice many crafts or professions well.’ 124 Ibid. 4.434ab: ‘when I fancy one who is by nature an artisan (δημιουργός) or some kind of money-maker tempted and incited by wealth or command of votes or bodily strength or some similar advantage tries to enter into the class of the soldiers … and these interchange their tools and their honors or when the same man undertakes all these functions at once, then, I take it, you too believe that this kind of substitution and meddlesomeness (πολυπραγμοσύνην) is the ruin of the state.’ 125 Thuc. 2.40; Balme (1984) 150. 126 Pl. Resp. 5.452cd. 127 Ibid. 5.453b. 120 121

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We meant, for example, that a male and female doctor have souls of the same nature. Or don’t you think so? − I do.

But a doctor and a carpenter have different ones? − Completely different, surely. 128

He concludes:

Therefore, if the male sex is seen to be different from the female with regard to a particular craft or way of life, we’ll say that the relevant one must be assigned to it. But if it’s apparent that they differ only in this respect, that the females bear children while the males beget them, we’ll say that there has been no kind of proof that women are different from men with respect to what we’re talking about, and we’ll continue to believe that our guardians and their wives must have the same way of life. 129

Male and female Guardians are arrayed against inferior male craftsmen, this time shoemakers. 130 This image segues immediately into the conclusion that ‘the guardian women must strip for physical training (ἀδυτέον), since they’ll wear virtue or excellence instead of clothes.’ 131 Plato hammers the point home with γυμναῖς γυναιξί … γυμναζομέναις. 132 Craftsmen again find themselves on the losing side of Gymnastics, as in the Gorgias, and again are feminized in the process, this time being excluded from the elite Gymnastics practiced by the Guardians, even their women. D. Gentleman vs. Craftsman in Xenophon’s Oeconomicus We have already seen (III.B) that Xenophon associated male cosmetics with Persia’s degeneration into effeminacy. In the Oeconomicus, cosmetics serves as a powerful symbol of the feminine (even for men), and its non-use symbolizes the masculine (even for women). Ischomachus’ imagined use of cosmetics highlights the fact that a vigorous, leisured aristocrat like himself does not need tanning makeup. In turn, his exhortation to his wife to renounce cosmetics signals the promotion of the aristocratic wife to a man-like partner. Her vacant place in the gender hierarchy is reassigned to the Craftsman, explicitly described as ‘feminized’ by his sedentary, indoor work. At Oec. 10.5, Ischomachus admonishes his young, unnamed wife for wearing makeup; in her case, a foundation of white lead with spots of rouge on the cheeks. 133 To emphasize the absurdity of such a (common) act, Ischomachus asks

Ibid. 5.454d. Ibid. 5.454de. 130 Ibid. 5.456de. 131 Ibid. 5.457a. 132 Ibid. 5.457b. 133 Xenophon makes it clear in Oec. 10.2 that the wife’s white lead makeup was enhanced with rouge (πολλῇ δ’ ἐγχούσῃ), ‘in order to look even redder (ἐρυθροτέρα) than she is,’ presumably mimicking a ‘rosy glow’ in the cheeks. 128 129

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her to imagine ‘[me] smearing my cheeks with red lead (μίλτͅω ἀλειφόμενος) 134 and painting myself under the eyes with rouge (τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς ὑπαλειφόμενος ἀνδρεικέλῳ).’ This picture is made even more absurd in light of Ischomachus’ outdoor exercise routine, which incorporates horseback riding, running, and walking. (This training is perhaps Xenophon’s ‘improvement’ on traditional gymnastics, being more directly related to the oligarchic domain of cavalry.) This outdoor regimen produces the sort of tan that doesn’t have to be faked. His tanned skin and toned body prompt Socrates’ question about what it means to be a gentleman: ‘I should very much like you to tell me what exactly it is that you do to be called a ‘gentleman,’ (καλὸς κ’αγαθὸς) since you don’t spend your time indoors (οὐκ ἔνδον γε διατρίβεις), and your physical condition (ἡ ἕξις τοῦ σώματος) does not suggest that you do so.’ 135 Ischomachus replies, ‘I certainly do not pass my time indoors; for, you know, my wife is quite capable of looking after the house by herself.’ 136 Xenophon bestows shame and the possibility of divine punishment upon men who work indoors: ‘Thus, to the woman it is more honourable (κάλλιον) to stay indoors than to abide in the fields, but to the man it is unseemly (αἴσχιον) rather to stay indoors than to attend to the work outside. If a man acts contrary to the nature God has given him, possibly his defiance is detected by the gods and he is punished for neglecting his own work, or meddling with his wife’s (πράττων τὰ τῆς γυναικὸς ἔργα).’ 137 This divine punishment consists in being feminized, judging from Socrates’ description: the banausic arts, as they are called (αἵ γε βαναυσικαὶ καλούμεναι), are spoken against, and are, naturally enough, held in utter disdain in our states. For they spoil (καταλυμαίνονται) the bodies of the workmen and the foremen, forcing them to sit still and live indoors (σκιατραφεῖσθαι), and in some cases to spend the day at the fire. The feminizing (θηλυνομένων) of the body involves a serious weakening of the mind (καὶ αἱ ψυχαὶ πολὺ ἀρρωστότεραι γίγνονται). Moreover, these so-called banausic arts leave no spare time (ἀσχολίας) for attention to one’s friends and city, so that those who follow them are reputed bad at dealing with friends and bad defenders of their country. In fact, in some of the states, and es-

Pomeroy (1994) 306 on μίλτῳ: ‘The rouge μίλτος (‘red ochre’ or ‘ruddle’) was probably more brownish-red in colour than the alkanet mentioned in X.2 and thus approximated the sun-tanned skin appropriate for men. It was also used for other purposes, especially as a pigment and pharmaceutical, and was important enough for the Athenians to control its export.’ 135 Oec. 7.2. 136 Ibid. 7.3. 137 Ibid. 7.30–31. 134

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pecially in those reputed warlike, it is not even lawful for any of the citizens to work at banausic arts. 138

Punished for acting like a woman, the Craftsman is made into a woman in both body and mind. Spending his time ‘out of the sunlight’ gives him the white skin of a woman. In spite of being sedentary (like women), craftsmen still lack leisure (‘no spare time for attention to one’s friends and city’); they are, in other words, aneleutheroi. Since they do not have the leisure to practice gymnastics (much less a regimen like Ischomachus’), they are useless in warfare. And so, according to traditional aristocratic logic, they should be barred from political participation. Xenophon takes this logic a step further by turning craftsmen into women, making their exclusion from citizenship just as natural as women’s. On the other hand, Xenophon promotes the aristocratic wife to the masculine near-equal of her aristocratic husband. As Glazebrook asserts, ‘Xenophon’s text reconsiders the stereotype of wives as idle, unproductive, and deceptive, making them instead active, productive, trustworthy, and effective partners of good household management.’ 139 This is symbolized by a rejection of cosmetics. Ischomachus describes his wife appearing once in makeup and heels, like an effeminate Persian of the Cyropaedia: Well, one day, Socrates, I noticed that her face was made up: she had rubbed in a lot of white lead (ψιμυθίῳ) in order to look even whiter (λευκοτέρα) than she is, and alkanet juice (ἐγχούσῃ) to make her cheeks rosier than they truly were; and she was wearing boots with thick soles to appear taller than she naturally was. 140

Ischomachus chastises her for engaging in such deception, which in any case would eventually be exposed by the nakedness of the bedroom, 141 as the nakedness of the gymnasium exposes male impostors. For his wife to ‘naturally’ achieve white skin and rosy cheeks, Ischomachus recommends an ἀγαθὸν γυμνάσιον 142 − a female analogue of gymnastics, an indoor regimen of exercising, walking, and supervising that mimics his own outdoor regimen of exercising, running, and supervising: And, Socrates, I advised her not to spend her time sitting around (καθῆσθαι) like a slave (δουλικῶς), but, with the help of the gods, to try to stand before the loom as a mistress of a household (δεσποτικῶς) should, and … to supervise (ἐπισκέψασθαι) the baker, and to stand next to the housekeeper while she was measuring our provisions, and also to go around inspecting (περιελθεῖν δ’ ἐπισοπουμένην) whether everything was where it ought to be. These activities, I thought, combined her domestic concerns with a walk (περίπατος). I said that mixing flour and kneading dough were excellent exercise (ἀγαθὸν … γυμνάσιον),

Ibid. 4.2–3. Glazebrook (2009) 233. 140 Oec. 10.2. 141 Ibid. 10.8. 142 Ibid. 10.11. 138 139

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This exercise regimen and ‘natural’ complexion it produces contrast with other women who ‘spend all their time sitting around’ (ἀεὶ καθήμεναι), and those ‘who are deceivers and wear make-up’ (τὰς κεκοσμήμενας καὶ ἐξαπατώσας). 144 Ischomachus’ exhortation precisely parallels the Gorgias passage discussed in III.B: as aristocratic men should gain healthy coloring through gymnastics, not cosmetics (Gorgias), aristocratic women should gain healthy coloring through ‘female gymnastics’ (household chores), not cosmetics (Oeconomicus). Her rejection of cosmetics, and her indoor exercise routine, make Ischomachus’ wife more of a man than the sedentary, feminized craftsmen described at Oec. 4.2–3. Glazebrook notes that ‘wearing makeup, inactivity, and deception are somehow connected,’ and that the wife’s ‘productive role in the household and [her] ‘masculine’ nature’ are ‘directly connected to her nonuse of cosmetics.’ 145 Murnaghan observes that ‘she takes on qualities that are understood to be characteristically male;’ Socrates praises Ischomachus’ wife for her masculine mind (ἀνδρικὴν … τὴν διάνοιαν τῆς γυναικός). 146 Pomeroy notes the significance of Ischomachus teaching his wife to carry on a conversation (διαλέγεσθαι): ‘[i]nitiation into the arts of speaking continues the idea expressed in the preceding phrase of transforming the wife into a fully civilized human being.’ 147 Glazebrook observes the masculine role models Ischomachus gives to his wife: She is to be the nomophulax tôn en têi oikiai (‘the guardian of the laws relating to the household’), functioning as do the nomophulakes (‘guardians of the laws’) in a wellgoverned city, the phrourarchos (‘commander of the watch’) who inspects the guard, and a member of the boulê (‘council’) who inspects the horses and cavalry (9.14–15). The wife, acting as chorêgos (‘chorus leader’), stratêgos (‘general’), ship’s captain, and so on, is to make the house as orderly as a chorus, an army, a trireme, or a merchant ship (8.3–8, 17–20). Through such examples, Ischomachus challenges his wife to aspire to a new nature, one that is, as Murnaghan argues, ‘characteristically male.’ 148

Glazebrook goes too far, however, in crediting Xenophon with developing ‘a dialogue that reshapes the traditional view of female nature.’ 149 Pomeroy too errs in crediting both Xenophon and Plato (in the Republic) with ‘radical views on gender Ibid. 10.10–11. Ibid. 10.13. 145 Glazebrook (2009) 245, 248. 146 Oec. 10.1; Murnaghan (1988) 12. 147 Oec. 7.10; Pomeroy (1994) 272–273. 148 Glazebrook (2009) 243. 149 Ibid. 241 n. 38. 143 144

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difference,’ 150 and Xenophon with a ‘separate but equal’ view of the sexes. 151 Murnaghan more accurately suggests that ‘the categories of masculinity and femininity could be used to refer, not to actual sexual difference, but to degrees of selfmastery in people of either sex.’ 152 Like Aristophanes and Plato, Xenophon does not question the traditional Greek stereotype of ‘female,’ but merely shuffles some participants in or out of the group.

CONCLUSION

Xenophon and Plato do nothing to redefine the traditional categories of masculine and feminine, but instead they reassign some men (craftsmen) to the category of ‘feminine,’ and some women (aristocratic wives) to the category of ‘masculine.’ And as ancient thinkers did not distinguish between sex and gender in the same way as moderns, 153 this gender reassignment is tantamount to basing sexual categories on class rather than on biology. Craftsmen are redefined as women, aristocratic women redefined as men; their social standing determines their sex and gender. Cosmetics, not genitalia, become the salient physical signifier of sex and gender: those who use cosmetics are women, those who do not are men. By resorting to such tactics, Aristophanes, Plato and Xenophon elevate class differences above differences of sex and gender. Craftsmen are emasculated by their occupation, aristocratic women ‘defeminized’ by theirs. White skin signifies an indoor, sedentary existence, and as such is largely transferred from aristocratic women to craftsmen. Cosmetics are condemned as a deception, both for men (tanning makeup) and for women (white lead); true beauty comes only from gymnastics, and only for aristocrats. Masculine aristocrats present a united front against feminized craftsmen, and their position of superiority over craftsmen is just as ‘natural’ as the intact superiority of male over female. It is revealed as nothing less than the inviolable ‘natural’ order of things for eleutheroi to rule over aneleutheroi, for craftsmen to be as politically impotent as women.

Pomeroy (1994) 37. Pomeroy says: ‘A careful reading of the Oeconomicus will show that Xenophon by no means considered the domestic realm as inferior … Xenophon asserts that women and men are complementary in their biological nature and therefore in their contributions to the domestic economy, but this difference does not imply inequality.’ Ibid. 88. 152 Murnaghan (1988) 19 n.14. 153 See discussion in Yates (2015) 2–10. 150 151

PLAUTUS’ AND TERENCE’S COLORFUL PIMPS AND SLAVES RACHAEL B. GOLDMAN

The subject of slavery has been covered from economic, social and cultural viewpoints, but it also figures in the study of ancient entertainment. Slaves feature prominently in the comedies of Plautus and Terence, but there has been an absence or gap in the analysis of their physical appearance and their origins. Descriptions of people were always of fascination to the Romans, and are found frequently in Latin literature; they are also found in Roman comedy. In the plays of Plautus, less common color-terms are used, often associated with specific types of slaves, leading to the possibility that Plautus’ ingenuity created these terms. Three centuries after Plautus, one may find direct correlations between the characters in Plautus’ dramas and the case studies found in Polemo of Laodicea’s physiognomic treatise, and in another late comparative text, Julius Pollux’s Onomastikon, or catalogue of terms that describe various masks. Slavery, according to Plautus and Terence, relegated one to a social status of both inferiority and usefulness. In each example of a character being described with a color-term, there is a distinct occupation and identity; sometimes it is possible to determine their geographical origin as well. The names in comedy are, however, fictional. Kajanto’s scholarship on historical Roman cognomina shows no similar or parallel examples in literature or inscriptions for the names given by Plautus and Terence. 1 Much is also known about the names of Roman slaves, such that inscriptions name them ‘Flava,’ ‘Rufa,’ ‘Fuscilla’ and many others. 2 But the playwrights do not use any of those actual names − names that would readily be found on the streets and corners of Rome. Terence borrows all the names of his characters from the Greek playwright Menander. Plautus, however, distinguishes himself by inventing some of the names of his characters in Latin, such as Saturio (meaning ‘Fatso’, a title character of a play, which survives only in a fragment) and Peniculus (meaning ‘Sponger’, which describes his personality in Menaechmi), while others have Punic names such 1 2

See Kajanto (1965) 226–230 for an extensive list of names that deal with color. Ibid.

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as Hanno and Gidennis, who both appear in Poenulus. 3 Another name, Curculio (meaning ‘Weevil’ in Latin, a title character who is a parasite), appears in an inscription from Numidia. 4 It would seem ill-advised to have unsavory characters with Latin names. Thus, Plautus gets around this issue of Roman virtus and dignitas by either using foreign names or making them up. Writing in the second century BCE, Plautus relies on his inventiveness to create Latin works for an audience that was acquainted with earlier Greek plays. It is possible that he created some color-terms which reappear in later Latin literature. If he had the ability to make up the names for his characters, he was certainly able to invent adjectives. I propose that these color-terms enact notions about social mores, and the identity of members of the lower class − some more accepting than others.

PHYSIOGNOMY AND RED-HAIRED SLAVES

In Act IV of Plautus’ play Pseudolus, three characters, Simo, Harpax and Ballio, are trying to figure out who stole the money that Harpax was trying to deliver: SI.: Eho tu, qua facie fuit, dudum quoi dedisti sumbolum? HAR.: Rufus quidam, ventriosus, crassis suris, subniger, magno capite, acutis oculis, ore rubicundo, admodum magnis pedibus.

SI.: Hey you! Of what appearance was the person to whom you delivered the token? HAR.: A certain red-haired fellow, pot-bellied, with thick calves, swarthy, with a big head, sharp eyes, red face, and very large feet. 5

Ballio and Simo are both men of the upper class, who are tricked somehow into losing a sum of money to a wily and clever slave, Pseudolus himself. The colorterms that describe this wayward trickster are rufus, subniger and rubicundus. Plautus was adhering to a trope in his descriptions of slaves, that they have red hair and a red face. In this conversation, there are a total of eight physiognomic coordinates described. Further the fact that both the hair and the face of Pseudolus are described as red, with two distinct color-terms, suggests that Plautus was cognizant of different nuances in color-terms even as early as the second century BCE. The color-term rufus is the first characteristic employed in the description of Pseudolus, suggesting that it was a key feature in identifying him, and rufus was a color-term identified exclusively with hair and the body. Subniger, meaning swarthy, implies a 105.

3

Michael Fontaine discusses these names at length: Fontaine (2009) 63, 70–72, 102–

CIL VIII. 7325. Plaut. Pseud. 4.7.114–117 (lines 1217–1220). Translations are taken from Riley (1880– 81), with updates and amendments. 4 5

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lower class status. Henry Thomas Riley, writing in 1880, said that some commentators think that the reference to magnis pedibus was a description of Plautus, whose name means ‘splayed foot’ and that he was trying to insert himself into the play − or that he portrayed Pseudolus himself. 6 For someone to be described with red face and hair suggests a negative attribute, unlike a dignified upper-class Roman. A passage in the Asinaria provides another compelling description about the slave in Roman society. In an interaction between Mercator, the donkey dealer, and Libanus, they describe the slave that has done them wrong: ME.: Qua facie voster Saurea est? Si is est, iam scire potero. LI.: Macilentis malis, rufulus aliquantum, ventriosus, truculentis oculis, commoda statura, tristi fronte.

ME.: Of what appearance does your Saurea look like? If it is him, I want to be able to know. LI.: Lantern-jawed, with reddish hair, pot-bellied, with glaring eyes, middling stature, sour aspect. 7

Once again, in this example, the slave has rufulus colored hair and also six other physiognomic descriptive coordinates. Much later, in the second century CE, there is considerable literature about the descriptions of people, including Polemo of Laodicea’s physiognomic treatises. Polemo discusses such traits as red hair in chapter 41, ‘On Diversity of the Hair and its Signs’: As for hair that turns a little towards ruddiness, I praise it, and I describe it as characterized by knowledge, experience, quietness and magnanimity. This kind of hair is one that suits people. As for ugly red hair, I do not praise it, nor do I praise its owner. You will often see hair that is redder than these, and their character resembles that of animals. In them is a lack of modesty and a love of covetousness. 8

Notice that in discussing these two types of red hair, one that is associated with cleverness and the other with animal-like tendencies and greed, hair color determines character. Julius Pollux’s Onomastikon from the same later period is a list of all the mask types used in comedy. 9 In these passages, even though they are much earRiley (1880) 311, n. 1. Plaut. Asin. 2.3.19–21 (399–401). 8 Polemo 41 (Leiden B37); Swain (2007) 431–433. 9 Pollux’s list of New Comedy masks is translated in Wiles (1991) 74–78. Saunders (1909, 1966) wrote a compendium describing each of the characters that appears in Roman comedy, largely based on Pollux’s Onomastikon and other sources. In a pioneering article, Webster (1947) took Pollux’s list and linked it with Polemo’s physiognomy, and also with archaeological and art historical evidence. Poe (1996) offers a re-examination of the list with further identifications. Webster et al. (1995) gives a complete catalogue, and an exceptional 6 7

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lier, Plautus seems to be drawing on the same associations when he creates the clever slave with red hair.

PIMPS’ HAIR AND EYES

Plautus uses other color-terms to denote other types of characters. At the beginning of Plautus’ play Rudens (‘The Rope’), the leno or pimp, Labrax, has not yet appeared on stage, but he is already described in negative terms and his reputation precedes him: DAEM.: Tace, tu si quid opus est dice. PLES.: Dic quod te rogo, ecquem tu hic hominem crispum incanum videris, malum, periurum, palpatorem –

DAEM.: Be quiet, if you want something, say it!

PLES.: Tell me what I’m asking you, Have you seen here a man with curly white hair − A worthless, perjured, fawning knave. 10

He is identified by his curly white hair – crispum and incanum, a word used only for beards and hair. Since this is the only feature that identifies Labrax, the conversation revolves around the issue of whether he will be easy to find. The traits that are associated with him are malus, bad, periurum, oath-breaking, and palpatorem, a ‘stroker’ or flatterer; all words that are inherently bad. A little later in the play, the slave Trachalio further describes Labrax: TRACH.: silanum senem, statutum, ventriosum, tortis superciliis, contracta fronte, fraudulentum, deorum odium atque hominum, malum, mali viti probrique plenum.

TRACH.: bald on the forehead and snub-nosed, of big stature, pot-bellied, with twisted eyebrows, a narrow forehead, a knave, the scorn of gods and men, a scoundrel, one full of vile dishonesty and of iniquity. 11

Here Labrax is described as the mythical figure of Silenus, and with all the coordinating characteristics: an old man, statuesque proportions, an enlarged and distended belly, twisted eyebrows, and a scowling face. In both passages the man is described with a full physiognomic description which was intended to be a visual experience for the audience; even if the character could not be seen on the stage, the words would be heard and the description would suggest his personality and moral guide to viewing ancient theatrical masks from antiquity in any medium, e.g. wall painting, mosaics and sculpture. 10 Plaut. Rud. 1.2.35–38 (123–126). 11 Ibid. 2.213–215 (317–319).

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characteristics. According to Polemo’s physigonomic treatise, ‘curliness of the hair indicates cowardice and desire.’ 12 Further on: ‘As for red hair that tends to whiteness… it indicates lack of understanding and knowledge and an evil way of life.’ 13 According to Polemo, not only is Labrax a greedy coward, he is also stupid and wicked. Sure enough, this is just the way the characters in the play describe him. A few lines later in the play, Labrax is described as leno abit scelestus exulatum − the crooked pimp has gone into exile, demonstrating what the description suggests about his character. 14 Even though Polemo’s treatise is so much later, it is clear from Plautus’ text that these descriptions were already tropes long before Polemo put these ideas into writing. In the play Curculio, or ‘The Parasite’, the character Palinurus describes Cappadox, another pimp, in a similar ridiculous fashion, commenting on his fat stomach and his grass-green eyes − oculeis herbeis: PAL.: Quis hic est homo cum collativo ventre atque oculis herbeis? de forma novi, de colore non queo novisse. Iam iam novi: leno est Cappadox. Congrediar.

PAL.: Who is this fellow with the extended paunch, and eyes as green as grass? From his figure I know him; from his complexion I cannot recognize him. O, now I do know him: it's the pimp, Cappadox. I’ll accost him. 15

His description of Cappadox’s eyes commands attention because this is the only instance of a description of a person of any origin with ‘grass colored eyes,’ making this an unusual appearance even for the stage. Pliny the Elder uses a related term, herbidus, ‘herbaceous’ describing grass and leaves, suggesting further that there is an organic quality to the color and that it is lighter in hue than virens, viridis, and viridans. Cappadox’s name also marks him as a foreigner, possibly from Cappadocia or Asia Minor, which adds to the impression of strangeness that Plautus has already given us by describing this unusual eye color. Cappadox says he’s feeling sick, something’s wrong with his liver and spleen, which might explain why he’s literally looking green. Green eyes are mentioned again in the Menaechmi, when Plautus describes a very angry man: MAT.: Viden tu illi oculos virere? Ut viridis exoritur colos ex temporibus atque fronte, ut oculi scintillant, vide. Polemo 40 (Leiden B37); Swain (2007) 431. Polemo 41 (Leiden B37); Swain (2007) 431–433. 14 Plaut. Rud. 2.2.21 (325). 15 Plaut. Curc. 2.1.16–20 (230–234). 12 13

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RACHAEL B. GOLDMAN MAT.: Do you see how his eyes are turning green? And that green color is coming over his temples and forehead, so that his eyes glisten, look. 16

The wife of Menaechmus of Epidamnus describes how Menaechmus of Sosicles’ eyes are turning green first, and then the green color is slowly spreading to his temples and his face, so that his eyes shine. Thus for Plautus, the color green marks a sick, angry or even insane person, showing them in a negative fashion such as they look markedly different from those around them. The color-term subniger is also a favorite of Plautus, which he employs to describe another buffoonish person, in Mercator: EUT.: Ego dicam tibi: canum, varum, ventriosum, bucculentum, breviculum, subnigris oculis, oblongis malis, pansam aliquantulum.

EUT.: I’ll tell you – gray-headed, bandy-legged, pot-bellied, wide-mouthed, of stunted figure, with darkish eyes, lank jaws, rather splay-footed. 17

Two characters, Eutychus and Charinus, question each other about a third party, Lysimachus, who is described with physiognomic guidelines. Plautus uses two colorterms, canus and subnigris, to describe this buffoon, making the character stand out both to the speakers and to the audience. It is worth noting that Plautus employs the prefix ‘sub’ with nigris, suggesting that Lysimachus’ eyes are ‘blackish’ and not just ‘black.’ As it turns out the character is not trustworthy; possibly this is suggested by the use of this color-term, implying that there is something not quite normal about him. Later in his biography of Julius Caesar, Suetonius describes Caesar’s eyes as ‘nigris,’ the eyes of a hero; 18 although Plautus is earlier, he may be suggesting that Lysimachus’ character is anything but heroic.

A CASE OF MISTAKEN IDENTITY

In a passage of The Captives, there is a question raised about the appearance of Philocrates – a young nobleman, who has been captured in war and is treated as a slave. In Act III, there is a dialogue between his friend Aristophontes and the slave owner Hegio about the appearance of Philocrates: ARIST.: Dicam tibi: macilento ore, naso acuto, corpore albo, oculis nigris, subrufus aliquantum, crispus, cincinnatus.

Plaut. Men. 5.2.76–77 (828–829). Plaut. Merc. 3.4.51–53 (638–640). 18 Suet. Iul. 45.1. 16 17

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ARIST.: I’ll tell you: thin face, sharp nose, white in the body, black eyes, hair somewhat ruddy, and curled. 19

The description of Philocrates at first is meant to sound negative, but in fact it reveals his mistaken identity. The description of a thin face, sharp nose, pale complexion, black eyes, and curly hair like that of Cincinnatus − that is, curled with a curling iron, reveals a man of high status. The word subrufus describes his hair as being dull red, not a bright red as one belonging to a slave. This combined description reveals a man of noble birth, not a slave. The character of Aristophontes in The Captives fits well with Pollux’s description in the Onomastikon of the ‘curly youth, even younger, ruddy complexion, hair as his name implies’ or the ‘delicate youth’, who is ‘pallid, suggests the delicacy of one reared in the shade.’ 20 In Rudens, the slave Trachalio, looking for his young master Plesidippus, describes him as ‘strenua facie, rubicundum, fortem’ – vigorous in appearance, ruddy, strong.’ 21 Here the young man with his rubicundus complexion could be Pollux’s ‘accomplished youth, athletic, skin lightly tanned.’ 22 In this respect color-terms have the ability to create a language about origins of nationality and social attitudes about identity and class. Earlier in The Captives, Philocrates’ slave, Tyndarus, describes his master, again trying to fool Hegio: TYN.: Ardent oculi: fit opus, Hegio; viden tu illi maculari corpus totum maculis luridis? Atra bilis agitat hominem.

TYN.: His eyes strike fire; this is a problem, Hegio; Don’t you see how his body is spotted all over with livid spots? Black bile is disordering the man. 23

By being described in this manner, he appeared diseased and completes the idea of what a scoundrel should look like. But once again the description is intended to be misleading and meant to outwit Hegio.

SLAVES AND ATTRACTIVENESS

In another of Plautus’ plays, Persa, two slaves are having a conversation about getting older. The slave woman Sophiclidisca warns the slave boy Paegnium that his good looks will not last forever and that he shouldn’t want to be a slave forever:

Plaut. Capt. 3.4.113–114 (647–648). Wiles (1991) 75, from Poll. Onomastikon, 4.143–154. 21 Plaut. Rud. 2.2.9 (314). 22 Wiles (1991) 75. 23 Plaut. Capt. 3.4.62–64 (594–596). 19 20

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RACHAEL B. GOLDMAN SOPH.: Temperi hanc vigilare oportet formulam atque aetatulam, ne, ubi versicapillus fias, foede semper servias. Tu quidem haud etiam es octoginta pondo.

SOPH.: It befits these youthful looks and age to be on the watch for pleasure in good time; so that, when your hair comes to change its hue, you may not be always in vile servitude. Why, really, as yet you are not eighty pounds in weight. 24

Old age was one of the many noticeable ailments that afflicted slaves, but Sophoclidisca is quick with a quip, commenting on the fact that hair can change color. This is the only appearance in surviving Latin literature of the color-compound versicapillus, which literally means ‘changing hair’ and does not indicate which color it would change to. Here it clearly indicates a turn towards old age with hues ranging from gray to white, such as incanus. The fact that this word only appears in Plautus’ oeuvre suggests his creativity and his understanding of the use of prefixes to change a meaning of the word. Female slaves in Plautus’ comedies are often described as sexually attractive, even if they are Carthaginians. We would expect Plautus’ descriptions of people of Carthaginian descent to be colored by the catastrophic Second Punic War, in which Hannibal attacked Rome: however, enslaved non-Roman women appear to be drawn sympathetically. In the play Rudens, the slave Sceparnio flirts with the slave girl Ampelisca, and in an aside to the audience, exclaims his amazement at her beauty: SCEP.: Pro di immortales, Veneris effigia haec quidem est. Ut in ocellis hilaritudo est, heia, corpus cuius modi, subvolturium − illud quidem, subaquilum volui dicere.

SCEP.: By the Immortal Gods! She’s the very image of Venus! What joyousness is there in her eyes, Wow! Her body is in such a way, vulture-ish – that is, I meant to say, somewhat swarthy. 25

Sceparnio describes Ampelisca’s complexion as subaquilum, as rather darkened: ‘darkish.’ Again this color-term only survives once in the corpus of Latin literature; more commonly the word aquilus, meaning dark, is used. 26 The general favored appearPlaut. Per. 2.2.47–49 (229–231). Plaut. Rud. 2.4.7–9 (421–423). 26 Michael Fontaine (2009) 42 derives the term subaquilus from aqua or ‘water’, following the etymology of the later grammarian Festus (Paulus 20 L). But here clearly an association with birds is meant, as Sceparnio at first compares her to a vulture and then corrects himself, saying that she is more like an eagle, aquila. Fontaine (2009) 39 explains Sceparnio’s verbal slip, suggesting that he is possibly thinking of her face, voltus, or his desire, voluptas – or even the wind, Vulturnus. But assuming that Festus is right, and aquilus is derived from 24 25

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ance for women in the Roman sphere was to be pale or whitened. 27 This color-term with the prefix sub- implies that she is less dark than other Carthaginian slave girls. In Poenulus, the color-term perniger is used to conjure up the image of another Carthaginian slave woman: HAN.: Sed earum nutrix quasit facie, mi expedi. MIL.: Statura hau magna, corpore aquilost. HAN.: Ipsa east. MIL.: Specie venusta, ore atque oculis pernigris.

HAN.: But their nurse, of what appearance was she? Tell me.

MIL.: Of stature not tall, of a dusky complexion.

HAN.: ’Tis the very person.

MIL.: Of agreeable form, with face and eyes very dark. 28

Passages like these suggest that Romans had close ties with the Carthaginians, so much so that this woman is employed as a nursemaid to assist in the act of raising a Roman child. Since the play concerns Rome’s recent foe, the description of a Carthaginian slave should be infused with physical slights, but she is also portrayed as physically attractive (venusta). Plautus is the only Latin writer to employ the colorterm perniger; however, the color-term is used here in a positive manner, rather than the usual trope of showing the faults of the person; here she is presented as an attractive woman with very black eyes, but she is still inferior because she is a servant. Plautus recognized that there was a need for this assortment of color-terms, ones that described or were used for non-Romans.

TERENCE AND OTHER ROMAN AUTHORS

Unlike Plautus, Terence only rarely uses color-terms in his descriptions of people. In the first scene of Terence’s Phormio, the slave Geta comes on stage saying ‘If any red-haired person inquires about me’ – ‘Si quis me quaeret rufu’. 29 He is referring to his friend, the slave Davos, who has borrowed money from him. Here a character is solely identified by the color of his hair. In yet another example from Terence’s Hecyra, he employs a similar convention as the characters display curiosity about a mysterious person. The slave Parmenio confesses that he does not know what this ‘water,’ Sceparnio, an uneducated slave, does not know that. He thinks the word has something to do with birds because it sounds like aquila, eagle – and then tops it off by coming up with the wrong bird. 27 Wiles (1991) 76, following Pollux, lists the women’s complexions as ‘pale to ocher.’ 28 Plaut. Poen. 5.2.152–154 (665–667). 29 Ter. Phorm. 1.2 (51).

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‘Callidemides’ looks like. Pamphilus (who has invented this character himself) describes him: PAM.: At faciam ut noveris: magnu’ rubicundu’ crispu’ crassu’ caesius cadaverosa facie.

PAM.: I’ll tell you how to know it: a big fellow, ruddy, with curly hair, fat, gray-eyed fellow with a face like a corpse. 30

If Callidemides existed, Pamphilus’ description would mark him out as extremely noticeable. 31 The color-term for ‘ruddy’ is rubicundus, which is defined as ‘reddening’ and is restricted to the complexion, as in the description of Plesidippus in Rudens; it is an impossibly contradictory description: someone with a face like a corpse would hardly look ruddy. It appears that there was a standard convention of comedies describing the lower strata of the Roman world in the brightest hues. It is noticeable that in Plautus’ and Terence’s comedic commentaries, the characters rarely describe any of the heroes or protagonists in detail, probably because their identity is clear to the audience and does not warrant a need for being described any further. The characters that are described are those that are mysterious or foreign or untrustworthy. Applied to characters about to appear onstage, these vivid descriptions serve as cues to the audience to make value judgments about them. The character of Davos from Terence’s Phormio also has a place in the Onomastikon, as he could be characterized as ‘the principal slave,’ who has a coil of red hair. 32 The supposed character of Callidemides with curly hair and a ruddy complexion would also fit these types. Pollux’ descriptions, however, are not entirely useful, as his descriptions of slave girls are mainly focused on their clothing. 33 Compared to a Greek playwright like Menander, who uses hardly any colorterms and no physical descriptions, Plautus and Terence embark on a decidedly Roman way of using descriptions of people in their dramatic works to equate noticeable features with corresponding character traits. Plautus seems particularly ingenious by using prefixed color-terms, for the first time in known Latin literature, possibly owing to the fact that he created them. By contrast Terence does not use prefixed color-terms, but he also describes people as a way of drawing the audience into the drama and alerting the audience as to how to react to the characters appearing on stage. Ter. Hec. 3.4.25–27 (439–441). In addition, ‘Callidemedes’ is supposed to be from Mykonos, where all the men were supposed to be bald. The later grammarian Donatus commented that this was one of Terence’s jokes: Goldberg (2013) 41. 32 Wiles (1991) 76; from Poll. Onomastikon, 4.143–154. 33 Ibid. 77. 30 31

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These color-terms were appropriated by later Roman writers, who used these terms in a variety of situations. Subniger, or blackish, was employed by Varro in De Re Rustica to describe the lips of the most desirable cattle and sheep. 34 Celsus uses the same word in two passages to describe pustules surrounding fresh wounds. 35 Pliny uses it to describe a plant of Illyrian origin, gentian, which has a long root which is ‘darkish and without smell.’ 36 Subrufus, reddish, is used by Vitruvius to describe minium ore. 37 Pliny uses the same word to describe the roots of the best kind of irises and the ‘Indica’ or Indian stone. 38 Unlike Plautus, these later authors take care to describe plants, animals and stones with this assortment of color-terms, but not human beings. Rubicundus is a color-term that is sometimes used to describe people, as early as Pacuvius’ fragment that describes someone as rubicundo colore et spectu protervo ferox – ‘with a ruddy complexion and a warlike expression’ or later in Ovid’s Ars Amatoria, when describing the ‘spouse of an Umbrian lord’ and the phallus of the god Priapus in the Fasti. 39 But once again it is mostly used in the context of medicine or natural science. Varro uses it to describe the richest kind of soil; he uses rubicundior to describe the offspring of a horse and a donkey. 40 Horace celebrates the bounty of the fruits with the word rubicundus in one of his Epistles. 41 Celsus uses the same term to describe inflamed joints that are diseased, and the symptoms of scabies. 42 Scribonius Largus, the Roman physician to the Emperor Claudius, uses rubicundo to describe tumors. 43 Seneca the Younger uses the term in his Naturales Quaestiones, describing the color of a comet; and in his tragedy, Phaedra, he describes how dogs return from the hunt with bloody muzzles. 44 Columella contributes his thoughts about when the harvest is ready, suggesting that when the crops turn ‘rubicundum colorem,’ they are ready to be gathered. 45 Rufulus, which Plautus uses to describe the hair of a slave, is used by Pliny to describe to describe the roots of a mandrake plant. 46 There are a number of words such as versicapillus (changing hair color), subaquilus (rather dark) and perniger (very dark) that have no appearance in extant Latin literature and are only employed by Plautus. It is certainly possible to consider that Plautus created these words on his own. Varro Rust. 2.5.7; 2.9.3. Celsus Med. 5.26.31C; 5.28.4B. 36 Plin. HN 25.34.71. 37 Vitr. De arch. 7.8.1. 38 Plin. HN 21.21.41; 37.61.170. 39 Pacuv. 101, see Schierl (2006) 262; Ov. Ars am. 3.303; Ov. Fast. 6.319. 40 Varro Rust. 1.9.5; 2.8.6. 41 Hor. Epist. 1.16.8. 42 Celsus Med. 1.9.5; 5.28.16A. 43 Larg. 158. 44 Sen. QNat. 7.11.3; Sen. Phaed. 79. 45 Col. 2.20.2. 46 Plin. HN 25.147. 34 35

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In Plautus’ plays, characters of the lower classes, or of an ‘other’ social status, are often shown in the most physically striking manner. This is no more clearly evidenced in his use of color-terms which make those characters stand out. The clever slaves, pimps, and even those who were Carthaginians, command the audience’s attention. The prefixes add a range of variegation to color-terms, which add spice to Plautus’ commentary on Roman Republican life. One might say that the prefixes also model the very lives of the slaves, who function as prefixes to others by making their Roman masters’ lives better. They also show that as early as Plautus’ time, color-terms were not relegated to the writing of poetry. Plautus recognized the importance of color-terms and probably even constructed them himself, creating plays on words.

COLORFUL GARMENTS OF MESOPOTAMIAN STONE STATUES

Fig. 1: Standing man from the temple of Ishtar in Assur, 25th–24th c. BCE. Berlin Vorderasiatisches Museum, VA 8142. © Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Photograph by Olaf M. Teßmer.

to Fig. 1a: Skirt, from middle brown to a darker brown combined with yellow ochre

COLORFUL GARMENTS OF MESOPOTAMIAN STONE STATUES

Fig. 2: Headless man with a whip, possibly from Larsa, beginning of the second millennium BCE. H. 12.6 cm. Berlin Vorderasiatisches Museum, VA 8791. © Staatliche Museen zu Berlin. Photograph by Olaf M. Teßmer.

to Fig. 2a: Garment.

Fig. 2b: Hem, yellow ochre.

to Fig. 2c: Whip, brown.

COLORFUL GARMENTS OF MESOPOTAMIAN STONE STATUES

Fig. 3: Bust of a woman with clasped hands, from Ur, beginning of second millennium. H. 14.5 cm. British Museum, BM 132101. © British Museum, London.

Fig. 3a: Red on the neck skin, black on the hem of the garment and reddish ochre on the garment. © Barbara Jändl, Archäologische Staatssammlung, Munich, Germany.

COLORFUL GARMENTS OF MESOPOTAMIAN STONE STATUES

Fig. 4: Standing woman with clasped hands, from Ur, Old Babylonian. H. 51 cm. British Museum, BM 122933. © British Museum, London.

Fig. 4a: Reddish ochre pigment on garment, left side below clavicle. © Barbara Jändl, Archäologische Staatssammlung, Munich, Germany.

THE COLOR BLUE AS AN ‘ANIMATOR’ IN ANCIENT EGYPTIAN ART

Fig. 1: Egyptian hieroglyphics illustrating Berlin and Kay’s theory of color terms.

THE COLOR BLUE AS AN ‘ANIMATOR’ IN ANCIENT EGYPTIAN ART

Fig. 2: Alabaster bowl from Hierakonpolis. 6.1 x 12.1 cm. Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, MFA 98.1011. Photograph by the author.

Fig. 3: Detail of the bowl in Fig. 2. Photograph by author.

THE MATERIALITY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN ART

Fig. 1: Apulian, red-figure column-krater, c. 350–320 BCE. H. 20 1/4 in. (51.5 cm.) Metropolitan Museum of Art, Rogers Fund, 1950 (50.11.4). Attributed to the Group of Boston 00.348, obverse, artist painting a statue of Herakles. Image: Metropolitan Museum of Art.

THE MATERIALITY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN ART

Fig. 2: Zeus and Ganymede (full view, front), c. 470 BCE. Terracotta with pigments. Olympia Museum. Image: Jennifer Stager, taken through the vitrine with overhead spotlighting, 2007.

THE MATERIALITY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN ART

Fig. 3: Detail of pair, frontal. Image: Jennifer Stager, 2007.

Fig. 4: Detail of Zeus’ face. Image: Jennifer Stager, 2007.

THE MATERIALITY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN ART

Fig. 5: Detail of Ganymede’s face. Image: Jennifer Stager, 2007.

THE MATERIALITY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT MEDITERRANEAN ART

Fig. 6: Bluebeard(s). Watercolor depicting painted limestone pediment sculpture from the Hekatompedon on the Archaic Acropolis, mid-sixth century BCE. Image reproduced in Weigand (1904).

Fig. 7: Bluebeard(s). Painted limestone pediment sculpture from the Hekatompedon on the Archaic Acropolis, mid-sixth century BCE. Image: New Acropolis Museum.

GOLD AND PURPLE: BRILLIANCE, MATERIALITY AND AGENCY OF COLOR IN ANCIENT GREECE

Fig. 1: Detail of golden foil applied on the cnemida of a modern small statue, by Maud Mulliez.

Fig. 2: One of the many shades produced by the purple-shell Hexaplex trunculus. Image: Dominique Cardon.

AZTEC REDS: INVESTIGATING THE MATERIALITY OF COLOR AND MEANING IN A PRE-COLUMBIAN SOCIETY

Fig. 1: Tributes of red materials regularly paid to the Aztec empire. From left to right: spoonbill feathers (tlauhquecholli), bags of raw cochineal (nocheztli), and Spondylus shells (tapachtli). Detail from Matrícula de Tributos, fol. 9v, 12r, 13r. 16th c., Central Mexico. Biblioteca Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Mexico City. Fig. 2: The god Xipe Totec in the center of a sun disk. Detail from Tonalamatl Aubin, pl. 16. 15th or 16th c., Central Mexico. Biblioteca Nacional de Antropología e Historia, Mexico City/ Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Paris.

AZTEC REDS: INVESTIGATING THE MATERIALITY OF COLOR AND MEANING IN A PRE-COLUMBIAN SOCIETY

Fig. 3: The god Xochipilli ‘dressed in feathers as a parrot’. Detail from Codex Tudela, fol. 17r. 16th c., Central Mexico. Museo de América, Madrid.

Fig. 4: Accoutrement of the representative of the sun god, with spoonbill feathers framing the sun disk like luminous rays. Detail from Bernardino de Sahagún, Códice Florentino, v. 1, book 2, fol. 135r. 16th c., Central Mexico. Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Florence.

COLOR AND CLOTHING IN ARTEMIDOROS’ DREAM VISIONS DENISE REITZENSTEIN

In the second half of the second century CE, or a little later, the Greek Artemidoros from Daldis in Asia Minor penned a work on dream interpretation, the Oneirokritiká. 1 Quite independently from the implications attached to dreams by modern depth psychology and neurology, this text furnishes us with a window into social and cultural configurations of meaning that prevailed at the time of writing. 2 Artemidoros is not primarily concerned with a dream’s content, but instead emphasizes that the interpreter needs to have information about who the dreamer is (profession, origins, wealth, health, age), relegating information about the dream vision itself to second place. 3 Artemidoros therefore accords the dreamer’s social status greater significance than the actual dream itself. 4 A particularly typical example of one of these configurations of social order is provided by a longer section on clothing-related dreams and their auspices for the future. 5 The various characteristics of garments, including their varying colors, play I am much indebted to Gregor Weber (Augsburg) for his attentive feedback. I also thank Henry Heitmann-Gordon (Munich) for translating the text into English. 2 Weber (2015) 9. Artem. 1.6.16.4–9 serves to distance himself from the Aristotelian problem that dreams might be located with the gods, so outside the individual human being, or within the individual’s soul. Artem. 1.8.17.3–1.9.19.4 (cf. also 4.2.242.15–4.247.18) differentiates between universal and culturally constructed customs and norms among human beings: while Artemidoros considers, e.g., fear of the gods, raising children, and the weakness of women to be universal constants, he treats, e.g., tattooing, sexual practice and nutritional habits as culturally specific. This line of reasoning establishes that people’s origins are significant. On Artemidoros’ method see Walde (2001) 171–185; Guidorizzi (2013) 223–235. 3 Artem. 1.9.18.16–19.4. Artemidoros does not, however, go to the length of defining what poor/wealthy, young/old etc. signifies. On the interpreter’s role see Walde (2001) 167– 170. 4 On Artemidoros’ depiction of society see Hahn (2012). 5 Artem. 2.3.102.5–105.19. 1

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an important part in evaluating social rank and in offering dream interpretations. 6 Since Artemidoros’ catalogue of criteria that serves to define the dreamer does not take the person’s sex into account, the first step shall be to analyze which categorical structure Artemidoros chooses to apply to the clothing-related dreams and how one should understand the epithet ποικίλος that is used for both male and female garments. As the principle of dualism is fundamental in Artemidoros, parts two and three shall study the contrasts between λευκός (‘white’) and μέλας (‘black’), as well as dyed and undyed clothing respectively.

1. ΠΟΙΚΙΛΊΑ IN ITS APPLICATION TO MALE AND FEMALE CLOTHING

The section on clothing-related dreams is located towards the beginning of the second book of the Oneirokritiká ’s five. According to the author, the work was originally conceived as a two-book treatise, but had to be supplemented for various reasons. These supplements all appear as addenda, as Artemidoros claims not to have modified the original two volumes. 7 Artemidoros’ original scheme of classification, i.e. his decision to divide dream interpretation into two parts, organizes the visions by theme, proceeding from birth to death. When outlining his approach, the author further promises to thoroughly discuss both male and female clothing in the second book. 8 In his discussion of the auspices of clothing, Artemidoros begins with men’s clothing. 9 Generally speaking, recipients of Artemidoros’ work with an interest in the significance of clothing seem typically to have been male, as is already suggested by the beginning of the section. 10 Only its last lines explicitly address women who have had dream visions of garments. If these were ποικίλος καὶ ἀνθηρός (‘colorful and flower-patterned’), the dream is auspicious, especially for hetairai and wealthy ladies. What the consequences are if a woman dreams of male clothing is not thematized; in inversion, however, the matter seems worthy of attention: dreams of female clothing are auspicious for bachelors and artists, as well as on occasion of festivals and festive gatherings. Despite his extensive catalogue of symbols, Artemidoros thus seems not to be aiming for comprehensive coverage. 11 The variety of garments Artemidoros thematizes is limited. The dream visions seem to be almost exclusively fitted into an antithetical structure of complementary

On color in Artemidoros in general see Kasprzyk (2002). Artem. 3. praef. 204.9–10. 8 Artem. 1.10.19.19–20. 9 Artem. 2.3.102.5–7. 10 Weber (1999) 222–227 prefers a heterogeneous group of recipients; contra Bowersock (1994) 77–98, who seems more inclined to imagine an audience among the elite, and Guidorizzi (1985) 159–160, who assumes the ‘average citizen’ as the intended reader. 11 Artem. 4. praef. 238.11–20. 6 7

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characteristics. 12 This semantic structure is not exhausted by the dichotomy between male and female: clothing also occurs as a medium of identity and alterity, is new/old or white/black, its wearers are free/unfree, sick/healthy, poor/rich, and are concerned with life/death and fortune/misfortune. Dreaming of white garments is good for the sick, but inauspicious for sick people who are poor. These antithetical pairs agree with the traditional, dichotomous conception that a dream vision is auspicious if it is in alignment with nature, law, custom, art, time, and the recipient’s name, and inauspicious if it is in violation of these authorities. 13 Male garments Artemidoros characterizes in even greater detail: besides λευκός (‘white’) and μέλας (‘black’) one also finds ποικίλος (by contrast with ποικίλος καὶ ἀνθηρός), πορφύρος (‘purple’), κόκκινος (‘scarlet’), φοινικόβαπτος (‘purple-dyed’), γυναικεῖος (‘feminine’), βαρβαρικός (‘foreign’), ἰδιόχρωμος (‘having its own color’, i.e. ‘undyed’), λαμπρά (‘bright/shiny’), as well as καθαρά (‘clean/pure’) and πεπλυμένα καλῶς (‘well washed’), which contrast with ῥυπαρά (‘dirty’) and ἄπλυτα (‘unwashed’). This list both implicitly and explicitly introduces additional pairs of dichotomous terms that extend beyond clean/dirty to include also the distinction between dyed and undyed textiles. Among these terms, the apparent tautology of καθαρά (‘clean/pure’) and πεπλυμένα καλῶς (‘well washed’), 14 as well as their complementary terms, stands out. The explanation is probably to be found in the dyeing process: newly bought or well-maintained clothes might be καθαρά, but not all dyed garments, especially painted ones, could tolerate being ‘washed well’, as the colors of dyed cloth could be lost or fade in the wash. 15 As a result clothing made from fabric that was ἰδιόχρωμος was exempt from this problem. Certain textiles, linens for example, were also difficult to dye, which probably entailed that they were often left ἰδιόχρωμος. 16 In Artemidoros, the dichotomy of black and white recurs also outside the passage about clothing-related dreams: Artem. 1.32.41.16–17 (black or white hairs on the tongue); 2.11.118.16–18 (white dogs signal open, black dogs clandestine acts of violence; brown dogs signify semi-open violence, while spotted dogs mean particularly terrible violence); 2.12.119.4–120.1 (while the old view held that white sheep are auspicious and black inauspicious, Artemidoros holds that black sheep signify less good fortune and white sheep more good fortune; in the case of goats, the matter is inverted, meaning that white are less and black more strongly inauspicious); 2.36.166.11–15 (white, black, and flame-colored [πυρρóς] clouds); 3.6.207.6–7 (ants, being children of the earth, are cold and black); 5.35.309.21 (black figs); 5.56.314.1 (black oxen). 13 Artem. 1.3.11.7–12; cf. 4.2.242.16–243.4. 14 Cf. Artem. 2.4.105.19–106.4, for a discussion of the interpretation of dreams that feature the dreamer washing his own or other people’s laundry. 15 An overview of various types of embellishments, especially as regards the use of color in decorating textiles: Spandidaki (2014) 44. 16 Plin. HN 19.5.22 traces the technique of dyeing linen (linum) back to Alexander the Great. 12

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Traits relating to color thus seem to dominate over form. Only late in his section on clothing-related dreams does Artemidoros thematize Roman clothing, and even then he focuses not on interpreting a dream vision but on the Greek origins of the clothing. Artemidoros does, however, consider short and inappropriate garments inauspicious, a verdict he also applies to the chlamys, for which he lists variant names, as well as to the phainoles and other similar garments, without however going into detail. Rather than their possession, the loss of such garments in a dream is treated as auspicious and whenever foreign or Roman clothing is worn in places it does not belong, it is inauspicious. 17 Since the attribute ποικίλος is applied to male and female clothing alike even though Artemidoros’ model is fundamentally dualistic, it seems reasonable to search for a counterpart. In order to do so, it is necessary to determine both the exact meaning of this term and what kind of distinction it signifies. In the case of women’s clothing, the attribute ποικίλος is supplemented by καὶ ἀνθηρός, which may be a necessary addition that serves to differentiate between the two sexes. Translations of these two passages render ποικίλος as ‘many-colored’, but this category is far from unambiguous even today: are we here dealing with a reference to clothing colors that are missing in Artemidoros and that we would translate as ‘yellow’, ‘green’ or ‘blue’? Such an argument is weakened by the fact that there is in fact a suitable Greek term, πολύχρους, which is capable of expressing variation in color. 18 In archaic poetry, ποικίλος is closely linked to textiles and can be traced back to Mycenaean origins. 19 In the Homeric epics, women weave cloths that are described as ποικίλος and have pictures worked into them. 20 However, the textile techniques (such as embroidery or weaving) used to produce such ποικιλία can often not be determined from the textual sources. 21 Later, the term seems to broaden in applicability and comes to be used in a more metaphorical and general sense. Among the Greeks of the Classical period, ποικίλος is applied to alien Persian clothing and that worn by the Persian allies, linking it closely to conceptions of identity (Greeks) and alterity (Persians). 22 Descriptions of clothing by Plutarch, writing in the Roman Empire, pick up this otherness and use ornate clothing as a topos for weakness and effeminatio. 23 Artemidoros, on the other hand, seems not to be using ποικίλος in this Artem. 2.3.104.19–105.6. Cf. Arist. [Col.] 791a: καὶ ἡ γῆ δ᾽ ἐστὶ φύσει λευκή, παρὰ δὲ τὴν βαφὴν πολύχρους φαίνεται. 19 Grand-Clément (2015) 406. 20 E.g. Il. 22.441; Grand-Clément (2011b) 435–439, 473–480; Droß-Krüpe and Schieck (2014) 212. 21 Occurrences of ποίκιλμα, ποικίλος and ποικίλλω in Greek authors are discussed by Droß-Krüpe and Schieck (2014) 212–219. 22 Grand-Clément (2011b) 480–484; Grand-Clément (2012) 249–253. 23 Plut. Vit. Marc. 7 with Droß-Krüpe and Schieck (2014) 214–215. On the barbarian topos and effeminatio as a property of clothing, especially in Roman times, Starbatty (2010) 162–177. 17 18

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sense, given that he uses βαρβαρικός to designate a category of its own: 24 such garments are auspicious if there is a connection between the place where such clothing is worn and the dreamer, for instance in the form of a journey or even life-long emigration. 25 In the Imperial era, during which Artemidoros is writing, the original usage of ποικίλος, i.e. in the context of textiles, is rarer. The related verb ποικίλλω only resurfaces after roughly half a millennium when Plutarch uses it to describe a garment. 26 The Greek author Athenaeus, who lived during the late second and early third century CE and was probably a contemporary of Artemidoros, quotes from a history of Alexandria written by Kallixeinos of Rhodes in the third century BCE and mentions the garments that adorned the statues of gods carried in a procession, including a ἱμάτιον πορφυροῦν χρυσοποίκιλον. 27 This probably refers to a purple garment embroidered with gold thread, and it is likely that Artemidoros is using ποικίλος in a similar sense. In Artemidoros’ view, dreaming of male garments that can be categorized as ποικίλος or ἀλουργίς is advantageous for priests, θυμελικοί (a broad category meaning ‘musicians’), actors and festival performers. As in the passage of Kallixeinos quoted by Athenaeus, we here encounter ποικίλος in the context of cult and festival. Artemidoros’ ἱμάτιον ποικίλον should similarly signify a weave with patterns or at least two different components, at least one of which may well be envisaged as being made from purple threads (ἀλουργίς): after all, in dreams, the auspices of a ἱμάτιον ποικίλον and a purple garment are identical in the context of cult and festival. Further examples of such ‘mixed colors’ have been collected by Christopher P. Jones for procession garments worn, for instance, by priests. 28 Looking beyond the sphere of clothing and cloth, Artemidoros also uses ποικίλος to describe a dog’s spotted coat, to characterize a leopard (πάρδαλις) on two occasions, and even applies it to the extraordinary pattern of a fish’s scales. 29 The term is thus exclusively employed to communicate the visual characteristics of living creatures, both those of natural and of socio-cultural origin. The shared origin Kaczmarek (2014). In Graeco-Roman literature ‘barbarian’ clothing is negatively connoted within the domestic cultural context: wearing such clothing in Greece or Rome was considered incompatible with contemporary notions of being Greek or Roman. As one of the topoi surrounding ‘the barbarian’, clothing was accordingly used as a marker of extravagance, especially among the political elite: Starbatty (2010) 162–167. 26 Occurrences of ποίκιλμα, ποικίλος and ποικίλλω in Greek authors are discussed by Droß-Krüpe and Schieck (2014) 212–215. 27 Ath. 5.28. See also commentary in Keyser (2016) F2. 28 Jones (1999) 249. 29 Artem. 2.11.118.18; 2.12.122.18; 2.14.129.8–9; 4.56.280.19. Cf. Plut. Mor. 155c (fox); 382c (ibis); Ath. 14.71 (pattern of guinea fowl feathers). Already in the archaic period ποικίλος is used as an attribute of pelts, feathers and scales: Grand-Clément (2011b) 439– 447. On its use in Artemidoros, also in a metaphorical sense, see Kasprzyk (2002) 135–136. 24 25

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of this restriction may be traced back to wool, which is both a textile raw material and derives from the natural coat of sheep. 30 Including the attribute ποικίλος among the color terms used by Artemidoros is thus not without problems: ποικίλος conceptualizes the contrast between at least two different components, simultaneously rendering it a term of form. This is well visible in the various descriptions of dogs’ pelts in Artemidoros’ dreams, as ‘spotted’ (ποικίλος) appears here alongside ‘white’ (λευκός), ‘black’ (μέλας) and ‘flamecolored’ (πυρρός). Ποικίλος is then the opposite of unicolored, 31 in that it makes it possible to observe patterns and contrasts on a surface. One must bear in mind, however, that the four types of dog coats emerge from Artemidoros’ scheme of classification, which is necessarily a construct of the author or his time: while the descriptions correspond to observations we make today, certain aspects necessarily remain unclear. A predominantly black dog with some white hairs thrown into the mix, for example, could be categorized as both μέλας and ποικίλος. Since Artemidoros also uses ποικίλος to designate a category of women’s clothing, one might be inclined to think of ‘multi-colored’ clothing dyed with a variety of pigments. In the Severan era, Aelian’s Ποικίλη (!) ἱστορία offers an anecdote about the Athenian general Phocion, more specifically about his wife, that casts Phocion’s spouse as a paragon of modesty (σωφροσύνη) on the basis that she allegedly wore her husband’s himation. Aelian proceeds to list a variety of items of clothing Phocion’s wife allegedly did not wear either, a list that probably reflects contemporary Severan fashion. She is said to have spurned ‘saffron-colored’ (κροκωτός) 32 and Tarentine clothes (Ταραντίνος) as well as dyed χιτωνίσκοι. 33 The ideal Aelian is communicating here may be similar to the one pursued by Artemidoros in his interpretations: the degree of variation in female clothing is low if women keep to male garments for reasons of modesty. Plin. HN 8.72.187–8.75.199, esp. 8.72.189 on the changing colors of sheep due to changes in environmental factors. 31 Grand-Clément (2015) 409. In Artemidoros’ case, Kasprzyk (2014) 148 understands ποικίλος as the opposite of ἰδιόχρωμος (‘having its original color’), but ποικίλος should be considered in the context of solidly dyed textiles, see section 3 below. 32 In current German and English translations, Aelian’s category κροκωτός (Ael. VH 7.9) is rendered as ‘gelb’ and ‘yellow’ respectively: Helms (1990); Wilson (1997). For the ancient terminology, however, the color seems to be secondary, i.e. the result of a dyeing process with a specific material − here obviously κρόκος (‘saffron’). The French translation by Lukinovich and Morand (1991) is more accurate and speaks of a ‘tunique safranée’. On the problem of translating (ancient) color terms see Clarke (2004); Bradley (2009) 1–12, 227– 228; Goldman (2013) 1–7. 33 Ael. VH 7.9: Εἶτα οὐκ ἔστι σωφροσύνη μεγάλη (ἐμοὶ μὲν δοκεῖ), εἴ γε καὶ ἡ Φωκίωνος γυνὴ τὸ Φωκίωνος ἱμάτιον ἐφόρει καὶ οὐδὲν ἐδεῖτο οὐ κροκωτοῦ οὐ Ταραντίνου οὐκ ἀναβολῆς οὐκ ἐγκύκλου οὐ κεκρυφάλου οὐ καλύπτρας οὐ βαπτῶν χιτωνίσκων; ἠμπείχετο δὲ πρώτῃ μὲν τῇ σωφροσύνῃ, δευτέροις γε μὴν τοῖς παροῦσιν. 30

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The kinds of clothes Phocion’s wife allegedly spurned are reminiscent of the variety of female garments one encounters in Roman authors, such as Plautus and Ovid. Both poets thematize and ironically undercut the great variety of female clothing available. 34 A large number of the types mentioned by Plautus can be traced back to terms for colors and materials. 35 Epidicus, one of his characters, also remarks how rapidly the names of garments change in fashion. 36 Ovid offers a possible cause for this dynamic: the ready availability in his time of a host of different colors for relatively small sums. 37 It is interesting to note also that the whole statement seems to be at odds with the narrator’s claim elsewhere that he will not concern himself with trimmings and purple-dyed wool. 38 One of the implications of Ovid’s statement is then that there was a wide range of clothes that functioned as socially accepted symbols of status and were not subject to the luxuria discourse. 39 Ovid seems to be excluding the same group of garments that appears as appropriate to certain social groups also in Artemidoros, such as priests and performers. To some extent, Plautus and Ovid are in fact concerned with a different category of garments from that discussed by Artemidoros. The Roman poets thematize female garments on women, whereas Artemidoros’ clothing-related dreams seem primarily to be communicating expectations surrounding status-appropriate male clothing. It also remains unclear whether Plautus and Ovid actually describe garments that Artemidoros would categorize as ποικίλος given that he qualifies a dream garment as γυναικεῖος elsewhere. Female clothing he qualifies as ποικίλος καὶ ἀνθηρός might in fact be hearkening back to the archaic conception of women as weaving their own colorful textiles. For Artemidoros, clothing seems to be more significant as a form of social expression than as a functional object, causing him to give center stage to these markers in his discussion: an appropriate correlation between clothing and gender role, clothing as an identity marker in opposition to the Other, and clothing as signifying an individual’s customary place in society 40 take Plaut. Epid. 223–234; Ov. Ars am. 3.169–192. Bradley (2009)180; Goldman (2013) 33–34. 36 Plaut. Epid. 229: quid istae, quae vesti quotannis nomina inveniunt nova? 37 Ov. Ars am. 3.171: Cum tot prodierint pretio leviore colores. Ovid also highlights the availability of various pigments and dyes from all over the Roman Empire: Goldman (2013) 26. Cf. Plin. HN 8.73.191: aliter haec Galli pingunt, aliter Parthorum gentes. 38 Ov. Ars am. 3.169–170: Nec nunc segmenta requiro nec quae de Tyrio murice, lana, rubes. 39 Contra Bradley (2009) 183, who acknowledges that purple is an institutionalized color for clothing, but here interprets it purely as a marker of decadence. See on this also section 3, which surveys the various fashions of purple mentioned in a quote from Cornelius Nepos, Ovid’s contemporary (Plin. HN 9.63.137), thematizing the ambiguity of purple as a status symbol on the one hand and a mark of luxuria on the other. On the terminology used by Roman authors to designate purple, see Goldman (2013) 40–52. 40 Artem. 1.3.11.7–12. On the ideal of appropriate clothing see generally Starbatty (2010) 117–120; Goldman (2013) 39. 34 35

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precedence over the question whether clothing is appropriately reacting to climatic factors.

2. ARTEMIDOROS’ BASIC COLOR TERMS: ‘WHITE’ AND ‘BLACK’

Even before Artemidoros first turns to the color of clothing and its auspices, he gives an explanation for dreams that feature customary and seasonally appropriate garments. The first truly auspicious dream vision discussed concerns the interpretation of white garments (λευκὰ δὲ ἱμάτια), which is simultaneously the first one concerned with the color of clothing. In Artemidoros’ view, this dream is only auspicious if the dreamers customarily wear white clothes in their everyday lives. 41 Craftsmen, for instance, who dream of white clothes, will experience a period of economic decline, as their work is dirty and prevents them from wearing white. The negative consequences are proportional to the quality of the garments. For Greek slaves, on the other hand, the dream is auspicious as it signifies freedom; for Roman slaves it means that they will be caught doing shoddy work, unless they are very diligent. The difference between Greek and Roman slaves is then that the latter customarily wear clothing identical to that of their masters. 42 The significance of social status for Artemidoros’ interpretations has already been noted. These passages not only show that the body of recipients is subdivided by personal status into free and non-free individuals, 43 but also that Artemidoros includes another group of dreamers, namely the sick. 44 As in the case of free and non-free, aspects of social stratification remain relevant also within this group, as the exceptions will make clear. The general rule is that to a sick person white garments presage death, as the dead are buried in white, whereas black signifies recovery, being the color not of the dead, but of the living mourners. Artemidoros then explains that he has discovered various exceptions to this rule, including sick wet-nurses, slaves, and prisoners, all of whom died despite dreaming of black garments. He elaborates on these deviations by pointing to the fact that these three groups are not in fact buried in white as they are too poor; in these cases, black thus signifies mis-

Artem. 2.3.102.13–26. What Artemidoros’ distinction signifies exactly is unclear: probably we should understand slaves of Roman citizens on the one hand, and slaves owned by Greek peregrines on the other hand. Sen. Clem. 1.24 mentions a decree by the senate that sought to make (Roman) slaves recognizable by means of specific attire, but was evidently later annulled: the creation of such aesthetic unity might have entailed the development of collective identity. Starbatty (2010) 118–119. 43 On the differentiation between free and non-free in Artemidoros, which was also relevant in the eyes of the law, see Hahn (1992) 15–16, 27–34; Laukamm (1930) 41–42. 44 Sickness in Artemidoros has hardly been studied so far; regarding the various illnesses and remedies see Laukamm (1930) 39–40. 41 42

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fortune. In addition, dreaming of black garments is also inauspicious to everyone healthy, apart from those who do business in secret. 45 Whereas in reality clothing can be perceived as ‘white’ or ‘black’ − in this case: white garments as worn by the wealthy dead, black as worn by mourners − this first section treats the colors ‘white’ and ‘black’ as embedded into the scheme of complementary attributes that was already mentioned above. According to Theophrastus, the notion of ‘white’ (λευκόν) and ‘black’ (μέλαν) as elementary colors was considered the oldest accepted dichotomous principle of organization in his day, around the turn from the fourth to the third century BCE. 46 Theophrastus reaches this conclusion when critiquing Democritus’ scheme of four basic colors (λευκόν, μέλαν, ἐρυθρόν, χλωρόν), noting that the two additional colors are not polar opposites in their attributes. 47 In the Imperial era at the latest, Empedocles’ conception of the four elements then comes to be linked to four rather than two basic colors, with ὠχρόν replacing Democritus’ χλωρόν. 48 In the late Classical/early Hellenistic period, however, Empedocles seems to have been considered a proponent of the more widespread twocolor model based on the opposition between ‘white’ (λευκόν) and ‘black’ (μέλαν). 49 Artemidoros also seems to prefer this older model in organizing his taxonomy of clothing: even when he mentions pigments used to produce shades of red, he does not describe them as ἐρυθρός or χλωρός. Other passages in Artemidoros’ book of dream interpretations similarly employ the terms ‘white’ (λευκόν) and ‘black’ (μέλαν) to express dichotomous opposition. 50 Cf. Artem. 4.56.280.16–20: οἷον πάρδαλις καὶ μεγαλόφρονα σημαίνει διὰ τὰ ἤθη καὶ ποικίλον διὰ τὸ χρῶμα. 46 Theophr. Sens. 79. 47 Theophr. Sens. 73–82. 48 Aët. 1.15.3 (Stob. Ecl. 1.16.1): which element corresponds to which color is not explained. On Empedocles see Ierodiakonou (2004). 49 When discussing the structure and function of the eye, Empedocles mentions the four elements, but only two basic colors, ‘white’ and ‘black:’ Theophr. Sens. 7. In Platonic color theory this basic color scheme similarly functions as the basic dichotomous principle: Pl. Ti. 67c-68d, claims that all colors derive from ‘white’ and ‘black,’ see further Arist. [Col.] 791a-792a; Theophr. Sens. 86; Diog. Laert. 3.1.104–105. 50 Artem. 1.32.41.16–17; 2.11.118.16–18 (white dogs signify overt, black dogs covert deeds of violence); 2.12. 119.4–120.1 (black and white sheep as opposed to black and white goats: ‘white’ is more positive than ‘black’); indirectly at 2.20.137.4–5 (a raven is mentioned for its color, but contrasted only with a swan’s white feathers: 2.20.138.8–12); 2.36.166.11– 15 (white and black clouds). ‘Black’ without a complementary white partner, but often inauspicious: Artem. 1.25.32.3–8 (black eyebrow make-up); 1.31.39.22–25 (loss of black teeth in a dream is auspicious); 3.6.207.6–7 (black ants as heralds of death); 5.35.309.21 (seven black figs as signaling death); 5.56. 314.1 (dreaming of a black ox leads to shipwreck); indirect usage tied to undoubtedly black reference objects: 4.38.268.19–21 (Ethiopians, coals). ‘White’ without an explicit opposite: Artem. 1.67.73.25–74.2 (referencing light-colored vege45

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This is no coincidence, for Artemidoros seems to be very restrained in his use of actual color terms, which may be in keeping with his reception of a rather more dualistic model of color: (1.) The only abstract color terms in his work are ‘black’ and ‘white’. While a derivative of ἐρυθρός does appear, this occurrence was probably simply unavoidable, as it seems to be being used in contemporary imperial usage to describe a fish elsewhere in his Oneirokritiká. 51 (2.) Other color terms are tied to materials and objects and occur in descriptions of objects capable of color variation. 52 On the whole, the number of color terms in Artemidoros is very limited. 53 The strictness of its color scheme is unparalleled, even by the Homeric epics and other early Greek texts, 54 whose lack of abstract color terms equivalent to modern conceptions of ‘green’ or ‘blue’ has given rise to a wealth of publications and a lively debate over the explanation for these differences by comparison with modern languages. 55 It is conceivable that Artemidoros’ use of a relatively archaic, possibly even

tables such as turnips or gourds); 1.77.83.25–84.1 (white violets herald difficulties). λευκός and μέλας are by far the most common color terms in Artemidoros: Kasprzyk (2002) 136– 137. 51 Artem. 2.14.129.15. Kasprzyk (2002) 135, 137–139. (‘Comme on purvait s’y attendre, trois couleurs dominent la palette d’Artémidore: le blanc, le noir, et, disons pour simplifier, le rouge’), oversimplifies the matter, since ‘red’ is not designated by consistent terminology. 52 Gold: Artem. 1.4.12.22–23; 1.31.40.3–6 (in a metaphorical sense auspicious only for a poet: golden teeth in a golden mouth); 2.30.153.1–3; purple: 2.30.153.1–3; 4.42.270.5; ivory: Artem. 1.31.40.1–3; saffron: Artem. 1.77.84.1; fire: Artem. 2.11.118.16–18 (color of a dog’s fur); 2.14.129.12 (pattern of a fish). See also Artem. 1.64.68.22–23 (on skin color changing at the baths); 4.19.252.20–253.1 (gray hairs on a toddler: here the concern is with the inversion of signifiers of childhood and old age.). 53 Kasprzyk (2002) 140 n. 56: ‘il [Artémidore] n’utilise aucun terme de couleur d’origine poétique, comme ξανθός, γλαυκός ou κυανοῦς, pourtant souvent repris par les auteurs qui examinent les couleurs d’un point de vue scientifique et non littéraire.’ Biggam (2012) 196 argues that color terms are more common in poetry than in prose. 54 In the context of gold, Artem. 2.9.112.5–7 quotes Pindar: ἔοικε γὰρ πυρὶ τὸ χρυσίον κατά γε τὴν χρόαν, ἔστι δὲ καὶ παρὰ Πινδάρωι ‘ὁ δὲ χρυσὸς αἰθόμενον πῦρ ἅτε’. 55 The chapter by Gladstone (1858) 457–499 on Homer’s perception and use of colors was the starting point of an extensive debate on color terms and the ancient Greeks’ ability to perceive color. By contrast with the missing terms for ‘green’ and ‘blue’, the terms ξανθός (‘yellow’) und ἐρυθρός (‘red’) that Homer uses besides λευκός und μέλας seem unproblematic to Gladstone. The history of this research is summarized by Werner (1999), who explains the difficulties in dealing with Homeric color terminology by drawing on contemporary modern color topoi, especially the example of ‘blue sky.’ Bradley (2009) 12–30; Grand-Clément (2011b) 11–15; Grand-Clément (2012) 241–248.

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intentionally archaizing 56 color scheme aims at creating the impression of a long tradition and general validity of his dream interpretations. In one of Artemidoros’ visions, form and color are definitely seen as rather negative: for a poet, dreaming of losing his eyes is auspicious, since poetry requires peace and quiet. 57

3. DYED AND UNDYED CLOTHES 58

For shades of purple, Artemidoros uses the terms ἀλουργίς and πορφύρος, which, like φοινικόβαπτος and κόκκινος, presuppose a process of dyeing. 59 The attribute ἰδιόχρωμος on the other hand is mainly used in opposition to dyed fabrics. 60 Purple garments and ἱμάτιον ποικίλον in the context of cult and festival were already mentioned above. It is even possible that the ἱμάτιον ποικίλον had a longer tradition in this area than purple attire: Hartmut Blum has shown that religious dignitaries wearing purple are not reliably attested in Greek-speaking areas before the third to second century BCE. 61 In Artemidoros’ interpretation, purple is auspicious for slaves and the wealthy, but not for the sick and the poor. Depending on the status of the dreamer, purple can thus signify a negative or a positive future. By contrast, garments described as κόκκινος and φοινικόβαπτος herald either wounds or fever, making them inauspicious to everyone. The shades of red produced by dyeing with pigments that are not true purple are thus abstracted and linked to the comparable impressions of color On the problem of archaisms in studying color terms in literature, see Biggam (2012) 195. On the problem of shifting conceptual categories between the archaic and the imperial age, note Gell. NA 17.8.10: Tum ego respondi coniectare me vinum idcirco minus cito congelascere, quod semina quaedam caldoris in sese haberet essetque natura ignitius, ob eamque rem dictum esse ab Homero αἴθοπα οἶνον, non, ut alii putarent, propter colorem. 57 Artem. 1.26.33.19–22. 58 The fact that Pliny the Elder does not systematically address this matter in his Natural History is due to the fact that he does not include dyeing among the liberal arts (Plin. HN 22.3.4). 59 Artem. 2.3.103.8–27. On the various terms for purple in Greek (ἀλουργής, πορφύρεος, φοῖνιξ) see Blum (1998) 20–41. That Artemidoros uses φοινικόβαπτος rather than πορφυροβάπτος may not be a coincidence: ibid. 32–34, notes that φοῖνιξ seems to have been a general term for ‘red’ already in Homer; as a result φοῖνιξ-dyed fabrics were dyed with pigments other than purple. On the passage of Artemidoros see Blum (1998) 34 n. 65. Wunderlich (2013) 21 emphasizes that the research done by the German chemist Paul Friedländer, who argued that ca. 12.000 murex snails produced only 1.4 grams of pure dye, is in fact difficult to apply to real-world circumstances: ‘Es ist schwierig, Ausbeuten unter Laborbedingungen, bei denen es um die Reindarstellung eines Farbstoffes geht, auf die Praxis der antiken Färberei zu übertragen. Zudem sagt die Menge reinen Farbstoffes noch nichts darüber aus, welche Menge Stoff damit effektiv gefärbt werden kann.’ On coccus in the context of purple, see Plin. HN 9.65.141, 16.12.32, 24.4.8. 60 Kasprzyk (2002)148; Szabolcs (2005); Herz (2012). 61 Blum (1998) 95–103. 56

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evoked by bloody wounds or feverish skin color. 62 This capacity of color terms to generate artificial links between two incompatible objects is most vividly expressed in a dream that Artemidoros himself adduces as an example for this phenomenon: 63 someone dreamt he received an Ethiopian as a gift, which Artemidoros interprets as heralding that he was going to receive a bucket of coals the next day. Even though the color as such is not explicitly mentioned in this example, this attribute, and here also the connoted semantics, are crucial in linking the Ethiopian and the coal: in antiquity it was thought that the skin color of Ethiopians was due to their geographical proximity to the sun which charred their skin. 64 For Artemidoros this additional link leads him to diagnose a gift of coal and prevents one from simply substituting any other black object, such as the black dog we have already encountered. To slaves, Artemidoros continues, purple signifies freedom, as they are prohibited from wearing the color, whereas for the rich it heralds honorary office and great prestige, since purple is appropriate to their social status. 65 This basic significance is matched by the fact that for purple (πορφύρος) to be auspicious it should occur in the context of other status symbols such as diadem, crown, retinue and guards. 66 For Artemidoros, the basic rule is thus that attributes and qualities should be appropriate, i.e. ‘normal.’ This is visible in inversion in the case of a dream vision that featured golden eyes. This signified impending blindness simply because gold is not a typical quality of eyes. 67 Artemidoros seems unconcerned with the kinds of things described by authors such as Cornelius Nepos, who died under Augustus und was heavily used by Pliny the Elder for his Natural History. 68 In Nepos’ youth ‘violet purple’ (violacea purpura) 69 was highly esteemed, with a pound costing 100 denarii, only to be replaced some time later by Tarentine red (rubra Tarentina). This was soon followed by dibapha Tyria, twice-dyed Tyrian purple, traded at 1000 denarii a pound. The curule aedile P. Lentulus Kasprzyk (2002) 142. Artem. 4.38.268.19–21: Τὰ τῶι χρώματι ὅμοια εἰς ταὐτὸν ἀποβαίνει. Αἰθίοπά τις λαβὼν δῶρον μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν ἀνθράκων πλῆρες ἐδέξατο ἀγγεῖον. Kasprzyk (2002) 144–146. 64 In this vein see, for instance, Plin. HN 2.72.189–2.80.190, and 6.22.70: a Gange versa ad meridiem plaga tinguntur sole populi, iam quidem infecti, nondum tamen Aethiopum modo exusti. 65 Artem. 2.3.103.13–16: πορφυρᾶ δὲ ἐσθὴς δούλοις ἀγαθὴ καὶ πλουσίοις· οἷς μὲν γὰρ διὰ τὸ μὴ μετεῖναι ἐλευθερίαν σημαίνει, οἷς δὲ διὰ τὸ ἐπιβάλλειν καὶ τῶι ἀξιώματι κατάλληλον εἶναι τιμὴν καὶ εὐδοξίαν προαγορεύει. 66 Artem. 2.3.103.18–20. Cf. Artem. 2.30.153.1–3 (purple or golden official attire). On the symbolism of ‘formal’ status in antiquity see Kolb (1977); in the context of purple see also the discussion by Blum (1998) 4–19. 67 Artem. 1.4.12.22–23. Cf. Artem. 2.66.190.9–13: a swallow is only inauspicious if something unusual happens to it or it changes to an unnatural color. 68 Plin. HN 9.63.137. Bradley (2009) 197–201 argues that lighter shades of purple on the toga praetexta were at this time linked to the leanings towards the populares, whereas darker shades associated the optimates. 69 André (1949) 196–197; Heijn (1951) 35. 62 63

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Spinther was accused of having used this sort for his toga praetexta, but Nepos resignedly adds that in his day it was an overwhelmingly common sight even at banquets. Artemidoros is very different from Nepos in that wealth and purple do not associate luxuria, but rather the right to wear purple. Given that purple is auspicious not only in the dreams of the wealthy, but also of slaves, social mobility may have played a part for both groups. For slaves, being freed was obviously crucial, but for the wealthy the prospect of honorary office in the Greek poleis of the Roman Empire may not have been the be-all and end-all: if one takes Artemidoros’ background in Asia Minor into account, the provincial elite also aspired to Roman citizenship and the career opportunities this opened up within the elite of the Empire as a whole (marked by the purple angustus clavus of knighthood and the latus clavus of senators). 70 Furthermore, luxuria in Roman authors is a theme strongly connected to the East and the Orient. As an Ephesian, Artemidoros certainly had a different view of the Hellenistic monarchies and the opportunities for social advancement in the Roman Empire. In cases in which Artemidoros does not treat purple positively as a symbol of status (as he does even in the inverted scenarios applied to poor dreamers, for whom purple signifies injury and even imprisonment), he treats it as a symbol of death for dreamers who are sick and dream of purple clothing. Also elsewhere, purple features as a symbol of death: he distinguishes wreaths of violet by their color, singling out ‘white’ (λευκός), ‘saffron-colored’ (κρόκευς) and ‘purple’ (πορφυροῦς) violets as heralding negative events ranging from mishaps to death. In his view, the color πορφυροῦς evidently also has a certain connection to death. 71 The sheer existence of violacea purpura, which also occurred in Cornelius Nepos, attests a possible link between violets and purple, but whether purple had a significant ceremonial role in Greek funerary cult is impossible to determine, as is whether purple was considered a symbol of blood in Greek cult. 72 The fact that κόκκινος and φοινικόβαπτος are negative symbols in themselves may be due to the risk of confusing them with purple; 73 in the case of κόκκινος the negative auspices may even be due to the fact that the dye was reserved for the emperor: Pliny notes the importance of this color (coccus) and of purple for the emperOn Artemidoros’ world in Ephesos, see Kirbihler (2014); on his portrayal of the Roman elite and social advancement, see Hamdoune (2014) 211–230. 71 Artem. 1.77.84.2–3: ἔχει γάρ τινα τὸ πορφυροῦν χρῶμα συμπάθειαν καὶ πρὸς τὸν θάνατον. Krauss (1965)’s understanding of πορφυροῦς as ‘dark blue’ in this passage loses the connection with other objects described as πορφυροῦς (Artem. 2.3.103.13; 4.42.270.5: always in the context of clothing). In defense of this translation, one may adduce that our modern taxonomy would consider the distinction between blue, white and yellow violets more sensible; but this scheme is a modern, culturally specific scheme of organization. 72 Blum (1998) 111–118. 73 Martelli (2014) 121–126. 70

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or’s paludamentum. 74 In the same passage, Pliny also mentions that craftsmen in Gallia transalpina use herbs rather than sea snails for Tyria, conchylia and other colors. 75 Such imitations are well known from ancient regulations on dyeing, where πορφύρα appears as a result that can be produced by various different pigments, all of which produce a red color. 76 In a pseudo-Democritean text on πορφύρα, for instance, κόκκος is mentioned among the first red dyes. 77 Even dyeing wool to imitate a darker natural color was evidently widespread. 78 This complicates Artemidoros’ category of ἰδιόχρωμος, which is generally favorable, especially for people in fear of losing a lawsuit. 79 Evidently, the quality of ἰδιόχρωμος could be faked relatively easily, which begs the irresolvable question as to what kind of treatments the color-bearing fabric (e.g. wool) could undergo while still allowing it to be categorized as ἰδιόχρωμος. One example may be the procedure mentioned by Pliny that involved bleaching wool with sulphur smoke. 80 Color impression on its own is thus not a reliable indicator of authenticity and correct categorization. This observation makes one wonder how a dreamer is supposed to identify the difference between purple and other reddish tints not only in reality, but also in the dream, always for the purpose of drawing the right conclusions. And when Pliny writes that black wool cannot be dyed, 81 how is one supposed to differentiate between a black garment and a garment characterized as ἰδιόχρωμος? And was the clothing in the dream really black or perhaps a dark purple? This ambiguity of clothing colors as signifiers in dream visions brings me back to the beginning of my contribution. The dyed clothes in Artemidoros are especially well suited to highlight that the dreamer may in fact derive his identification of signifiers not from the ‘actual’ clothes in the dream, be they dyed or un-dyed, but from

Plin. HN 22.3.3; cf. SHA Diad. 3.3.; Suet. Dom. 4.2 mentions a puerulus coccinatus in Domitian’s entourage; Petron. Sat. 28.4. 75 Cf. Plin. HN 8.73.192. 76 Martelli (2013); P. Holm. §§128–133 (l. 948–963); Caley and Jensen (2008) 79–81; Reinking (1938) 32–34; Ps.-Dem. Alch. PM 2. As the text speaks of φυλάντιον τὸ δυτικόν and the term phylantion can be tentatively identified as a plant which is here further qualified as being ‘Western’, one might posit that these may be the herbs from Gallia Transalpina mentioned by Plin. HN 22.3.3. For discussion see Martelli (2013) 211. On imitating purple see Bradley (2009) 201–202. On πορφυροῦς as a term for ‘red’, Clarke (2004) 138. On the profession of the ‘red dyer’ (πορφυροβάφος) see P. Oslo 3/144. 77 Ps.-Dem. Alch. PM 2. 78 P. Holm. §136 (Z. 978–986), Caley and Jensen (2008) 81; Reinking (1938) 35; Goldman (2013) 64: ‘The gray color was probably the natural shade of the un-dyed wool.’ 79 Artem. 2.3.105.14–16. 80 Plin. HN 35.50.175. 81 Plin. HN 8.73.193: lanarum nigrae nullum colorem bibunt. 74

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his own social standing. 82 The color terms then support Artemidoros’ focus on status, which probably also corresponded to the expectations of clients and readers. A healthy rich man would probably identify a garment of purplish color as being dyed with real purple, because he can actually afford it and wears such clothes in reality. Accordingly, in Artemidoros, this dream vision is always positive. A sick rich man on the other hand probably preferred to have dreamed not of true purple, but of one of its fake alternatives, since such garments signify illness, but not death. Someone who considers himself poor, or is assessed as such by the interpreter, is finally forced to expect negative consequences in either case. A Roman slave who dreams of a white garment has to evaluate, or be evaluated, as to whether he is particularly industrious or not, in order to be able to hope for good auspices. Even under the most ideal of circumstances a certain degree of ambiguity persists, probably intentionally so: according to Artemidoros, incorrect interpretations are always due to errors on part of the dreamer, who gave wrong information either about himself or in recounting the dream. 83 And of course, when in doubt, the dream was not a vision at all, but simply an ordinary dream without any significance for the future. 84

Hahn (1992) 8: ‘in der Typisierung ist nun die gesellschaftliche der um Traumdeutung bittenden Person ein entscheidender Faktor.’ 83 Artem. 1.9. 84 Artem. 4. praef. 82

MEANING AND MATERIALITY: EARLY CHRISTIAN THEOLOGY OF COLOR AND PAGAN AESTHETICS KUNIBERT BERING PREFACE

The early Christian theologians often comment on colors, and refer to these phenomena in a complex manner. 1 Mostly they concentrate on three aspects. The apologists discuss the materiality of colors in contrast to their appearance, for example relating to pictures. In addition, the Church Fathers consider the arts and elaborate in this context on a differentiated imagery to think about theological theories, but also to speak about the whole gamut of emotions. They also present a differentiated symbolism of colors as they appeared in the pagan environment. Thinking about colors in the times of the Church Fathers and especially their differentiation between meaning and materiality is most important with regard to the epoch-making transformation of the antique ideas of arts and images into the later aesthetic concepts of the East. Color as an important medium of communication and a way to gain an understanding of the world has been the focus of cultural studies and sociological research for some decades now. 2 The School of Koloritgeschichte (John Gage) and the ideas of color of the late Middle Ages have been attracting attention for some years. 3 But research on the meaning of color during those decisive centuries of change from the pagan aesthetics to a Christian interpretation remained excluded. This applies even to John Gage’s innovative diachronic research, which refers only rarely to the ideas of color in the Early Middle Ages. 4 I would like to thank Karina Pauls for the excellent correction of the English version of this text and Julia Gerber for her extensive research. 2 Thurn (2007) 8. 3 Pleij (2004) 9; Cipollone (2013) 9, 23; Schausten (2012) 11, 17. 4 Gage (2000) 68; Gage (1999) 39. 1

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MATERIALITY AND EFFECTS OF COLOR

In the generation before the first apologists Pliny the Elder drew a clear distinction in his substantial essay about colors between their materiality, minerals and natural pigments, on the one hand, and the effects of the pictures emerging from them on the other. 5 Pliny the Elder and his contemporary Seneca speak about a more or less elaborate illusionism of those pictures, which they criticize as an optical illusion. 6 The difference between materiality and meaning of the colors is analysed by the Apologists in a theological way: for them the material is inanimate, and the color of the objects is the topic of numerous interpretations. For example, Clement of Alexandria (d. before 215/216 CE) uses the imagery of jewels to explain the relation between the materiality and the brilliance of precious stones. Clement points to the Heavenly Jerusalem of the Apocalypse, whose city wall is built of jewels. He argues that the stone itself consists of pure material, but the brilliance of its colored surface, which makes the stone visible and precious, is an example of God’s mercy, announced by the apostles. 7 But this positive opinion is valid only for the visions of the Celestial City of the Apocalypse, and not for everyday life on earth. Here − as the Apologist states − the precious stones are abhorrent luxury goods of disastrous and unblushing shameless women. 8 Later Gregory the Great also connects social aspects with the imagery of jewels und interprets the different intensity of the colored jewel as a hint to the simple religious man, who ranks before a disbeliever from a socially privileged milieu. 9 Gregory of Nyssa (d. 394) reflects on the mixing of materials of different value. The result is not only an amplifying of colored effects, but also an intensification of ‘beauty’: if in the construction of a carved ceiling the blue is placed beside gold, the less valid material intensifies the gleam of gold by using the contrast. 10 Jerome (d. 420) states that a body is not identical with its color even if it could not exist without any color. 11 In a similar way Augustine of Hippo (d. 430) argues that color has the function to mark a body. The body is a case sui generis, a ‘substance’ in contrast to form and color. 12 Finally, in Augustine’s theology the phenomenon of color gets a key position because of its function to integrate all parts of a body as the base of ‘beauty’. Augustine argued that the beauty of the human body Plin. HN 35, passim; Binder (2011). See, e.g. Pigment bowls from Pompeii, Casa dei Pittori al Lavoro, in Coarelli (2002) 334. 6 Bradley (2009) 108–110. 7 Clem. Al., Paidagogos II 12, 119 [PG vol. 8, col. 540–550]. Cf. Stiegemann, Kroker and Walter (2013) Cat. no. 49 (Sheep porter, ring with sardonyx, 3rd c. CE; Cologne, RömischGermanisches Museum). 8 Clem. Al., Paidagogos I 6, 118 [PG vol. 8, col. 307–311]. 9 Gregory the Great, Lib. regulae pastoralis 3, 28. 10 Gregoryii Nysseni Opera Vol. 8/1, 385. 11 Hieron., De Isaia VI 1–7. 12 August., De Trinitate VII 5, 10; Origen, De principiis II, 4, 3. 5

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results from the harmony of all parts which are tied together by colors. In addition Augustine mentions the brilliance of the colors evoked by the light as an analogy of the resplendence of the righteous in the Kingdom of God. This resplendence was also radiated from the body of the revived Christ. 13 On the other hand, according to Augustine the absence of light characterized the situation before the Creation. Therefore the amorphous mass from which God created the world lacked not only shape, but also color. 14 Augustine’s contemporary Ambrose of Milan (d. ca. 397) wrote in his treatise Hexameron in detail about the genesis and the important role of water and its colors. During the Creation the earth was covered by water, and therefore invisible. After the gathering of the waters the earth appeared. In this context Ambrose writes about the colors of the water: even if the water is like all the physical things characterized by shape and color, it has the capacity to change its color corresponding to the underground. The water is yellow according to the sand of the steppe, green in the scrubland, and reddish in rose gardens. 15

THE COLORS OF THE IDOLS

Reflecting theological ideas, the Church Fathers often follow pagan theories, and suppose a difference between the physicality of matter and the qualities of the body to which the colors belong. Demonizing the pagan idols, the Church Fathers take the material aspects of color, the pigments, as a basic property and regard colors as belonging to raw material, which is inanimate and as such must not be adored. 16 This differentiation between the material of colors and their appearance becomes the basis for a vehement debate about the pagan idols. Theophilus of Antioch (d. ca. 183) places the colors of the idols on the same level with those materials from which they are manufactured. 17 Tertullian (d. ca. 220) continues this argument, forcefully condemning the making of pictures for religious rituals by sculptors and painters; and he damns colors and stone, bronze, silver, plastic clay, or gypsum as media of idolatry. 18 Eusebius states in his biography of the Emperor Constantine that in the context of the cult of the ancestors, colorful wax paintings as well as sculptured portraits consisted of inanimate material, and were therefore unable to represent the August., De civ. D. 22, 19. August., Conf. 12, 3 (ad 1. Gen. 1, 2). 15 Ambrose of Milan, Exameron II 7; XV 62 (4. and 5. Homilies); Gregory of Nyssa, Ep. XX, 5 (Letter to Adelphius) [PG vol. 46, 1081 A]. 16 The Papyrus Leydensis was written about 400 CE. It is a collection of recipes for dyers and other craftsmen using colors. Brusatin (2003) 72. For images of Artemis with polychromatic reconstruction see Brinkmann (2010) 206, 213. 17 Theoph. Ad Autol. 2, 2; Tauber (2011) 71–89. 18 Tert., De idol. 3, ‘quia nec de materia refert, an gypso, an coloribus, an lapide, an aere, an argento, an filo formetur idolum.’ (PL vol. 1, 740). 13 14

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immortal soul. 19 Because colors often characterized pagan idols there were a lot of pejorative estimations. Theodoret of Cyrus (d. ca. 466) reports in his Historia Ecclesiastica an attack on the Christian community which took place between 370 and 373 in Alexandria. During this assault a lot of priests and nuns and their churches had been profaned. Theodoret mentions especially a rioting attacker who danced on the altar of the church in an androgynous manner with black make-up around his eyes. His face had red make-up, the infamous color of the pagan idols − colors had become the sign of aggressions against Christian communities. 20 The attribution of color to inanimate materiality must inevitably lead to an essential theological differentiation: Hilary of Poitiers (d. ca. 367) argues that the representation of God by Christ is completely different from the colored image of a human being. The latter can only be the attempt to visualize something living with inanimate material, but Christ is the living image of God the Father. 21

CONCEPTS OF COLOR AND THE IDEA OF GOD

It is not astonishing that the Apologists attributing the colors to the sphere of materiality discuss God as the total ‘other’. In his Dialogue with Tryphus Justin Martyr (d. ca. 165) states that God the Father cannot have any color, form, or size, which are all aspects of visual perception. With reference to Plato, Justin argues that the ‘good and beautiful’ (καλός καγαϑός) as the decisive characteristics of God the Father are perceptible only by the ‘good soul’ because of its relationship to God. 22 Tertullian acknowledges a certain physicality of the soul and asks if it could be possible to admit an image of the soul − in contrast to Plato, who denies this by referring to the fact that all images are combined in one way or the other. Combinations could divide into parts again which did not apply to the soul. The apologist however counters with the vision of a Christian woman, who had seen the soul in a bright human shape in the colors of the air. 23 Origen (d. 253/254) discusses this idea, but characterizes the soul and God the Father as invisible and denies expressly his color and shape. 24 If God had color, form, and size he consequently would be subject to decay. 25 Because this is not the fact, God is invisible for human beings, but they are able to recognize him by his effects. Origen explains this theory with the momentous metaphor of the light: we are not able to look directly into the sun, Euseb. Vit. Const. I, 3; Bering (2012) 96–99. Theodoret, Historia ecclesiastica IV 19 [PG vol. 82, col. 1170]. 21 Hilary of Poitiers, De trinitate 7, 37; Hieron., De Isaia VI 1–7; Thümmel (1992) 43. 22 Justin, Dialogus cum Tryphone Iudaeo, 4. 23 Tert. De anima, 9 B: ‘Proinde et coloris proprietas omni corpori adhaerent; quem igitur alium animae aestimabis colorem, quam aerium ac lucidum?’ (PL vol. 2, 660). Tert. Adversus Valentinianos, 23: ‘qua nec aerem haberet reciprocandi spiritus spatium, teneram omnium corporem vestem, colorum omnium indicem.’ 24 Origen C. Cels., VI 64. 25 Origen De principiis, II 4, 3. 19 20

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but we can see the reflections of the sunlight. Thus all that is created points at the creator. 26 Basil of Caesarea (d. 379) picks up this idea and constructs a parallel between the invisible human soul and God, and he states that both of them are perceptible only by their consequences. 27 In the late fourth century Gregory of Nazianzus (d. ca. 390) identifies in his treatise about the configuration of man the characteristics of God, which are immateriality, immeasurableness, and especially missing colors. 28

COLOR – PERCEPTION – IMAGINATION

The result of the discussion about problems concerning colors was an intensive debate about the conditions of human perception. Gregory of Nazianzus, one of the leading scholars at the court of emperor Theodosius I, deals in detail with man’s senses and his possibilities of cognition. He underlines especially the sense of hearing and the ability to see, because these are the most important senses to recognize differences. For him the distinction between black and white, as well as color contrasts, play a decisive role in human perception. 29 Gregory is sure of the effectivity of the Holy Spirit in sensory perceptions. For this reason he comes to an eclectic ideal of beauty, which results from the combination of different impressions. 30 In his treatise De virginitate, Gregory distinguishes three different types of human perception. According to Gregory, most human beings have an imperfect intelligence and enjoy only the pure visual experience. Men with a higher standard of education are able to make an analysis, and to harmonize superficial impressions. Finally, the third group can admire the invisible, highest divine beauty by looking at the visible world. 31 Basil of Caesarea develops the idea that every body has its own color which is seen by the eyes. This leads him back to the Creation, when God the Father had ordered the waters to gather together and to deliver the invisible earth to visibility. 32 Augustine adds to these reflections some decisive aspects, and asks which terms of colors a human being born blind might have. In a letter to Nebridius, Augustine acts on the assumption of the learnability and storage of seen imagery. But these images are changeable by addition or reduction of elements, and the combination with others just seen, i.e. learned images. The results of this imaginativeness are ideas of objects which one has never seen before. Because the man born blind has never seen Ibid. I 1; Gregory of Nyssa, De opificio hominis, 24. Basil. Second sermon, 7 (Mauriner ed.). 28 Gregory of Nyssa, De opificio hominis, 23. 29 Ibid. 10; Mathew (1975) 217–222. 30 Gregory of Nazianzus writes that the apple of paradise was so seductive because of its ‘fine color and its good taste’, Gregory of Nyssa, In XL Martyres II [PG vol. 46, col. 773– 788]; Mathew (1975) 219. 31 Gregory of Nyssa, De virginitate [PG vol. 46, col. 361, 364]. 32 Basil, Homiliae in Hexaemeron 4, 2. 26 27

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any colors and did not learn any terms of color, he is not able to develop colored mental pictures. 33 Closely connected to these reflections on imagination are the phenomena of dreaming, where colors play an important role. The early Christians reverted to a rich pagan literature on this subject. So Artemidoros, the leading ‘dream reader’ of the second century, interpreted red clothes as a prophecy of good luck and honour, but white clothes of dead people were hints to misfortune. Violet meant separation and indicated divorce or widowhood. 34

PAINTING

Against the background of their general theological and philosophical reflections about the phenomena of colors, the apologists discuss again and again the everyday occurrence of colors, e.g. in pictures. In this context they deal with contemporary ideas of art, especially of painting. Pliny the Elder wrote his Natural History about 50 BCE, in which he reflected seriously upon the basis and role of painting and distinguished between the materiality of color and the way color is perceived. For Pliny, colors have a real quality as pigments, whereas the result of using colors might be an infatuation of the senses. This applies, as Pliny states, especially to paintings during the epoch of the emperor Nero. 35 Pliny evaluated the arts of his time in the middle of the first century in a very critical way: confronted with Nero’s magnificent buildings, Rome’s opening to other cultures, and the luxury of his time led Pliny’s mind back to the arts of former times. He regretted the decrease of old Roman naturalistic painting and the sculpture of former generations, especially of the so-called Second Pompeian Style, which were for him the guarantee of Roman virtues that in his time increasingly fell into oblivion. 36 Pliny and Seneca deplore the ‘infatuation’ of their contemporaries with colors, and diagnose only superficial aesthetics, which are revealed in gilding, encrustations with marble and the rejection of the reality of the physical world in painted landscapes. 37 Soon after Pliny the Elder, the Church Fathers began to criticize the arts of their present age. Pliny’s understanding of the arts is a result of his studies in Plato’s writings. Recent researches on Plato’s writing have shown two competing models of the painter. Plato constructs a first type of painter who walks through the world with a mirror in his hands and imitates the visible world without any deeper insight. Plato rejects this painter, who has no place in his ideal state. 38 The other type of painter makes a tactical concept of a painting and applies the colors responsibly. 39 Plato August. Ad Nebridum III 6. Brusatin (2003) 61; see also the contribution of Denise Reitzenstein in this volume. 35 Bradley (2009) 109–110. 36 Coarelli (2002)154. 37 Bradley (2009) 108. See ‘Domus aurea, Reconstruction’ (mid-first century CE), Rutgers (2014). See also ‘Imaginary landscape, Stabiae’ in Cerulli Irelli et al. (1990) pl. 165. 38 Büttner (2006) 13; Papari (2011) 33–51. 39 Pl. Resp. 500 D-501 C. 33 34

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compares the philosopher founding a new state with such a painter. For Plato a perfectly organized state is like a correctly painted statue. 40 As Plato argues, the fine arts are able even to reach the fictitious dimension, e.g. a painter might construct a beautiful human being that does not exist in the historical reality, but that could exist. 41 In this context we have to mention the new view of Plato‘s important term ‘mimesis’, which does not mean a pure imitation of nature, but aims at the visualization of an ideal, as Meike Aissen-Crewett shows. 42 That also means that the artist has to go beyond a pure imitation of the visible world and try to capture a deeper meaning in his work. 43 According to Plato the ‘real’ artist acts in a mimetic way when he shapes the ‘ideas’ − Plato calls this ‘ἀʎήθεια μίμησις’, the truth of mimesis. 44 For Plato colors are part of the visual sense and effluence of the pictures in consideration of the interdependence between subject and object. A decisive aspect is the importance of light − Plato speaks about rays coming from the eye and from the object, too. 45 Plotinus’s philosophy continues this thinking in the third century, and describes color not only as a medium for shaping material, but also as an instrument for overwhelming the dark through the light which emanates from the idea and from reason. 46 So the development ranges from Plato through so-called Middle Platonism, and from Pliny to Plotinus in the midst of the third century, to the time of the apologists. Gregory of Nazianzus accuses painting of illusion, and places it on the same level with abhorrent jewelry and expensive fashion. 47 For John Chrysostom (d. 407), too, painting is an infatuation, for a hungry man cannot live on painted bread. 48 Cyril of Alexandria (d. 444) follows the tradition of the earliest Christianity, and sees in sculpture the possibility of infatuation when the wooden or lithic picture of man is painted ‘with beautiful colors’ or gilded. This is a problem especially for illiterate persons who cannot analyse critically the ‘dishonorable inventions’. 49 Furthermore Cyril gives a negative view of the painter, who works against nature if he does not paint a lifelike picture. To repaint the picture will compound those lies. 50 In the context of magic we find again the belief that colors might be evil illusions. Hippolytus

Ibid. 420 C.; Bradley (2009) 71. Pl. Resp. 472 D. 42 Aissen-Crewett (2000) 119, with reference to Pl. Resp. 472 D. 43 Pl. Soph. 233 E-236 C; Leg. 668 D-E; Aissen-Crewett (2000) 125, 141. 44 Pl. Resp. 484 C-D, 500 E, 597 A, 590 A; Aissen-Crewett (2000) 180–181. 45 Pl. Ti. 67 C; 68. 46 Plotinus, Enn. 6, 3. 47 Gregory Nazianzus, Hom. VIII 10. 48 John Chrysostomos, Homilies on Second Corinthians, 29. Hom. V. 49 Cyril, De sancta Trinitate dialogi VII / I 13. 50 Ibid. VII / II 8. 40 41

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of Rome (d. ca. 235) describes magic tricks with colors, 51 and a letter of the Armenian Fathers lists a lot of magic with colors to devastate men’s souls. 52 For Augustine the observation of shapes, colors, and sizes is a bias and means a focus on pure sensual impressions (‘ad lineamenta et colores et tumentes magnitudines’), which prohibits the cognition of the spirit. The optical perception and the use of colors are placed on the same level with the sphere of the material. 53 Augustine picks up these reflections later on: Restat voluptas oculorum istorum carnis meae, de qua loquor confessiones, quas audiant aures templi tui, aures fraternae ac piae, ut concludamus temptationes concupiscentiae carnis, quae me adhuc pulsant […]. pulchras formas et varias, nitidos et amoenos colores amant oculi, non teneant haec animam meam; teneat eam deus, qui fecit haec bona quidem valde, sed ipse est bonum meum, non haec [emphasis mine]. 54

Augustine argues that the hedonistic view on harmonic colors should not deviate from looking for God, even if God himself is the creator of the colors. So Augustine sees some positive aspects in paintings, and approximates those Church Fathers who are sympathetic to the arts. Gregory Thaumaturgus (d. ca. 270–275) speaks in his panegyric to Origen about the highly qualified ‘good painter’ (ἀγαθοῖς ζωγράφοις) having a broad color palette at his disposal. A painter like him could be able to express even emotions just as a good orator does. 55 In his letter to the scholar Adelphios, Gregory of Nyssa debates the relationship between nature and art which was often discussed in antique literature. 56 He describes the landscape and the buildings of the Anatolian village Vanota, 57 which is so delightful that the instruments of the arts harmonize the lack of nature. 58 One of the buildings was filled with such beautiful paintings that the visitor nearly forgot all the other delightful things. 59 This shows that Gregory of Nyssa was geared not only to the aesthetics of Middle Platonism, but also to the taste of the Theodosian elite. In the following century this praise of the painter is continued by Augustine and his elder contemporary John Chrysostom, who explains, in his commentary to Paul’s letters to the Corinthians, the activity of a painter making a sketch. This will be incomprehensible to a layman. But as soon as the painter begins to color (τά

Hippol., Haer. IV 35. Verzanogh and Mandakuni (1927) Ch. 11. 53 August., Conf. IV 15. 54 Ibid. X 34. 55 Gregorius Thaumaturgus, Oratio panegyrica in Origenem I 43 [PG vol. 10, col. 1053]. 56 Mathew (1975) 221. 57 Teske (1975) 108 n. 175. 58 Ibid. Nr. 20, §4, p. 78 [PG vol. 46, 1081 A]. 59 Ibid. Nr. 20, §17, p. 80 [PG vol. 46, 1081 A]. 51 52

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χρώματα) the sketch, the painting becomes more and more beautiful (σοι φανεῖται ἡ τέχνη καλὴ). 60

MEMORIA AND VENERATION OF SAINTS

Even though the Church Fathers are rather sceptical about pictures and especially colors, they don’t want to give up the pictures and their kerygmatic and propagandistic effects. In an enlightening speech Gregory of Nyssa underlines how important the fresco was in the church building for the veneration of saints, for − as he points out − a ‘silent picture on the wall’ can speak and might be very useful. 61 On the other hand Gregory of Nyssa condemns in his Homiliae in Ecclesiasten sculptures and paintings if they show lewd things and activities – these should not deviate from looking for the real divine beauty. The believer will see the archetype of beauty which is not decorated with gold and silver. 62 But the presentation of the biography of a saint may be advantageous for looking at the pictures might be an important step towards the recognition of God. At first Gregory discusses the context of the structure of the basilica at Amaseia (Northern Anatolia) and its liturgical and ritual functions. 63 He writes that the architecture evokes the highest attention because of its impression of greatness and the beauty of its decoration. The famous decorations − ζώων φανταςίαν − were made by sculptors, and the painter presented with great intensity the life and martyrdom of the saint, i.e. St. Theodore. Gregory describes in detail the narrative pictures of the mistreatments and the final burning of the saint, as well as his resistance and his suffering. Further on there was a picture of Christ, called ‘judge’ (ἀγωνοθέτος) by Gregory. The colors − δια χρωμάτων – are described by Gregory as the media for the realization of these pictures; he compares the picture to a literary narration (ἐν βιβλίῳ τινὶ γλωττοφόρῳ). Furthermore he says the mosaicist succeeded in transforming the floor into a historical narration (ἱστορὶα). 64 Looking at the fresco compositions on the wall is a decisive step towards the recognition of God the Father and his saints. Consequently, after looking at the pictures of St Theodore’s martyrdom, Gregory of Nyssa mentions the approach to the sepulchre, which is surrounded by barriers. The earth of the grave and even the dust of the sepulchre are considered a ‘godsend’. If it were possible to touch the relics 133].

60

Johannes Chrysostomus, In epistulam ad Ephesios, Hom. XIX, ch. 5, 4 [PG vol. 62, col.

Gregory of Nyssa, In Praise of Blessed Theodore, the Great Martyr, 3. For a reconstruction of the church described by Gregory of Nyssa in Epistula XXV, see Vidal Alvárez (2012) 13– 38. Gregory of Nazianzus, contemporary of Gregory of Nyssa, depicts a building of a church which is ‘colored by figures true to nature’: Orationes, XVIII 39. 62 Gregory of Nyssa, Eccl 3 (GNO V 323,10–325,2). 63 Thümmel (1992) 57; Bering (2007); Bering (forthcoming). 64 Gregory of Nyssa, De S. Theodoro Martyre [PG vol. 46, col. 736–748, 737]. Bering (2012) 93–116. 61

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themselves, it would be the fulfillment of the greatest hope. Gregory explains that the way to believe in the invisible is by the contact with the visible, i.e. pictures and relics. This text of Gregory of Nyssa is a most important evidence of the didactic use of colors, which became a relevant impetus for the production of images during the next centuries. 65 The function of those pictures in educating the uneducated, the illiterate, and unchristened persons becomes the focus of the church description by Neilos the Ascetic in the fifth century, 66 of the treatise of Pseudo-DionysiosAreopagita, 67 of the resolution of the Council of Nicaea in 737, 68 and of the Libri Carolini. For the Libri Carolini the description of the saints, their doings and their martyrdom is the reason for producing pictures, especially for the memoria as part of the legitimation of the Church, especially in times of still-continuing Christianization. 69 Using colors in kerygmatic and legitimizing contexts overcame the pejorative estimations of the phenomenon of color as a medium of illusion and pure materiality which prevented the soul from rising up to God. But the pictures of the saints’ legends also evoked critical voices. So Theodoret of Cyrus agrees in his Historia Religiosa with the visualization of the exploits of famous men, because this could inspire good actions. But one has to pay attention, for in pagan times famous men had received images and sculptures for the memoria of their doings, too, especially the winners of the Olympic games or of chariot races, but unfortunately also morally dubious people. So Theodoret prefers the use of words for describing the life of a saint, because the sense of hearing is able to differentiate between good and bad statements. Writing has the function to support the memoria. 70 In such estimations we see a far-reaching preference for the word which characterizes European cultural history during the next centuries. The Libri Carolini, written at the time of Charlemagne, will allow images for education, but they rank below the word. According to Augustine, memory is decisive for understanding all physical objects and the ability to speak about them. In the memoria human beings find everything they need for imagination, especially colors and forms, but also all other sensations like experiences of taste or smell, which are learned at any time. The sensations are communicated to the memory, which evokes the imagination. 71 But how could it be, Augustine asks, that we are able to imagine a green sun? The colors are placed inside the memory, and it is the will which combines the elements to make an extenSee, for example, the mosaic of the Annunciation, Santa Maria Maggiore, Rome, mid-fifth century CE, in Wilpert (1976) pl. 52. 66 Nilos the Ascetic, Epistula IV 41 [PG vol. 79, p. 578]. 67 Pseudo-Dionysios-Areopagita, De ecclesiastica hierarchia, § 2. 68 Thon (1979) 207. 69 Libri Carolini II 29, III 16, 24. 70 Theodoret of Cyrus, Historia Religiosa, Prolog [PG vol. 82, col. 881]. 71 August., De Trinitate XI 8, 14. 65

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sive image, which does not necessarily have to match the exterior reality. 72 The terms of color are available inside the memory through learning, Augustine argues, and in the same way the recognition of God is possible because God has created a connection between the spiritual things and the recognizing mind. 73

THE INVENTION OF PAINTING

The reflections on the phenomena of colors lead the apologists nearly inevitably to statements about the invention of painting and the beginning of the arts. As early as the 2nd century, Athenagoras (fl. ca. 180) wrote in his Apologia pro Christiana a complex explanation of the origins of the arts from a Christian point of view. His treatise is part of the rich antique literature on education and pagan philosophy, which Athenagoras summarizes; he cites traditional mythology as possible reasons for the phenomena of the arts. 74 For this apologist, poets like Homer and Hesiod are the inventors of the gods and their genealogies; the poets gave them their names and distributed the different skills among them. Afterwards the artists appeared who invented the genres like painting, sculpture and others. Kraton was said to have invented painting when he colored in the outline of a horse derived from its shadow. According to Athenagoras, Kore drew the shadow image of her lover on a wall. Her father carved out the wall and filled the hole with clay, so that the first sculpture was created. These and other legends about the origins of the idols Athenagoras uses to prove the absurdity of the pagan ideas of the idols: the gods and their images are younger than their inventors! By the way all the idols are exclusively made by men − ‘wasted arts’, as Athenagoras says. 75 The Armenian Fathers were convinced that painted pictures arose as media from ancestor worship in the time of Serug, Abraham’s great-grandfather, 76 and were made for illiterate persons. 77 In a similar way Epiphanius of Salamis (d. 403) supposed that the images of the ancestors were further developed through the introduction of colored idols. 78 Augustine cites a long passage from the alleged writings of Hermes Trismegistos about the origins of the idols. Decisive is the hint to human rationality, which was able to create a divine nature and furthermore to invent images and enliven them by evoking demons. It was the appearance of Christ who finished this fatal error of mankind. 79 Ibid. XI 8, 15. Ibid. XII 15. 74 Cf. a fresco of an artist painting a statuette of Dionysus, ca. 70 BCE, Casa del Chirurgo, Pompeii, in Coarelli (2002) 217. 75 Athenagoras, pro Christ. 17. 76 Gen. 11, 20. 77 Armenische Väter, De Deo III 5. 78 Epiph., Anakephalaiosis I 3. 79 August., De civ. D. 8, 24. 72 73

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COLORS AND THE HUMAN BODY

The debates of the Church Fathers about colors gave way to a discussion about coloring the human body as an expression of sensitivities and mental state. Often the Christian virtues were proved. The Christian authors continue a debate about coloring the body with make-up and also hair dye (ars ornatrix) which was held in the early times of the Empire by Ovid, Livy, Horace, Vergil and others. 80 Clement of Alexandria sees in the complexion of a man a reference to his health. 81 His contemporary Tertullian recognizes a cool-headed Christ by his inconspicuous complexion, because he lives according to God’s will and knows no excitement. 82 Basil of Caesarea praises the ‘red of embarrassment’ and the ‘noble paleness’ in the face of a Christian woman as sign of chastity. 83 According to Zeno of Verona (d. ca. 370) an invariable complexion − neither rubescence nor paleness − characterizes a man fulfilling the divine commandment. Zeno describes the preparation of the sacrifice of Isaac, when neither the son nor the father has shown any change of the complexion. 84 Furthermore the apologist Athanasius (d. 373) asserts, with reference to the story of Joseph in the Old Testament, that it is possible to find a liar or a slanderer guilty by their complexion. 85 The deep crisis in Augustine’s life when he met Ponticianus was shown in his facial expression, especially in his complexion: ‘plus loquebantur animum meum frons, genae, oculi, color, modus voci, quam verba, quae promebam.’ 86 We often read in the acts of the martyrs that the complexion of a holy martyr changed from a pale to a red color at the moment of the martyrdom. 87 The debate about the materiality of the color had far-reaching consequences to everyday life. Apologists often associated using colors with a pagan, immoral lifestyle. So another important issue of apologists like Clement of Alexandria, Ambrose of Milan and others is the relation between the human body and color: like Tertullian, they pointed out that it is the pagan woman who paints her face, whereas the Christian woman does not use a lipstick, for she does not disarrange the divine creation. Furthermore the colors for the painting of a woman’s face or hair are a barefaced lie. 88 Bradley (2009) 161, 187. Cf. mosaic showing a woman with finery and luxury goods, c. CE, Sidi Ghrib, Tunis (Bardo National Museum), in Bauer (2001) 114. 81 Clem. Al. Paidagogos III 11 [PG vol. 8, col. 627]. 82 Tert. De patientia 15. 83 Basil., Ausgewählte Briefe XXI 2, 7 (Mauriner ed., Nr. 46). 84 Zenon of Verona, Traktate I, 6, 5 (De patientia). 85 Ath., Apologia ad Constantium 12. 86 August., Conf. VIII 8. 87 Acts of St. Pionius, 10. 88 Clem. Al., Paidagogos II 10 [PG vol. 8, col. 530–535]; Ambrose of Milan, Hexameron, VI 47 [PL vol. 14, col. 276]. Also see notes 99–106 below. 80

4th–5th

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In a similar way we can read in the early Christian letter to Autolycus 89 that colors are part of those materials like stones or wood and bronze which form the pagan statues of godesses. For Eusebius of Caesarea in his biography of Constantine, the traditional ‘gorgeous paintings on wax’ and other paintings and colored statues are abhorrent, because they show transient bodies of human beings and have nothing to do with the immortal soul. 90 Also Gregory of Nazianzus fulminates against the painting of the human body seen on actors or prostitutes, because the human body is the image of God the Father and is not allowed to be changed by colors. This is the fraudulent intention of the painters. 91 The debate about the materiality of color obviously had far-reaching influence on the world: color is frequently associated with a pagan and indecent lifestyle by the apologists. Gerontius writes (ca. 440) that Saint Melania had recommended to Pinianus to change his ‘kilikian’ clothes (probably made by goat hair) and to take cheaper clothes of ‘natural colors’. 92 John Chrysostom praises the Christian woman Olympias because of her poor clothes, which show her soul also in her appearance; in addition the Church Father finds a metaphor taken from painting: Olympias’s clothes and shoes are like ‘the colors of a painting of her virtue’. 93 Clement of Alexandria recommends wearing white clothes instead of artificially colored textiles. The Church Father cites a tradition going back to the Old Testament: Mosaic Law had forbidden colored and variegated clothes because of their similarity to forms of leprosy and also to snakeskin. According to Clement, the Mosaic Law had therefore prescribed white clothes as a sign of purity; even the ‘very noble’ Plato (πάντα ἄριστος Πλάτων), a busy ‘imitator’ of Moses (ζηλωτὴς Mωΰσέως), has referred to this and defined the white color as the color for honorable men. 94 The Church Fathers rail again and again against every luxury in all fields of the living environment. Cyprian of Carthage (d. 258) writes that for somebody who lives a holy life, it is not important to have ceilings with precious wainscots and encrustations with marble, but it would be decisive to have an educated mind, which he should paint and enlighten like a church. This would be a decoration and a building which can never fall into ruins. 95 Clement of Alexandria thinks especially the colors of jewelry and objects made of colored glass to be reprehensible. 96 Gregory of Nyssa denounces all encrustations made of colored glass, for the colors impurify the clarity of the glass. 97 The critics of marmoreal encrustations refer, however, to private luxury. Eusebius of Caesarea (d. ca. 340) praises colored slabs in his famous Ad Autolycum, 2; Cyprian of Carthage, De habitu virginum, ch. 15–21. Euseb. Vit. Const. 3. 91 Gregory Nazianus, Or. VIII 10. 92 Gerontius, Vita Melaniae, 8. 93 Johannes Chrysostomos, Letters to Olympias, Ep. II, 9 [PG vol. 52, col. 565–566]. 94 Clem. Al., Paidagogos III 9, 53–54 [PG vol. 8, col. 627–630]; Pl. Leg. 12.956a. 95 Cyprian of Carthage, Ad Donatum, 15. 96 Clem. Al., Paidagogos II 12 [PG vol. 8, col. 539–550]. 97 Ibrahim (1976); Drobner (1996) 165–166. 89 90

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description of the Church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople, for the brilliance of the whole building emanates from the colored encrustations. Eusebius compares this brightness with the gold of the ceiling and the roof, which makes the church visible from afar. In this context color and brilliance are metaphors of God’s nearness. 98 The fundamental idea to see the colors as part of the sphere of materiality brings the Church Fathers to a demonization of the colored objects in the environment and everyday life, especially a demonization of luxury. The vehemence of these debates grows as soon as the focus is on the problem of the human body as an image of God. For some generations the Church Fathers heatedly discussed women’s make-up and spoke about fundamental problems like questions of an ephemeral materiality or the doctrine of archetype and image. The basis of the debate was the prohibition of changing the appearance of human beings as an image of God the Father, as Tertullian pointed out. 99 Also Clement of Alexandria inveighs against using gold and jewels, wigs, fashionable hairstyles, and especially against make-up − for him these are ‘worst arts’ and ‘infatuations’. 100 Cyprian of Carthage sees in every kind of making-up a wicked, diabolic disfigurement, and an infringement of the Ten Commandments resulting in condemnation on the Day of Judgment. 101 About the year 370 Zeno of Verona argues in a similar way, and warns of every change of the complexion. 102 Gregory of Nazianzus parallelizes making-up and hair-dyeing with a bad painter, because the work of the divine creator will be disfigured in this way. 103 Jerome even compares a woman who paints her cheek with red color, and her face with white color like gypsum, and wears a fashionable peruke, with the hated idols; seeing this a Christian woman should blush with shame. 104 John Chrysostom also sees in making-up the face and a luxury care of the body an offense to the creator. 105 Ambrose of Milan found a condensation of the relation between the doctrine of archetype and image on the one hand and the rules of a simple life on the other hand – the human being is the image of God, and God the Father is the good artist and painter: ‘Pictus es ergo, o homo, et pictus a Domino tuo. Bonus habes artificem atque pictorem.’ 106 Therefore the image must not be destroyed by an ephemeral making-up, because an artist is not allowed to paint over the picture of another painter. Euseb., Vita Const. 4, 58. Tert., De cultura feminarum I 8, II 1–2. 100 Clem. Al., Paidagogos II 10 [PG vol. 8, col. 530–535]. 101 Cyprian of Carthage, De habitu virginum, ch. 14–17, 21. 102 Zenon of Verona, Tractatus I, 4, 3; 5, 4–5. 103 Gregory Nazianzus, Orationes VIII, 10; see Ambrose of Milan, De virginibus ad Marcellinam sororem, I 28–29; see I 6, 29. 104 Hieron. Ep. I 38, 3 (Ad Marcellam); II 54, 7 (Ad Furiam). 105 Johannes Chrysostomos, 4. Hom. on Second Timothy, 3; see Johannes Chrysostomos, In Matthaeum homiliae, XXX, ch. 9, 9–17; Theodoret of Cyrus, Historia relogiosa, 9. 106 Ambrose of Milan, Hexameron, VI 47 [PL vol. 14, col. 276]. 98 99

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In the visions of ‘The Shepherd of Hermas’ written in Rome about 145, a mystic woman coming from heaven appears and explains the colors of the head of the apocalyptic monster: the black color is a symbol of the world, which will be destroyed by fire and blood, symbolized by the red color. The golden color is a metaphor for the saved souls, because the gold is cleaned by fire. The white color means the apocalyptic sphere where the chosen people live with God. 107 Tertullian (De spectaculis) believed that it was the Devil who brought sculptors and painters into the world. For him colors are part of pagan rituals: red symbolizes the sun and Mars, white was the color of Zephyr, god of the wind, green the color of mother earth or of springtime, and blue symbolized heaven, the sea or autumn. 108 Red is the color of war, as Clement of Alexandria writes, and he interprets the red hair of the barbarian people as a hint to blood and war. 109 Arnobius Major mentions about 303/305 the symbolism of pagan idols: dark colors are symbols of the goddesses of the underworld, and corresponding is the color of the victims. 110 Clement of Alexandria discusses the Jewish symbolism of colors, e.g. the colors of the curtain of the temple in Jerusalem, which were related to the four elements: purple hints at the origins of the dye murex from the water, the color of the linen means the color of the earth, hyacinth alludes to the air, and scarlet indicates the fire. 111 Using colors as metaphors is an important dimension of early Christian theology. Ambrose of Milan speaks about the blaze of color of the flowers, which is like the glory of the angels. 112 We find a color-based metaphor also in the writings of Augustine, who argues that the relation between spirit and body is like the color and the things to which they adhere. 113 Basil of Caesarea writes that the absence of form and color is characteristic of the soul, which can be known only by its expressions. 114 Gregory of Nyssa also argues that God the Father is invisible and immaterial, and the colors are part of material like form or size. 115 On the one hand Clement of Alexandria exemplifies the relation of material and the importance of color by discussing the meaning of the jewels of the Heavenly Jerusalem: the precious stone itself is part of the material world, but its colors and their brilliance refer to the divine revelation. On the other hand Clement argues that colors may be a kind of luxury as it is shown by the jewels, the colored carpets, or the make-up of women. Color is for Clement also a medium of seduction. This amThe Shepherd of Hermas, vis. IV 1, 10. Tert. De spect. 9. 109 Clem. Al. Paidagogos III 3, 24. 110 Arn. Adv. nat. VII, 19. 111 Clem. Al. Stromateis V 6, 32. 112 Ambrose of Milan, Comment about the Gospel of Luke, 126. 113 August., De trinitate Dei 9,4. 114 Basil. 2. Sermon, ch. 7. 115 Gregory of Nyssa, De opificio hominis 23. 107 108

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bivalent argumentation shows the other side of the coin: the handling of the color terms and the reception of the pagan aesthetics is a very complicated problem in the times of early Christianity. 116 The Church Fathers often compare God the Father with an artist. For example Origen argues in his fundamental treatise De principiis that the creation came off in a similar way to the work of an artist. 117 To explain complex theological issues they often give examples from the arts. John Chrysostom parallels the process of repentance and renunciation of further temptation to painting: if a painter sketches a picture he is absolutely free, but if the decisive act starts, i.e. putting on the colors, there will be no way back. So John recommends understanding one’s own soul as a picture which gets its true colors through the Holy Spirit. 118 Furthermore he compares the disintegration of the human body abandoned by the soul after death with the blending of colors by an inept painter. 119 John Chrysostom also used the metaphor of the painter mixing colors to characterize the different souls of his followers. 120 Gregory of Nyssa takes the process of mixing colors by a painter as a paradigm for the explanation of the mixture of the elements of the soul as well as the body and their disintegration after death. During the dialogue with his dying sister Macrina, he describes the ability of the painter to separate the elements of colors; in the same way the elements of the body are separated in the moment of death, but they can be integrated again by the power of the soul in the act of resurrection. 121 Basil of Caesarea sketches thought experiments with color perception to discuss the complex idea of the Holy Trinity. The colored shine of the sun in different air layers does not allow us to distinguish exactly between separate colors, so the shine is composed of connected and divided color impressions at the same time. It is impossible to recognize an exact boundary between single colors, neither in the transition from the azure to the flame red, nor from the purple to the yellow color − in the same way it is the case concerning the Holy Spirit. 122 In the early adoration of the Virgin Mary, metaphors of colors are very important, e.g. in the treatise of Jacob of Serugh (d. 521) who argues that it would be impossible to paint the image of Mary in the usual colors − it would be easier to copy the blaze of the sun. 123 John Chrys-

Clem. Al., Paidagogos X 104. Origen, De principiis, II, 11, 4. 118 Johannes Chrysostomos, Orationes (2. Katechese, ed. Schmitz) 3. 119 Johannes Chrysostomos, In epistulam ad Ephesios commentarius – Hom. V, ch. 2, 11–16; see Gregory of Nyssa, Dialogus de anima et resurrectione, § 10, 1. 120 Johannes Chrysostomos, De paenitentia homilia I 1. 121 Gregory of Nyssa, Dialogus de anima et resurrectione, § 10, 1. 122 Basil. Ep., XVIII 5. 123 Jacob of Serugh, Poem about the Virgin 2, 1. 116 117

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ostom had already explained the valour and the variety of the saints in comparison with colored bright jewels and colorful flowers. 124 The Church Fathers often used metaphors of the fine arts for explaining complex theological theories. So Gregory of Nyssa discusses the doctrine of archetype and image in comparison with the activities of a painter. Like a painter who looks for the exact colors for representing the model, God the Father has made the human being as his counterpart without any inept decorations. 125 The work of PseudoDionysius the Areopagite (written before 476) became path-breaking for the medieval theory of colors. In this treatise the systematization of the Christian dogmatic theology became manifest, including the interpretation of colors as symbols or metaphors, and visual indicators which lead into metaphysical spheres. The Apocalypse, with its colors of light and fire of the angels, was interpreted by the Areopagite as symbols of similarity to God the Father. The colors of the apocalyptic horses oscillating among white, red and black, meant for him the nearness to God. 126

THE APOLOGISTS AND THE FINE ARTS

Cyril of Alexandria compares the defender of pagan doctrines with a painter who tries to correct the image of the world, but the results are lies and illusions. 127 On the contrary, John Chrysostom compares his idea of the different souls of his companions with the different colors mixed by a painter. 128 John does not hesitate in his Fourteenth Homily to draw a parallel between the plurality of the saints with the diversity of colors. 129 He equates the process of elaborating the own soul with the drafting and painting of a picture. 130 At this point we can find a positive reaction of the apologists to the fine arts of their epoch. Furthermore John Chrysostom draws comparisons between the activities of a painter and the creator, whose work is rather incomprehensible when he sketches or draws the outline, but at the moment of the application of the colors his art gets ‘beauty’. 131 So we find a positive metaphor in Chrysostom’s argument. Also Gregory of Nyssa uses the metaphor of the painter for explaining the most elaborate idea of the relationship between archetype and image, the relation between God the Father and the human being 132 − this is the fundamental discussion in early Christian times, trend-setting for the iconoclastic controversy in the Byzantine period, and the reaction in Western Europe, including Johannes Chrysostomos, 14. Hom. on First Timothy, 6; Johannes Chrysostomos, De virginitate, 62. 125 Gregory of Nyssa, De opificio hominis, 5. 126 Pseudo-Dionysios-Areopagita, De caelesti hierarchia, ch. 15, §§ 1, 4, 7, 8. 127 Cyril., De sancta Trinitate dialogi VII, 2,8. 128 Johannes Chrysostomus, De paenitentia homilia 1, 1. 129 Johannes Chrysostomus, 14. Hom. on First Timothy, 6. 130 Johannes Chrysostomos, Orationes (2. Katechese, ed. Schmitz) 3. 131 Johannes Chrysostomus, In epistulam ad Ephesios commentarius, 4. 132 Gregory of Nyssa, De opificio hominis, 5. 124

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the formation of new aesthetics. 133 The thinking about colors in the times of the apologists − especially their differentiation between materiality and meaning − is most important with regard to the fundamental transformation of the ancient aesthetics into the later European ideas of the arts.

133

Bering (2015) passim.

PERCEPTIONS OF COLOR IN ISLAMIC TEXTS AND TRADITIONS WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO SHĪʿĪ SOURCES MAJID DANESHGAR INTRODUCTION

As with some other religions, the names of different colors are stated in Islamic texts. Islam is mainly imparted from two sources: (a) the Qurʾān (al-Qurʾān) and (b) tradition (al-hadīth), both of which include various passages addressing colors, their features and qualities (khawāss). It is thought that the application of colors in Islamic dress and customs makes reference to these Islamic texts. In this essay, colors and their status in the Qurʾān and tradition are assessed. For the sake of consistency, the tradition (hadithi) section of the study is written based on the Shīʿī sources.

COLOR (LAWN) IN THE QURʾĀN

As indicated above, Islamic instruction is chiefly conveyed through the Qurʾān and the hadith. The Qurʾān includes 114 chapters (sura) and 6326 verses (aya), some of which include references to color. The term lawn is an Arabic word meaning color or hue. The plural form of lawn is alwān, which occurs in the Qurʾān nine times, mainly in reference to the multiplicity of colors. 1 To demonstrate color diversity, the term mukhtalif (‘various’) is applied, for example: ‘And so amongst men and crawling creatures and cattle, are they of various colors’ (Q 35:28). Such verses are quoted by Muslim theologians (mutakallimūn) and religious thinkers (ʿulema) to prove God’s authority and control (qudra Allāh) over the universe (al-ʿālam), and to remind readers in general and believers in particular, that the universe, with all its variety, is the product of a unique (wāhid), powerful and all-wise (al-ʿālīm) Creator (al-khāliq): ‘And the things on this earth which He has multiplied in varying colors (and qualities): verily in this is a sign for men who celebrate the praises of Allah (in gratitude)’ (Q 16:13). On this subject, the prolific Islamic 6).

1

Two times in Q. 2:69; then in Q.16:13, 69; 30:22; 35:27–28; 39:21. See Rippin (2001–

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scholar al-Nīsābūrī (d. ca. 1328/9), along with his supporters, argues that all diversity, as well as astrological and cosmological complexities, are sufficient evidence of the remarkable capability and authority of God (dālāla ʿalā qudra al-bāhira). 2 It is important to point out that many religious teachers and Islamic preachers have adopted such arguments from former Islamic theologians in order to propagate Islamic teachings in schools and at public gatherings. I recollect my high school religious studies teacher (Persian: dabīr-i taʿlīmāt-i dīnī) who firmly established the existence of God in our minds by impressing upon us that regardless of modern findings, we should frequently note the various hues encountered in nature as well as the vast numbers of stars and planets. As a result, some students envisioned Allāh as a painter who is able to paint everything with an unlimited variety of colors. 3 Historical and linguistic studies posit that pre-Islamic Arabs only referred to five colors, which are also specifically mentioned in the Qurʾān: white (abyad), black (aswad), red (ahmar), yellow (asfar), and green (akhdar). The two colors blue (azraq) and brown (asmar) appear to be missing, which may imply that the five mentioned colors terms were sometimes used to refer to other colors as well. According to Devin J. Stewart, the term abyad was used for white and light, aswad for black and dark, ahmar for red and brown, asfar for yellow and beige, and akhdar for green and blue. 4 According to Jonathan Bloom and Sheila Blair, this list accords well with Brent Berlin and Paul Kay’s theory of linguistic development: All human languages… use from two to eleven Basic Color Terms, an expression in linguistics for what might be called primary color words, which cannot be defined in terms of another color (blue cannot be defined in terms of red or yellow, while pink is a light shade of red). According to the linguist theory, all languages start by differentiating light (white/warm) and dark (black/cool), and first add red (always the third color…), then green or yellow, then yellow or green, then blue, then brown, and then purple/pink/orange. (Gray can be added at any point in the second half of the list). The five terms in pre-Islamic Arabic, therefore, make it a perfect example of a level IV language. These terms show that the Arabs of Pre-Islamic Arabia would not have differentiated blue or purple from green, or orange from red or yellow, except by adding such qualifying terms as ‘light’ or

See al-Nīsābūri (1995) vol. 4, 248; al-Tabrisī (1998) vol. 2, 281; al-Tabātabāʾī (1996) vol. 12, 215; al-Husaynī al-Shāh ‘Abd al-‘Azīmī (1984) vol. 7, 173. 3 This idea (i.e. that God is a Painter of nature) is especially popular among painters. The Iranian artist Hossein Huveidāʾī said, ‘painting is a gift of God. The mountain, sea, jungle, plain and all the scenes we are painting was previously created by God and we have been just copying them;’ Huveidāʾī (2014). The famous Persian movie The Color of Paradise (literally, The Color of God) was inspired by Q 2:138: ‘(Our religion) takes its hue from Allah. And who can give a better hue than Allah. And it is He Whom we worship.’ Some interpreters say that God’s color is the color of ‘faith and sincerity;’ see commentary by Fārūq ʿAbd alʿAzīz (2011). 4 Stewart (1999) 105–106. 2

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‘dark.’ Other words used in early Arabic acquired familiar color meanings, but in pre-Islamic times they had only non-color meanings. For example, azraq, the common word for ‘blue’ in later Arabic, meant ‘glittering’ or ‘sparkling’ under the white or light category, and asmar, the later Arabic word for ‘brown’ or ‘tan,’ originally meant only ‘hard’ or ‘stiff.’ 5

In the Qurʾān, abyad (white), along with its verbal conjugations, frequently occurs in positive contexts including the symbol of authority and creation in Q 35:27, eternal joy and purity in paradise in Q 37:46, and the rewards for thanks-givers in the hereafter in Q 3:106–107. White is also presented as a symbol of pureness and divine miracles in Q 7:108, 26:33, 27:12 and 28:32, when Moses put his hand under his bosom, and it came forth radiant, without flaw or marks before the Pharaoh and his people. Another metaphorical usages of the color white emerges in Q 12:84 concerning the intensity of Yaʿqūb’s (Jacob’s) grief for his favorite son, Yūsuf (Joseph): ‘And he turned away from them and said, ‘Oh, my sorrow over Joseph,’ and his eyes became white from grief, for he was [of that] a suppressor.’ The color white is also highlighted in Q 2:187, where it shows the difference between night (al-layl) and day (al-nahār): ‘And eat and drink until the white thread of the light of dawn appears to you distinct from the black thread of the night; then complete your fast till nightfall.’ Black occasionally appears together with white, but it also has metaphorical applications. In Q 43:17, ‘Whenever one of them is notified about the same as he imputes concerning the Mercy-giving, his face becomes dark with gloom and he feels like choking,’ the term muswadd (‘becomes dark with gloom’) shows the severity of sorrow as a darkening of the face. 6 Although red is only employed in its plural form in ‘And in the mountains are tracts, white and red of varying shades and [some] extremely black’ (Q 35:27), another verse (Q 55:37), according to translators and interpreters, refers to crimson: ‘And when the heaven is split open and becomes rose-colored like oil’ – Thomas Ballantyne Irving translated it as ‘a rose [painted] by some artist.’ 7 A mystical (ʿirfānī) interpreter argued that warda ka-l-dihān in Q 55:37 refers to the heaven/sky’s color that constantly changes upon the spilling of a liquid or oil melting, which initially becomes yellow, then red before finally turning rosy like a red rose. 8 Asfar is a color defined as golden, describing a bright yellow cow in Q 2:69, but also serves to describe hell’s fire and sparks in Q 77:32–33. Likewise, three additional references (Q 30:51; 39:21; and 57:20) are made to the yellowing of farmlands during drought. Akhdar, or green, along with its derivations, is repeated a total of seven times in the Qurʾān (Q 12:43, 46; 18:31; 22:63; 36:80; 55:76; and 76:21). Q 12:43 directly and Bloom and Blair (2011) 10–11. Black appears in Q 2:187, two times in 3:106, and in Q 16:58, 35:27, 39:60. See Rippin (2001–6). 7 Irving (2005). 8 Amīn Isfahānī (1982) vol. 12, 35. 5 6

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non-metaphorically refers to the color green when the King of Egypt dreamt ‘seven fat cows whom seven lean ones were devouring, and also I saw seven green ears of corn, and seven others dry’. He then asked courtiers and oneirocritics to interpret this dream. In addition to such references, green describes the beauty and freshness of heavenly rewards for believers: ‘Those shall have the gardens of Eden through which rivers will flow. They will be decked out with gold bracelets there and wear green silk clothing and brocade, as they lean back on sofas in it. How superb will such a recompense be and how handsome is the couch’ (Q 18:31). Following alBaydāwī (d. ca. 1286), the famous classical interpreter of the Qurʾān, Shāh ʿAbdul ʿAzīmī contends that green, when used for cloth, represents its freshness and priority over other colors. 9 There are many people who believe green is the color of Spring and happiness; likewise, it is thought that green was Muhammad’s favorite color, which he used on different occasions. 10 Finally, it is thought that blue was not an auspicious color for Arabs. 11 In an article dedicated to the connotations of Arabic color-terms, Bilal A. al-Adaileh describes the use of blue beads: Blue bead[s] (al-xarazaeh azzarga) could be used euphemistically in Jordanian culture as part of the preventive measures against the evil eye which is believed to be a look causing bad luck, and sometimes death, for the person at whom it is directed for reasons of envy or dislike. In Jordanian culture, like the case in some other Arab cultures, babies and young children are thought to be the main victims of the evil eye because they are often praised by strangers and childless men and women. As a preventive measure to avoid the evil eye, some parents in Jordanian culture attach a blue bead to the clothes of babies and young children. Though this is a superstitious belief, people keep hanging blue beads inside cars, houses, and on babies’ clothes as a way to avoid the envious and ill-wishing looks of others. 12

Al-Adaileh suggests that the blue color was employed by ancient Arabs to represent the animosity of enemies. In the Qur’ān, the term azraq, or blue, serves as an adjective in Q 20:102: ‘…the Day the Horn will be blown. And we will gather the criminals, that Day, blue-eyed…’ which refers to the sinful on the Day of Assembly (yawm al-hashr). Al-Baydāwī said ‘wear green silk clothing’ because it is the best, mellowest color (liann al-khadra ahsan al-alwān wa aktharuhā tarāwa): al-Baydāwī (1997) vol. 3, 280. See also alHusaynī al-Shāh ʿAbd al-ʿAzīmī (1984) vol. 8, 49. 10 Pastoureau (2014) 48. 11 See Rippin (2001–6); Morabia (1986); Bloom and Blair (2011) 15: ‘In popular culture, blue eyes are often associated with evil, and… the color blue has inauspicious connotations in many Islamic societies.’ 12 Al-Adaileh (2012) 13. 9

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COLORS: INCENTIVE, ALLEGORICAL INSTRUMENT AND TOOL FOR INTIMIDATION

As indicated above, some of the verses that address color relate to features of heaven. According to Islamic teachings, Muslim believers should always attempt to meet the expectations of Allāh. In return, they will attain heavenly favors and rewards. As a result, numerous Islamic leaders and officers place restrictions on their followers in the hope of obtaining such rewards. When I was living and studying in one of the most religious cities in Iran, I experienced this phonemenon when the university’s vice-president (women’s campus) discouraged young students from wearing colorful clothes in public. Her motivation was the promise of Heaven to all the followers of Muhammad’s daughter, Fātima, i.e., those who wear the [black] chadur. The wearing of black clothing, however, was not always associated with religious virtue; this will be discussed in more detail in a later section. According to many popular articles, Jihadists and extremists blow themselves up in suicide attacks to meet God in person (liqāʾ allāh) as martyrs (al-shuhadāʾ), and one of their main dreams is to have relations with beautiful heavenly wives known as hūrī or hūrʿīn. 13 It is a commonly held view that the most stimulating and attractive feature of these heavenly virgins is the color of their eyes and bodies. Some scholars contend that hūrī is an Aramaic term meaning ‘white’. 14 Although it was initially used to differentiate between the blackness of the iris and whiteness of the sclera in the eyes of animals (e.g. gazelles), 15 it occasionally refers to the silver-white body of these virgins with wide and elegant eyes. 16 The term hūrī (sing. hawrāʾ) occurs four times in the Qurʾān (Q. 44:54; 52:20; 55:72; 56:22); in three of which the term is accompanied by ʿīn, meaning ‘wide-eyed with deep black pupils’. 17 It can be concluded that this combination might direct the human mind to visualize a fascinating contrast between beautiful white skin and black eyes. Other verses in the Qurʾān indirectly describe personal and esoteric aspects of divine maidens: in Q. 37:49, they are compared to ‘hidden eggs (of the ostrich)’ to metaphorically describe the maidenhood, chastity and purity of these heavenly and modest women. 18 In Q55:58, ‘they will be like rubies and coral’, metaphorically ‘If there is one thing many Americans know about Islam, it is that the hijackers of September 11th believed they would be given seventy-two virgins in Paradise for successfully completing their mission. As a result, the prevailing understanding of the houri is as a reward for terrorist acts.’ Rustomji (2007) 85. 14 Leaman (2006) 271. 15 al-Mustafawī (1981) vol. 2, 306–307; al-Dīn Tarīhī (1996) vol. 3, 278. 16 Concerning Q. 55:72, a Shīʿa interpreter of the Qurʾān explained that the term hūr refers to someone ‘who has a deep dark iris and a transparent sclera. Sometimes, it refers to women with white skin.’ Makārim Shīrāzī (1995) vol. 23, 183. 17 Jarrar (2001–6). 18 A modern interpreter of the Qurʾān holds that to describe the sincerity and holiness of heavenly wives, for their elegance and whiteness, they have been likened to the eggs hid13

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likening hūrīs to the most attractive colored gems and stones. 19 Makārim Shīrāzī suggests that this phrase refers to the purity and brightness of rubies and beauty of coral; when these two (transparent red and white) are mixed together, the most beautiful colors are seen. 20 Accompanying hūrīs, Islamic traditions describe other colorful rewards for believers in paradise: ‘It was narrated from Anas bin Malik that the Messenger of Allāh said, “the horizons will be opened to you, and you will conquer a city called Qazvin. Whoever is stationed there for forty days or forty nights, will have pillars of gold in Paradise, with green chrysolite and topped by a dome of [red] rubies. It will have seventy thousand doors, [and] at each door will be a wife from among the wide-eyed houris.”’ 21

The Qurʾān and prophetic statements have had a significant influence on Islamic poetry from the East to the West. For instance, the prominent Sufi poet Hāfiz (d. ca. 1390) mentioned the term hūrī several times in his Divān (‘collection of poems’). Although he does not describe the physical features of hūrī in his poetry, the majority of Muslim readers would envision black-eyed, white or silver virgins in paradise as a reward for believers: Garden of Eden, Tree of Knowledge, Palace and hūrī [in Paradise], Will not compare to the clay of the abode of the undefined. 22

There is no doubt that the image of a colorful paradise in the Qurʾān is very attractive for believers. Shiny white, green, and yellow or golden are popular colors in the garments and adornments of heavenly people (Q 18:31): ‘Those will have gardens of den beneath the chicken, that neither person nor dust is able to touch: Makārim Shīrāzī (1995) 56. 19 Arberry (1996) translates it as: ‘lovely as rubies, beautiful as coral’. 20 Makārim Shīrāzī (1995), vol. 23, 170. 21 Sunan Ibn Majah, The Chapters on Jihad, vol. 4, Book 24, Hadīth 2780. The combination of colorful gems and houris together is found in this hadīth as well: ‘The first group to enter Paradise will enter with [faces] like the moon in the night when it is full. Then those who follow them will be shining with a light brighter than the brightest star in the sky. They will not urinate or defecate, or blow their noses or spit. Their combs will be of gold, their sweat will be musk, their braziers [receptacles for holding live coals for burning incense] will be pearls and their wives will be houris. Their form will be that of a single man, the form of their father Adam, sixty forearm’s length tall.’ Ibid. The Chapters on al-Zuhd, vol. 5, Book 37, Hadīth 4333. It is also narrated that repression of anger will pave the way for Muslims to elect their houris in paradise: ‘Whoever restrains his anger when he is able to implement it, Allah will call him before all of creation on the Day of Resurrection, and will give him his choice of any houri that he wants.’ Ibid. vol. 5, Book 37, Hadīth 4186. 22 Farooqui (2006). Other Muslim poets who use the term ‘hūrī’ in their poems and couplets include Saʿdī, Rūmī, ʿAttār, Nasir Khusrow, Khāqānī, Khājū Kirmānī, Hātif Isfahānī, Muhtasham Kāshānī, Sayf Farghānī, Furūghī Bastāmī, Sanāī, and Vahshī Bāfghī.

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perpetual residence; beneath them rivers will flow. They will be adorned therein with bracelets of gold and will wear green garments of fine silk and brocade, reclining therein on adorned couches. Excellent is the reward, and good is the resting place.’ Wine is another incentive found in the Qurʾān. Unlike the earthly wine which is strictly prohibited (haram), in the Qurʾān and Islamic teachings heavenly wine is a divine promise that only true believers are allowed to observe and imbibe. According to the Qurʾān (Q 37:46–47), the main attribute of this wine is its crystal white color. It is delicious to all those who drink it and has no destructive effect. The term applied to this wine is baydaʾ, meaning a luminous white color. Reference to ‘hell’ and its appearance is among the main deterrent instruments in the Qurʾān which aim to prevent Muslims from disobeying God and His prophet(s). The shadowy environment of hell, together with hell’s fire, is depicted as frightening in the hereafter. For instance, Q 77:32 refers to the yellow color of fiery sparks: ‘these flames throw our sparks so heavy,’ and the Qurʾān compares them from two different perspectives in Q 77:32–33, with fortified castles (qasr) or with logs (qasar) flying as fast as she-camels, the black color of which is tinged with yellow. 23

COLOR IN ISLAMIC TRADITIONS: MUHAMMAD AND SHĪʿĪ IMĀMS’ RECOMMENDATIONS

As discussed, prophetic traditions or ahādīth (sing. hadīth) are another important reference for Muslims. Muhammad’s companions (sahāba) and descendants are also significant figures whose statements and deeds are practiced by followers. The two principal Islamic sects, Shīʿa and Sunni, differ to a large extent in their views regarding the science of hadīth. Nonetheless, there are many similarities within the topics argued over or explained by Shīʿites and Sunnis. Color is one of the topics shared by both sects’ hadīthī books. Some studies have shown that the diversity of discussions on color is more apparent in Shīʿīsm than Sunnism. For Shīʿites, or followers of Shīʿīsm, ʿAlī ibn Abī Tālib (d. 661), who was Muhammad’s cousin and part of the Prophet’s Household (ahl al-bayt), was believed to have been sinless and to have had many virtues bestowed by God. As such, he deserved to be Muhammad’s successor, to lead and govern the Muslim community and serve as the chief authority on religious matters. 24 It is widely held that one of the virtues bestowed onto Muhammad’s descendants (particularly Shīʿī Imāms) is divine knowledge. Various treatises, mainly related to tib or medicine (physical and psychological healing), astrology, etc., are therefore ascribed to Muhammad and some of his descendants: Tib al-nabī (‘the Prophetic medicine’), Tib al-Sādiq (‘the Imām Sādiq medicine’) and Tib al-Ridā (‘the Imām Ridā medicine’). As Imāms are Toelle (2001–6). By Shīʿites it is thought that Muhammad selected ʿAlī as his own successor during his final pilgrimage, but this is rejected by Sunni believers. 23

24

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known as all-wise and sinless servants of God, their statements are deemed to outline a way of living for believers who, today, are predominantly Iranian Shīʿites. Numerous Imāms have referred to the importance, auspiciousness and inauspiciousness of various colors, reflecting beliefs which are still held by followers to this day. The following section will therefore discuss different aspects of color from the persepctives of Imāms in further detail.

COLORS CAN TALK Colors Tell the Future Throughout human history, various approaches have been used to ascribe meaning to unknown things and phenomena, such as the color of objects. In some Imāmī Shīʿī traditions, colors are believed to have the potential to reveal the future of human beings. For instance, Muhammad al-Bāqir (d. 743) (the fifth Imām of Shīʿa), also known as Bāqir al-ʿUlūm (‘the one who splits knowledge open’) said: ‘If someone comes out from his/her or another’s house and notices a red horse with white markings on its forehead and knees, then he/she will experience a cheerful and auspicious day – this auspiciousness becomes complete if the forehead whiteness comes through to the nose…’ 25

White pigment on the body of a red horse was important to Muhammad himself, who asked his cousin ʿAlī b. Abī Tālib (the first Imām of Shīʿa) to sell a solid black horse and keep a red one with white pigment for him, as the latter would bring happiness and ease to its owner. 26 Colors for Muhammad were also signs of impending incidents. Even the angel Gabriel (Jibraʾīl), by way of a metaphorical speech, indicated the significance of colors during one particular Shīʿī story: Once upon a time, Hasan b. ʿAlī (d. 670) (the second Imām of Shīʿa) and Husayn b. ʿAlī (d. 680) (the third Imām of Shīʿa), both grandsons of Muhammad, went to Muhammad’s chamber on a feast day and said: ‘O, Messenger of God, today is a feast day. Arab children are wearing new, colorful clothes. We came to you because we do not have such clothes.’ Muhammad looked at them and cried, as he did not have clothes for them. He prayed: ‘O Lord, please send your mercy on Hasan, Husayn and their mother.’ Then Gabriel came down and brought a set of divine white clothes. Muhammad was happy and told his grandsons, ‘O the two lords of the youth of paradise, these clothes were sewn in your size.’ Upon seeing them, they replied, ‘How should we wear these while other children are wearing colorful clothes?’ Muhammad pondered for a solution and Gabriel advised Muhammad to ask someone to bring a tub. Gabriel then poured water into the tub and Muhammad washed the clothes. The color of the clothes then changed according to Hasan and Husayn’s wishes. Hasan said he liked green, and 25

26

Ibn Bābawayh (2003b) 368–369. Ibn Bābawayh (1987) vol. 3, 162–163.

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Husayn said he liked red, and Gabriel started to cry. Muhammad was surprised and asked the reason for Gabriel’s sadness as everyone else was happy. Gabriel replied: ‘O Messenger of God, the reasons your grandsons chose these colors are: (a) the color of Hasan’s skin will turn green because of a poison by which he will be martyred, and (b) Husayn will be sacrificed and his skin will be colored red by his own blood.’ 27 Colors Express the Final Days of This World Islamic texts frequently employ different terms for the end of time, implying the existence of a divine court and divine justice at the end. Alongside the Islamic texts, many Muslims and non-Muslims have various beliefs connected to the events and features that will shape the final days of this world (al-dunyā). This prediction of the end of days is known as the Apocalypse, which is frequently invoked by Shīʿa Imāms, and strongly supported by believers. According to some sources, this world will not end until the last Imām, alMahdī al-ghāʾib (the occulted Mahdī) (b. 869), appears by the command of God. Here, the significance of colors again becomes apparent. For example, Muhammad al-Bāqir stated that when a terrible fire in yellow and red is seen from the East, and burns for three or seven days, we should expect Mahdi’s return. 28 Colors as the Mirrors of the Throne and Believers’ Faith It is said that ʿAlī b. Abī Tālib believed that four lights were applied to God’s Throne which created a brilliantly colorful environment: red, green, yellow and white. According to Islamic-Shīʿī teachings, these colors are able to prove the level of people’s faith and virtue. 29 It is reported that the face of Fātima al-Zahrāʾ (d. ca. 632), the daughter of Muhammad and wife of ʿAlī ibn Abī Tālib, lit up three times a day for her husband: during Morning Prayer, her face lit up with white and made the city walls and houses white; during Noon Prayer, Fātima’s face emitted a yellow light that appeared in the city; near sunset and during her worship and supplications, her face became red as a sign of giving thanks to God. The red light was seen in the markets, houses and streets and it is said that this virtue was handed down to Fātima’s sons and successive Imāms. 30 In the hadīth it is also narrated that Muhammad admired the beard dyeing done by his companions: 31 yellow was regarded as a color of faith (imān); red or fawn was the color of Islam; and hair or beards dyed black represented faith, Islam and light (nūr). Muhammed believed that dye brings visual clarity, nose smoothness, mouth freshness, gum strength, and eliminates unpleasant underarm odor. Reference to Majlisī (2000) vol. 44, 262. Ibn Abī Zaynab (1983) 297. 29 Kulaynī (1996) vol. 1, 372–373. 30 Ibn Bābawayh (2001) vol. 1, 591. 31 Ibn Bābawayh (1987) vol. 1, 166. 27

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spiritual aspects of physical treatments is often found in Islamic traditions. Thus, dye may have spiritual effects, such as reducing the temptations of Satan, causing the angels to rejoice, making brothers happy, angering infidels or polytheists, and shaming Munkar and Nakīr (the angels descending into the grave to interrogate the dead). 32 The importance of dye is clear from a conversation in which Muhammad suggested, in all seriousness, to ʿAlī that one dirham spent on dye is better than 1000 dirhams spent according to the ways of Allāh (infāq). 33 In the hadīth it is narrated that that Muhammad encouraged his people to dye their hair and beards so as not to resemble Jews and Christians, whose hair was not colored. 34 Color as Doctrinal Proof Colors were used by Muhammad as doctrinal-theological proofs of the power, knowledge and mercy of God. For example, it is narrated that Muhammad came across some dualists who held that the universe was created from light and darkness. They contended that the universe is divided into two opposite things, i.e. good and bad, and thus each has a separate Creator. Muhammad told them: ‘Do you not see the colors black, white, red, yellow, green and blue as all opposites of each other, and that two opposite colors cannot congregate in one place, like heat and cold cannot be present in one place?’ The dualists confirmed Muhammad’s statement. Muhammad developed this statement further by asking, ‘So why did you not choose a separate Creator for each color?’ and the dualists became silent. 35

THE QUALITIES OF COLORS UNDER THE INFLUENCE OF POLITICS

Shīʿites do not only refer to the divine aspects of colors, they also consider color an instrument through which it is possible to exhibit political attitudes and affiliation. The following discussion outlines the qualities of certain colors as they were shaped by political accounts of Imāms. Wearing a specific yellow sandal, called naʿlayn, was recommended by one of the most influential Shīʿa and Sufi figures, Jaʿfar al-Sādiq (d. 765) (the sixth Imām of Shīʿa) for ʿulema (and Mullās). According to some sources, Jaʿfar al-Sādiq, to whom several miracles, scientific works and supernatural capabilities are attributed, discouraged one of his fellows from wearing black shoes because it would reduce his visual power and manhood’s strength, as well as bring grief. This belief may have been linked to the fact that black was usually associated with, and worn by, outlaws.

Ibn Bābawayh (2003b) 59. Using colors in order to identify the auspicious/ inauspicious aspects of a day is very popular in Islamic Shīʿī traditions. Telling the features of a person and warding off disasters were frequently addressed by Imāms. 33 al-Fattāl al-Nisābūrī (1987) 747. 34 Sahih al-Bukhari, Vol. 4, Book 56, Hadith 668. 35 Majlisī (1983) vol.1, 263. 32

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By contrast, wearing yellow sandals was believed to increase one’s visual power 36 and manhood, remove grief, and was practiced by the prophets. This perhaps explains the popularity of yellow sandals in Iranian and Shīʿī Islamic seminaries (hawza). 37 The fascination and favoring of yellow sandals becomes more apparent when a follower or mullā reads two more hadīth by Jaʿfar al-Sādiq, which suggest that those who wear yellow sandals for a long time will gain wealth and happiness. 38 The disadvantages of black (the color of outlaws) and the advantages of yellow (the color of prophets) is therefore usually the main emphasis in these sorts of discussions of colors. Before going further, however, it would be appropriate to observe the status of black in Islamic Shīʿī traditions. It is a common assumption, by Muslims in some Middle Eastern and South Asian Muslim communities, that wearing black decreases lust and carnality. Many women in these countries wear the black veil or hijāb in order to inhibit their sexual and sensual attractiveness to strangers (men). In addition, some traditions also strongly dissuade men from allowing their wives to wear thin and transparent dress. Thus, the color black has a host of useful qualities for these types of believers. 39 Nonetheless, none of the Shīʿī Islamic jurists (fuqahāʾ) directly and explicitly refer to the color of the chādur, but some say it is the best garment. 40 According to the Supreme Leader of Iran, the chādur is the ‘national dress of Iranians’. 41 The Iranian hijāb is divided into two types: (a) traditional-orthodox and (b) non-traditional. 42 The first includes a head cover (maqnaʿi) and the head wrap (chādur) in black. This style became very popular after the 1979 Islamic revolution, which stood in part against westernization and some elements of modernity. However, a study by the Pakistani scholar Sania Khaliq, entitled ‘Philosophy of a Black Veil’, declares, ‘different colors in hijab can be used by the Muslim women as it has become the fashion with the passage of time. However, the Islam requires women to consider the modesty without revealing their contours of body while being prominent in the gazes of other people’ (sic). 43 In Karachi, Khaliq asserts, ‘the black veil is found to be a symbol of decency and sophistication’. 44 I recall my Islamic Studies students in Malaysia wearing cheerful colors. For them, full coverage of their hair and body was more important than color. By contrast, my Iranian students at the Faculty of Theology (ilāhiyyāt) wore full, black Some Imāms argue that green, a color much admired by Muslims, improves visual abilities, as it is observed in the sky. See Mufaddal b. ‘Umar (2008) 188. 37 Ibn Bābawayh (2003b) 53. 38 al-Tabrisī (1986) vol.1, 234. 39 Ibn Bābawayh (n.d.) 26. 40 Hejabiran.ir (2015): Chādur bihtarīn pūshash-i zan az nazar-i fuqahā. 41 Khameni.ir (1999): Bayānāt dar jalasa pursash va pāsukh mudirān-i masʾūl va sardabīran-i nashriyyāt-i dāneshjūyi. 42 Shirazi-Mahajan (1993) 60. 43 Khaliq (2013) 15. 44 Ibid. 5. 36

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chādur. In answer to my question ‘Why do you always wear black chādur and do not try another type?’, the majority would refer to Islamic reasons and say that they did not want to attract the attention of strange men. A number of them strongly believed that the black chādur was the dress of Fātima, the daughter of Muhammad, despite the lack of any authentic sources to prove this claim. 45 It would seem therefore that Muslims (i.e. particularly Shīʿites) do not identify the ‘goodness’ or ‘badness’ of colors, especially black, from a strict reading of Islamic traditions. In addition to the negative connotation of black discussed above, in some traditions it is also stated, ‘do not wear black color garments, as it was practiced by the Pharaoh’ 46 or, ‘black is the color of clothing worn by the people of hell.’ 47 As mentioned above, however, Muhammad praised Muslim men who dyed their beards (and hair) black, for it is the color of faith, Islam and light. The reason for such a contradiction is most likely rooted in the history of the Muslim world. As indicated earlier, Muhammad’s initial guiding principle was to distinguish Muslims from Jews and Christians, who did not dye their hair and beards. But the color black is also mentioned in Shīʿī sources about Jaʿfar al-Sādiq, who was contemporaneous with, and critiqued, the Abbasids’ behavior and thought. Black was the sign and banner of the Abbasid dynasty, which is why their opponents said the color was worn by the people of hell: one traditional account says that Jaʿfar al-Sādiq recommended the yellow sandals mentioned above because black was the color of the oppressors (i.e., the Abbasids). 48 On another occasion, Jaʿfar al-Sādiq referred to Muhammad’s opinion about black being a disliked or disapproved (makrūh) color except in three things: turban, boots and cloak. 49 The degree of contradiction about the ‘goodness’ or ‘badness’ of colors reaches its peak when encountering the following tradition about Jaʿfar al-Sādiq. ‘Shīʿites asked him about the wearing of black clothes, while he was wearing black dress, including skull cap and boots with cotton inside. Jaʿfar al-Sādiq then cut off a part of the boot and said, ‘the cotton inside the boot is black.’ As he pulled out a part of the cotton he said: ‘Do clear and whiten your heart and wear whatever you like (bayyid qalbak wa l-bas mā shiʾt).’ 50 This tradition seemingly conveys the message that wearing different colors is permissible. One wonders, therefore, why this tradition is unlike the others? Although using metaphorical and mystical interpretations of this tradition are very common, some religious specialists refer to the book’s author, Muhammad ibn ʿAlī ibn Bābawayh (d. ca. 991), who said: ‘wearing black in this tradition is due to taqiyya (‘dissimulation’) and warding off enemies because [indeed] Hejabiran.ir (2015), a website dedicated to the hijāb in Iran, displays a poem entitled ‘Chādur-i mādar-i man Fātima hurmat dārad’ [The chādur of my mother Fātima is very much worthy of honor and respect] in which a hemistich praises its color − black. 46 Ibn Shuʿba al-Harrani (2001) 169. 47 Ibn Bābawayh (1987) vol.1, 380. 48 Ibid. 49 Ibn Bābawayh (2003a) vol. 1, 225. 50 Ibn Bābawayh (2001) vol. 2, 133. 45

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Jaʿfar al-Sādiq himself said in another tradition that this color is worn by the people of fire or hell’. 51 Such contradictions aside, many Shīʿites (men and women) unreservedly wear black dress during mourning for the martyrdom of Husayn ibn ʿAlī, Muhammad’s grandson, on the Plain of Karbalā in 680. Shīʿites believe that both the Throne of God and the human mourners are expressing sorrow for Husayn while wearing black. 52

FINAL WORD

The above-mentioned points indicate that early Muslims used colors for metaphorical, spiritual, religious, political and social purposes. Their main sources were Qurʾānic verses, Prophetic and Imāmī statements. More importantly, it is apparent that colors were helpful tools in Islam for Muslim scholars and preachers to encourage or discourage certain acts. Today, there are Muslims who, regardless of the historical background of color, continue to recommend or suggest wearing different colors.

Ibid. 133–134. There are some Shīʿite sources in which the author dedicates specific parts to the importance of color in clothing. For instance, in al-Tabrisī (1986) there is a section ‘On wearing colorful garments’ in which the color black is disliked. 52 Ibn Tāwūs (2001) 30. To read more about wearing black, see Islamquest.net (2012): http://www.islamquest.net/en/archive/question/fa2415#. In Islamic architecture, the diversity of colors used in domes is unlimited. By moving from the Middle East towards Southeast Asia, the colors in domes in blue, green and white also turn to other colors like yellow, purple, pink, gray, etc. Meanwhile, in some Shīʿite books it is mentioned that white and green colored domes were built in paradise or at the Throne of God. 51

ANCIENT CHINESE ‘FIVE COLORS’ THEORY: WHAT DOES ITS SEMANTIC ANALYSIS REVEAL? VICTORIA BOGUSHEVSKAYA THE PROTOCHINESE SPATIAL MODEL

The conceptual scheme found throughout traditional Chinese thought is pentamerous. It is based on the mytho-geographical and cosmographic principle that ‘heaven is round and the earth is square’ (tian yuan di fang 天圓地方). 1 China saw itself in the midst of terra firma, surrounded by − and also opposed to − the barbaric or semibarbaric tribes, Di 狄 in the north, Yi 夷 in the east, Rong 戎 in the west and Man 蠻 in the south, while at a greater distance its territorial boundaries were marked by the four seas (si hai 四海) of the si fang 四方, literally ‘four squares’, albeit conventionally translated as the ‘four regions’ or ‘four directions’. The term ‘four squares’ is mentioned in Shang oracle bone inscriptions (OBI; jiaguwen 甲骨文) 2 either jointly − as the si fang − or separately, that is, as the ‘eastern quadrant’ (dong fang 東方), ‘western quadrant’ (xi fang 西方), ‘southern quadrant’ (nan fang 南方) and ‘northern quadrant’ (bei fang 北方). The ‘four quadrants’ are objects of the sacrifices and the homes of the winds. 3 The earth was regarded as a central See, for example, the Huainanzi 淮南子 3/14 (206–209 BCE); the Zhou Bi Suan Jing 周髀算經 1/5 (ca. 206 BCE- 220 CE). The cosmological view of the whole earth as a square extends to earthly divisions – square fields, houses, villages, town enclosures. See Eberhard (1994) 90; Gao (1959); Wang (1966). 2 The Shang is an archaeological culture of the Chinese Bronze Age, the second of the ‘three dynasties’ in traditional Chinese history, a period dating from ca. 1600–1046 BCE. Oracle bone inscriptions (OBI), discovered in 1899 and dated to the Late Shang period (ca. 1250–1046 BCE) comprise the earliest Chinese collection of inscriptions, indisputably regarded as the earliest written records of Chinese civilization. These inscriptions were carved mostly on bovine shoulder blades and water turtle plastrons and served for divination purposes. 3 Altogether the directions were eight, as the Shang also recognized northeast, southeast, northwest and southwest, but these were considered ‘secondary’ and were never called fang 方 ‘squares.’ Allan (1992) 75. 1

225

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square surrounded by four other squares, radiating out in the cardinal directions, and resembled a cruciform shape or the Chinese character ya 亞. This form can be either seen as a large square with spaces in the corners or as five smaller squares. 4 The spatial model of the Late Shang 商 (ca. 1250–1046 BCE) to Western Zhou 周 period (1046–771 BCE) can be therefore embodied as a 3 x 3 quadrant with the south uppermost; the cardinal directions are five, wu fang 五方 (lit. ‘five squares’) − the four points of the compass, north (bei 北), south (nan 南), east (dong 東), west (xi 西) plus the ‘middle’ (zhong 中) − which can often be ambivalent (cf. the outer letters with and without the brackets); for example, north can be both in the northeastern and north-western corners of the nine-square scheme (Fig. 1).

S(E)

(S)W S E

W N

(N)E

N(W)

Fig. 1. Chinese (---) and European (—) schemes of cardinal directions. 5

This spatial model influenced the formation of the wu xing 五行 cosmological theory, in which the development of color categorization can be traced. The term wu xing is conventionally translated as the ‘five elements’; the theory is also known as the ‘five phases’, the ‘five agents’, the ‘five movements’, the ‘five processes’, and the ‘five ‘steps/stages’. Sinologists indeed cannot agree on the best translation of the character xing 行; the basic idea is one of ‘changing states of being’. 6 These ‘five elements’ (5E) are: water 水 (W), fire 火 (F), wood 木 (Wd), metal 金 (M) and soil 土 (S). The structure is often seen as the 2+3 formula that presumably reflects the dichotomy of the two fundamental forces of the universe (the yin 陰 and the yang 陽) Ibid. 75–88. After Karapet’janс (2000) 133, fig. 1. 6 Eberhard (1994) 93. The ‘five elements’ could be designated by other descriptive terms under various aspects, such as wu cai 五材 ‘five materials’, wu yun 五運 ‘five revolvings’, wu jie 五節 ‘five sections’, wu mei 五美 ‘five perfections’, wu fu 五府 ‘five repositories’, etc. But the commonest expression by far is wu xing 五行 . See Eremeev (2005) 57; Forke (1962) 453–454. 4 5

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plus the Daoist great triad of Heaven – Man – Earth. 7 The systematic explanation of the 5E doctrine is not found throughout the ancient sources; the first more or less methodical definitions occur in the sources from the Han 漢 era (206 BCE–220 CE) on, albeit some fragments are scattered in several texts. If we do not take into account the fact that the tradition assigns the creation of the 5E theory to the legendary emperor Huang Di 黃帝 (ca. 2698 – ca. 2598 BCE), the doctrine was initially mentioned in the Hongfan 洪範 (‘Great Plan’) chapter of the Shujing 書經. 8 The chapter begins with saying that the doctrine was introduced to King Wu of Zhou’s 周武王 (1049/45?–1043? BCE) 9 by the minister Jizi 箕子 (that is, the text sends us approximately to mid-second millennium BCE). Jizi in turn explains that this theory was a part of the Great Plan given by Heaven to the Great Yu 大禹 10 (ca. 21st c. BCE), which places the theory formation even earlier, in the late third millennium BCE. The Great Plan consists of nine divisions, and the first division lists the five agents together with their characteristics: First, of the five elements (wu xing 五行). The first is water (shui 水); the second is fire (huo 火); the third, wood (mu 木); the fourth, metal (jin 金); and the fifth, earth (tu 土). (The nature of) water is to soak and descend; of fire, to blaze and ascend; of wood, to be crooked and straight; of metal, to yield and change; while (that of) earth is seen in seed-sowing and in-gathering. That which soaks and descends becomes salt; that which blazes and ascends becomes bitter; that which is crooked and straight becomes sour; that which yields and changes becomes acrid; and from seed-sowing and in-gathering comes sweetness. 11

It is generally acknowledged that some chapters of the Shujing were rewritten by the Han Confucian scholars, whose creative activities inspired the formation of many quasi-historical facts; it is therefore very possible that the 5E doctrine existed much earlier than follows from the Shujing.

PENTAMEROUS PROTOSCHEME AND ITS CORRELATIONS

But let us now have a look at the 5E concept from the linguistic point of view. Etymologically, the term that denotes the five elements, wu xing, has nothing to do with ‘elements’ or ‘agents’. The earliest form of the character wu 五 ‘five’—the pic-

Mal’javin (2001) 300. Also known as the Book or Classic of History, one of the core Confucian classics, a compilation of the earliest documentary records related to events from mythical times to the Western Zhou 西周 (1046–771 BCE) period. 9 The estimated reign dates are from the chronology table by Loewe and Shaughnessy (1999). 10 The mythological founder of China’s oldest dynasty, the Xia 夏 (ca. 21st–ca. 16th c. BCE). 11 Translated by Legge (1885a). This order of the 5E − WFWdMS − is considered the primary one, named cosmogonic, and represents a unitary multi-dimensional pattern of description on different levels. See Karapet’janс (1994). 7 8

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tographic-category (xiangxing 象形) 12 character − is the combination of a slant cross figure that resembles the Roman numeral X (Fig. 2a). This slant cross may be placed between two horizontal lines (Fig. 2b), and the ends of the horizontals may touch the ends of the cross, forming a figure that resembles an hourglass (Fig. 2c). 13

a)

b)

c)

Fig. 2. The earliest forms of the character wu 五 ‘five’.

The earliest form of the character xing 行 resembles a bar cross (Fig. 3a), with the horizontal bars customary written ‘broken’ (Fig. 3b). 14 This character also belongs to the pictographic category, and expresses the idea of a crossroad, meaning ‘go, move’.

a)

b)

Fig. 3. The earliest forms of the character xing 行 ‘go, move’.

As Karapet’janс pointed out, in order to pass from the character wu 五 to the character xing 行, one has to replace lines by bars and to revolve the figure by 45°. Hence, the combination of wu + xing can be interpreted as the juxtaposition in two directions (or dimensions): line versus bar, and oblique versus straight. However, both characters convey the idea of centrality. 15 The character 行 is polyphonic 16 and can also be read as hang, meaning ‘line, row’, which makes it allude to the idea of classification. Therefore, 五行 also conveys the Pictographs (lit. ‘resembling shape’), also referred to as zodiographs, are structured such that the semantic node of the written sign is attached to the semantics of a word by way of some degree of conventionalized iconicity, while the phonetic representation site is unlinked. Behr (2009) 291. 13 HYDZD, 11. 14 HYDZD, 811. 15 Karapet’janс (1994); Karapet’janс (2000). 16 Polyphony (ling.) is a phenomenon when a single written symbol stands for two or more different, not necessarily related pronunciations or ‘readings’, and thus for two or more different words. Boltz (1994); Behr (2009). 12

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idea of existence of certain ‘set of five’: five groups, lines, rows or columns, and 5E can also be understood as a set of some primary principles. By ‘resonating’ with the interrelationships of these primaries, the other ‘things of the same kind’ are organized. As a result, 5E gradually came to be correlated with every conceivable category of things in the universe that was possible to classify in fives (see Table 1). Element

Wood (Wd)

Fire (F)

Soil (S)

Season

spring

summer

late summer

Direction

east

south

Color

green+blue (grue) 青

Human psycho-physical function

Metal (M)

Water (W)

autumn

winter

middle

west

north

red 赤

yellow 黃

white 白

black 黑

vision

thought

speech

hearing

demeanour

Source of happiness

physical and mental health

fulfilling to the end the will of Heaven

richness

love of virtue

longevity

Taste

sour

bitter

sweet

acrid

salt

Smell

goatish

burning

fragrant

rank

rotten

Planet

Jupiter

Mars

Saturn

Venus

Mercury

Weather

wind

heat

thunder

cold

rain

Animal category

scaly

feathered

naked

hairy

shellcovered

Internal organ

spleen

lungs

heart

kidneys

liver

Affective state

anger

joy

desire

sorrow

fear

17

Table 1. Basic pentamerous classifications 18

The correspondences shown in Table 1 are only a few out of many more; they were the commonplaces of thought in growing measure from the mid-third century BCE onwards, and may be found in varying degrees of completeness in most of the ancient texts. Moreover, they are full of discrepancies and may be stated in different ways in the same text. As for the color correspondences, there are no discrepancies in the texts, with only one exception pointed out by Alfred Forke: in the Wu di 五帝 (‘The Five Emperors’) section of the Kongzi Jiayu 孔子家語 (Confucius’ House Sayings) An intercalary period sometimes described as late summer and sometimes as a period between summer and autumn. 18 On the origins and developments of correlative thinking: Forke (1962); Graham (1986); Needham (1956); Karapet’janс (1994); Eremeev (2005). The correspondences of the human psycho-physical functions and the sources of happiness in Table 1 are put in accordance with the 5E order of the Hongfan, while the correspondences of the internal organs are put in accordance with the Guanzi 管子 (http://ctext.org/guanzi.). 17

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metal is associated with the color black, water with white, wood with red, fire with yellow, and soil with grue. 19 Although these different combinations of elements and colors demonstrate a certain degree of the arbitrariness of the whole scheme, the correspondences listed in Table 1 are universally accepted and therefore are treated here accordingly. The generic term wu se 五色 ‘five colors’ occurs in the Shujing, applied to the insignia of the ceremonial robes in the Yi Ji益稷 section and to the soil in the Yu gong 禹貢(Tribute of Yu) section. 20 The first explicit explanation on this set of the five colors we find in the Kaogong ji 考工記 (Artificers’ Record) section of the Zhouli 周禮 (Rites of Zhou): 21 The business of painters and embroiderers is to combine the five colors (wu se 五 色). The dimension of the east is represented by grue (qing 青), that of the south by red (chi 赤), that of the west by white (bai 白), and that of the north by black (hei 黑). The sky is represented by dark-cool (xuan 玄), while the soil is represented by yellow (huang 黃). 22

SEASONS, COLORS, ELEMENTS

Color geosymbolism, that is, the attribution of colors to the cardinal directions, was one of the most common occasions for the use of color symbolically. This practice is found among peoples not connected with one another. The Maya, for example, had a red east, a white north, a yellow south, a black west and a blue or green ‘center’. The four colors were associated with the four partitions of the sky, while the fifth color is associated with the reference point. 23 For the Hindus, east was red, south-east – violet, south – orange, south-west – dark yellow, west – white, northwest – blue, north – pink, and north-east – gray. 24 For the Navajo Indians, the four colors – white for east, blue for south, yellow for west and black for north – also represent the seasons and the sacred mountains. 25 Dark wind, blue wind, white wind and yellow wind appear as the Navajos travel to a ceremonial performance. 26 Furthermore, recent research reveals that a red wine was placed at the west side and a white wine at the east side in Tutankhamun’s burial chamber. 27 More than a century ago, Edouard Chavannes suggested that the 5E theory originated among Turkish Forke (1962) 455. The Yu gong 禹贡 section is, however, commonly considered to be composed quite late, dating from at least the late Warring States Period 戰國 (475–221 BCE). Yee (1994). 21 One of the Confucian classics on rites, compiled presumably not later than the 5th c. BCE (Wenren 2013). 22 Wenren (1996); Wenren (2013). 23 Gage (1999); Hopkins and Josserand (2011). 24 Dubois (2007) 622–623. 25 Hausman (2001) 27. 26 McNeley (1981) 18. 27 Guasch-Jané et al. (2006). 19 20

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people in central and north Asia and that it seeped into China during the first century CE. 28 Alfred Forke argued in favour of the Chinese origin of the theory and also showed that similar classifications − though based on other principles of divisions − had been common all over the world and in far-distant cultures. 29 It is remarkable that the existence of the five-color gamut in ancient China is also confirmed by archaeological discoveries. In the 1960s were found fifteen t’u-lu vessels, 30 color-containers assigned to the Late Shang-Western Zhou period. Most of these containers are made in bronze and vary from cuboid to round and triangular in shape; each of them has three to five tubular receptacles for the pigments. In five of these containers, residues of pigments were found in the bottom of the tubes, and these have been identified as white, black, red, green and yellow powders. 31 With regards to the color correlations with the cardinal directions in the Chinese traditional protoscheme, there are two existing explanations. The first one suggests that the colors most probably embodied the geographical and to some extent even geopolitical realities of the Shang people. Soil is not yellow in most world terrains, but it was so in the loess regions in the upper Yellow River basin, the cradle of Chinese civilization; hence it is quite plausible to suppose that for the center that color imposed itself. 32 Syčëv and Syčëv point out on a very interesting coincidence: yellow in the Chinese systemological pattern is assigned to the planet Saturn, while in ancient Roman religion and myth Saturn was a god of agriculture and harvest. 33 White in the west invites some speculations: either it could stand for the perpetual snows of the Tibetan massif, 34 or the west was associated with the military force of the tribes living there, which was the reason for correlating it with the element metal. 35 The idea that the color was not white per se, but rather the absence of any color, some transitional stage between the bright color of the south and the darkness of the north 36 also looks plausible. The west is not only the direction where the sun dies, but also where dead people are headed for, therefore mourning is white. Chavannes (1906) 96–98. Ivanov (1981) 164 suggests that color geosymbolism probably penetrated into Central Europe during the Migration Period, under the influence of the nomads of the Eurasian steppes. 30 The name ‘t’u-lu’ (圖盧) was taken from an inscription on one of the containers. 31 A small scraping from the bottom of the four receptacles of one of the containers underwent spectroscopic analysis, and the results showed that the following substances were present in a large amount: white powder, calcium oxide or calcium carbonate; black powder, carbon black or graphite; red powder, iron oxide; green powder of the compound of copper. Chêng (1965). 32 Forke (1962); Eremeev (2005); Needham (1956). 33 Syčëv and Syčëv (1975) 23. 34 Needham (1956) 261. 35 Kravcova (2004) 111. 36 Syčëv and Syčëv (1975) 22. 28 29

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Mourning attire was made of undyed fabric (su 素). Furthermore, the association ‘white’ = ‘west’ was quite common in Eurasian geosymbolic tradition. 37 Grue probably represented the fertile plains or the seemingly infinite ocean in the east of the central zone. 38 Red in the south may have taken its origin from the red clay soil, the region which lies south and south-west of the central zone. 39 Moreover, it seems quite unavoidable to link red with fire. Black was probably associated with the darkness of deep water and gloomy winter. 40 The second explanation proposes that the colors were primarily associated not with the elements, but with the seasons, and may have originated in agricultural cults. Color correspondences that applied to animals already existed as early as in the Shang era. For instance, black sheep were used in the rain-making ritual, and yellow animals were particularly addressed to the earth gods. 41 When the 5E theory evolved, the color correlations were extended, and got automatically assigned to the elements and the directions. 42 The Yueling 月令 (‘Proceedings of Government in the Different Months’) section of the Liji 禮記 (The Book of Rites) prescribes the appropriate ceremonial colors for the seasons: In the first month of spring … The Son of Heaven … drives grue dragons (cang long 倉龍) (a kind of horse), carries a grue (qing 青) banner, clothes himself in grue (qing 青) clothes, and wears grue (cang 倉) jade…

In the first month of summer … The Son of Heaven … rides in the vermilion (zhu 朱) carriage, drawn by red horses with black tails (chiliu 赤騮), and bearing a red (chi 赤) banner. He is dressed in red (zhu 朱) robes, and wears red (chi 赤) jade…

In the last month of summer … right in the center (between Heaven and Earth, and the other elements) is earth …The Son of Heaven … rides in the great carriage drawn by yellow horses with black tails (huangliu 黃騮), carries a yellow (huang 黃) banner, clothes himself in yellow (huang 黃) robes, and wears yellow (huang 黃) jade …

In the first month of autumn … The Son of Heaven … drives white horses with black manes (bailuo 白駱), carries a white (bai 白) banner. He is clothed in white (bai 白) robes, and wears white (bai 白) jade. In the first month of winter … The Son of Heaven … rides in a dark-colored (xuan 玄) carriage, drawn by iron black horses (tie li 鐵驪), carries a dark-colored Ivanov (1981) 163–165. Needham (1956) 261. 39 Ibid. 261. 40 Kravcova (2004) 111. 41 Wang (1996); (2007a); (2007b). 42 Syčëv and Syčëv (1975) 22. 37 38

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(xuan 玄) banner, clothes himself in black (hei 黑) clothes, and wears dark-colored (xuan 玄) jade… 43

THE ‘MUTUAL PRODUCTION’ AND THE ‘MUTUAL CONQUEST’

The philosophic crystallization of the 5E doctrine is conventionally attributed to Zou Yan 鄒衍 (ca. 250 BCE), an influential scholar, active at the Jixia 稷下 academy, who combined the postulates of this doctrine with the yin-yang theory, and used it as the basis of his half-scientific and half-political Yin-Yang School 陰陽家. ‘He extended an essentially naturalistic, scientific conception of the 5E to the dynastic world, believing that every ruler or ruling house ruled only ‘by the virtue of’ one of the elements in the series, which provided a theory for the rise and fall of ruling houses, bringing human affairs and their history under the same ‘law.’’ 44 After the unification of China in 221 BCE, this school − just like many other ideological teachings of that time − was dissolved. Nevertheless, Zou Yan’s theory about the 5E was subsequently integrated into popular belief, alchemical Daoism, and Confucianism. As it was mentioned earlier, the 5E are not static, they constantly interact, forming the Universe and governing all natural phenomena. The elements are arranged in all the theoretically possible combinations and permutations, sometimes arbitrary and incomplete. The number of the complete arrangements of the 5E so formed in ancient Chinese sources, dating from the earliest texts up to the end of the Han Dynasty, is twenty. 45 Not all of these arrangements are semantically-loaded and need not be rehearsed here, but the culturally significant ones are the ‘mutual production’ (xiang sheng 相生) and the ‘mutual conquest’ (xiang ke 相剋). The ‘mutual production’ order illustrates the changes of the seasons: ‘Wood produces Fire (by being consumed as fuel) – spring gives way to summer, Fire produces Soil (by giving rise to ashes) – at the end of summer begins the harvesting season, Soil produces Metal (by fostering the growth of metallic ores within its rocks) – after harvesting time reigns autumn, Metal produces Water (by attracting or secreting sacred dew when metal mirrors were exposed at night, or by its property of liquefying in fire) – autumn gives way to winter, Water produces Wood (by nourishing plants) – winter is changed by spring’ (WdFSMW), completing the cycle. It is necessary to note that S, which represents the middle, in order to take part in the cycle, leaves its central position and places itself between F and M, that is, between

Translated by Legge (1885a). Needham (1956) 238. 45 W. Eberhard discovered sixteen of them, and A.I. Kobzev added four more: see Karapet’janс (1994) 17; Eremeev (2005) 64. 43 44

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summer and autumn, which corresponds to the period of its greatest activity, the harvest time. 46 The ‘mutual conquest’ order is explained as follows: ‘Wood overcomes (breaks with sprouts) Soil, Soil conquers (absorbs) Water, Water overcomes (extinguishes) Fire, Fire conquers (melts) Metal, and Metal conquers (chops) Wood’ (WdSWFM). 47 The two sequences are interconnected: one transmutes into the other by reading every other of the 5E, or − which is just the same − by the transition from a circle to the inscribed five-pointed star and backwards (Fig. 4).

chi 赤 ‘red’ (F)

火 qing 青 ‘grue’ (Wd)

土 huang 黄 ‘yellow’ (S)

金 bai 白 ‘white’

木

(M)

水

hei 黑 ‘black’ (W) Fig. 4. The ‘mutual production’ (—) and ‘mutual conquest’ (---) sequences of the 5E and their correlated colors 48 This sequence, which covers all the aspects of the universe, tradition ascribes to Dong Zhongshu 董仲舒 (179–104 BCE), the first prominent Confucian who combined the social and political thought of Confucius with Zou Yan’s correlative thinking. 47 This order is as old as the former one; it is known that astrologists and astronomers of the Spring and Autumn Period 春秋 (770–476 BCE) used this sequence in their divination practices; its earliest written records are also found in the texts of approximately the same time, such as the Zuozhuan 左傳 (Commentary of Zuo) and the Mozi 墨子. Kobzev (1993) 305. 48 Chinese culture has privileged the South. The Emperor faced the South, so that he could follow the progress of the sun from dawn through midday to evening. His subjects had to approach him from the South; and Chinese maps, on which the Emperor could sur46

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The colors of the five elements were considered ‘pure’, ‘primary’ (zheng 正), whereas the colors generated in the process of the mutual conquest of the respective elements were treated as ‘intermediate’ or ‘secondary’ (jian 間).

COLOR TERMS’ MEANING AND REFERENCE

Color terms are labels which enable concepts to be communicated to other members of the same linguistic society. That is why, as Umberto Eco puts it, ‘when we deal with color names, we do not know what chromatic effects these names refer to, and thus we deal with a cultural puzzle, filtered through a linguistic system.’ 49 Moreover, ‘many tests are contaminated by the confusion between meaning and reference. When one utters a color term, one is not directly pointing to a state of the world (process of reference), but, on the contrary, one is connecting or correlating that term with a cultural unit or concept.’ 50 Meaning, however, often changes during a word’s evolution. Furthermore, in certain cases, the contexts of referents need to be added (for example, the association ‘Soil’ = ‘yellow’ works for Chinese, but soil is not yellow everywhere), because they influence color terms’ combinability. 51 Color terms are not the new linguistic formations purposefully formed to label new concepts; color names have already existed in a language, but they just labeled something else. For example, the term ‘purple’ in Old English is derived from Latin purpura ‘purple’, from Greek porphura, denoting molluscs that yielded a crimson dye, and also − by semantic extension − cloth dyed with this dyestuff. 52 Chinese writing system is logographic, where each character represents a word or a morpheme. There are six distinguished categories of characters; the most numerous one is the phonosemantic (xingsheng 形聲) category, where a character consists of the phonetic part and the so-called ‘radical’, a semantic determiner that specifies the semantic domain of the corresponding word. While it is relatively easier to guess the semantic domains of the ‘secondary’ colors, because these lexemes are later linguistic derivates and belong to the phonosemantic category, it is sometimes quite difficult to understand the referents of the lexemes that denote the ‘pure’ colors. China’s oldest preserved comprehensive character dictionary, Shuowen jiezi 說文 解字 (Shuowen) 53 glosses the ‘primary’ colors mainly as the colors of the five directions, sometimes without explanations of their graphic etymology. 54 Xu Shen’s exvey his realm, had the South at the top of the sheet, the North at the bottom: Eberhard (1994) 187. Furthermore, fire naturally ascends, whereas water naturally descends. 49 Eco (1985) 159. 50 Ibid. 160. 51 A term introduced by Rakhilina and Paramei (2011), combinability refers to the ability (or inability) of a color term to combine with terms for natural phenomena and artifacts. 52 ODE, 1442. 53 Lit. ‘Explaining simple and analysing compound [characters],’ the predecessor of Chinese dictionaries and encyclopaedias, completed by Xu Shen 許慎 in ca. 100 CE. 54 See Xu (1995), Tang (2001).

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planations were not based on the original references of the ‘primary’ color terms, simply because he never saw original forms of characters in OBI. He interpreted correctly many characters, but was wrong as to some others, as some graphic forms he used did not correspond to the forms seen in OBI and nowadays deciphered by palaeographers. Below is the analysis of the possible original referents of the canonical color terms of the traditional ‘five colors’ theory, which more precisely should be referred to as color categories. 55 Each category is represented by one 56 character which by the time of the Han Dynasty had crystallized as a basic color term 57 of a respective category. All the ‘primaries’ originally were − and in the five-color theory to a certain extent still are − macro-color terms. 58 I do not aim at analysing each color category in diachrony, but in synchrony, at the time of the final stage of the ‘five-primary-andfive-secondary-color’ theory crystallization. The earliest graphic forms of the relevant characters should help us understand their references, while the lexemes combinability in the earliest texts should give us valuable evidence about their application domains.

Color category is a cognitive division of the color space as used by a particular linguistic society: Biggam (2012) 203. 56 There were numerous contextually restricted (that is, applied to cattle, horses, textiles) synonyms for each category, but these are not aimed at being rehearsed here. 57 Basic color term denotes one of the most salient color concepts in a society. For a more detailed analysis as to why no other color terms deserve to be called basic for this period, see Baxter (1983), especially 6–12. The criteria for a color term to be basic as suggested by Berlin and Kay are only partly relevant to Old Chinese; indeed, I adopt only two of them with some alterations: 1) it is not only monolexemic, but in case of Old Chinese is also monosyllabic (character = syllable = monomorphemic lexeme); 2) its signification is not included in that of any other color term: cf. Berlin and Kay (1969) 5–7. In the present paper, the term ‘Old Chinese’ is used in a broad sense to refer to varieties of Chinese used before the unification of China under the Qín 秦 dynasty in 221 BCE. ‘Middle Chinese’ refers to the language of the so-called rhyme books, especially the Qieyun 切 韻 of 601 CE and the Guangyun 廣韻 of 1008 CE. ‘Old Mandarin’ refers to the language of the 12th-20th centuries. ‘Modern Standard Mandarin’ refers to contemporary Chinese, from the 20th century onwards. The scheme sketched here should be considered no more than a working outline. 58 Also known as a ‘union-based’ or ‘composite’ category; is a color category consisting of more than one hue: see Biggam (2012) 61–62, 74–76. 55

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THE ‘PRIMARIES’

Macro-red 59 is expressed by the syssemantic-category (huiyi 会意) 60 character chi 赤, written in OBI as: 61 The upper part represents a human figure, which later on, as the writing system developed, was stylized as da 大 ‘big’, and the lower element represents fire. The Shiming 釋 62 glosses 赤 as ‘the color of the Sun’ (釋名,·釋采帛), 63 while the commentaries on the Shuowen’s interpretation of this character as ‘the color of fire’, ‘fiery red’ seem to be more appropriate. This color term was applied both to naturally (such as mammal hair or jade) and artificially (stairs, banners) colored objects. 64 The black color category is represented by the character hei 黑, 65 which appeared in OBI written as: 66

or It is a syssemantic character, where the upper part depicts a figure with a big head with the small dots representing ink, under which flames are raging. The combination seems to have symbolized a representation of the ancient punishment called moxing 墨刑 ‘ink punishment’, in which the forehead was cut and marked with a black dye as a permanent mark. 67 Another explanation is that the upper part of this graph represents a man performing a ritual dance wearing ceremonial clothes and with his face painted black. 68 Besides, also phonologically hei 黑 ‘black’ is derived from mo 墨 ‘ink’ (and not vice versa). 69 Therefore, the original reference must have been ‘ink’, hence ‘to mark with ink’ subsequently extended to mean ‘black’ in gen-

In A. Wierzbicka’s terminology, that is, this color term is focused in red, but also includes yellow and orange: Wierzbicka (1990) 132–133. 60 Also known as associative, lit. ‘joint meanings’; a type of Chinese characters whose meaning is indicated by the combined meanings of their constituent parts. For more on this category, see Behr’s (2006) critique of Boltz’s view (1994) 147–149. 61 HYDZD, 3506. 62 Lit. ‘Explaining Names’, a glossary dictionary compiled by Liu Xi 劉熙 at the end of the Eastern Han Dynasty (25–220 CE). 63 Quoted from HYDZD, 3506. 64 Bogushevskaya (2008) 69–81. 65 The macro-cool category in OBI was denoted by the early forms of the characters you 幽 and xuan 玄; hei 黑 replaced them and became basic for BLACK by the Han Dynasty; for more on this, see Bogushevskaya (2008) 62–65. 66 Wang (1996) 91. 67 Baxter (1983) 18; Wang (1996) 92. 68 Zhao (1989) 147. 69 Schuessler (2007) 277. 59

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eral. It was used to describe the hair color of sacrificial animals (sheep, pigs and dogs) and to describe the darkening of the sky as early as in OBI. 70 Huang 黃 ‘yellow’ invites some speculations. In OBI it is often written as: , albeit there are some minor variations. 71 Some scholars suggest that this is a phonosemantic-category character, where the semantic element is tian 田 ‘field’, and the phonetic part is an earlier form of the character huang 晃 ‘shine, dazzle’. Thus, the entire character refers to ‘the color of the qi 氣 energy coming from the soil’. 72 Others suppose that the character is a drawing of a man with a large belt, and that the character originally represented the word later written as huang 璜 ‘jade pendant’, simply borrowed 73 to write a phonetically similar word for ‘yellow’. 74 As regards its phonological analysis, huang 黃 could be related to guang 光 ‘light, bright’, 75 and is undoubtedly related to the Sino-Tibetan forms meaning ‘brightly yellow’ and ‘yellow’. 76 In OBI it is applied to sacrificial oxen, but occasionally refers to metals, presumably copper, since bronze is an alloy consisting primarily of copper. 77 There is also no consensus among the scholars on the etymological explanations of bai 白 ‘macro-white’, written in OBI as . The attempts to explain it as a pictographic-category character − either that this character original graphic form represented a rice grain, 78 or that it was a different form of a pictograph of the sun 79 − are proved to be inconsistent. 80 It looks plausible that this character belongs to the phonetic loan category. Baxter, quoting Kalgren, says that the graph is the primary form for bo 伯 ‘eldest brother’, that back then had the same pronunciation and already at that time experienced the semantic shift and acquired the meaning ‘horse progenitor’, the deity that had light hair (not colorless, but lighter than any other kind of horse). 81 Another plausible version is that bai 白 was originally a textile term and represented the word later written bo 帛, and was a general term for denoting ‘undyed, smooth, flat plain-weave silk’. 82 Bo帛 is the phonosemantic-category character, where bai 白 is employed as a phonetic element, while jin 巾 ‘a piece of clothes, towel’ is the semantic determiner. Indeed, bo 帛 is used as a base and deTang (2003) 85. See Wang (1996) 89. 72 Hu (1941) 57. 73 And therefore is the phonetic loan, known also as rebus-category, jiajie 假借 character, that is, when a character with a particular meaning is used to write a homophonous character of unrelated meaning. 74 Zhang (1991) 68; Pan (2005) 21. 75 Baxter (1983) 13. 76 Schuessler (2007) 285. 77 Wang (1996) 90–91. 78 Tang (2003) 84; Yue (1986) 75. 79 Wu (2000) 66; Zhang (1991) 64. 80 For more on this see Bogushevskaya (2008) 57–62. 81 Baxter (1983) 13. 82 Lubo-Lesničenko (1994) 125. 70 71

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parting point for all the ‘secondary’ colors that we will analyse below. However this may be, bai 白 is used as a color term early already in OBI, applied to animals (including those for ritual offerings), grain, people (probably tribes) distinguished by their light skin color or who had a lighter skin than the Shang, and it is even a toponym. 83 The grue (green + blue) category is denoted by qing 青. The term enters the color lexicon during the Western Zhou period, written in early bronze inscriptions as . 84 It is a syssemantic-category character, where the lower part is a drawing of a shaft or a pan for collecting organic (indigo) or mineral (azur-malachite) pigment, while the upper part represents a plant. In addition to being syssemantic, qīng 青 also appears to belong to the phonosemantic category, where the morphonological constituent sheng 生 is related to the Sino-Tibetan root *siŋ ‘tree, wood’. 85 Thus, the character originally expressed the idea of a pigment that has the color of plants and was later employed to signify cool primaries GREEN, BLUE and MACRO-BLACK. 86

THE ‘SECONDARIES’

The term ‘intermediate’ or ‘secondary’ (jian 間) colors must have been coined and already in use before or during the Warring States Period戰國 (475–221 BCE), as it occurs already in the Liji 禮記 and the Xunzi 荀子, applied mainly to clothes. 87 The art of dyeing naturally developed along with the creation of textiles. The making of silk can be traced to approximately 3630 BCE. 88 The earliest excavated dyed sample is a fragment of silk gauze, found in the ruins of Qingtai 青台 village (in Xingyang 荥陽, Henan 河南), dyed light crimson, dated to 3500 BCE. 89 The surviving examples of Western Zhou silk reveal a high-level dyeing technique of vegetable and mineral dyes, decorated with painting and embroidery. Mineral dyes were applied to finished silks, while vegetable dyes could be fixed to the yarn. 90 By the Warring States Period, Chinese already fully mastered the multi-layered dyeing technique described in the Kaogong ji: Three dips into a red dye produce a light red (xun 纁); five dips make a deep red (zou緅); and seven dips make a black (zi 缁). 91

The Zhouli also tells of the restrictions on silk use that are supposed to have prevailed in the Western Zhou, relating chiefly to garment colors and types, to ceremoTang (2003) 85; Wang (1996) 80. HYDZD, 4046. 85 Baxter (1983) 16–17; Schuessler (2007) 431. 86 Bogushevskaya (2015). 87 Xu (1995) 8–9; Yao (1985); Yu (1999) 92. 88 Vainker (2004) 22. 89 Gao (2001) 114. 90 Vainker (2004) 33. 91 Quoted from Wenren (2013). 83 84

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nial and to social rank. The fine silks were restricted to various members of the official classes, while the merchant classes were formally excluded from wearing them. The court had five different craftsmen in charge of making colored silk robes. The colors of the patterns, painted or embroidered, were subject to regulations: the five ‘primaries’ used by higher-ranking men for upper clothing and headgear, and the ‘secondaries’ used by men of lower rank, and for clothing the lower body. 92 Technically, there was such a great variety of the intermediate tints at that time, that any shade lighter or darker than the ‘standard pure’ color could be called ‘intermediate’, and therefore automatically considered secondary and of a low rank. The five ‘primary’ colors were advocated by the Yin-Yang scholars during the Warring States Period, and later by Confucians, as they simply had to adapt contemporary advanced dyeing knowledge to their theory, and the list of the so-called ‘secondary’ colors was inevitably to appear. When for the first time the ‘intermediate’ colors are listed by a Confucian scholar Huang Kan 皇侃 (488–545), these are: lü 綠, hong 紅, bi 碧, zi 紫 and liuhuang 騮. 93 However, the process of obtaining them is described only in the 13th century by Xu Qian 許謙 (1270–1337): Fire overcomes Metal. Chi 赤 (red) and bai 白 (white) generate [what is called] hong 紅. Metal overcomes Wood. Bai 白 (white) and qing 青 (grue) generate [what is called] bi 碧.

Wood overcomes Soil. Qing 青 (grue) and huang 黃 (yellow) generate [what is called] lü 綠.

Soil overcomes Water. Huang 黃 (yellow) and hei 黑 (black) generate [what is called] liuhuang 騮黃.

Water overcomes Fire. Hei 黑 (black) and chi 赤 (red) generate [what is called] zi 紫. 94

The semantic domains of the three ‘secondary’ colors − hong 紅, lü 綠 and zi 紫 − are relatively transparent, since all of them belong to the phonosemantic category and contain the ‘thread’ or ‘silk’ radical, whereas the remaining two were assigned to the scheme at a later stage. Let us see their possible original referents. According to the Shuowen, ‘hong 紅is obtained if we mix the colors red (chi 赤) and white (bai 白) and apply them on the uncolored silk fabric (bo 帛)’. 95 In other words, hong 紅 refers to the silk fabric dyed pink. During the Han Dynasty, in addition to madder, Rubia cordifolia (qian cao 茜草), one of the oldest natural sources for red dyes, safflower also became an important dyestuff, which was introduced to Vainker (2004) 42. Xu (1995) 9. 94 Quoted from Syčëv and and Syčëv (1975) 24. 95 Shuowen 25, 系部, 1860. See Tang (2001). 92 93

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China from the northwest tribes. 96 The assumptions that etymologically the character hong 紅 referred to safflower, Carthamus tinctorius, now written hong 荭 or honghua 紅花 (lit. ‘red flower’), and was borrowed to write a phonetically similar word for the red dye derived from this plant, look quite plausible. 97 Lü 綠 is glossed in the Shuowen as ‘the color that undyed fabric (bo 帛) obtains after application of the mix of grue (qing 青) and yellow (huang 黃)’, 98 thus, the term refers to the silk dyed in yellowish-green. 99 According to the Erya 爾雅 thesaurus (ca. third century BCE), lü 綠 originally denoted the homophonous plant lü 菉 Hispid arthraxon, Arthraxon hispidus, 100 which was used during the Warring States Period for producing tints from greenish-yellow to vivid green, depending on the mordant. 101 Thus, lü 綠 is a loanword for the plant-derived yellowish-green dye. 102 ‘Zi 紫 can be obtained by mixing the colors grue (qing 青) and red (chi 赤) and dyeing [with this mix] the undyed silk’. 103 Therefore, it is a textile term that refers to the silk dyed in purple. According to the Erya, zi 紫 stood for the color that silk fabric acquired after dyeing with zi 茈 gromwell, Lithospermum erythrorhizon, known also as zicao 茈草 / 紫草 (lit. ‘purple grass’). 104 The roots of this plant were the source of shikonin pigment, which, with the use of the Chinese toon tree ash and alums as mordants, produced a dye of a purple red color. The ancient states of Lai 莱 and Qi 齊 were famous for the production of this plant. 105 The Hanfeizi 韓非子 records that ‘the Duke Huan of Qi 齊桓公 (r. 685–643 BCE) loved wearing clothes dyed purple, so it was prohibited for ordinary people of Qi to wear [the purple clothes].’ 106 At that time the gromwell-dyed silk cost five times higher than the undyed silk, 107 which was probably the reason that provoked Confucius, who lived in the state of Lu 魯, traditional enemy of the states of Lai and Qi, to exclaim that he ‘hated the manner on which purple (zi 紫) takes away the luster of vermillion (zhu 朱)’. 108 On the lid of one of the lacquered clothing chests excavated from the tomb of Marquis Yi of the Zeng State (曾侯乙) (buried ca. 433 BCE), there is an engravYe et al. (2000). See Pan (2004); Zhang (1991). In Modern Standard Mandarin hong 紅 is a basic color term for RED. 98 Shuowen 25, 系部, 1857. 99 In Chinese, the modifier always precedes the modified, therefore the correct translation of the color term qinghuang青黃must have been ‘grueish-yellow’. Since qing 青 denotes green-and-blue, when it is mixed with yellow, the result is most likely to be yellowish-green. 100 Pan (2004). 101 Du (1982) 62; Lin (2001) 103. 102 Lü 綠 is a basic color term for GREEN in Modern Standard Mandarin. 103 Shuowen 25, 系部, 1860. 104 Pan (2004) 27; Xu (2003) 263. 105 Gao (2001) 117; Wu and Tian (1986). 106 Lai and Fu (2007). 107 Lin (2001) 105. 108 Translated by Legge (1885b). 96 97

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ing that reads: ‘upper garments of purple brocade’ (zi jin zhi yi 紫錦之衣), that evidences the clothing color preferences of the period. 109 Bi 碧 is glossed by the Shuowen as ‘the jade of grue color’. 110 Contemporary etymological dictionaries explain bi碧 as a phonosemantic-category character, where bai 白 ‘white’ is employed as a phonetic element, while the semantic component, in turn, appears to be syssemantic, represented by a combination of the two elements, yu 玉 ‘jade’ and shi 石 ‘stone’. From the Tang 唐 Dynasty (618–907) on, bi碧 is mainly applied to sky, grass, water and mountains, referring to the light grue color and can therefore be translated in English as ‘turquoise’ or ‘Cerulean’. 111 Liuhuang 騮黃 is the only disyllabic canonical ‘secondary’ color term. Since in Chinese the modified element is always preceded by the modifier − and the modified here is huang 黃 ‘yellow’ − let us analyse the first element of this compound. Liu 騮 is sometimes also used as the modified element, and forms disyllabic compounds that denote ceremonial horses chiliu 赤騮 (lit. ‘red’ + liu) and huangliu 黃騮 (lit. ‘yellow’ + liu) in the Yueling section of the Liji quoted earlier. The Shuowen glosses liu 騮 as ‘a red (chi 赤) horse with a black (hei 黑) tail’, 112 which corresponds to the definition of what is called ‘a bay horse’ in contemporary English. 113 Therefore, chiliu 赤 騮 in the Yueling refers to the ‘deep reddish-brown or flaming red horse with black tail’, that is, to a bay horse, while huangliu 黃騮 indicates ‘yellowish-red horse with black tail’, which may have been what is nowadays called ‘dun’. 114 The vice versa version of the latter compound (liuhuang 騮黃), written as 留黄, occurs in the Shuowen, where it describes the color obtained from lü 菉 Hispid arthraxon. 115 The Qing 清 Dynasty (1644–1911) commentator Duan Yucai 段玉裁 (1735–1815), quoting the Guangya 廣雅 dictionary (early third century CE), explains 留黄 via the homophone liuhuang 流黃 (lit. ‘flow’ + ‘yellow’) as a ‘greenish-yellow’ (lühuang 綠黃), and provides the variant liuhuang 騮黃, where liu 騮 is the phonosemantic-category character with the ‘horse’ radical and liu 留 employed as a phonetic element, explaining that this was the way it was written in the Huang Kan’s commentary Liji yishu 禮記義疏. 116 Most probably, the character liu 留 originally represented the word later written liu 騮, and was borrowed to write a phonetically similar component for ‘bay horse’ in the liuhuang 騮黃 binome. That is unlikely to have happened if liuhuang had not been a fairly common word. Lin (2001) 105. Shuowen 1, 玉部, 51. 111 See Bogushevskaya (2008) 95–97. 112 Shuowen 19, 馬部, 1314. 113 ODE (2010) 141. Cf. the definition by Parker (2012) 190: ‘Bay: body ranging from tan, through red, to reddish-brown; mane and tail black; usually black legs.’ 114 Ibid. 603: ‘Dun horse: usually has body color yellowish or gold; mane and tail may be black, brown, yellow, white or mixed.’ 115 Shuowen 2, 艸部, 79–80. 116 Quoted from Cihai, 馬部, 3250; Shu (1994). 109 110

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Therefore, liuhuang 騮黃 = ‘bay horse’ (modifier) + ‘yellow’ (modified), which makes this binome equivalent to what is referred to as a ‘dun horse’ in contemporary English (see footnote 114). As regards the color components embodied by this compound, we have the term that stands for the color obtained by mixing red, yellow, and a relatively small amount of black, i.e., the mixture that normally gives brown. Thus, liuhuang 騮黃 may have meant ‘brown’. An additional argument in favor of this meaning is the process of color obtaining described by Xu Qian, where liuhuang 騮黃 is the result of mixing huang 黃 ‘yellow’ with hei 黑 ‘black’ as the respective colors of Soil and Water (see above). Due to the association of the homophonous 留黄with the color obtained from lü 菉 arthraxon, the meaning ‘greenish-yellow’ got automatically assigned to the rebus lexeme 騮黃, which created some confusion. Most of etymological dictionaries do not even contain the variant liuhuang 騮黃. The Cihai辞海 glosses it via the homophone liuhuang 留黄 (without the ‘horse’ radical), 117 which in turn is glossed as ‘yellow, close to green’ (huang er jin lü 黃而近綠). 118 To my knowledge, the meaning ‘brown’ is not assigned to the lexeme liuhuang 騮黃 by any dictionary.

CONCLUSION

To facilitate visualization of color-mixing sequences, the five ‘primaries’ and five ‘secondaries’ with their respective meanings are placed on a circle (Fig. 5). The ‘primaries’ are: chi 赤 ‘red’, hei 黑 ‘black’, huang 黃 ‘yellow’, bai 白 ‘white’, qing 青 ‘grue’. The ‘secondaries’ are: hong 紅 ‘pink’, lü 綠 ‘yellowish-green’, zi 紫 ‘purple’, bi 碧 turquoise and liuhuang 騮黃 ‘brown’. The theory of ‘pure and secondary colors’ is based on the practical knowledge of the ancient Chinese, in particular on their textile dyeing techniques. The semantic analysis reveals that the lexemes that originally belonged to the textile domain have become the definitions of the three ‘secondary’ (‘mixed’) colors, and one lexeme originally denoted a dun horse. Knowledge of the ‘cultural memory’ of these canonical color names inspires further research on their semantic shift expressed in their secondary, that is, associative and symbolic meanings, since the distinguishing between ‘primary’ and ‘mixed’ colors conveyed ‘noble versus humble’, ‘regular versus evil’, ‘legitimate versus illegitimate’ and other oppositions. Despite the fact that the ancient Chinese model of color mixing was based on the pentamerous cosmogonic model and had developed in total autonomy from the outside world, it reveals astonishing resemblances with European scientific discoveries of the modern era. The Chinese ‘primaries’ appear to denote colors which correspond with the six Hering primaries, 119 with the only difference that in the Chinese Cihai, 馬部, 3250. Cihai, 田部, 1980. 119 Ewald Hering (1834–1918), a German physiologist, proposed the theory that the human visual system works on the principle of color opponency, by which the brain interprets color through the three opponent processes of black versus white, red versus green, 117 118

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model green and blue form a composite category. Furthermore, the three ‘pure’ colors chi 赤 ‘red’, huang 黃 ‘yellow’ and qing 青 ‘grue’ recall Goethe’s basic colors, 120 and also correspond with the the chromatic triad of cyan – magenta – yellow of today’s subtractive color mixing model.

zi 紫 ‘purple’

chi 赤 ‘red’

hong 紅 ‘pink’

hei 黑 ‘black’

bai 白 ‘white’

liuhuang 騮黃 ‘brown’

bi 碧 ‘turquoise’

huang 黃 ‘yellow’

lü 綠 ‘green’

qing 青 ‘grue’

Fig. 5. Canonical colors’ mixing order

and blue versus yellow, see Biggam (2012) 22. 120 Goethe (1810).

AZTEC REDS: INVESTIGATING THE MATERIALITY OF COLOR AND MEANING IN A PRE-COLUMBIAN SOCIETY ÉLODIE DUPEY GARCÍA

To color bodies and artworks red, the Aztecs made use of a surprising range of natural resources. 1 In ritual as well as everyday contexts, parrot and spoonbill feathers, together with red maize ears and seashells, were used to create headdresses and attire. Red ocher, annatto and cochineal were anointed on bodies and their apparel, and the latter was also rubbed on the teeth. These red colorants and pigments likewise served as paint in Aztec art − organic colors were applied to the skin-based manuscripts known as codices, while the mineral was reserved for stone sculpture and architecture. The use of this array of red materials in Aztec civil and religious life, as well as in artistic practices, points to a subtle exploitation of the natural world focused on the production of dyes, paints, cosmetics, and insignia. It also speaks to us of commercial activities, of the spread of the tribute system and of a developed network of circulation routes, by means of which these materials and garments were exchanged among the diverse regions and civilizations of Mesoamerica (Fig. 1). Last but not least, the spectrum of materials used to produce the color red illustrates that the Aztecs − and pre-Hispanic societies in general − granted supreme importance to the materiality of color. Indeed, even if the chromatic qualities of these red materials appear similar to a Western or modern eye, they were different to the eyes of the Aztecs, because they did not conceive of color in the abstract as we do today; instead they thought of color in terms of its material basis. The relationship between color and its material manifestation stems from the fact that in the Aztec worldview, all the natural elements were bearers of complex In this chapter, I employ the term ‘Aztec’ to refer to the inhabitants − most of whom were Nahuatl-speakers or Nahuas − from the Aztec capital of Mexico Tenochtitlan, as well as other coeval Nahua groups who lived in Central Mexico during the Postclassic Period (1200–1521 CE). 1

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identities, owing to their animal, vegetal, or mineral origin, their provenance, and their physical properties, among other features. These identities made the material sources of color − dyes and pigments, as well as gems, feathers, shells, flowers, maize, animal pelts, and so on − occupy defined places in the taxonomy of the world and connected to other components of the natural and social environment. Altogether, the identity, place and relations of each coloring material within the cosmic order made it a conveyer of specific meanings. And in turn, the material sources of color transmitted these meanings on the supports to which they were applied. To appreciate the cultural meanings underlying the uses of color in Aztec society, it is therefore critical to explore the selection of the materials employed to elaborate dyes and pigments, to color individuals and objects, and to name chromatic qualities. 2 In this chapter, red serves as a thematic thread to explore the significance of the materiality of color in Aztec society. Our analysis will be based on data of different sorts, comparing historical, aesthetic and linguistic evidence. One of our main sources of information will thus be colonial period dictionaries and texts − written in Spanish or in Nahuatl, the language of the Aztecs − resulting from the interest of Spanish conquerors, administrators, and friars in Aztec civilization at the time of the Conquest. In this corpus the colossal work of the Franciscan Bernardino de Sahagún, known as the Florentine Codex, stands out; its contents were compiled in Nahuatl through exhaustive research conducted among native communities of wise men. This opus alongside other colonial records enable us to examine the semantics of the Nahuatl chromatic lexicon, not to mention the ideas and practices related to color among the Aztecs. We will also make ample reference to pre-Columbian and colonial codices from Central Mexico, extracting data from their images and citing knowledge about their materiality and creation process. Using this corpus of sources, the red thread will allow us to focus on the way the Aztecs referred to ‘color’ through the word tlapalli, which literally means ‘something dyed’, but that also designated coloring materials and specifically cochineal, the substance par excellence to paint and dye in red. Then we will examine the singularity and cultural values of this and other organic reds − annatto and Brazilwood − in Aztec art and language. In the final phase of the discussion, another coordinate will be introduced: the widespread use of red ocher and its substitutes, parrot and spoonbill feathers, in body decoration. This triple approach to the Aztec use of reds will exemplify how the origins, provenance, preparation, physical − and especially optical − properties of coloring materials transformed them into bearers of identity and conveyers of meaning in pre-Columbian societies.

As I have shown elsewhere, the materiality of color is evident in the way the Aztecs named colors, because the structure of the Nahuatl chromatic lexicon was ‘almost completely based on the names of animals, plants, and minerals whose colors and physical qualities were so remarkable to the Aztec eye that they were used to designate similar colors and qualities when they appeared in other contexts.’ Dupey (2015b) 73; also see Dehouve (2003); Dupey (2004); Dupey (2010) 225–367. 2

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TLAPALLI OR THE MATERIALITY OF COLOR

There are a number of terms in Nahuatl to refer to color and to what is colored or multicolored. One of them − in fact the most important − was tlapalli, a noun that appears repeatedly in the historical sources as the word that Nahuatl speakers used to allude to color in general. 3 Franciscan Alonso de Molina translates tlapalli as ‘color,’ whereas fellow Franciscan Bernardino de Sahagún states: ‘This name tlapalli … means ‘color’ and [that] it comprises all the colors of any sort that may be, black, white, red, blue, yellow, green, etcetera.’ Beyond the definition offered by these friars, the word tlapalli often happens in the Nahuatl discourses of Sahagún’s informants, when they evoke color without mentioning specific shades or tones. This is illustrated by their description of the rainbow, where tlapalli introduces the names of the multiple colors in the meteorological phenomenon through Aztec eyes: The rainbow: … The different colors (tlapalli) that appear are blue-green (xoxoctic), green (quiltic), dark greens (quilpatic, yappaltic, quilpalli, yappalli), and yellow (coztic), orange (xochipaltic, xochipalli), followed by reds (chichiltic, tlapaltic), and pink (tlaztalehualli, tlaztalehualtic), and blues (texotic, texotli, matlaltic, matlalli). 4

Additionally, the colonial texts in Nahuatl permit the identification of a range of words based on tlapalli and used to allude to color. What stand out are the adjective tlapaltic, ‘colored,’ the verb tlapalihui, ‘to color,’ the locative tlapallan, ‘the place of color,’ and the nouns tlapapalli and tlatlapalli, which transmit the idea of a multitude of colors, especially to describe certain pieces of clothing or the work of artists. 5 Tlapalli is also at the origin of several nominal and composite verbal forms, such as tlauhtlapalli, 6 which is the result of joining tlapalli with tlahuitl, ‘red ocher,’ a pigment that will be discussed in greater detail below. This preliminary exploration of the colonial literature reveals the existence of an Aztec category that included color and was designated by the Nahuatl word tlapalli. That said, it remains to be seen whether this category included something more than the notion of color as we conceive of it in Western − or Westernized − societies in the twenty-first century and what cultural meanings it may have had in

Although less frequent than tlapalli and its derivatives, the noun *cuicuilli and its derivatives appear, however, in historical documentation, where they transmit the meanings of ‘multicolored’ and ‘mottled.’ The adjective paltic, which means ‘colored’, is also used. 4 Author’s translation; the original text in Nahuatl can be found in Sahagún, Florentine Codex (paleografía 2015) lib. 7, fol. 12r. In this chapter, the translation of the Nahuatl chromatic terms is based on my study of this lexicon: Dupey (2010) 225–367. 5 Molina, Vocabulario (1970) part 2, fol. 131r, 138v; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 2: 213; lib. 9: 25, 94–95; lib. 11: 60, 72, 80, 124, 240, 258; lib. 12: 123. For an explanation of the morphology of these terms, see Dupey (2010) 241–256, 263–269. On the mythical place tlapallan, its variants and its symbolism in pre-Hispanic Nahuatl religion, see Dupey, Tlapallan. 6 Molina, Vocabulario (1970) part 2, fol. 144v. 3

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this pre-Hispanic society. To respond to these queries, it is a fruitful exercise to explore the multiple contexts of the use of tlapalli and its derivatives. It reveals the polysemic character of this word, while the multiple semantic fields of tlapalli inform, at the same time, on the connection between color and material in Aztec thought, in particular between color and coloring and prized materials. In this sense, it is worth examining another translation that Molina gives for tlapalli. Although in the Spanish part of his Vocabulario, the friar presents this word as an equivalence of ‘color,’ in the Nahuatl section he defines it as ‘color to paint, or something dyed.’ 7 The latter definition echoes the etymology of tlapalli, a noun derived from the verb pa, ‘to dye,’ whose literal meaning is ‘something dyed.’ 8 Together Molina’s definition and the etymology of tlapalli reveal a dimension of the polysemy of this word, that is to say its capacity to evoke coloring materials used to paint at the same time as dyed or more generally colored objects. This is confirmed in other entries in Molina’s dictionary, as well as in Sahagún’s work, where multicolored textiles are designated by the word tlatlapalli, as well as the forms tlatlapalpouhqui, tlatlatlapalpouhqui, tlatlatlapalpohualli and tlatlapalpoani, all built on the basis of tlapalli and the verb pohua, ‘to count.’ 9 Parallel to this, the meaning of several words that include the radical tlapalshows that what the Nahuas called tlapalli was above all materials with coloring power. The lexicon that described the tools and the activity of the painters were thus encompassed under the nouns tlapallatextli, ‘ground colors to paint,’ tlapalmetlatl, ‘stone to grind colors,’ tlapalcaxitl, ‘bowl for colors,’ tlapalnamacac, ‘the vendor of colors,’ and the verbs tlapalhuia, ‘to put colors on what is painted,’ and tlapalxaqualoa, ‘to grind colors to paint.’ 10 Also, an artist’s discourse concerning painting practices in the Florentine Codex confirms that tlapalli referred especially to colors for painting: Tlapalli is the generic name for the entire diversity of colors (tlapalli), pure, good, beautiful, precious, and admirable. I paint something with a diversity of colors, I make diverse motifs on something, I embellish something, I make something with complex motifs, multicolored like ear ornaments, I make [something] multicolored like ear ornaments, I paint something. 11

Ibid. fol. 130v. The verb pa is associated at the beginning with the indefinite prefix tla-, which corresponds to the complement of the non-human object, and at the end, the suffix -li, characteristic of Nahuatl nouns. Launey (1979) vol. 1, 27, 36. 9 Molina, Vocabulario (1970) part 2, fol. 138v, 139v; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 10: 51, 184, 186. 10 Molina, Vocabulario (1970) part 2, fol. 130v, 131r; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 8: 49; lib. 9: 91; lib. 10: 77; Sahagún, Historia general (2000) 906; Siméon (1885) 571; Campbell (1985) 234. 11 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (2016) 11, fol. 222v; discussed in Dupey (2015a) 244; the original text in Nahuatl can be found in Ibid. 229. 7 8

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The terms ‘good,’ ‘pure,’ ‘precious,’ chosen to characterize tlapalli in this quote unambiguously designate coloring materials, while the rest of the passage evokes the way painters used these materials. Unequivocally, this extract displays the close connection between the category tlapalli and pictorial activity, at the same time that it informs on the Aztec conception of color as a precious material; a conception that also appears in tlapalteocuicatl, a composite word in which tlapalli serves to express the fineness of gold (teocuicatl). 12 Another extract from Sahagún’s work corroborates that tlapalli referred to materials for painting, by using this word to designate cosmetics, whose use was not recommendable for young girls in the Aztec nobility: Look, also, daughter, may it never come to pass that you apply cosmetics on your face or put colors on it, or on your mouth to look good, because this is a sign of worldly, earthly women. 13

This reference to cosmetics is also interesting because it introduces an additional meaning of tlapalli: red coloring material. Indeed, a passage from the Anales de Cuauhtitlan makes use of this word to describe the red cosmetic with which King Quetzalcoatl painted his lips in a key episode in the history of Tollan. 14 Other examples also suggest that tlapalli at times described or named red paints and things painted red. For instance, in a description of Mazahua women’s facial paint, tlapalli appears together with tecozahuitl, the name for a material used to paint the body yellow, especially among women. 15 In a description of pieces of clothing, tlapalli is juxtaposed with tlilli and texotli, terms that referred to black and blue colorants. 16 Similarly, tlapalli alluded to dyed red feathers and in this context the word is associated with the names of colorants that described feathers dyed yellow, orange, blue, and green. 17 This association of tlapalli with dyes and pigments, or objects colored in different hues corroborate that in addition to naming the color and the coloring materials in general, tlapalli designated coloring materials and objects colored with a specific color: namely, red. Chapter 11 of Sahagún’s Florentine Codex − which deals with Aztec dyes and paints − reveals that the red colorant specifically named tlapalli was cochineal (Dactylopius coccus). In Nahuatl, this was known by various names depending on the form Molina, Vocabulario (1970) vol. 2, fol. 130v. Sahagún, Historia general (2000) 561; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 6: 101. For an analysis of Aztec ideas related to cosmetics, especially in this passage, see Dupey, Yellow Women; also Galdemar (1987) and (1992). 14 Launey (1979) vol. 2, 194–195. 15 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 10: 183. On tecozahuitl, see Dupey, PreColumbian Codices and Yellow Women. 16 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 9: 60; lib. 10: 183. On the use of the materials tlilli and texotli for painting, see, for example, López Luján et al. (2005); Dupey (2010) 35–37, 438–443; Dupey, Pre-Columbian Codices. 17 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 9: 88, 94–95; Dupey (2010) 46–48. 12 13

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of the material. Unrefined cochineal was called nocheztli, ‘prickly pear fruit blood,’ 18 while the products prepared with this material were referred to as tlapalli. For instance, a dye bath prepared with cochineal was called tlapalatl, ‘tlapalli water.’ In contrast, tlacuahuac tlapalli, ‘hard tlapalli,’ was the name for a color prepared with cochineal that served as a painting material. 19 Beyond this nomenclature, Sahagún’s informants resorted to derivatives of tlapalli to explain what can be done with raw cochineal. 20 Sahagún and his fellow Franciscan Molina, in turn, indicate that tlapalli was the name that the Aztecs gave to what they called ‘red cochineal’ and ‘refined cochineal.’ 21 The identification of tlapalli as prepared cochineal − or ‘refined cochineal,’ according to Molina − apparent in this lexical analysis must have had originated in the prestige that surrounded this red material in pre-Columbian times. Evidence can be found in the testimony of another Franciscan, Toribio de Benavente − also known as Motolinía − who wrote: ‘In the prickly pear fruits cochineal is born that in this language is called nocheztli. It is highly prized because it is a very strong red color.’ 22 Among the Aztecs cochineal was actually the colorant par excellence for producing red dye, as well as for painting on codices (infra), for which it was given the generic name to refer to coloring materials; a name that, in addition, occasionally conveyed the meanings ‘precious’ and ‘valuable.’ The data discussed here suggest that color was a lexicalized concept in the Aztec language: 23 tlapalli meant ‘color’ and it was the origin of a network of verbs, nouns, and adjectives that referred to color, colored, and multicolored. Furthermore, the lexical analysis demonstrates the polysemy of the nomenclature derived from tlapalli and ultimately it allows us to see what other concepts and objects were included in the tlapalli category. Indeed, tlapalli designated not only the color, but also coloring materials as well as colored things, and by extension, precious materials because dyes, paints, and cosmetics were prized products in ancient Mesoamerica. Consequently, it is clear that the Aztecs conceived of color as a material, a proposition that is reinforced by the inclusion of cochineal − an outstanding material to produce the color red − in the tlapalli category. Moreover, the multiple meanings of tlapalli suggest that cochineal had a special status in the Aztec conception and organization of colors, which invites enquiry into Dupey (2015a) 229–231; Anderson (1963) 75–76. Dupey (2015a) 231–232, 236; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 10: 77; Historia general (2000) 906, 1130; Hernández (1959) vol. 2, 315; Falcón Álvarez (2014) 26–36. Also, tlapalnextli was a coloring material that was made by diluting cochineal with white materials: Dupey (2015a) 232. 20 Ibid. 229–232. 21 Molina, Vocabulario (1970) part 1, fol. 66v; Sahagún, Historia general (2000) 1130, 1133. 22 Motolinía (1903) 198; also Sahagún, Historia general (2000) 1131. 23 This is far from constituting evidence since a number of cultures around the world lack any specific or unique word for ‘color.’ See, for instance, Berlin and Berlin (1975) 63; Conklin (1955) 339; Hamayon (1978) 216; Gernet (1957a) 297; Grand-Clément (2011b) 72. 18 19

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the peculiarity of this coloring material in this pre-Hispanic society. The next section will thus explore the affinities between cochineal and blood on both a visual and conceptual level, in order to further demonstrate that tlapalli on the linguistic level and cochineal-based paints on the artistic domain both suggested vitality and luminosity.

ORGANIC REDS: LUMINOSITY AND VITALITY IN LANGUAGE AND PAINTING

Although in the Florentine Codex chapter devoted to color, cochineal is named or alluded to by means of the word tlapalli, it should be added that this colorant is often assimilated with blood. We saw that raw cochineal was called nocheztli, ‘prickly pear fruit blood,’ because its accumulation on the prickly pear cactus reminded the Aztecs of bloody wounds. 24 This association with blood continued to apply once the cochineal was prepared. This is illustrated in the description of the cochineal-based material called tlacuahuac tlapalli as ‘very red, red like blood, like fresh blood.’ 25 In parallel form, Sahagún’s informants described blood by employing the word tlapalli, whose connection with cochineal, and by extension with the color red, justified its use to characterize the vital liquid: Blood: our blood, red, our redness, our liquid, our freshness, our growth, our life [is] blood, it is chili-red, that which gives one life, our life, it becomes chili-red, it moistens. 26

It is also significant that the word tlapalli was juxtaposed with the term eztli, ‘blood,’ to form a difrasismo − in eztli in tlapalli − imbued with various figurative meanings, 27 at the same time that it referred to a concrete thing: human blood. The construction in eztli in tlapalli indeed appears on two occasions in the Florentine Codex to designate blood − that which the killer spills and that which is shed by merchants who die while on the road. 28 Dupey (2015a) 229–231. Ibid. 231; the original text in Nahuatl can be found in Ibid. 225. In the description of the cochineal-based material known as tlapalnextli, blood also served as a reference because Sahagún’s informants say: ‘it is not red like blood, only grayish, ashy, whitish’ (Ibid. 225, 232). 26 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 10: 132. Here I refer to the English translation of the Nahuatl proposed by Charles Dibble and Arthur Anderson (1953–82), although it seems to me that chichiltic should be translated as ‘red’ − for chichiltic is the generic term to refer to the color red in Nahuatl, see Dupey (2010) 271–277 − more than ‘chili-red.’ 27 Difrasismo is the name for the linguistic phenomenon in Nahuatl that consisted of juxtaposing two − and eventually more − terms to construct a different meaning from that transmitted by each of these terms when they appear in isolation: Montes de Oca Vega (1997) 31. For a detailed analysis of the difrasismo in eztli in tlapalli, see Dupey (2009) 219–222; Dupey (2010) 53–60. 28 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 5: 154; lib. 10: 38. 24 25

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Cochineal, and more generally the Nahuatl category of tlapalli, thus retained close ties to the vital fluid. This is because in addition to sharing its red color with cochineal, blood was a precious and coloring material in Aztec culture. It was frequently employed to color buildings and bodies in rituals, and it was even said to be applied on manuscripts. 29 Moreover, blood was the valuable liquid par excellence in the Aztec worldview, stemming from its role in the existence of human life and, beyond, of the life of the universe as a whole. As illustrated in the extract from the Florentine Codex cited above, blood was ‘life’ for the Aztec man, because shedding the vital fluid in honor of the gods, especially the Sun, permitted the continuation of the cosmos. 30 From this perspective, it is interesting to mention a cosmogonic myth that tells how, from the zenith, the Sun demanded bloody offerings with the formula in eztli in tlapalli, 31 for it shows that in association with eztli, tlapalli at times evoked blood as the symbol of life. 32 The use of the difrasismo in eztli in tlapalli in this context therefore suggests that the notion of vitality formed part of the semantic field of tlapalli; a proposal that is consolidated by certain uses of this word to allude to the color red and to brightness. In Aztec and contemporary Nahuatl ideologies, the vitality of the human being and the very dynamism of the universe were attributed to blood, as well as to the tonalli, an essence that was expressed in the world in the form of light and heat. The tonalli is also present in the human body, where it becomes one of the soul entities that enable man to live and spreads its influence throughout the body, thanks to blood. 33 This confluence of the notions of light, heat, and life in the category of tonalli, on the one hand, and the connection that we described earlier between tlapalli, blood, and vitality, on the other, explains that tlapalli sometimes transmits the imbricated meanings of ‘red’ and ‘brightness.’ This is the case of the names of amethyst and ruby, two shiny gems known as tlapaltehuilotl and tlapalteoxihuitl, respectively. As for the stone eztetl, its name did not come from tlapalli, although its red color is described with this term and its sheen is compared to the Sun’s light or to a live coal. 34 Furthermore, the connection between tlapalli and the tonalli is clearly confirmed by Ibid. lib. 2: 134–135; Durán (1995) vol. 1, 192. The sacrifices made in honor of the Sun God ensured its daily movement through the sky during the day and beneath the earth at night. 31 Codex Chimalpopoca (Bierhorst 1992a and 1992b), fol. 78r: 90–91. 32 Bierhorst (1992b) 148 proposes a literal translation of this passage: ‘their blood, their color,’ while Velázquez (1992) 122, 135 opts for ‘their blood and their kingdom,’ probably inspired by one of the metaphorical meanings of in eztli in tlapalli, ‘noble lineage’: Dupey (2010) 53–60; Dupey (2009) 219–222. In my opinion, it is clear that the Sun needed lives, because we read in Mendieta’s work (1997) 79 that the Sun demanded the sacrifice of the gods to set itself in motion. 33 López Austin (1989) vol. 1, 223–252. 34 Seler (1892) 420; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 9: 81; lib. 12: 119. 29 30

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the description of the Sun − the bearer of tonalli par excellence 35 − as a tlapallicolored star that emits light: And when the sun came to rise, when he burst forth, he appeared to be red (tlapalli) … It was impossible to look into his face; he blinded one with his light. Intensely did he shine. He issued rays of light from himself; his rays reached in all directions; his brilliant rays penetrated everywhere. 36

In summary, the lexicon reveals the affinities that the Aztecs perceived between blood, called eztli in Nahuatl, and the category of tlapalli that encompassed the coloring material in general and cochineal in particular. This proximity lies on the similar color and the texture of the vital fluid and the colorant, as well as the valuable character of both red materials in the eyes of the Aztecs. The proximity of the categories of eztli and tlapalli explains why the concept of vitality − intimately linked to blood and the tonalli − was also part of the semantic network of tlapalli. This word was, indeed, employed to name or describe certain shiny red objects, whose sheen evoked the tonalli, a hot and luminous essence that breathed its vitality into human beings. And if we now shift from the linguistic field to the artistic milieu, what draws attention is the coincidence between the polysemy of tlapalli and the appreciation for the brightness of cochineal expressed by codex painters. Actually, in preHispanic Central Mexico, the use of cochineal to paint these manuscripts was motivated by the luminosity of the colors prepared with this colorant, which contributed to infusing life into pictorial works. Pre-Columbian codices attributed to Nahuatl culture in Central Mexico in general, and Aztec civilization in particular, were painted on skin, whether animal skin or amate paper, a material made from ‘plant skin’: the bark of ficus trees. 37 With the exception of the white plaster that served as a base for the pictorial layer and that was of mineral origin, the colors employed in these codices were commonly lakepigments produced on the basis of colorants fixed on inert substrata. 38 This essentially organic character of the manuscripts’ palettes was perceived since antiquity, as illustrated in a somewhat simplistic account by Motolinía:

López Austin (1989) vol. 1, 223–252. Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 7: 7. 37 Dupey and Vázquez de Ágredos (forthcoming). 38 Mesoamerican lake-pigments were obtained by precipitating one or several organic components on a mineral substrate, which could be a metal salt − alum (KAl(SO4) 2.12H2O), niter or potassium nitrate (KNO3) or aceche or iron sulfate (FeSO4) − or a specific type of clay. The resulting precipitate was filtered and left to dry, transformed into a color for painting. On this topic, see Dark and Plesters (1959); Falcón Álvarez (2014) 9–15; Dupey, PreColumbian Codices. 35 36

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In reality, all the colors applied in the codices were not plant-based. Instead, it was cochineal obtained from the body of the female member of the insect species Dactylopius coccus − that lives on prickly pear (Opuntia spp.) pads – that played an outstanding role in the art of manuscript painting. Scientific studies have demonstrated that the reds in the Códices Borbonicus, Cospi, Fejérváry-Mayer, and Zouche-Nuttall were prepared with a colorant of animal origin, whose behavior in archaeometric analyses is similar to that of cochineal. 40 This discovery finds an echo in colonial documentation, where the use of cochineal is recorded for manuscript painting. As abovementioned, the Florentine Codex described the tlacuahuac tlapalli or ‘hard tlapalli,’ a fine lake-pigment made of cochineal, associated with alum, aceche (iron or ferrous sulfate), and the leaves of the tezuatl plant. 41 It was employed to paint codices and was sold to artists in the form of tablets or tortillas. 42 The same source also cites a dark red almost purple lake-pigment called camopalli − ‘the sweet-potato-colored-dye’ − which was prepared with cochineal mixed with alum. 43 The description of the latter color in the Florentine Codex is particularly interesting, because it shows the concern on the part of the Aztec painters to employ painting materials that would confer the pictorial layer with brightness. Sahagún’s informants underscore in fact the brilliance of the camopalli and point out that this visual quality of the lake-pigment guaranteed the beauty of pictorial works: The camopalli. It is dark red, it is something to embellish things, it is something to give luminosity to things, it is something to give brightness to things. 44

This description recalls other passages in Sahagún’s work that describe two yellow lake-pigments − xochipalli and tecozahuitl − whose brightness also had repercussions on the beauty of the codices illuminated with them. 45 Furthermore, this historical evidence coincides with the results of codicological studies carried out on preHispanic codices. Specifically, macroscopic studies of the Códices Borbonicus, Borgia, Cospi, Laud, and Vaticanus B have enabled us to observe that despite the passage of Motolinía (1903) 218. Miliani et al. (2011) 4, 6; Buti et al. (forthcoming); Pottier et al. (forthcoming). 41 Dupey (2015a) 226–227, 236; Hernández (1959) vol. 2, 315; Donkin (1977) 19; Roquero (2006) 94–95, 103, 140; Anderson (1963) 76, 80; Falcón Álvarez (2014) 27–36. 42 Dupey (2015a) 225, 231–232; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 10: 77; Historia general (2000) 906, 1130; Hernández (1959) vol. 2, 315. 43 Dupey (2015a) 228, 242; Sahagún, Historia general (2000) 1133. 44 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (2016) 11, fol. 221v; Dupey (2015a) 242; the original text in Nahuatl can be found at Ibid. 228. 45 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (2016) 11, fol. 217r, 219r; Dupey (2015a) 225, 227, 232, 237; Dupey, Making and Using. 39 40

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time and even under less than ideal conservation conditions, these manuscripts have retained their bright pictorial layers. 46 This may be explained by the fact that they were painted with lake-pigments composed of organic coloring materials, which ‘produce more vibrant colors than colored clays’ as summarized by Carolusa González. 47 This last commentary invites observation that, together with cochineal, two other red colorants were included in the chromatic palette of codices for their organic origin and ultimately their capacity to confer luminosity to these manuscripts’ pictorial layer. I refer to annatto or achiote (Bixa orellana) and to Brazilwood (Haematoxylon brasiletto). Although to date the presence of annatto has not been detected scientifically in pre-Columbian manuscripts, historical accounts mention a lakepigment called achiyotl in Nahuatl, made of achiote and used to paint codices. 48 What’s more, they note that achiote was combined with cochineal to prepare a mixed red color, 49 information that recalls one of the reds in the Codex Cospi that consists of a mixture of cochineal with an unidentified red colorant. 50 At the same time, our sources reveal that in the pre-Hispanic period ‘a color for painters [whose] red [was] more beautiful than cinnabar’ was obtained from Brazilwood. 51 As for this latter material, recent experiments have demonstrated that the chromatic range of colors obtained from cochineal and Brazilwood is very close. 52 This discovery is confirmed in the Florentine Codex, where Sahagún’s informants employ the same chromatic term, chichiltic − literally, ‘like chili’ − to describe both colorants. 53 This suggests that although Brazilwood was mostly employed as a dye, 54 the Aztecs also prepared lake-pigments with its wood, probably as substitutes for the highly prized cochineal paints. In contrast, the use of mixtures of cochineal with annatto to paint must have been the result of the tonal difference between these two colorants, as illustrated in their descriptions in the Florentine Codex: the color of cochineal is defined not only as chichiltic, but also with the lexical field of tlapalli and the epithet eztic − literally, ‘like blood’ − in that annatto is described with the verb tlatlahuia and the adjectives tlatlauhqui and tlatactic, derivatives of the noun tlahuitl, Álvarez Icaza (2014); Álvarez Icaza and Dupey (forthcoming); Dupey, Les couleurs and Pre-Columbian Codices. 47 González Tirado (1998) 7. On this topic, see also Dupey, Making and Using. 48 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (2016) 11, fol. 217v, 218r; Dupey (2015a) 226, 233–234; Hernández (1959) vol. 2, 27–28; Dupey, Pre-Columbian Codices. 49 Motolinía (1903) 218. 50 Miliani et al. (2012) 4, 6. 51 Hernández (1998) vol. 1, 380–381; Dupey, Pre-Columbian Codices. 52 Baglioni et al. (2011) 87–90. 53 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (2016) 11, fol. 222r, 222v; Dupey (2015a) 228–229, 231, 234, 244. 54 Ibid. 226, 234–235; Dupey, Making and Using. 46

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which named red ocher in Nahuatl. 55 This suggests that the color of annatto differed from the blood tone of cochineal and instead was closer to the burned red of red ocher, a pigment that, as we will see below, was not used to illuminate preHispanic codices in Central Mexico. Finally, it is worth adding that the selection of red organic materials in the painting of codices was not merely a function of aesthetic purposes − due to the brightness these pigments gave to the works − because the symbolic dimension was important as well. As I have demonstrated elsewhere, the application of organic colors in codices was connected to the Aztec conception of coloring materials as powerful materials, whose efficacy depended on the proper use of them in therapeutic, religious, and artistic fields. 56 In the latter realm, an account from the Florentine Codex defined painters as individuals capable of giving life to his creations thanks to his skill in using color. Sahagún’s informants explain that these artists were divided into two groups: on the one hand, the specialists of ink and colors, who literally were ‘givers of life,’ 57 and on the other, those who did not have the talent to animate the matter and literally ‘killed the colors.’ 58 Painting was not, then, a dull, innocuous activity in the Aztec world; in addition to embellishing works, colors gave them vitality and life. Surely a result of their intrinsic luminosity, lake-pigments in codices and especially those of cochineal evoked − and perhaps were the vehicle of − the tonalli essence that played a fundamental role in the existence of man and the cosmos. By extending bright colors that suggested or manifested the presence of tonalli it was how Aztec artists transformed their paintings into something more than images: they made them representations endowed with life, bodies that ‘shared … in the personal identity of the people they depicted.’ 59 The aesthetic and symbolic motifs underlying the process of creation in codices makes it possible to understand why pre-Hispanic peoples of Central Mexico − and in particular the Aztecs − developed a technology of color based on organic materials to paint these works. Specifically, we understand why they made the effort to create complex and precious red lake-pigments essentially from cochineal, as well as with annatto and Brazilwood, instead of turning to red ocher, a material that was abundant and low in cost. 60 Even though it could be burnished to produce a sheen, this colored clay did not contribute to the creation of a luminous pictorial layer, which was what obsessed codex painters in Central Mexico. So, they reserved red ocher for contexts in which exposure to the elements and the abundant quantity of Sahagún, Florentine Codex (2016) 11, fol. 217r, 221r; Dupey (2015a) 225–226, 230– 231, 234. 56 Dupey (2010) 97–117; Dupey, Making and Using. 57 The verb is yolteohuia, and I translate it as ‘to give life’ following Seler (1892) 403, 414 and Launey (1979) vol. 2, 217–219. See other interpretations in León-Portilla (2006) 270; Manrique (1960) 202; Johansson (2001) 92. 58 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 10: 28. 59 Houston (2009) 67, 99. 60 López Luján et al. (2005) 18–19; Brittenham (2015) 31; Dupey, Making and Using. 55

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color required prohibited the use of lake-pigments, which were too fragile and costly. Specifically, they restricted its artistic use to the painting of murals and sculpture. 61 To bring this circle to a close, it is worth emphasizing the coincidence between linguistic analysis and this reconstruction of the color technology. Indeed, the use of the lexicon as well as the pictorial practices demonstrate that the Aztec appreciated cochineal − together with other organic reds − for its bloody color and texture, as well as for its brightness in painting, in other words for its materiality, which evoked both life and light in Aztec eyes.

RED BODIES AND THE SYMBOLISM OF OCHER AND FEATHERS

As for red ocher, although it was not included in the palette of Central Mexican codices because the opaqueness of this red mineral did not fit the canons of this pictorial art, it was important nonetheless in Aztec society as a frequent ingredient in body painting of a ritual nature. As mentioned earlier, the Aztecs selected a wide range of natural red resources to color both their own bodies and those of their gods. In daily life noble women as well as prostitutes smeared their teeth with cochineal − called nocheztli in this context − probably because its astringent properties contributed to mouth hygiene. 62 Furthermore, cochineal might have been used to make cosmetics, because tlapalli designated the facial paint of certain deities and women, that of heroic warriors, as well as prostitutes. 63 These uses of the word tlapalli generated ambiguity, however, because the polysemy of this term does not enable us to know if it alludes here to cosmetics in general or rather to red cosmetics prepared with cochineal. Body decoration using red ocher, on the other hand, is unambiguously perceptible in the historical records because this coloring material was known as tlahuitl in Nahuatl. These accounts also reveal its use was widespread in Aztec society, and exemplifies, again, the capacity for red substances to express meanings stemming from their material qualities. Indeed, colonial sources reveal that the Aztecs conceived of red ocher as a material connoting heat, because it is a burnt substance: Hernández points out that what ‘… the Mexicans called Tláhuitl … is a sort of yel-

López Luján et al. (2005) 17–27; López Luján and Chiari (2012) 335–336. Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 8: 47–48; lib. 10: 55. On the astringent properties of cochineal, see Hernández (1959) vol. 2, 315; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 10: 147; Brittenham (2015) 30. 63 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 1: 32; lib. 10: 55, 183; Sahagún, Primeros Memoriales (1993) fol. 265r, 265v, 266v; 109, 112. At the Huey Tecuilhuitl fiesta, a mixture of annatto and cochineal was apparently used as a cosmetic, because the facial paint of the representative of the goddess Xilonen as well as her priests was described with the word tlapalachiyotica, where we can see the presence of tlapalli and achiyotl: Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 2: 103–104. As far as I have been able to determine, this is the sole occasion in which annatto is mentioned as a cosmetic among the Aztecs, so that an analysis of the cultural values of this colorant in body ornamentation cannot be carried out on the basis of historical information. 61 62

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low earth that turns red when it is burnt.’ 64 At the same time, the root tlahui − present in the name of red ocher − was at the origin of a lexical complex employed to refer to the light dispensed by torches and the daytime sun. 65 Nahuatl speakers likewise used the chromatic adjective tlatlauhqui, derived from the noun tlahuitl, to designate red foods whose color comes from the cooking process − for example, shrimp − as well as to name or describe certain animals − some kind of serpents, spiders, ants and fleas − associated with heat because their bites were perceived as burns. 66 It is most likely that this way of naming red had been influenced by the way red ocher is obtained, since this substance becomes red when it is put on the fire. This is confirmed by the uses of red ocher as a cosmetic. A census of the human and divine bearers of red ocher shows that all of them had a relationship with heat − they emitted it or, conversely, they received it − and suggests that their body ornamentation of tlahuitl alluded to this relationship. The most obvious case is the god Xiuhtecuhtli, who was the source of heat par excellence as the male aspect of the fire god. The Aztecs interpreted his name as ‘lighted’ and ‘bright red thing,’ and conceived of him as ‘a god, considering that he burned one, he consumed one, he singed one, he scorched the fields.’ 67 They also believed that he exhibited red ocher on his face, as stated by Sahagún’s informants: ‘he was painted with red ocher and black ink.’ 68 In addition, pre-Hispanic codices clarify how red ocher and black ink were distributed on the god’s face: the lower part of the facial paint was black and the upper part red. 69 Likewise, Chicomecoatl, the goddess of the harvest, was adorned with red ocher because she was envisioned as the deity responsible for drought and the personification of the mature ear of corn, 70 whose kernels had been cooked by the toHernández (1959) vol. 3, 409. What Hernández describes is the transformation of goethite, a yellow hydrated iron oxide, which darkens to red upon heating, see Brittenham (2015) 31. 65 Molina, Vocabulario (1970) part 2, fol. 144v, 145r; Campbell (1985) 355–356; also Holmer (1956) 162; Dehouve (2003) 53; Gage (2003) 112. 66 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 6: 240; lib. 11: 64, 76–78, 80, 88, 90; Molina, Vocabulario (1970) part 2, fol. 140r, 152v; Dupey (2010) 355–362; Dupey and Olivier (2014) 188–189. 67 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 1: 29; Torquemada, Monarquía (1995), vol. 3, 394. 68 The Florentine Codex reveals that the representative of Xiuhtecuhtli was painted with red ocher and black ink at the moment of his sacrifice, see Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953– 82) lib. 2: 209; Seler (1908) 208. 69 Códice Borbónico (Anders 1991) plates 9, 20; Códice Borgia (Anders 1993a), plates 2, 13, 14, 61, 69; Códice Vaticano B (Anders 1993b) plates 19, 57, 68; Tonalamatl Aubin (Seler and Keane 1900) plate 9. 70 Códice Vaticano A (Anders 1996) fol. 14r, 110–111; Durán (1995) vol. 2, 141; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 1: 13, 22; lib. 2: 64–65, 241; lib. 5: 49; lib. 6: 35–36; 64

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nalli dispensed by the sun’s rays. 71 Sahagún’s informants said of her human representative during the festival Huey Tozoztli, which celebrated the harvest and abundance of food: 72 She was painted all in red ocher. Her arms, her face were all covered in red ocher. Her paper crown was completely coated in red ocher. Her embroidered tunic was also covered in red ocher. 73

The description of this figure and the rites of Huey Tozoztli in the Códice Tudela suggest that this red ocher ornamentation symbolized the culmination of the maturation of maize, because the representative of the goddess underwent a chromatic transformation prior to sacrifice. In fact, she was dressed in white in the first part of Huey Tozoztli, ten days before her immolation: … they put red on the face of the Indian woman as well as on her legs and arms and they removed the white clothing and dressed her in red … and at the end of these ten days they took the Indian woman up to the temple or altar before the devil and there the priests sacrificed her right at midday. 74

These practices of ritual ornamentation are corroborated by the decoration of the bundles of seven corncobs that formed Chicomecoatl’s vegetal image. Before being kept in the heart of the granary and later used for sowing in the planting period, these bundles were wrapped in paper painted with tlahuitl to show that they were matured and full of tonalli. 75 At the same time, archaeology and iconography confirm the association of Chicomecoatl with red ocher: her face and sometimes her body and array were painted red in pre-Columbian codices, 76 while remains of a red pigment covered the effigy of the goddess found in the small tepetlacalli − a stone box − of Tizapan. 77 The analysis of worn insignia, the personalities and powers of the male deities Xochipilli and Macuilxochitl, as well as Tlatlauhqui Tezcatlipoca − an avatar of the Historia general (2000) 75, 141, 188–190, 505; also Heyden (2001) 24, 26; Dupey (2010) 417, note 64. 71 In Nahuatl the verb icuci means both ‘to mature’ and ‘to be cooked’, see Molina, Vocabulario (1970) part 2, fol. 34r; also Dehouve (2003) 65. 72 Códice Vaticano A (Anders 1996) fol. 43v, 206–207; Sahagún, Primeros Memoriales (1993) fol. 250v: 58; Graulich (1999) 321–334. 73 Author’s translation; the original text in Nahuatl can be found in Sahagún (paleografía 2015) lib. 2, fol. 29v. See also Códice Tudela (Batalla Rosado, 2002) fol. 14r-14v: 408; Durán (1995) vol. 2, 142, 144; Sahagún, Historia general (2000) 75, 190. 74 Códice Tudela (Batalla Rosado, 2002) fol. 14r-14v, 408. 75 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 2: 63, 241; Ruiz de Alarcón (1984) 125; Serna (1900) 430. 76 Códice Borbónico (Anders 1991) plates 7, 29, 30, 36; Tonalamatl Aubin (Seler and Keane 1900) plate 7. 77 Caso (1932) fig. 81.

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flayed god Xipe Totec 78 − reinforces at the same time that it complicates our interpretation of the red bodies. Like the harvest goddess and the fire god, Xochipilli, Macuilxochitl and Tlatlauhqui Tezcatlipoca are painted red over their bodies and portions of their faces in several pre-Columbian manuscripts. 79 As for Xipe Totec, the extremities of his limbs that emerge from the flayed skin covering his body are painted red, and when he does not wear this skin, his body is completely red. 80 But what was the red paint that covered these divine bodies made of? Describing practices of body decoration among the Tlapanecs, Sahagún’s informants state that the insignia of Tlatlauhqui Tezcatlipoca and Xipe Totec were colored with red ocher: … they are Tlappaneca because they paint themselves with red ocher, and because the name of their god was Totec, the red (tlatlauhqui) Tezcatlipoca. His array [was of] red ocher. Likewise were his priests and all the commoners; all painted themselves with red ocher. 81

In the same way, they indicate that the red paint displayed on Xochipilli’s face was red ocher (motlahuiticac). 82 In contrast, the composite word mixtlapalhuatzalhuiticac is used in the description of Macuilxochitl, which suggests that the face of this god was covered with a cochineal-based powder, given the association of the noun tlapalli and the verb huatza (‘to dry’). 83 This divergence between the facial adornment of Xochipilli and Macuilxochitl is striking, because in Sahagún’s work these names refer to a single god, while the affinities between Xochipilli and Macuilxochitl are evident in the codices. 84 And this curious divergence is not an isolated case: the comparison of the facial paint of the masculine and feminine aspects of the fire god reveals a similar inconsistency. As mentioned earlier, Xiuhtecuhtli wore a black ink layer on the lower part of his face, while the upper part was painted with red ocher. On occasions the same chromatic composition appears on the face of the igneous

On the identity of Tlatlauhqui Tezcatlipoca and Xipe Totec, see Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 7: 7; lib. 10: 187; Pomar (1985–6) 62; Durán (1995) vol. 2, 103. 79 Códice Borgia (Anders 1993a), plates 11, 13, 15, 16, 21, 58, 72; Códice Cospi (Anders 1994a), plate 29; Códice Fejérváry-Mayer (Anders 1994c) plates 31, 37; Códice Laud (Anders 1994b), plate 1; Códice Vaticano B (Anders 1993b) plate 30. 80 Códice Borbónico (Anders 1991) plates 14, 27; Códice Borgia (Anders 1993a), plates 2, 24, 25, 49, 61, 67; Códice Fejérváry-Mayer (Anders 1994c) plate 27; Códice Laud (Anders 1994b), plate 1; Códice Vaticano B (Anders 1993b) plates 19, 39, 68, 70, 92; Tonalamatl Aubin (Seler and Keane 1900) plate 14. 81 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 10: 187. 82 Sahagún, Primeros Memoriales (1993) fol. 266r; 111. 83 Ibid. fol. 265v: 109; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 1: 32; Molina, Vocabulario (1970) part 1, fol. 107v., part 2, fol. 155r. 84 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 1: 32; Spranz (1973). 78

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goddess Chantico, 85 but Sahagún’s informants use the word mixtlapalhuiticac to describe the red zone of this bicolor painting. 86 The Nahuatl nomenclature of divine cosmetics thus suggests that red ocher and cochineal were interchangeable for body paint, at least under specific circumstances. Testimonies on practices of body ornamentation that accompanied the return from war confirm this assessment. According to a passage from the Florentine Codex the nobles who took a prisoner were painted with red ocher, while in other extracts of this work reference is made to warriors painted red with cochineal when they returned from the battlefield with a captive − the word tlapalhuatzalli was then used, as for describing the red powder that covered the face of Macuilxochitl. 87 Although this interchangeable use of red ocher and cochineal is worth noting, it comes as no surprise since the identity of both materials related them to heat and light, the two defining characteristics of the tonalli. Now then, the personalities of the deities that wore red paint, whether red ocher or cochineal, indicate that their body ornamentation alluded precisely to the relationship these individuals had with heat, light, and the tonalli. While it might seem unnecessary to emphasize that Chantico, the fire goddess, was linked to heat, it is worth underscoring that the red ornamentation of victorious warriors gave them a ‘fire face.’ 88 As for Xochipilli, Macuilxochitl, Xipe Totec, and his avatar Tlatlauhqui Tezcatlipoca, their representations tend to connect them to the complex of solar deities, who radiated light and heat. In fact, they all share features with the gods that personified the sun, Tonatiuh and Piltzintecuhtli, 89 and several carry shields decorated with sun designs, at times painted with red ocher. 90 Furthermore, some images of Xipe Totec and Macuilxochitl depict them in the center of a sun disk (Fig. 2), while the latter is referred to as the ‘Master of Dawn’ in a religious song. 91 Beyond demonstrating the significance of the materiality of color, these examples prove the flexibility that characterized the Aztec conception and uses of colors, in which associations between human or divine individuals and specific natural elements were not irrevocably fixed. This statement is verified further by an examination of the materials that occasionally substitute themselves for tlahuitl on the bodies of the gods, because they are also related to fire and light. For instance, on a wooden mask representing the face of Xiuhtecuhtli during the festival Izcalli, red ocher was replaced by a mosaic made with the shell tapachtli (Spondylus sp.), which is characCódice Borbónico (Anders 1991) plate 18; Sahagún, Primeros Memoriales (1993) fol. 266v. Ibid. 112. 87 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 3: 22; lib. 8: 76, 83. 88 Olmos (1875) 216. 89 Seler (1963) vol. 1, 166, 183–184; Nicholson (1971) 417–418; Graulich (1999) 315– 316, 393–394; Aguilera (2004). 90 Sahagún, Primeros Memoriales (1993) fol. 265v, 266r; 109, 111; Codex Magliabechiano (Anders 1970) fol. 6r. 91 Códice Laud (Anders 1994b), plate 1; Tonalamatl Aubin (Seler and Keane 1900) plate 16; Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 2: 244. 85 86

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terized by its shiny reddish hue (Fig. 1). 92 At the fiesta Tecuilhuitontli, it was Xochipilli’s turn to be venerated and on this occasion the representative of the god was ‘completely dressed in feathers as a parrot’ (Fig. 3). 93 Although it is difficult to confirm what bird these feathers may have belonged to, Carmen Aguilera is of the opinion that it was a scarlet macaw (Ara macao), whose red feathers were used by the Aztecs to make accouterments. 94 We also know that Xochipilli’s headdress was made of roseate spoonbill (Platalea ajaja) feathers. 95 This bird did not belong to the parrot group, but its plumage was partially red (Fig. 1). 96 No matter whether it was one species or another, the cultural values transmitted coincide with the conceptions of red ocher and cochineal, for the plumage of the scarlet macaw and the roseate spoonbill were regarded as igneous and solar symbols in the Aztec worldview. In rituals scarlet macaw feathers represented the brilliance of fiery flames, while in metaphorical language their name, cuezalin, referred to fire. Placed around the statue of the fire god revered during the fiesta Izcalli, these same feathers suggested that the figure was on fire and consequently the Aztecs gave the name Cuezaltzin, ‘Venerable Parrot Feather’ to the igneous deity. 97 It is interesting to point out that the ancient Mayas also made use of these feathers to represent flames, for a passage from the Popol Vuh tells that the heroes of the mythical adventure put a scarlet macaw feather on top of a pyre to insinuate that it was burning. 98 Data from the Maya also reveal the connections between these feathers and the solar deity. One of his names in Yucatec Mayan was Kinich Kakmó, ‘Sun Face Fire Macaw’; 99 a patronym about which chronicler Bernardo de Lizana wrote: Sun with face that with its rays of various colors, like the feathers of the Scarlet Macaw, whose fire burned sacrificial victims. 100

Although less explicit, the Florentine Codex backs this association for it mentions that on the anniversary of the birth of the Sun, its image wore the cuezaltonameyotl ornament, which reminds us of the name of the Maya sun god that meant ‘scarlet macaw feather sun’s ray’ or ‘scarlet macaw feather solar radiance.’ 101 In this way, even if Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 2: 161; lib. 10: 59. Códice Tudela (Batalla Rosado, 2002) fol. 17r, 410; also Codex Magliabechiano (Anders 1970) fol. 34v. 94 Aguilera (2004) 71–72. 95 Sahagún, Primeros Memoriales (1993) fol. 266r, 111. 96 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 11: 20. Even if the plumage of the roseate spoonbill is primarily pink, the Aztecs conceived of it as red. This is indicated by references associated with its name, tlauhquecholli, to name and describe colors: Dupey (2010) 326–342. 97 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 1: 29; lib. 2: 147, 161; lib. 6: 239; lib. 9: 65. 98 Popol Vuh (Recinos 1960) 82–83. 99 Barrera Vázquez and Rendón (1948) 114. 100 Lizana and Acuña (1995) 78; also Aguilera (2004) 72–73. 101 Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 4: 6; Molina, Vocabulario (1970) part 2, 149v. 92 93

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they often symbolized flames, cuezalin feathers also embodied the light that shone from the Sun. As for the feather of the roseate spoonbill, called tlauhquecholli in Nahuatl, it was also a symbol of daytime light. This is reinforced by some of the accouterments intended to be worn by sun gods, where the tlauhquecholli were placed on the edge of the cloth, as if to frame the figure of the sun disk in the center with luminous rays (Fig. 4). 102 It is also illustrated in the mythical episode of the metamorphosis of Nanahuatl into the Sun as told in the Leyenda de los Soles: when he reached the sky, this god sat on a throne decorated with roseate spoonbill feathers, which probably represented the radiance that shone from the newly created Sun. 103 Finally, it is worth citing the Codex Magliabechiano where the word quecholli − which was sometimes improperly used instead of tlauhquecholli 104 − is translated as ‘arrow.’ 105 Even though this translation is erroneous from the strictly linguistic point of view, it nevertheless contributes to the present discussion, because the Aztecs related this projectile to light from the heavenly bodies, particularly the Sun. 106 All in all, research into the identities and uses of these feathers and shell reveals that like red ocher body paint, ornaments made with these red materials denoted the heat and light of the Sun and of flames.

FINAL CONSIDERATIONS

The importance of the materiality of color in Aztec civilization is perceived through the way color is named in Nahuatl. To refer to color in a generic way the Aztecs used the term tlapalli, whose literal meaning is ‘something dyed.’ What’s more, they used this word to designate colors employed in painting and more generally coloring materials, colored objects, and even precious materials, because pigments, dyes and cosmetics were valuable materials in the eyes of the ancient Mesoamericans. Making the most of the polysemy of this word, the Aztecs also used tlapalli to name cochineal, the precious material that served to paint and dye things red in pre-Columbian times. Therefore, the lexicon leaves no room for doubt: the Aztecs conceived of color as a material. Consequently, the material support for color had a bearing on the uses and meanings of color in this pre-Hispanic society. As I noted at the start of this essay, the identity of the material sources on color, as well as the place that they occupied and the relations they held with other materials and entities in the Aztec worldview, made them bearers of cultural values. Often the identity of these materials and their 135r.

102

Sahagún, Florentine Codex (1953–82) lib. 2: 72, 217; Códice Florentino (1979), vol. 1, fol.

Bierhorst (1992b) 148. Dupey (2010) 243, n. 14. 105 Codex Magliabechiano (Anders 1970) fol. 41v. 106 Durán (1995) vol. 2, 106, 153; Ichon (1973) 94, 99; Graulich (1999) 117; Dupey (2010) 155–163, 169–176. 103 104

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collateral meanings depended on their physical characteristics. For example, the texture, color, and the value of cochineal motivated its association with blood, and by extension, with the tonalli, the vehicle of light, heat, and vitality in the indigenous ideology. This was even more true when cochineal was converted into a lakepigment, for then it resembled fresh blood and imbued the pictorial layer of codices with luminosity in such a way that it contributed to giving these artworks the breath of life. In this same tenor, the iridescence of precious feathers surely motivated the use of scarlet macaw and roseate spoonbill feathers to redden bodies and ritual objects. By creating the illusion of light, these red feathers suggested the igneous and solar heat and radiance, while its flexibility and oblong shape strengthened their affinities with the rays emitted by fire and the Sun. Lastly, it should not be forgotten that the procedure through which natural resources were transformed into coloring materials also informed their identity: this was the case of the process of combustion required by red ocher, which consequently was also associated with heat. Altogether, these examples illustrated that Aztec reds conveyed meanings stemming from their materiality. Successively, red pigments, colorants, cosmetics and feathers transmitted their meanings to the supports on which they were deployed; in particular, on the bodies they colored. This is how the Aztecs displayed the personality, influence and action of human and divine individuals by means of the qualities of the coloring substances applied in corporal decoration. But given that flexibility was a dominant feature of Mesoamerican ideology, nothing was absolute in the selection and uses of the materials that colored the Aztec world. Feathers, cochineal and red ocher were interchangeable on the bodies of some gods and warriors, because all these materials were associated, for different reasons and to differing degrees, with light and heat. A comparable phenomenon apparently happens in the artistic domain where some lake-pigments obtained from Brazilwood perhaps acted as substitutes for precious cochineal-based paints. And what was the case for red was also valid for other colors, as shown in the confusion tinged with disapproval expressed by Diego Durán when he noted the versatility that prevailed in the selection of black materials to paint the background of the patolli game: When there was no soot to paint the lines of this mat there were specific herbs to make the lines of that game such as squash leaves or the small squash itself or an herb that they call chichicpatly, which means bitter medicine or … pine soot in which they mixed superstition because it had to be with this herb and with this one and not another one always with the purpose of idolatry. 107

This testimony illustrates the numerous possibilities for the historians who wish to explore the pre-Hispanic traces of color, in order to rediscover the singularity of conceptions and practices that the Aztecs had developed in relation to the polychrome universe that surrounded them. 107

Durán (1995) vol. 2, 204–205.

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INDEX Abydos 52 Achilles 114–115 Acropolis (Athens) 101–102, 108, 128 Actors 163–174 Aesop 121, 134 Aesthetics 38, 98, 112, 122, 191, 196, 198, 206–208, 246, 256 Agamemnon 114–115 Akkadians 9–29, 34, 66–67, 69–76, 78, 80–87, 90–91, 104, 110, 111, 113 Alabaster 50–53 Alcibiades 135, 146 Alexander the Great 136 Ambrose of Milan, Saint 193, 202, 204– 205 Amenhotep III 60 Amethyst 68, 72, 82, 88, 91, 252 Amun 57 Animals Ants 24–25, 177, 183 Birds 22, 44, 45, 47, 51–52, 57, 82, 102, 121, 170–171, 179, 183, 245–246, 262–264 Cattle 44, 69, 70, 71, 104, 111, 173, 211, 213, 214, 236 Crocodiles 45, 82 Dogs 22–24, 28, 57, 173, 177, 179, 180, 183, 184, 186, 238 Falcons 47, 51–52, 57 Fish 179, 184 Flamingos 45, 82 Foxes 179 Geckos 13, 15, 19 Goats 9, 14, 26, 70, 177, 183, 203, 229 Hippopotami 56 Horses 22, 37, 108, 130, 158, 160, 173, 201, 207, 218, 232, 236, 238, 242–243

311

Jackals 82 Mollusks 36, 88, 124–126, 132, 185, 205 Oxen 177, 183 Parrots 245–246, 262 Peacocks 121, 136–137 Pigs 156, 238 Roseate spoonbills 245–246, 262– 264 Scarabs 58–60, 63, 68 Scorpions 46, 50–52 Sheep 14, 33–34, 36, 38, 39, 70, 173, 177, 180, 183, 232, 238 Skinks 12–15, 19, 22 Annatto (dye) 245–246, 255–257 Aphrodite 99, 101, 113–114, 116, 124, 126, 128–129, 131 Apocalypse Christianity 192, 205, 207 Islam 219 Apollo 114–115, 128–129 Aristocracy, Athenian 139–161 Aristophanes 107, 135, 139, 142–145, 150, 161 Aristotle 97–98, 110, 114, 124, 126, 139–141, 144–145, 147–148, 153, 175 Artemidoros 175–189 Artemis 129, 131–132, 193 Art see Aesthetics, Painting, Poikilia, Polychromy, Sculpture Assur 33 Assyrians 34, 36, 38 Astrology 20, 217, 229, 234 Athanasius of Alexandria, Saint 202 Athena 116, 126, 128 Athenagoras of Athens 201 Athenian politics 139–161 Athenaeus 133–136, 179

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ESSAYS IN GLOBAL COLOR HISTORY

Augustine, Saint 192–193, 195, 198, 200–202, 205 Aztecs 245–264 Baines, John, theory of Egyptian colorterms 44, 45, 48–50, 65, 67 Basic color-terms, theory of see Berlin and Kay Basil of Caesarea, Saint 195, 202, 205– 206 Beards 31, 99–107, 115, 166, 219–222 see also Hair Berlin and Kay theory of color-terms 42–50, 65, 67, 71, 76, 93, 212–213, 236 Black Aztecs 247, 249, 258, 260, 264 China 89, 229–234, 237, 239–240, 242–244 Early Christianity 194–195, 205, 207 Egypt 43–45, 50, 53, 57, 67–68, 80, 82, 88–89, 93, 106 Greece 89, 99–101, 103–104, 111– 113, 116, 123–124, 130–131, 176–177, 180, 182–185 Indo-Europeans 92 Islam 212–213, 215–223 Mesopotamia 9, 12–21, 23–27, 29, 31, 35–38, 65, 69, 80 Rome 125, 168–169, 171, 173 Blood 19, 28, 80, 88, 125, 140, 173, 186–187, 205, 219, 250–257, 264 Blue Aztecs 247, 249 China 88, 229–230, 239, 241, 244 Early Christianity 192, 205 Egypt 41–43, 45, 47–58, 62–63, 66–68, 71–72, 77, 81–82, 99, 103, 105–107 Greece 68, 71–72, 74, 79, 82, 87, 99–107, 111, 115–116, 124– 125, 178, 184, 187 Indo-Europeans 79, 89, 92 Islam 212–214, 220, 223 Mesopotamia 14, 36–39, 69, 72, 77, 79, 81–82, 85, 107, 110– 111 Bluebeard(s), sculpture 101–107, 115 Blushing 109, 192, 204 Bowl, Predynastic, in Museum of Fine Arts, Boston 50–53

Brazilwood (dye) 246, 255–256, 264 Brightness, brilliance see Shining Bronze 98, 105, 114–115, 123, 127, 130, 193, 205, 231, 238–239 Bronze Age 65–66, 69, 71, 73, 75–77, 79, 81–84, 86, 93–94, 102 Brown 79, 92–93 China 242–244 Egypt 43, 68, 88–89 Greece 100–103, 107, 142, 158, 177 Islam 212–213 Mesopotamia 14, 19–20, 31, 33– 39, 87 see also Tan Buddhism 89–90 Carnelian 54, 56, 61, 67–68, 72–73, 75, 79, 81, 88, 91–93, 104 Çatal Hüyük 34 China 65, 77, 83, 85, 88, 225–244 Chomsky, Noam 48 Christianity, colors and 181–208 Classes see Elites, Priests, Royalty, Slaves Clement of Alexandria, Saint 192, 202– 206 Clothing, colors of Aztecs 247, 249, 259–260 China 230, 232, 238–242 Greece 121–137, 175–189 Islam 218–222 Mesopotamia 31–39 Rome 178, 181–182, 187, 189 Clothing, female 35, 37, 176, 178, 180– 181, 202–204, 221–222 Clothing, male 34–35, 37, 177–178, 218–220, 222 Cochineal (dye) 245–246, 249 Codices, pre-Columbian 246–263 Color terminology 65–94 Aztecs 246–251 China 235–243 Egypt 55, 62–63 Greece 123, 182–185 Islam 211–213 Rome 168, 170–172, 174 see also Baines, Berlin and Kay Comedy 135, 143–144, 155, 163–174 Confucianism 227, 229–230, 234, 240– 241 Constantine the Great 193, 203

INDEX Copper 37, 49, 54, 61, 85, 98, 104–105, 231, 238 Coral 137, 215–216 Cornelius Nepos 181, 186–187 Cosmetics 117–119, 140, 152–161, 202– 203, 245, 249–250, 257–264 Cosmology Aztecs 245–246, 252, 262–263 China 225–227 Egypt 45–46, 55–57 Craftsmen (class), Athenian 139–161 Cyprian of Carthage, Saint 203 Cyril of Alexandria, Saint 197, 207 Daoism 227, 233 Demeter 115, 129, 131 Democracy, Athenian 139–161 Demons 17, 21, 25, 26 Directions, colors associated with 229– 232, 234–235 Divination, colors used in China 236–239 Greece 175–189 Islam 218, 220 Mesopotamia 9–29 Dreams, interpretation of 11, 14, 175– 189, 196, 214–215 Dur Kurigalzu 37 Dyes and dyeing 19, 28, 34–36, 38–39, 123–125, 176–177, 180–181, 185– 189, 232, 235–242, 245–246, 248– 250, 254–255, 263 see also Annatto, Brazilwood, Cochineal, Gall-nut, Madder, Murex, Ocher, Safflower, Woad Ebla 36, 38 Egyptian blue (pigment) 41–57, 62–63, 99, 103, 105–107 Egyptians 41–63, 66–70, 72–90, 93, 99– 100, 104–106, 112, 115, 117 Elites, colors associated with 34, 38–39, 44, 76, 105, 134–137, 139–161, 176, 179, 187, 189, 198, 229, 240 see also Priests, Royalty, Slaves Empedocles 97–98, 114, 183 Eusebius of Caesarea 193, 203–204 Evil eye 214 Eyes, colors of 164–172, 183, 185–186, 194, 197, 213–216 Faience 41, 46, 56–57, 60–63

313 Feathers 44, 179, 183, 229, 245, 246, 249, 257, 262–264 Five Elements theory (China) 225–227, 235 Florentine Codex 246–263 Fortunetelling see Divination Gage, John, color theories of 55, 191, 230, 258 Gebel Tjauti 52 Gemstones 49, 54–56, 58, 61–63, 66– 68, 72–73, 75, 77, 79, 81–82, 84, 88, 91–93, 104, 106, 192, 203, 205, 215–216, 242–244, 246, 252 see also specific types Gall-nut (dye) 36 Ganymede 99–101 Gender and gender roles 139–161, 221– 222 Gilgamesh, Epic of 38, 111 Glass 41–42, 53–54, 57–63, 68, 74, 77, 82, 87, 106, 203 see also Libyan desert glass God, as artist/painter 204, 206, 212 God, nature of colors and 192–195, 211–212 Gods Aztecs 252, 257–264 China 232 Egypt 46–47, 54, 56–58 Greece 98–103, 108–109, 113– 118, 127–133, 175 Mesopotamia 14, 15, 29, 32, 34– 35, 38–39, 111 Goethe, J.W. von 97, 244 Gold Aztecs 249 China 242 Early Christianity 192, 199, 204 Egypt 42, 44, 46, 49, 54, 55, 61, 65–68, 70–72, 77–79, 81, 84, 86, 115 Greece 71, 81, 86, 88, 113–115, 118, 121–137, 179, 184, 186 Indo-Europeans 86–88 Islam 213–214, 216 Mesopotamia 20, 31, 38, 70, 75, 79, 81, 86, 88, 104, 110, 115, 127 Gray 28, 37, 49, 79, 92, 93, 168, 170, 172, 184, 188, 212, 223, 230, 251

314

ESSAYS IN GLOBAL COLOR HISTORY

Greeks 97–119, 121–137, 139–161, 175–189 see also Mycenaeans Green Aztecs 247, 249 China 79, 88–89, 229–231, 239, 241–244 Early Christianity 193, 200, 205 Egypt 43–45, 49–50, 54–58, 61– 63, 66–70, 72, 81, 85–87 Greece 71, 87, 90, 109, 124–125, 178, 184 Indo-Europeans 70, 80, 86, 90–92 Islam 212–214, 216, 218–220, 223 Mesopotamia 12–21, 25–29, 65, 66, 70, 72, 76, 78–79, 81, 85– 87, 91 Rome 167–168 Gregory of Nazianzus, Saint 195, 197, 199. 203–204 Gregory of Nyssa, Saint 192–193, 195, 198–200, 203, 205–207 Gregory Thaumaturgus, Saint 198 Gregory the Great, Pope 192 Grue (green and blue) 67, 93, 229, 230, 232, 234, 239–244, 247 Hadith, colors mentioned in 216–221 Hair 28, 31, 38, 77, 83, 99–104, 106–107, 115–116, 124, 133, 135, 152, 164– 173, 177, 180, 184, 202–205, 219– 222, 229, 237–238 see also Beards Han Dynasty 227, 233, 236–237, 240 Heaven, colors associated with 48, 69, 111, 192, 205, 213–217 Hector 115–116, 129–130 Hell, colors associated with 213, 217, 222–223 Herakles 98, 101, 108–109 Hesiod 117, 124, 141, 201 Hierakonpolis 50–52 Hieroglyphs, Egyptian 45–46, 48, 50 Hilary of Poitiers, Saint 194 Hinduism 89–90, 230 Hippolytus of Rome, Saint 197–198 Homer 68, 112, 114–116, 124–126, 129, 178, 184–185, 201 Homeric hymns 99, 101, 115 Horemheb, tomb of 55 Horus 46–47, 54, 56 Hūrī 215–216

Idolatry 193–194, 201, 204–207, 220, 264 Imāms, Shīʾī 217–220 Inanna see Ishtar Indo-European and Proto-IndoEuropean (PIE) 70, 72, 80, 86–87, 90–92 Ishtar 110–111 Isis 57 Islam, colors and 211–223 Israelites 89–90 Ivory 54, 79, 104, 137 Jacob of Serugh 206 Jade 70, 72–73, 75, 78, 81, 85–88, 90– 93, 232–233, 237–238, 242 Jaʾfar al-Sādiq 220–223 Jerome, Saint 192, 194, 204 Jewels and jewelry 35, 54, 57–58, 60, 68, 79, 82, 111, 124, 126, 128, 131, 133, 192, 197, 203–205, 207, 215–216 see also Gemstones, Carnelian, Gold, Jade, Rubies, Silver, Turquoise John Chrysostom, Saint 197–199, 203– 204, 206–207 Justin Martyr, Saint 194 Kapoor, Anish 56 Kharis 127–128, 132–133, 135–136 Koran see Qurʾān Kosmēsis 117–119, 127 Kuanos 82, 87, 99–101, 103, 111–112, 114–116 Lapis lazuli 31, 41–42, 45–49, 53–56, 61–82, 85–88, 91–93, 103, 105–106, 110–115, 137 Libri Carolini 200 Libyan desert glass 57–63 Linear B tablets 67, 69, 71 Linen 34, 35, 38, 127, 129, 160, 177, 205 Loanwords 17, 47, 66–67, 69–70, 72– 77, 81–82, 85–87, 91–93, 238, 241 Luminosity see Shining Luxury 122, 133–134, 136, 154, 181, 187, 192, 196, 202–205 Madder (dye) 36, 126, 240 Mari 36, 37 Masks, theatrical see Theater Materiality, of colors 55, 97, 104, 108, 119, 192–193, 245–251, 257, 261, 263–264 Mayas 89–90, 230, 262

INDEX Medical texts 140, 173 Menstruation 140 Metals see Bronze, Copper, Gold, Silver Modesty, as virtue 131, 165, 180, 202, 215, 221 Moon and moonlight, colors and qualities associated with 16, 70–71, 81, 216 Muhammad, colors associated with 214–215, 217–220, 222 Multicolored or variegated 12–22, 24, 29, 36, 44, 69, 112–113, 119, 178– 180, 203, 247–248, 250 Murex, source of purple dye 36, 88, 124–126, 132, 185, 205 Mycenaeans 67, 69, 71, 74, 79, 81–82, 86–87, 90, 92 Nagada period (Egypt) 52–53 Nahuatl language 245–264 Names (Latin Cognomina) 163–164 Navajo Indians 230 Neolithic period 34, 65, 78, 80–81, 85– 86, 91 Nephthys 57 Newton, Isaac 97, 122–123 Nilus the Ascetic, Saint 200 Nimrud 34 Nuzi 36, 38 Ocher 33–34, 36–38, 65, 72, 78, 80, 91, 93, 171, 245–247, 256–264 Odysseus 107, 116 Omens and portents see Divination Oracle bone inscriptions 225, 236–239 Orange 43, 72, 79, 92, 93, 212, 230, 237, 247, 249 Origen 192, 194, 198, 206 Osiris 57 Ovid 173, 181, 202 Painting, theories of 196–199, 201, 206– 208, 246–257 Palaeolithic era 65, 78, 80 Pandora 117–119, 141 Papyrus 45, 66 Papyrus Leydensis 193 Peloponnesian War 144, 146, 149–150, 154 Pericles 147–151, 156 Persepolis 106 Persians 72, 87, 106, 127, 133–137, 154– 155, 159, 178, 212 Physiognomy 163–166, 168 Pictographs, Chinese 227–228, 235–239

315 Pigments, production of 34, 42, 49–53, 56–57, 105–107, 248–257 Pimps 166–167 Pindar 99, 126, 184 Pink 43, 72, 79, 92, 93, 126, 212, 223, 230, 240, 243, 244, 247, 262 Plato 110–112, 115, 132, 144, 146–157, 160–161, 183, 194, 196–198, 203 Pliny 99, 110, 124, 167, 173, 185–188, 192, 196–197 Plautus 163–174, 181 Plutarch 135, 178–179 Poikilia 113–114, 116, 121, 137, 176–182 Polemo of Laodicea 163, 165, 167 Pollux, Julius 163, 165, 169, 171 Polychromy, of sculpture 31–39, 97– 119 Popol Vuh 262 Poseidon 115–116 Praxiteles 99, 111 Predynastic period (Egypt) 42, 49, 52– 53, 58 Prefixes (Latin) 168, 170–172, 174 Priests, attire of 130–131, 185 Primary colors (China) 235–240, 243– 244 Purple Aztecs 254 China 241–244 Early Christianity 205–206 Egypt 43, 58, 61, 82 Greece 71, 121–137, 177, 179, 181, 184–189, 196, 235 Islam 212, 223 Mesopotamia 34, 36, 82 Pyramid texts 47–48 Qatna 36 Qurʾān, colors mentioned in 211–217 Rainbow 29, 69, 72, 92–93, 114–115, 119, 124, 126, 247 Ranks see Elites, Priests, Royalty, Slaves Red Aztecs 245–264 China 88–89, 229–232, 234, 237, 239–244 Early Christianity 193–194, 196, 202, 204–207 Egypt 43–45, 47, 50, 53, 56–57, 63, 66–69, 71, 80, 82, 84, 88– 90, 93

316

ESSAYS IN GLOBAL COLOR HISTORY

Greece 71, 79–80, 89, 98–102, 107, 123–124, 129, 136, 177, 180, 183–186, 188 Indo-Europeans 80, 92 Islam 212–213, 216, 218–220 Mesopotamia 9, 10, 12–21, 23–29, 31, 34–39, 65, 67, 69, 71, 79– 82, 106 Rome 124, 164–167, 169, 171–173 Romans 163–174, 178–179, 181–182, 187, 189, 196, 205 Royalty, colors associated with 61, 126, 130, 135–136, 186, 232–233 Rubies 215–216, 252 Safflower (dye) 240–241 Sahagún, Fray Bernardino de 246–263 Saints, lives of 199–201, 203 Sakkara 49, 55 Sanskrit 67, 72, 80, 87, 89, 90, 92, 113 Sappho 113–114 Scintillation see Shining Scorpion, King 51–53 Sculpture 31–39, 56, 97–119, 124, 126– 129, 132, 179, 197, 203, 262 Seasons, colors associated with (China) 229–233 Secondary colors (China) 235–236, 239– 240, 242–244 Seneca the Younger 173, 192, 196 Shang period 225–226, 231–232, 239 Shining, quality of Aztecs 251–258, 263 China 231, 238 Early Christianity 192–194, 204– 207 Egypt 42, 46, 54–58, 60–61, 63, 68, 83, 89 Greece 100, 111–116, 123–124, 126, 128, 136, 177 Indo-Europeans 92 Islam 212–213, 216–217 Mesopotamia 67–68, 71, 81, 110 Rome 168 Silk 238–242 Silver Early Christianity 193, 199 Egypt 44–46, 66, 78–79, 81, 83 Greece 88, 98, 114, 123, 125, 132 Indo-Europeans 91 Islam 215–216

Mesopotamia 27, 28, 65–66, 70– 71, 74–75, 79, 81, 85, 88, 104 Skin, properties and colors of 101, 107– 109, 116, 118, 124, 139–161, 167– 168, 183–184, 186, 215, 219, 239, 245, 253, 260 see also Tan Slaves 133, 149, 151, 153, 159, 163–174, 182, 185–187, 189 Socrates 115, 143, 146, 148, 151–160 Spectroscopy and spectrometry, analysis by 32, 51, 231 Status see Elites, Priests, Royalty, Slaves Sumerians 9, 12, 14, 16, 27, 66–67, 69– 71, 73–75, 78, 80–83, 85, 104, 110– 111, 113 Sun and sunlight, colors and qualities associated with Aztecs 252–253, 258–259, 261, 262–264 China 231, 234, 237, 238 Early Christianity 194–195, 201, 205, 206 Egypt 42, 45, 46, 54–58. 63, 66, 70, 84 Greece 123, 142, 158–159, 186 Islam 219 Mesopotamia 9, 11, 15–16, 18, 19, 20 Symbolism of colors Aztecs 247, 252, 256–263 China 230–235, 237, 243–244 Early Christianity 205–206 Egypt 42–43, 57, 63 Greece 121–122, 126, 133–134, 137, 140, 154, 157, 176, 181, 186–187 Islam 213, 221–223 Tan and tanning 139–143, 146, 153, 157–158 Tanis 56 Terence 171–172 Tertullian 193–194, 202, 204–205 Theater 163–174 Thebes (Egypt) 37, 49, 62 Theodoret of Cyrus 194, 200, 204 Theology, colors and 191–208, 211–223 Theophilus of Antioch, Saint 193 Theophrastus 107, 183 Theognis of Megara 123 Til Barsip 37

INDEX Tlapalli 246–255, 257, 263 Turquoise 49, 54–56, 58, 61–63, 66, 72, 75, 77, 82, 84, 88, 91–93, 106, 242– 244 Tutankhamun, pectoral of 57–63, 68 Ugarit 36, 38, 71, 74, 82, 87 Ur, Royal Cemetery at 33, 34, 53, 104 Vase painting, Greek 99, 140–143 Vergina 130 Vitruvius 106, 173 Water, colors and qualities associated with Aztecs 250 China 89, 226–227, 229–230, 232– 235 Early Christianity 193, 205 Egypt 56, 58, 63, 66, 69 Greece 89, 116, 123 Islam 218–219, 240, 242–243 Mesopotamia 9, 10, 16, 19, 29 Rome 170–171 Wax 42, 54, 57, 99, 112, 143, 193, 203 White Aztecs 247, 250, 253, 259 China 89, 229–232, 234, 238, 240, 242–244 Early Christianity 195–196, 203– 205, 207 Egypt 43–46, 50, 55–57, 61–62, 66–70, 72, 81–83, 85, 89–90, 93 Greece 89, 98–101, 104, 107, 111– 112, 125, 129–130, 132, 135–

317 136, 139–143, 146, 153, 157, 159, 161, 176–180, 182–185, 196 Indo-Europeans 92 Islam 212–213, 215–220, 222–223 Mesopotamia 9, 11–21, 23–29, 34– 38, 65, 69–71, 78, 81, 85 Rome 166–167, 169–171 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 48, 112 Woad (dye) 36 Wool 28, 33–38, 70–71, 125–126, 128– 129, 136, 180–181, 188 Xenophanes 124, 134–135 Xenophon 107, 135–136, 139, 143–144, 148–149, 157–161 Yellow Aztecs 247, 249, 254, 258 China 89, 229–232, 234–235, 237– 238, 240–244 Early Christianity 193, 206 Egypt 43, 50, 57–58, 62–63, 67– 68, 72, 81, 84 Greece 71, 79, 81, 86, 89, 101, 124–125, 128, 178, 180, 184, 187 Islam 212–213, 216–217, 219–223 Mesopotamia 14–16, 19–21, 24, 33–35, 38–39, 65–66, 69, 76, 78, 81, 85–87, 89–91 Zeno of Verona, Saint 202, 204 Zeus 98–101, 103–104, 107, 114, 116, 130 Zhou period 225–227, 230–231, 239